Army Of Me
Teenage Kicks
ALEX - Okay. Imagine you're preparing to go out to meet with your soon to be (well hopefully, anyway) boyfriend. That's a nice thought, right? Now imagine just as you're walking out the door, your slightly insane father pulls you back and says that you are absolutely not leaving the house tonight because you didn't make your little brother his dinner and tuck him into bed.
Cue the shit hitting the fan. Very hard.
“I'm not his nanny!” I shriek at him, hands on my hips, my eyes narrowing into a glare.
Please, god, don't let my eyeliner smudge.
“You're his sister!” My dad snaps back, his tan face wrinkling with anger.
“And you're his father!” I toss the hair out of my eyes, my words razor sharp, “I can't do everything. No wonder Mum left; you can't do anything.” He flinches, and I know I've hurt him, I've hurt him bad.
“Maybe you're right, Alexis.” He sighs, and his voice is wavering and his grey eyes turn watery.
Oh, fuck. It's bad when a parent starts to cry.
“I can't deal with this right now.” I tell him, “Deal with your shit somewhere else.” He just blinks, tears dribbling down his cheeks. He doesn't scold me for swearing. I'm angry and sad and mad and I turn around, go into my bedroom, jam the door shut with my chair and clamber out the window. Thank god we live in a bungalow. When I'm out on the soft grass outside, I start to run. I don't know here I'm going; nor do I particularity care.
I end up at the park, and it's empty except for me. I don't really feel like meeting him – and I mean Ollie – anymore. He's a bit of a dick, anyway. It's dark, really dark, and the park's lit by one lonely streetlight in the corner. I sit on the swings and sigh, dragging my feet against the cement. My eyes are burning with hot tears, but I just scrub my face with my sleeve and kick my legs angrily against the ground. My feet hit something soft, and the soft something grunts.
Wait. What? That wasn't there before. Biting back a shriek, I kneel beside it, and poke. I feel fabric under my fingers, and then skin, then hair.
Woops, looks like a I kicked someone. I run my hands over their face, squinting at it. I feel cheekbones and long eyelashes, a straight nose and thin lips. It's a guy.
“Hey, mister, are you okay?” They mumble something and sit up. “Um, hello? Dude, are you drunk?” I prod him with a pale finger.
“Get your hands off me, you filthy cretin.” He snaps. His voice is nice – it's smooth and has a strange accent. Is he English? I lean back and pout.
“I was just trying to help.” I mutter, and I think they scoff. Wow, mental note to self: never be kind to strangers. In the moonlight I can see pale skin, dark hair, and green eyes that flash in annoyance. “So, why were you lying in the dirt? Had one too many beers?”
“I was looking for something.” He sounds tired and irritated.
“By faceplanting the ground? Not a good idea.” I try to act helpful, for once, “What are you looking for?”
“The Tesseract.”
“Is that a drug?” I ask, “It sounds like one. Y'know, like the type that helps get your junk up?”
“It's none of your business, Midgardian.”
“Midwhaha? I don't know what that is, mate, but I'm Irish.” I think he mutters “idiot”. What a douche. My phone starts to ring. I take it out of my pocket and look at it. It's Ollie. I answer with a sigh.
“What?” I grumble.
“Babe, where are you? I brought good stuff, you're missing out.” He rolls his words. It's kinda seductive. My anger drains away and I smile a little. My ears practically perk up at his words.
“What good stuff? Did you get takeaway?” He snorts with laughter.
“Oh my god, Alex, you're so slow sometimes. We got coke.”
“I'm guessing you're not talking about the drink.” I drawl, and he chuckles.
“Nope.” He sniffs loudly and I frown, “It's great. Are you gonna come down?”
“Nah, I'm busy.”
“Doing what?” He sounds strangely bright and bubbly. Drugs certainly are effective.
“Your mom.” I retort, and hang up. Boom, roasted. I get up, run a hand through my long hair, and brush dirt off my jeans.
“I should probably go.” I say, and his green eyes watch me hop from foot to foot. It's creepy. Stop it.It's awkwardly silent. Shouldn't he say bye now?
“Oh, um, and this thing you're looking for, you should come to the market. It's on in a few days. Maybe someone will have it, or something like it. Good luck, bro.” I clap him on the shoulder and stroll off, whistling. Huh, I'm actually pretty kind to strangers. Wait. I'm not meant to. Woops.
Cue the shit hitting the fan. Very hard.
“I'm not his nanny!” I shriek at him, hands on my hips, my eyes narrowing into a glare.
Please, god, don't let my eyeliner smudge.
“You're his sister!” My dad snaps back, his tan face wrinkling with anger.
“And you're his father!” I toss the hair out of my eyes, my words razor sharp, “I can't do everything. No wonder Mum left; you can't do anything.” He flinches, and I know I've hurt him, I've hurt him bad.
“Maybe you're right, Alexis.” He sighs, and his voice is wavering and his grey eyes turn watery.
Oh, fuck. It's bad when a parent starts to cry.
“I can't deal with this right now.” I tell him, “Deal with your shit somewhere else.” He just blinks, tears dribbling down his cheeks. He doesn't scold me for swearing. I'm angry and sad and mad and I turn around, go into my bedroom, jam the door shut with my chair and clamber out the window. Thank god we live in a bungalow. When I'm out on the soft grass outside, I start to run. I don't know here I'm going; nor do I particularity care.
I end up at the park, and it's empty except for me. I don't really feel like meeting him – and I mean Ollie – anymore. He's a bit of a dick, anyway. It's dark, really dark, and the park's lit by one lonely streetlight in the corner. I sit on the swings and sigh, dragging my feet against the cement. My eyes are burning with hot tears, but I just scrub my face with my sleeve and kick my legs angrily against the ground. My feet hit something soft, and the soft something grunts.
Wait. What? That wasn't there before. Biting back a shriek, I kneel beside it, and poke. I feel fabric under my fingers, and then skin, then hair.
Woops, looks like a I kicked someone. I run my hands over their face, squinting at it. I feel cheekbones and long eyelashes, a straight nose and thin lips. It's a guy.
“Hey, mister, are you okay?” They mumble something and sit up. “Um, hello? Dude, are you drunk?” I prod him with a pale finger.
“Get your hands off me, you filthy cretin.” He snaps. His voice is nice – it's smooth and has a strange accent. Is he English? I lean back and pout.
“I was just trying to help.” I mutter, and I think they scoff. Wow, mental note to self: never be kind to strangers. In the moonlight I can see pale skin, dark hair, and green eyes that flash in annoyance. “So, why were you lying in the dirt? Had one too many beers?”
“I was looking for something.” He sounds tired and irritated.
“By faceplanting the ground? Not a good idea.” I try to act helpful, for once, “What are you looking for?”
“The Tesseract.”
“Is that a drug?” I ask, “It sounds like one. Y'know, like the type that helps get your junk up?”
“It's none of your business, Midgardian.”
“Midwhaha? I don't know what that is, mate, but I'm Irish.” I think he mutters “idiot”. What a douche. My phone starts to ring. I take it out of my pocket and look at it. It's Ollie. I answer with a sigh.
“What?” I grumble.
“Babe, where are you? I brought good stuff, you're missing out.” He rolls his words. It's kinda seductive. My anger drains away and I smile a little. My ears practically perk up at his words.
“What good stuff? Did you get takeaway?” He snorts with laughter.
“Oh my god, Alex, you're so slow sometimes. We got coke.”
“I'm guessing you're not talking about the drink.” I drawl, and he chuckles.
“Nope.” He sniffs loudly and I frown, “It's great. Are you gonna come down?”
“Nah, I'm busy.”
“Doing what?” He sounds strangely bright and bubbly. Drugs certainly are effective.
“Your mom.” I retort, and hang up. Boom, roasted. I get up, run a hand through my long hair, and brush dirt off my jeans.
“I should probably go.” I say, and his green eyes watch me hop from foot to foot. It's creepy. Stop it.It's awkwardly silent. Shouldn't he say bye now?
“Oh, um, and this thing you're looking for, you should come to the market. It's on in a few days. Maybe someone will have it, or something like it. Good luck, bro.” I clap him on the shoulder and stroll off, whistling. Huh, I'm actually pretty kind to strangers. Wait. I'm not meant to. Woops.