She Screams in Silence

January 10th dawned with pale weak light, threatening to be obscured by the dark clouds clustering off beyond the Bay. For Felicity, though, it could have been the brightest of summer days when she awoke. It was her birthday, and smiling as she dressed, it was clear that nothing––even rain itself––was going to rain on her parade. Her birthday fell during a month predominated by the cold and frigid, the uninviting, but this was not to dissuade her from enjoying her one day of the year.

When she opened her door and trooped down the stairs, she smiled faintly at the sound of the daily morning kitchen routine as enacted by her parents. Differences would clearly be set aside for today––wouldn’t they?

“Good morning,” Felicity said as brightly as possible as she walked into the kitchen. Her relationship with her parents may not have been at its best, but it was her birthday, after all.

“Felicity,” Richard nodded over his Wall Street Journal. Rachel acknowledged her only by raising her eyebrows as she sipped her coffee.

She stood expectantly in the doorway for several more moments. When no other reaction followed, she simply continued smiling, ignoring that awkward and painful twist she felt. She went on, making a small breakfast, often looking up on tenterhooks at Rachel and Richard, waiting for...anything.

Nothing came. She nervously watched as her parents deposited their coffee mugs in the sink, gathering things up to leave with no glance to her. Apparently she would have to say something.

“Are...are we doing anything tonight?” Felicity asked, biting on her lip. She wasn’t expecting a party from them, but a piece of cake might be nice. If not that, a smile? Any sort of reaction at all?

“Whatever do you mean?” Rachel asked airily.

“Well...well, I just mean if we’re going to have dinner or something for my birthday,” Felicity shrugged, feeling increasingly uncomfortable.

“And why should we do that?” Rachel answered stiffly. “You certainly wouldn’t want to attend such an event.”

“But it’s––”

“And you, presumably, would want to invite that boyfriend of yours,” Rachel added, putting an emphasis on “boyfriend” as something distinctly disagreeable along the lines of a putrefied cabbage forgotten in the back of the fridge.

“I just thought that we––”

“Felicity, we’re not going to bend over backwards and plan some grand event if you wouldn’t even do us the courtesy of appreciating it,” Rachel interrupted her. She rose, picking up her purse as Richard took his briefcase, one off to work, the other to her ladies-who-lunch routine. Richard didn’t even bother with a goodbye, let alone wishing her a happy birthday. Rachel merely turned back to her, looking quite sour. “I would hardly think you’d expect us to plan something with all our friends for you. Not the way you’ve been presenting yourself the last couple of months. Perhaps when your behavior proves to not be so disappointing as it’s been as of late we can reconsider.” Reaching across the counter, Rachel picked up an expensively wrapped box and handed it to her daughter. “Happy Birthday,” she said flatly, as though in those two words of well-wishing she was trying to convey all the guilt she wanted Felicity to feel for her recent actions. She didn’t wait for a response, rather turning to leave.

As Felicity stared after her, her face white, the door slammed, signaling she was alone.

She swallowed the painful lump in her throat. This was to be a good day. If it were cloudy, that simply called for one to find a silver lining. After all, they had remembered her birthday, even if they hadn’t been exactly pleasant about it. There was a gift––one or both of them had at least taken the time to pick something out for her. That said something––didn’t it?

Slowly, she unwrapped the gift, covered in shining silver foil paper and pink satin ribbon, clearly the work of some upscale store. She was left with a small white taped box, that, once opened, elicited no smiles of delight. Forget silver linings. Her birthday present, in fact, made her choke back a sob.

There, nestled in delicate wisps of pink and lavender tissue paper, sat a silver music box with its own dancing ballerina––an exact replica of the one she had hated, that she had destroyed.

She pushed it away, rising and walking out of the kitchen. She had to find something that stood against that music box, that her familial life had more value than a slowly twirling porcelain ballerina with pink netting at its waist.

In vain, Felicity wandered around the house, hoping to stumble across something, anything. Photo albums typically made an appearance around birthdays––something of her very small, crawling on the floor, blowing out candles, cake smeared on her face. Perhaps even an album of her parents before she was born, young newlyweds going out to dinner or laughing on the sofa as some friend snapped a picture.

There were none.

Every picture in that house was professionally done, stiff and formal smiles, all posed. It was one thing to have a nice picture taken where one was guaranteed not to come out with red-eye or look stoned, to look momentarily glamorous, but it was quite another not to have those little glossy 4 x 6 slice-of-life photographs.

There were a few home-movies, mostly of her dance recitals, in which Richard carefully balanced the camera and edited out the sound, so no one could hear a stray cough or cry, or his insistence that Felicity smile when she was looking so utterly unhappy and close to tears.

In fact, Felicity only found one video that wasn’t muted out. It was in their living room and done in hopes of her being accepted into a prestigious children’s academy. She was no more than six at the time, carefully dressed, staring pale and nervous at the camera as she recited off French conjugations for the word parler. “Je parle...tu parles...il par...” she faltered, “il par...par...”

“Now, come on, Felicity, we went over this,” Richard’s voice could be heard sighing.

Her face whitening in shame, she whispered, “I’m sorry. I don’t know.”

“Richard, I thought you went over this with her!” Rachel’s voice came from off-camera while Felicity hung her head.

“I did! A thousand times! She ought to remember, but she doesn’t.”

“I can try again,” Felicity’s voice came meekly.

“Well, if she isn’t getting it by now, there’s no way she’ll get in. We’re going to have to send her to public school,” Rachel gave a heavy sigh. “This is really disappointing.” Then the click of her heels could be heard dying away.

Richard set down the camera, forgetting to turn it off as he followed his wife down the hall, trying to comfort her.

“I’m sorry,” Felicity could be heard saying softly, now out of the shot. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

And so the trembling voice went on and on apologizing, until the present-day Felicity could take it no longer and shut the VCR off. “Disappointing––always have been and always will be, I guess,” she shrugged. “Well, if I am to be so profoundly disappointing to you, I might as well enjoy myself in the process,” she spoke quietly. Shaking her head, she muttered ruefully, almost smiling, “If you even had the slightest idea just how much I can disappoint.” She paused. “And I won’t be sorry for it.”

• • •

An hour later, Felicity walked into a particular fellow’s apartment where four people were waiting to acknowledge her birthday and not in any disagreeable fashion.

As she stepped in the door, she jumped back, startled, as Tre bounded up nearly in her face, wearing a party hat and blowing one of those cheap wound-up paper kazoos. As she stood there, blinking in confusion, he barreled into her, giving her a massive bear hug that threatened to pulverize her ribs to a pulp. Cat came over, but rather than pry him off, joined in with the friendly squish-to-the-death birthday hug.

When Billie noticed it looked like her lips were about to turn blue, he finally crossed over, pulling them away, “If we can help it, let’s try to make sure she makes it to her next birthday, huh?”

“Thank you,” Felicity gasped, her hand on her chest as she attempted to catch her breath.

“Mind if I get a hello from the birthday girl?” he grinned, taking her wrist and pulling her towards him. “I promise not to throttle you within an inch of your life.” She smiled, her arms looping around his shoulders as he pulled her against him. They were rather involved for several moments until Felicity felt Billie’s hands blatantly slide down over her backside, though it was probably more from his need to piss her off rather than any sort of loss of control regarding his hormones.

She pulled back, her face bright red, “That was...mildly inappropriate.”

“I could have done worse,” he shrugged, smirking.

“...Right.”

Mike waved at her from the sofa, “If you don’t mind, I’ll leave the killer hugs to Cat and Tre. And I think Billie Joe’s got all the...erm...other stuff covered.”

“Appreciated,” she grinned at him.

“Okay,” Cat and Tre raced into the kitchen and reappeared, bearing two plates. “You can either choose the boring uninteresting cake Billie got at the store because he nearly burned down the kitchen trying to make a simple cake mix––”

“Hey!” Billie exclaimed.

“You did practically incinerate the thing, Bill,” Mike nodded at him.

“It was not that bad! And it would have been fine if I didn’t have to leave it and find the fire extinguisher because you two decided to play ‘fireball.’”

“You made me a cake?” Felicity grinned at him.

“Well, no, not exactly. What I made more resembles charcoal,” he shrugged. “However, I bought you that cake,” he nodded to the plate Tre held, bearing a chocolate cake from the supermarket bakery that wasn’t charred like the remnants of his baking attempt.

“As we were saying,” Cat interrupted him, “you can either have that dull unoriginal cake of Billie’s, or you can have the Amsterdamian brownies Tre and I made...from scratch,” she finished smugly.

“Amsterdamian?”

Billie rolled his eyes, “They’re laced with pot, is what she means.”

“Um, I’m going to leave you two to your brownies, if it’s all the same to you,” Felicity smiled, taking the cannabis-free cake.

“Lame,” Tre rolled his eyes.

After the customary song-accompanied birthday cake, in which it was required to pretend that seven candles represented one’s eighteenth birthday––being that they were lacking the additional eleven––conversation took to the various milestones Felicity had achieved.

“Aw, Felicity’s not a minor anymore!” Cat sang. “Think of all the stuff you can do now...um...vote, watch porn, buy cigarettes, call 1-800 numbers...”

“Go to jail for having sex with minors!” Tre interjected.

“Or,” Cat grinned at Billie wickedly, “not send certain young men to jail for having sex with you.”

“You’re sick, Cat,” Billie spoke flatly.

“Not as sick as me!” Tre cried gleefully, plunking down a present in front of Felicity wrapped in last Sunday’s comics. “Happy Birthday! And if it’s not too much trouble, try not to tear Opus, because I didn’t read it yet.”

“Uh...thank you, Tre,” Felicity blinked. Careful not to do any harm to a favored penguin, she slid her finger under the tape and popped it free, pulling what was wrapped free from the paper. “You...got me...condoms,” she said slowly.

“Yup!”

“...Why?”

“Because if you get syphilis you go blind and insane and then the bacteria bores out of your skull. Of course, you don’t care by then, ‘cause you’re crazy and dead. I read that,” he nodded triumphantly.

“Why am I getting syphilis?”

“Well, you’re not now. I have prevented it,” he explained proudly.

“But why am I having sex with someone who has syphilis?”

“I didn’t think that far ahead. But if you ever do, you can save yourself from an unpleasant disease.”

“Er...thanks...I think.”

“Well, if you must, you can use them even with people who don’t have syphilis,” Tre crossed his arms over his chest, rolling his eyes and nodding to Billie.

“Here,” Mike interrupted their conversation, holding a bag towards here, “take my present. It’s slightly less inappropriate and sexual.”

“Aw, thank you!” she accepted it, staring at the item protruding from it that looked suspiciously like a rolled up poster. Unfurling it, the object proved to be a poster of the Abbey Road cover. “Oh, this is fantastic! I love it!”

Mike shrugged, “Billie said he got you listening to The Beatles.”

“Yeah, but I bet Mike’s gift doesn’t prevent pregnancy! Take that,” Tre harrumphed. “What good is a poster for hygiene and birth control, huh? Here I actually care and he just gives you a piece of paper. You want Billie to knock you up, be my guest.”

Billie stared at him, “So help me, I will kill you where you stand if you don’t shut up.”

“No, Tre, thank you for looking out for my health,” Felicity sighed.

“You’re welcome!” he gave her a big cheesy grin.

“My turn!” Cat cut in. “Sorry it’s not wrapped,” she explained, holding out a small plastic card.

Felicity took it, her face lighting up when she saw it was a gift card to DSW in San Francisco. “Oh, wow, Cat, this is great! Thanks!”

“Yeah, something to put towards a pair of fab shoes––FMB’s, for example.”

“What are FMB’s?” Tre asked.

“Fuck Me Boots,” Cat shrugged nonchalantly. “She already bought a Fuck Me Dress. Now she needs Fuck Me Boots.”

“Cat!” Felicity cried, turning scarlet.

“That’s what that dress was?” Billie’s eyes widened, gaping at Felicity in awe.

“Of course he knows exactly what dress that is,” Mike whispered to Tre.

“Oh, so you wore it for him already, did you?” Cat grinned.

Seeing Felicity’s face, Billie sighed, “Hey, come on, guys. It’s her birthday. Lay off. No need to tease her about all the hot stuff she wears right before we have all our mind-blowing fantastic sex.” He patted her hand, “They’re just jealous.”

“Of our mind-blowing fantastic sex?” her eyebrows arched.

“Yes.”

“Right.”

“And I got you a present!” Billie said proudly, changing the subject and holding a small wrapped box towards her. “And I know that’s snowman wrapping paper, but, hey, I figure people still make snowmen in January––not that we can build a snowman any time of the year since it doesn’t snow here, but...yeah.” He paused for a minute. “Actually, I got you two of them!” he produced a second snowman-accented package. “Although the second one is more of a gag gift.”

She smiled, ripping off the paper of the second present, something wide and flat which revealed itself to be an LP of The Who’s greatest hits.

“Now you can listen to them all you want!” Billie exclaimed. He then added, “But like I said, gag gift. If you want something else, I can exchange it.”

Felicity laughed, “Of course not. It’s my first record that isn’t an opera soundtrack.” She turned to the second box, noticeably smaller. Picking it up and shaking it, she said, “Hm, small, rattles slightly...what could it be?” Satisfying her curiosity, she removed the wrapping, popping the box’s lid off to display a delicate silver bracelet with a charm decorated with tiny Swarovski crystals. It wasn’t anything desperately expensive, such things being out of the price range of the buyer, but it meant more far more to her than any several-grand tennis bracelet.

“I thought you might like it,” he shrugged, biting his lip, “‘cause I notice you wear bracelets an awful lot because you play with them all the time.”

“I love it,” she whispered. She held out her wrist, “Would you help me put it on?”

He smiled, pulling either side around her wrist and doing the clasp, whereupon she held up her arm, studying the effect. She grinned at him. “Thank you, Billie,” she said softly and then leaned over to bestow a kiss on his lips. But before he could pull back, she suddenly grabbed his shoulder, leaning in to him and all at once conveying far more than a simple “thank you” for a birthday gift.

“Wow. Room. Get one. Please,” came Cat’s voice about a minute later, causing them to break apart, though Felicity kept looking into his face, searching his emerald eyes for something. He met her gaze, locking his eyes with hers and breathing a little hard.

“Damn,” Mike stared at Billie, his eyes wide. “When you get thanked, you really get thanked.”

“Well,” Billie stood up, “this party was fun, wasn’t it? Too bad it had to end so quickly. Oh well.” He turned to Felicity. “Come on,” he took her hand, pulling her towards the little hallway.

“Where you guys going? Can we come, too?” Tre asked.

“Yeah, I thought we were doing birthday bonding,” Cat added. “You’re not skipping out on us, are you?”

“No, because we’ll follow!” Tre cried cheerfully, starting to skip towards them.

“No, you won’t,” Billie stared at him flatly. “We’re going to be...alone.”

“What are you going to do that we can’t be around for?” Tre asked woefully, Cat standing next to him and mimicking his sad expression.

Billie just stared at him for a few seconds, before shaking his head and pulling Felicity along.

“They’re leaving us and they won’t tell us why!” Cat wailed as Tre pretended to burst into tears against her shoulder.

“You guys are idiots,” Mike looked at them. He put his hands down on either side of him and pushed himself up. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

“What for?” Tre blinked innocently, as though he and Cat hadn’t actually caught on long before.

“Trust me. We should get out,” Mike just nodded, ushering them out the front door.

“You guys suck!” Cat called out to Billie and Felicity as she was herded out.

Meanwhile, completely ignoring the trio in the other room, Felicity trailed Billie down the hall, straight into his room––at which point he shut the door.

“Any reason we’re in here?” she asked lightly.

He shrugged, “Just something I wanted to say.”

“And that would be?”

“Happy Birthday,” Billie gave her a sideways grin.

“I think you said that already. So whatever could that smirk be for, Mr. Armstrong?” Felicity tried to keep herself from smiling back and failed utterly.

Billie leaned in so he was only about a fraction of an inch away from her lips. “You’re legal now,” he murmured.

“Is that so?”

“M-hm,” he breathed, bending down so his lips were about a centimeter away from touching her neck, his breath hot against her skin and making her mind spin and making her feel half-dizzy. Felicity closed her eyes as his hands went to her hips, softly drawing her in against him as his lips finally, finally made contact, kissing her neck, against her pulse and then trailing down to near her collarbone.

He broke away suddenly, pulling back just enough so he could look down into her face, studying it as to her reaction––whether she was going to stop him or...not. “Felicity,” he began, and then paused.

Then, smiling lightly at him, she let her hands, which had been at his arms, gripping the material of his sleeves, slide up, her arms twining around his neck, bending his head down so his lips met hers. She kissed him hungrily, only too happy for those hands at her hips to tighten their grip, pressing her against his body. His hands slid along her sides and then back down to her waist, softly running his fingers along the hem of her shirt, pulling it away just enough to graze over her skin. Felicity closed her eyes, her breath coming slow and shaky, the sensation of his hands on her skin pushing over the edge. He grabbed hold of the bottom of her shirt and had pulled it up to her ribcage when they suffered an interruption.

“Hey, sorry, but Billie, did you steal my wallet?” Mike opened the door, his hand pulling at his empty pocket.

Billie gave him a wide-eyed stare, speaking through gritted teeth, “What the fuck makes you think I have it?”

“Well, I can’t find it anywhere else and––”

“Check your fucking car and get the fuck out,” Billie’s voice dropped even lower.

“But I was going to drive and my license is in it and––”

His emerald green eyes smoldering furiously, Billie strode over to his friend of over a decade, ripping out his own wallet from his back pocket. Though Mike was considerably taller, Billie still stared up at him with a look of death as he pulled out a few bills, stuffing them into Mike’s hand. “Here. Take it. My treat. Go get a cab. Go see a movie. Go get a hooker. Go buy some heroin. I don’t care what you do. Just get out.”

“Right-o,” Mike gave him a nervous grin, pocketing the money and disappearing out the door. The front door slammed momentarily, but just as Billie turned back to Felicity, it opened again and they could hear Tre rummaging around in the front room to collect the leftover cake. He ambled down the hall and knocked on Billie’s door, calling from the other side, “Hey, Billie, it’s awfully quiet in there. You getting laid yet?” Eventually he sauntered back out of the apartment as well, but a damper seemed placed upon any romance.

“I hate my life,” Billie groaned, flopping onto his bed.

Felicity grinned, following suit, “Not the best timing, huh?”

He glanced at her, “You could say that.” Staring back up at the ceiling, he exhaled slowly. “So...what now?”

She shrugged, “What? Talk is cheap?”

He grinned ruefully, “Not since he killed the mood, no.” He paused. “So...how ‘bout those Mets?”

Felicity smiled, rolling her eyes, as she turned on her side. Taking his hand, she turned it over, studying his palm.

“Going to tell me my fortune?”

She raised her eyebrows, “I see...a bad harvest, a plague of locusts, and several sold-out concerts. Good and bad, you know.”

He smiled, interlocking their fingers. “Damn, I was hoping for a good crop of wheat this year.”

“You have a lot of tattoos,” Felicity remarked suddenly, looking at his arm.

“No, really? I didn’t notice.”

“This is different,” she ignored his sarcasm, nodding to his tattoo of two angels facing one another on his forearm and running her fingers across it. “I like it, though.”

“It’s the logo thing from Jesus Christ Superstar.”

“Hm,” she nodded. Then, sliding her fingers down his arm, she took his hand again and placed it on her waist. As his eyebrows arched in curiosity, she leaned in, her lips brushing against his and then trailing down along his jawline.

He gave a sharp intake of breath, closing his eyes.

“Did he really kill the mood?” she whispered.

“Not a chance in hell,” Billie muttered, the look on his face equivalent to having just had an angel appear before him with a lifetime supply of free beer commanding, “Yea, thou shalt drink and be merry for all thy days.”

He leaned in, kissing her roughly and pushing her onto her back. Felicity didn’t even bother trying to stifle the moan in her throat––after all, now there was no one to hear them. Her arms wrapped around his neck, burying her fingers in his dark hair, his lips meeting hers like a violent thrilling shock. She pulled her hands back, frantically unbuttoning his shirt, working her way down towards his belt, pausing only momentarily as Billie nearly ripped her top over her head. He pulled furiously at the sleeves of his own shirt once all the buttons were unfastened, tearing it off and tossing it to the floor. Felicity ran her hands down over his shoulders, across his chest and stomach, pausing at the waist of his pants.

“Felicity, I––” he broke away for a second.

“Shut up,” she whispered faintly, undoing his belt buckle.

“Uh-huh,” he murmured, nearly incoherent. He didn’t need to be told twice. He bent his head back down, his lips going to her neck, his breath hot against her skin and driving her crazy. Their hands were tugging at the waists of their pants, pulling them off their hips to join the growing pile of clothes on the floor. Billie brought his hand back up to her shoulder, softly running it down the length of her torso, his electrifying fingertips brushing across her skin. She gasped as he ran his hand down across her stomach, arching her back. Swiftly, his hand suddenly went around to her back, unhooking her bra. Felicity closed her eyes, letting him pull it from her shoulders and toss it to the floor, before bending down, his lips trailing down from the hollow of her throat, across her breasts, and down over her stomach. He paused right below her navel, looking up to give her another grin. A bit nervously she smiled back, her breathing shaky and shallow. His fingers slipped under the top of her underwear, and then pulled them down over her legs and off. She exhaled, grabbing onto the waistband of his boxers and pulling them down as well.

“Billie,” Felicity breathed, “do you have––?”

“Yeah,” he gasped, closing his eyes as her hands ran over his narrow hips. He reached over to the nightstand, his hand fumbling wildly for the drawer and yanking it open, oblivious to the various objects he knocked off of it. He turned back to her, his lips meeting hers once more, her arms wrapping back around his neck. After several moments, his ran his hands sensually down her frame, down to her thighs, wrapping her legs around him. Their frantic pace suddenly slowed, speeding back up as they became completely lost in one another. The mattress’s old wire springs creaked loudly, though were drowned out by the cries of the two upon it. It was intense and absolute haze of euphoria.

When it was over, Billie collapsed against her. Felicity ran her hand through his hair, damp with perspiration, as they both tried to catch their breaths, their hearts racing together. After several minutes, she felt his hands on her hips, flipping them over so she wasn’t taking his weight and pulling his arm around her.

“Thanks for an absolutely amazing birthday,” she murmured some time later.

He smirked, “You know it. Anytime.”

“I mean it. All of it. Though,” she smiled, “the last part was especially fantastic.”

“Yeah, well, I know I’m incredible. But I should say that you weren’t so bad yourself. So thank you. I know it wasn’t my birthday, but it sort of felt like it anyway,” Billie grinned.

“You know it. Anytime,” she imitated his smirk.

“I’m going to hold you to that.”