Lady Odyssey
Gone.
The title sucks, I know. But whatever. If you want me to change it, I'll change it. x3 Anyways, this is private between Ambria and I. Please don't post here unless you are @Ambria. Feel free to read, though!
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The Asshole Next Door [ private ]
- Thread starter Lady Odyssey
- Start date
Ambria
Member
(If this sucks, I apologize. I'm horrible at this whole 'first post' thing.)
"Conceal everything."
"Don't let anyone in, don't let them see how much you're hurting. . ."
These were motivation for the young girl-- to keep everything to herself. Of course, saying these things and doing them were two totally different stories; sometimes she wished she was brave enough to say what as going on inside of her home. . . However, McKenzie had done a damn good job at keeping quiet for seven years. Seven long, and hard years, to be exact. On some days, like today, were the easier days: go to school, go home, lock yourself in your room, and pretend like the rest of the world didn't exist.
And that, my friends, is exactly what she planned on doing.
As McKenzie stepped through the large double doors of her home, she felt her heart skip beats. This always happened. Maybe it was a statement of fear or even hatred. Too bad no one else could see it, or feel it. She slowly closed the door, and made her way toward the stairs and then her room as quietly as possible. "Come on," She murmured, pulling at her door to open it. Of course, it had somewhat of a trick-lock, if that's what you could call it. "Damn. Door. Open." The door, after about three (or more) minutes of pulling on it, finally jolted open.
McKenzie walked into the bedroom, then pushed her door shut and locked it. Tonight, it wouldn't happen again. Not if she had a say . . . Though, as the hours began to pass, she could hear her step father walking along the hardwood floors below her. By the time her mother was in bed, he'd be knocking on her door, and she damn well knew it.
Almost as if on cue, she heard the knocks on her door, then the jiggling of the doorknob in between the two of his trough hands. "Open the door, Ken. I just want to talk to you." He sounded as if he were pleading, like maybe he wanted to convenes her that that's exactly what was going to happen; that they would simply talk. However, the second she pulled the door open he rushed in and slammed it behind him. "What did you tell her?!" He grabbed ahold of her wrists, and slammed her back into the wall.
"What are you talking about?! I haven't said anything, Mark!"
"Oh, sure, sure. . . that's why your mother is pissed at me? Because you wouldn't tell her anything?!"
As the argument went on, fists went flying, into Kenzie's delicate sides; a hand to the side of her face-- pretty much anything that he thought would keep her quiet for a while longer.
Once the whole thing was over, Kenzie was out the door. She couldn't keep doing this. She couldn't stay. Not right now. She felt totally alone in this world. . . every day, or well every other day, she came home to nothing more than an abusive stepfather and a mother who knew, but wouldn't ever stop it. She didn't care enough to bother with her daughters problems. She stumbled out of the front door, with her car keys in hand, and the free hand wrapped around her left side. Nothing new.
"I'm so tired of this. . . why can't he just go away already? Better yet, what the hell is my problem. . . I'm such an idiot."
"Conceal everything."
"Don't let anyone in, don't let them see how much you're hurting. . ."
These were motivation for the young girl-- to keep everything to herself. Of course, saying these things and doing them were two totally different stories; sometimes she wished she was brave enough to say what as going on inside of her home. . . However, McKenzie had done a damn good job at keeping quiet for seven years. Seven long, and hard years, to be exact. On some days, like today, were the easier days: go to school, go home, lock yourself in your room, and pretend like the rest of the world didn't exist.
And that, my friends, is exactly what she planned on doing.
As McKenzie stepped through the large double doors of her home, she felt her heart skip beats. This always happened. Maybe it was a statement of fear or even hatred. Too bad no one else could see it, or feel it. She slowly closed the door, and made her way toward the stairs and then her room as quietly as possible. "Come on," She murmured, pulling at her door to open it. Of course, it had somewhat of a trick-lock, if that's what you could call it. "Damn. Door. Open." The door, after about three (or more) minutes of pulling on it, finally jolted open.
McKenzie walked into the bedroom, then pushed her door shut and locked it. Tonight, it wouldn't happen again. Not if she had a say . . . Though, as the hours began to pass, she could hear her step father walking along the hardwood floors below her. By the time her mother was in bed, he'd be knocking on her door, and she damn well knew it.
Almost as if on cue, she heard the knocks on her door, then the jiggling of the doorknob in between the two of his trough hands. "Open the door, Ken. I just want to talk to you." He sounded as if he were pleading, like maybe he wanted to convenes her that that's exactly what was going to happen; that they would simply talk. However, the second she pulled the door open he rushed in and slammed it behind him. "What did you tell her?!" He grabbed ahold of her wrists, and slammed her back into the wall.
"What are you talking about?! I haven't said anything, Mark!"
"Oh, sure, sure. . . that's why your mother is pissed at me? Because you wouldn't tell her anything?!"
As the argument went on, fists went flying, into Kenzie's delicate sides; a hand to the side of her face-- pretty much anything that he thought would keep her quiet for a while longer.
Once the whole thing was over, Kenzie was out the door. She couldn't keep doing this. She couldn't stay. Not right now. She felt totally alone in this world. . . every day, or well every other day, she came home to nothing more than an abusive stepfather and a mother who knew, but wouldn't ever stop it. She didn't care enough to bother with her daughters problems. She stumbled out of the front door, with her car keys in hand, and the free hand wrapped around her left side. Nothing new.
"I'm so tired of this. . . why can't he just go away already? Better yet, what the hell is my problem. . . I'm such an idiot."
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Lady Odyssey
Gone.
Michael Tyler Pierce
"Honey, are you alright?"
A woman's sweet, soft voice rang through the dining room. Michael hadn't realized he had been staring off into space, again. Barely having touched his food, he understood why his adoptive mother was worried. A few days ago, he had skipped dinner altogether despite it being his favorite meal. With a lighthearted shrug, he glanced up at her. Just the other night ago, he had overheard both her and his adoptive father speaking in a heated argument about him. Something along the lines of "not getting out enough" and "he needs a social life". Whatever the hell that meant. Mike didn't need a "social life". Not in his own eyes, anyway.
Michael had never needed friends, despite his adoptive parent's concern. He held himself just fine on his own. It's not like he's completely alone, anyway. He had little David to keep him company. David wasn't his biological sibling, but he may as well have been; the two were close as can be. Despite this, his adoptive parents had reasons to believe Mike needed to spend more time outside the house, and interacting with other human beings. Michael isn't anti-social, or of the sorts. Not at all, really. Sure, he kept mostly to himself, but he didn't mind speaking to other people when he needed to. To put simply, he learned not to rely on other people. He couldn't put his full trust in anyone anymore.
"I'm fine, Kayla. Just thinking." Not entirely a lie, he thought. Michael had never felt comfortable with calling his adoptive mother, Kayla, "mom". Nor did he call Bryce, "dad". It just didn't ring true for him, and they never really pressed him about it. He assumed they had long accepted he may never call them mom or dad. Stuffing another bite of somewhat warm eggs into his mouth, he looked up at her with a small smile. She returned the smile with a dimpled one, and ruffled his hair. He hated when she did that, but never had found the heart to tell her. She seemed to enjoy it, though he was never quite sure why.
"Alright then. If you need anything, I'll be in my room, honey."
Mike nodded silently, eyes trailing after the petite woman as she made her way up the dark wooden stairs. Silence engulfed the house, and he found himself glancing at the clock once more. Although Kayla wasn't strict on what time he started school, she preferred if he finished his school work by 3:00 p.m., like any other normal school. Michael didn't mind being homeschooled, even if he didn't get out of the house very often. On good days, he'd volunteer to walk to the store to grab a few groceries, and maybe even pick up a movie to watch with David. Quickly finishing his breakfast, he stood up on his feet to wash the dishes.
Finally in his blue-themed bedroom, he spun in his desk chair out of pure boredom. He decided math would be the death of him. Calculus wasn't exactly an easy subject to learn on his own, despite getting help from online tutors. All in all, math would always be a pain in his ass. He hated math more than anything, really. Gripping his pencil, he tapped the eraser against his desk in frustration as he scribbled the next problem down, quietly swearing under his breath. Just as he let out a huff of air, he heard it. Next door, he could make out muffled voices. One was yelling. Narrowing his eyes, he stood up from his desk, and stared out of his window. Just across the yard, he could see a man and a young girl struggling. It didn't take a rocket scientist to put two and two together. Michael frowned, running a hand through his hair absentmindedly. Later, he decided, he'd knock and make sure everything was alright.
"Honey, are you alright?"
A woman's sweet, soft voice rang through the dining room. Michael hadn't realized he had been staring off into space, again. Barely having touched his food, he understood why his adoptive mother was worried. A few days ago, he had skipped dinner altogether despite it being his favorite meal. With a lighthearted shrug, he glanced up at her. Just the other night ago, he had overheard both her and his adoptive father speaking in a heated argument about him. Something along the lines of "not getting out enough" and "he needs a social life". Whatever the hell that meant. Mike didn't need a "social life". Not in his own eyes, anyway.
Michael had never needed friends, despite his adoptive parent's concern. He held himself just fine on his own. It's not like he's completely alone, anyway. He had little David to keep him company. David wasn't his biological sibling, but he may as well have been; the two were close as can be. Despite this, his adoptive parents had reasons to believe Mike needed to spend more time outside the house, and interacting with other human beings. Michael isn't anti-social, or of the sorts. Not at all, really. Sure, he kept mostly to himself, but he didn't mind speaking to other people when he needed to. To put simply, he learned not to rely on other people. He couldn't put his full trust in anyone anymore.
"I'm fine, Kayla. Just thinking." Not entirely a lie, he thought. Michael had never felt comfortable with calling his adoptive mother, Kayla, "mom". Nor did he call Bryce, "dad". It just didn't ring true for him, and they never really pressed him about it. He assumed they had long accepted he may never call them mom or dad. Stuffing another bite of somewhat warm eggs into his mouth, he looked up at her with a small smile. She returned the smile with a dimpled one, and ruffled his hair. He hated when she did that, but never had found the heart to tell her. She seemed to enjoy it, though he was never quite sure why.
"Alright then. If you need anything, I'll be in my room, honey."
Mike nodded silently, eyes trailing after the petite woman as she made her way up the dark wooden stairs. Silence engulfed the house, and he found himself glancing at the clock once more. Although Kayla wasn't strict on what time he started school, she preferred if he finished his school work by 3:00 p.m., like any other normal school. Michael didn't mind being homeschooled, even if he didn't get out of the house very often. On good days, he'd volunteer to walk to the store to grab a few groceries, and maybe even pick up a movie to watch with David. Quickly finishing his breakfast, he stood up on his feet to wash the dishes.
Finally in his blue-themed bedroom, he spun in his desk chair out of pure boredom. He decided math would be the death of him. Calculus wasn't exactly an easy subject to learn on his own, despite getting help from online tutors. All in all, math would always be a pain in his ass. He hated math more than anything, really. Gripping his pencil, he tapped the eraser against his desk in frustration as he scribbled the next problem down, quietly swearing under his breath. Just as he let out a huff of air, he heard it. Next door, he could make out muffled voices. One was yelling. Narrowing his eyes, he stood up from his desk, and stared out of his window. Just across the yard, he could see a man and a young girl struggling. It didn't take a rocket scientist to put two and two together. Michael frowned, running a hand through his hair absentmindedly. Later, he decided, he'd knock and make sure everything was alright.
Ambria
Member
McKenzie Jocelyn Emerson
Why should I keep trying so hard to come home to this? What's it worth, really?
Why should I keep trying so hard to come home to this? What's it worth, really?
Thoughts like this were the only thing going through the young woman's head right now. She wanted out. Out of all this total bull shit her mother called love. Pretty sad, right? If you love someone you're not supposed to let them get hurt. You're supposed to protect them, hell, you're supposed to shelter them even. Maybe, just maybe, that's what had her in such dismay.
"Now what?" She whispered to herself, rubbing the back of her neck with the hand that was just recently positioned around her side, to brace those precious bones that had been stricken so many, many times during this argument with her step-father, and the ones previously. She'd guessed he repeatedly stuck the same spot because he knew just how bad it would hurt her -- that's about accurate, eh?
Though, her question still stood; what would she do now? As easy as some could have answered (and there had been some rather simple, and self exclamatory answers that popped into her head), she only had one choice. To go home. To go back to the place that seemed to chew her up and spit her out every single night.
Wonderful, just wonderful.
Kenzie did her best to keep her mind off of those things while she was out, but for some reason, right now she couldn't even function. She needed a break. . . refuge. . . somewhere that she could hide, but also be with people at the same time who could somehow help her with all that had been going on in the damn place she called home.
Though, within a few hours, she'd gone for a drive, spent a while at the mall, then forced herself to come back home. She had to be forced, otherwise she'd never come back. She didn't want to be there, no. . . no, all she wanted anymore was a safe haven. . . someone she could trust. Way too much to ask for, at least in her mind. Little did she know, one day everything would change thanks to someone who was so close. Someone who was probably like her guardian angel, even.
She sat on the base of the sidewalk, with her feet hanging over the edge of it once she actually got comfortable. She'd be here all night if allowed. It was the one place she could go and actually be happy, well not happy, but content with everything.
Lady Odyssey
Gone.
Michael Tyler Pierce
Why the hell do I have to have insomnia?
Stupid, and utterly pointless thoughts popped and crackled in his mind like a firework show on the 4th of July. The eerie night wind drifted through the small town, whistling and howling up toward the full moon. Despite it being somewhat late (12:49 am to be exact), Michael was wide awake. Insomnia was a pain in his ass. He never did much productivity at night, so what was the point in staying up? Pacing and thinking seemed to always fill his agenda during the restless nights. Couldn't remember a night in which he's slept without waking up. Kayla had been worried sick when she discovered he had been diagnosed with insomnia at the age of eleven. Frequent doctor visits led to medication. It was apparent medication and sleeping pills weren't the trick for Michael to this day.
Shadows greeted him upon the dark walls of his room, his only company through the night it seemed. Kicking the covers off with frustration and defeat, he glided over the wooden floor with ease and many nights of practice. His shallow breathing the only sound, he slipped on a light jacket. Shoes tied on his feet, his eyes shot towards the alarm clock near his bed. 1:04 a.m. Lips parting, he quietly slipped out of his bedroom and shut the door with a soft click, wincing at the slightest of noise which echoed through the dead house. Darkness engulfed his vision, but with precision and caution, he eased himself down the staircase. He then wondered what Layla would say if she found out he sneaks out of the house every night. Certainly, she wouldn't be upset. Just a little worried, like any adoptive mother would be.
Bright stars scattered throughout the blank sky like freckles, twinkling and shining down on him. The moon sailed high above, casting dim rays down to the ground. Michael stuffed his hands inside the pockets of his jacket, shivering along with a gust of wind. Darkness seemed to sweep over everything in sight, though he didn't seem to mind too much as he began walking the along the normal route. Despite having taken the route many, many times over the course of his years spent in the small town, Michael couldn't help but to feel alive under the night sky. Free, even. The chirping crickets, the glowing fireflies. It all made him crack a smile, though he knew no one could see it he didn't mind. This is his home. Out here, under the stars. This is where he feels free. Alive.
Thoughts flashed through his mind about his biological father, questions not far behind. He couldn't help but to wonder how his father was doing, if he was looking up at the same night sky with a trace of a smile. Michael had always had mixed feelings about his biological father; after all, had it not been for him, he wouldn't be in Oregon. Though, the more he thought about it, it had grown to love Oregon. It felt like home. Not Detroit. Detroit was where he had been born. California never felt like home to him. He couldn't remember a good memory of being in California other than being at the beach. It was then that Michael decided he didn't want to move out of Oregon. Like, ever. He didn't want to face his biological father and the mixed feelings that came with him. He wanted to be right where he was. Home.
The road leading further and further from town began to wind, veering left and right. Michael kicked a rock out of his path, scuffing his converse shoes along the rough road. From the looks of it, the whole town was practically asleep except for the occasional light flickering on inside a house. Mike could slip out of town, and no one would notice until morning. Toying with the thought, he fiddled with the soft fabric inside the pocket of his jacket. Layla had given him so much. She may as well have been his real mother. Not that Michael knew who or where his biological mother was. Apparently, he wasn't worth her time. Michael really didn't give a shit outwardly, but even as a kid, he had felt hurt. He wasn't entirely sure if the feeling had gone away or not.
Just ahead, a dark figure sat on the edge of the road. Michael didn't seem fazed. On multiple occasions, he had seen other people take night walks. Still, he walked with caution as he approached the figure. He couldn't make the figure out, and had trouble deciding if it was a guy or a girl. Either way, he was sure it was someone he didn't know well, though he could bet he knew their name. Despite not getting out of the house often, he was pretty good with memorizing people's names and such. As he approached closer, he got a view of the person. It was definitely a girl. Looked to be around his age, blond hair. It took a moment to click the information in his mind. It was his next door neighbor.
Why the hell do I have to have insomnia?
Stupid, and utterly pointless thoughts popped and crackled in his mind like a firework show on the 4th of July. The eerie night wind drifted through the small town, whistling and howling up toward the full moon. Despite it being somewhat late (12:49 am to be exact), Michael was wide awake. Insomnia was a pain in his ass. He never did much productivity at night, so what was the point in staying up? Pacing and thinking seemed to always fill his agenda during the restless nights. Couldn't remember a night in which he's slept without waking up. Kayla had been worried sick when she discovered he had been diagnosed with insomnia at the age of eleven. Frequent doctor visits led to medication. It was apparent medication and sleeping pills weren't the trick for Michael to this day.
Shadows greeted him upon the dark walls of his room, his only company through the night it seemed. Kicking the covers off with frustration and defeat, he glided over the wooden floor with ease and many nights of practice. His shallow breathing the only sound, he slipped on a light jacket. Shoes tied on his feet, his eyes shot towards the alarm clock near his bed. 1:04 a.m. Lips parting, he quietly slipped out of his bedroom and shut the door with a soft click, wincing at the slightest of noise which echoed through the dead house. Darkness engulfed his vision, but with precision and caution, he eased himself down the staircase. He then wondered what Layla would say if she found out he sneaks out of the house every night. Certainly, she wouldn't be upset. Just a little worried, like any adoptive mother would be.
Bright stars scattered throughout the blank sky like freckles, twinkling and shining down on him. The moon sailed high above, casting dim rays down to the ground. Michael stuffed his hands inside the pockets of his jacket, shivering along with a gust of wind. Darkness seemed to sweep over everything in sight, though he didn't seem to mind too much as he began walking the along the normal route. Despite having taken the route many, many times over the course of his years spent in the small town, Michael couldn't help but to feel alive under the night sky. Free, even. The chirping crickets, the glowing fireflies. It all made him crack a smile, though he knew no one could see it he didn't mind. This is his home. Out here, under the stars. This is where he feels free. Alive.
Thoughts flashed through his mind about his biological father, questions not far behind. He couldn't help but to wonder how his father was doing, if he was looking up at the same night sky with a trace of a smile. Michael had always had mixed feelings about his biological father; after all, had it not been for him, he wouldn't be in Oregon. Though, the more he thought about it, it had grown to love Oregon. It felt like home. Not Detroit. Detroit was where he had been born. California never felt like home to him. He couldn't remember a good memory of being in California other than being at the beach. It was then that Michael decided he didn't want to move out of Oregon. Like, ever. He didn't want to face his biological father and the mixed feelings that came with him. He wanted to be right where he was. Home.
The road leading further and further from town began to wind, veering left and right. Michael kicked a rock out of his path, scuffing his converse shoes along the rough road. From the looks of it, the whole town was practically asleep except for the occasional light flickering on inside a house. Mike could slip out of town, and no one would notice until morning. Toying with the thought, he fiddled with the soft fabric inside the pocket of his jacket. Layla had given him so much. She may as well have been his real mother. Not that Michael knew who or where his biological mother was. Apparently, he wasn't worth her time. Michael really didn't give a shit outwardly, but even as a kid, he had felt hurt. He wasn't entirely sure if the feeling had gone away or not.
Just ahead, a dark figure sat on the edge of the road. Michael didn't seem fazed. On multiple occasions, he had seen other people take night walks. Still, he walked with caution as he approached the figure. He couldn't make the figure out, and had trouble deciding if it was a guy or a girl. Either way, he was sure it was someone he didn't know well, though he could bet he knew their name. Despite not getting out of the house often, he was pretty good with memorizing people's names and such. As he approached closer, he got a view of the person. It was definitely a girl. Looked to be around his age, blond hair. It took a moment to click the information in his mind. It was his next door neighbor.
Why the hell is she all the way out here?
"You alright?"
Michael is no doctor, but judging by what he had seen earlier, it looked like a hell of a beating. He knew from experience, too. Back in California, his father would get so high he could barely stand. When his father went through withdraws, he'd take it out on Michael. Mike remembered every punch, every kick. Every scream parted from his own throat, every yell from his father telling him to shut up. Wincing at the memory, he sat down beside her. Her name was McKenzie, if he recalled correctly. Clearing his throat, he glanced at her through the moonlight.
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Ambria
Member
McKenzie Jocelyn Emerson
Deep in thought, McKenzie leaned over and rested her head between her knees. It was relaxing. Peaceful even. This was the one place she was actually able to breathe without the fear of her step-father coming back to find her. . . To hurt her. . . Again. One day. . . One day he would pay, and that she knew for a fact. A very well fact. God help the man once she's over eighteen. . . If it was up to her, he would never do that to any other woman or girl again—
The sound of footsteps in the distance forced McKenzie to correct her posture in order to get a view of whom—or what—exactly was coming in the distance. The girl did her best to make out the figure, picking small features to go by; it's posture, body type, their height—you get it. This, in layman's terms, simply meant she was sizing him up to be sure he wasn't her step-father or anyone else she didn't know. Luckily for her, as the figure began to get closer, and closer, and even closer, she could easily see that it―now recognizable as a young man, maybe even someone her age―was far too tall to be her 5'8" step-father.
Who the hell is this?
The way he spoke to her made her think that they must have known one another once upon a time. Her head began to flood with more questions than ever. She couldn't remember the voice. However, once she saw his face, it was obvious she was hit with a ray of shock.
Michael.
She'd not spoken to him since he moved here. Well, of course, they'd exchange smiles every once in a while, but it was nothing major. No long, deep conversations or anything. This, though? This was taking on a new level of weird. For both of them.
She turned a shade of red that anyone could have seen, even in this darkness. How the hell did he know about all of that?! The thought, the question, it all made her wonder rather or not this was a dream. She'd had ones like this in the past, where this boy would be her knight in shining armor, taking her far, far away from this goddamned place she was being forced to call home.
"Wait, so, you're asking if I'm alright?"
Her brow arched in frustration. She didn't need his answer. He had just told her that he saw what happened. . . How could she possibly be alright after all of that? After what her stepfather did, how could she? Honestly, that question seemed better left unanswered. So, in spite of answering him with the obvious choice, she simply nodded her head. Sinking back into the pavement, if possible, to wrap her arms back around her waist.
"Fucked up? Yeah. It is, but that doesn't mean I'm not okay. . . Though, even if I weren't, what can I do? Nothing. Nothing. . . There's absolutely nothing I can do to get away from that shit—" She trailed off, running a hand through her hair with a soft sigh. "Why do you care? And, oh. . .How did you see?"
It was a simple enough question, right? She'd just wanted to know what all she would have to in order to prevent it from happening again. To prevent him from seeing that damn fallout once more. To keep them both from this whole mess. Yeah, it hurt. It hurt like hell to talk about — to even think about, at that. However, at times, she wished she would have been able to open up to someone. Anyone. Michael, though, they hade more in common then she knew. Than she would ever know, unless he told her about his past, that is.
Deep in thought, McKenzie leaned over and rested her head between her knees. It was relaxing. Peaceful even. This was the one place she was actually able to breathe without the fear of her step-father coming back to find her. . . To hurt her. . . Again. One day. . . One day he would pay, and that she knew for a fact. A very well fact. God help the man once she's over eighteen. . . If it was up to her, he would never do that to any other woman or girl again—
The sound of footsteps in the distance forced McKenzie to correct her posture in order to get a view of whom—or what—exactly was coming in the distance. The girl did her best to make out the figure, picking small features to go by; it's posture, body type, their height—you get it. This, in layman's terms, simply meant she was sizing him up to be sure he wasn't her step-father or anyone else she didn't know. Luckily for her, as the figure began to get closer, and closer, and even closer, she could easily see that it―now recognizable as a young man, maybe even someone her age―was far too tall to be her 5'8" step-father.
Who the hell is this?
The way he spoke to her made her think that they must have known one another once upon a time. Her head began to flood with more questions than ever. She couldn't remember the voice. However, once she saw his face, it was obvious she was hit with a ray of shock.
Michael.
She'd not spoken to him since he moved here. Well, of course, they'd exchange smiles every once in a while, but it was nothing major. No long, deep conversations or anything. This, though? This was taking on a new level of weird. For both of them.
She turned a shade of red that anyone could have seen, even in this darkness. How the hell did he know about all of that?! The thought, the question, it all made her wonder rather or not this was a dream. She'd had ones like this in the past, where this boy would be her knight in shining armor, taking her far, far away from this goddamned place she was being forced to call home.
"Wait, so, you're asking if I'm alright?"
Her brow arched in frustration. She didn't need his answer. He had just told her that he saw what happened. . . How could she possibly be alright after all of that? After what her stepfather did, how could she? Honestly, that question seemed better left unanswered. So, in spite of answering him with the obvious choice, she simply nodded her head. Sinking back into the pavement, if possible, to wrap her arms back around her waist.
"Fucked up? Yeah. It is, but that doesn't mean I'm not okay. . . Though, even if I weren't, what can I do? Nothing. Nothing. . . There's absolutely nothing I can do to get away from that shit—" She trailed off, running a hand through her hair with a soft sigh. "Why do you care? And, oh. . .How did you see?"
It was a simple enough question, right? She'd just wanted to know what all she would have to in order to prevent it from happening again. To prevent him from seeing that damn fallout once more. To keep them both from this whole mess. Yeah, it hurt. It hurt like hell to talk about — to even think about, at that. However, at times, she wished she would have been able to open up to someone. Anyone. Michael, though, they hade more in common then she knew. Than she would ever know, unless he told her about his past, that is.
(OOC: Sorry it's short. D: I had a slight case of writers block.)
Lady Odyssey
Gone.
Michael Tyler Pierce
Michael brushed a few pebbles off of the curb before seating himself down beside her. Though he was curious as to why she was out here, deep down he knew why. When he had been living with his father in California, all he ever dreamed of was running away. Running until his mind was erased of any memories associated with his father. So, in a way, he understood why she was out here in the middle of the road, a few miles away from town under the night sky. However, it still struck him odd to find her all alone. He had half expected she’d instead run to a close friend. Everyone loved the girl, really. Half the guys in the locker room in fifth period talked about her. It was obvious to everyone the teachers loved her. He had assumed she had plenty of friends to run to. Apparently he was wrong.
What the hell do I know? I barely know her anyway.
Michael made too many assumptions, despite being in a small town. Although he has been living in the two for six years, he had never fully acquainted himself with everyone. For all he knew, the girl could be living with ten cats and six dogs. From that moment on, he decided to attempt to break his habit of assuming. It was extremely rude, and he hated it himself; most people he met with assumed he lived with two normal parents, in a normal household until he explained to him his previous life with his biological father. That usually shuts them the hell up. Still, it was a bit natural for Mike to make assumptions on his observations. Now that he thought about it, he never really saw her out much with the exception of the few times they bumped into each other at the small market.
The shock, as well as embarrassment, was eminent in her face despite the darkness which engulfed them. Mike knew she recognized him, despite having met six years ago. Although the two have occasionally met in the small convenience store everyone in town went to, the two have never had a proper conversation until now. And even now, their conversation was quite brief. He wasn’t sure if it was his fault, or she just didn’t want to talk to him. Like, at all. Certainly, he wouldn’t blame her if that was the case. Hell, a few years back, he never spoke about his father himself. No one came for help until someone witnessed it. Never did he scream for help. He had been too terrified of what his father might have done if he had tried seeking help. No one would understand that.
“Well, the hell wouldn’t I? For all I know, he could have beat you shitlessly,” he scrunched his eyebrows in confusion as he sighed, glancing at her. “Jesus Christ. No one knows but me, right?” Michael wasn’t surprised. No one had suspected anything of his father until he was convicted of child abuse, possession of drugs, and intoxication back when Mike had been nine years old. Countless times, he had been asked if he was alright by the social workers, foster parents and, eventually, his adoptive parents. He remembered he had eventually stopped answering, and began non-verbally answering with a simple nod, just like McKenzie has done.
“Dude, you’re obviously not. Don’t be a dumbass,” he spoke, sitting up to get a closer look at her. For one thing, he noticed her nose was straight, unlike his. She didn’t appear to have any visible bruising on the face. He assumed whoever the guy was (most likely her father), he was careful to make sure he didn’t mark her enough to make it obvious. “I know you’re probably pissed at me, but I really don’t care. That’s really fucked up, if I do say so myself. So, are you gonna tell me the true answer, or will I have to take you to the hospital?” Michael was not going to sit by and let some dick push around some girl, like his father had done to him. Only, he had never had a saviour to prevent the damage which his father had caused, and still impacted him today. Often Michael had dreamed of what it would have been like if someone had been there for him earlier to help him when he needed help.
“What do you mean, why do I care?” he snapped, sighing. “Jesus Christ. Why the fuck wouldn’t I care? You don’t know anything about me, and all I’m doing is trying to help. Don’t you get it? I’ve been where you’ve been. Ever wonder why you never see me, ever wonder why I’m homeschooled? Well. Obviously I didn’t have a childhood full of rainbows and fucking daisies. So are you going to let me help or not?” Michael wasn’t going to put up with any bullshit anymore.
“It doesn’t matter how I saw, alright? And don’t say that bullshit. There’s always a way to get away from that shit. Hell, I got away, and I didn’t even have much help.”
Michael brushed a few pebbles off of the curb before seating himself down beside her. Though he was curious as to why she was out here, deep down he knew why. When he had been living with his father in California, all he ever dreamed of was running away. Running until his mind was erased of any memories associated with his father. So, in a way, he understood why she was out here in the middle of the road, a few miles away from town under the night sky. However, it still struck him odd to find her all alone. He had half expected she’d instead run to a close friend. Everyone loved the girl, really. Half the guys in the locker room in fifth period talked about her. It was obvious to everyone the teachers loved her. He had assumed she had plenty of friends to run to. Apparently he was wrong.
What the hell do I know? I barely know her anyway.
Michael made too many assumptions, despite being in a small town. Although he has been living in the two for six years, he had never fully acquainted himself with everyone. For all he knew, the girl could be living with ten cats and six dogs. From that moment on, he decided to attempt to break his habit of assuming. It was extremely rude, and he hated it himself; most people he met with assumed he lived with two normal parents, in a normal household until he explained to him his previous life with his biological father. That usually shuts them the hell up. Still, it was a bit natural for Mike to make assumptions on his observations. Now that he thought about it, he never really saw her out much with the exception of the few times they bumped into each other at the small market.
The shock, as well as embarrassment, was eminent in her face despite the darkness which engulfed them. Mike knew she recognized him, despite having met six years ago. Although the two have occasionally met in the small convenience store everyone in town went to, the two have never had a proper conversation until now. And even now, their conversation was quite brief. He wasn’t sure if it was his fault, or she just didn’t want to talk to him. Like, at all. Certainly, he wouldn’t blame her if that was the case. Hell, a few years back, he never spoke about his father himself. No one came for help until someone witnessed it. Never did he scream for help. He had been too terrified of what his father might have done if he had tried seeking help. No one would understand that.
“Well, the hell wouldn’t I? For all I know, he could have beat you shitlessly,” he scrunched his eyebrows in confusion as he sighed, glancing at her. “Jesus Christ. No one knows but me, right?” Michael wasn’t surprised. No one had suspected anything of his father until he was convicted of child abuse, possession of drugs, and intoxication back when Mike had been nine years old. Countless times, he had been asked if he was alright by the social workers, foster parents and, eventually, his adoptive parents. He remembered he had eventually stopped answering, and began non-verbally answering with a simple nod, just like McKenzie has done.
“Dude, you’re obviously not. Don’t be a dumbass,” he spoke, sitting up to get a closer look at her. For one thing, he noticed her nose was straight, unlike his. She didn’t appear to have any visible bruising on the face. He assumed whoever the guy was (most likely her father), he was careful to make sure he didn’t mark her enough to make it obvious. “I know you’re probably pissed at me, but I really don’t care. That’s really fucked up, if I do say so myself. So, are you gonna tell me the true answer, or will I have to take you to the hospital?” Michael was not going to sit by and let some dick push around some girl, like his father had done to him. Only, he had never had a saviour to prevent the damage which his father had caused, and still impacted him today. Often Michael had dreamed of what it would have been like if someone had been there for him earlier to help him when he needed help.
“What do you mean, why do I care?” he snapped, sighing. “Jesus Christ. Why the fuck wouldn’t I care? You don’t know anything about me, and all I’m doing is trying to help. Don’t you get it? I’ve been where you’ve been. Ever wonder why you never see me, ever wonder why I’m homeschooled? Well. Obviously I didn’t have a childhood full of rainbows and fucking daisies. So are you going to let me help or not?” Michael wasn’t going to put up with any bullshit anymore.
“It doesn’t matter how I saw, alright? And don’t say that bullshit. There’s always a way to get away from that shit. Hell, I got away, and I didn’t even have much help.”
Ambria
Member
McKenzie Jocelyn Emerson
He didn't have to know much, did he? Not to know that she was hurting. That she was in pain. How utterly messed up she was from the inside out . . . Not because of of the blows to her abdomen; nor the back hand to her cheeks. This was caused by the seven stupid years her step-father had been abusing her.
Why would he even want to know. . ? I don't know him, and he doesn't know me, right? Like, seriously, dude. . . We have only spoken to one another, like, once—okay, maybe more than once, but nothing major, right? Nothing deep like this . . . It feels so weird.
Much of her thoughts weren't too far off, right? I mean, the man seemed utterly crazy sitting in front of her, well beside her, right now. Never had anyone known before, and now all of a sudden people were coming around to ask about what happened, if she was okay, and rather or not she was hurt? No thank you! She felt like she was in a crowded room, suffocating. She was suffocating, but it wasn't all of his fault. It was hers as well; for keeping all of this locked up inside for so long. . . She may have had friends—I.e., the people that you hang out with when you have nothing at all better to do with your time; or the ones who are only there when they need something: a shoulder to cry on, a friend to help them, money, transportation, exc. you get it.— but none had ever ask, or caught up to how much she was hurting on the inside.
Maybe that's why this whole thing scared her so much. Maybe she was scared he would acthally break down those walls that surrounded her very guarded personality. He would be the first to ever get even this far, to make her want to spill everything to him, but she was worried she couldn't. Before, not even when teachers would ask about the bruises in the past would she break .
They both sat there in the silence for what seemed like forever, before McKenzie finally got up the courage to speak. "You're right, about the second thing." She began, tightening her hold around her legs. "You're the only one who knows at the time, and I am kind of hoping it stays that way, babe. It would be detrimental to my reputation." She pressed her lips tightly together, rolling her head back.
Babe? Really, Ken? Really?
However, what he said next kind of caught her off guard. What? He wasn't going to kiss her ass, pretend to give a crap about her, then maybe hope to take her somewhere more private?! Wow. Shocker! Most guys only had one thing on their mind when it came to her, or any other woman for that matter, and that was sex. But, Michael didn't seem like that. He wasn't. He couldn't be, not if he was so bold here. Right? Maybe, just maybe, she'd just found the one decent man alive.
"I'm not pissed, not at you—not at anyone. I'm just not quite sure what exactly you are going to gain by sitting here preaching to me. Oh, and, a hospital? They won't care. They've seen it all before. A broken arm, collarbone, dislocated shoulders. . . All because I 'fell' down the steps, according to my step-father. . . I—"
She listened. She listened closely, to every word that fell from his lips. Everything was starting to make sence: why he stopped to talk to her; why he had to ask about it; why he wasn't taking her stupid lie. Everything.
"I didn't know — I didn't know you went through this. . . I—I'm so sorry," she blinked as she let her eyes wonder up to his face. The light was just bright enough that she could see the features of his handsom, symmetrical face. "It's just, I — I never saw you around at school . . . I thought you were kicked out and forced into homeschool for some reason, now I get it. I understand exacrly why you hide yourself away. . . Possibly and probably for the same reasons I wish I could."
Wow, this just kept getting more and more deep, didn't it? McKenzie shifted in her position, letting her arms slip from around her knees, which forced her to sit up a bit more straight, whenever he moved closer to her.
"I'm not you, though. I'm not a kid anymore. No ones going to help me, that's what you don't get. My time is over. Now, it'll be looked at as just a cry for attention. Just as a fake scare, I guess. He's respected around town. He's loved. He knows people. I don't. . . My point is, I may know tons of people, but I don't have anyone I can run to. I can't just get up and leave. . . That's why I've felt with it for so long. . . Once, I got this bright idea that I could stab him with my scissors when he crawled into my bed. Guess what? Didn't work. At all. I mean, yeah, he still has a scar, but he's never forgotten it. He had just got worse since."
"I'm afraid you have no goddamn idea what you're slowly getting yourself into, Michael. I'm not the kind you should screw around with, trust me. . . I'm not worth worrying over, period."
He didn't have to know much, did he? Not to know that she was hurting. That she was in pain. How utterly messed up she was from the inside out . . . Not because of of the blows to her abdomen; nor the back hand to her cheeks. This was caused by the seven stupid years her step-father had been abusing her.
Why would he even want to know. . ? I don't know him, and he doesn't know me, right? Like, seriously, dude. . . We have only spoken to one another, like, once—okay, maybe more than once, but nothing major, right? Nothing deep like this . . . It feels so weird.
Much of her thoughts weren't too far off, right? I mean, the man seemed utterly crazy sitting in front of her, well beside her, right now. Never had anyone known before, and now all of a sudden people were coming around to ask about what happened, if she was okay, and rather or not she was hurt? No thank you! She felt like she was in a crowded room, suffocating. She was suffocating, but it wasn't all of his fault. It was hers as well; for keeping all of this locked up inside for so long. . . She may have had friends—I.e., the people that you hang out with when you have nothing at all better to do with your time; or the ones who are only there when they need something: a shoulder to cry on, a friend to help them, money, transportation, exc. you get it.— but none had ever ask, or caught up to how much she was hurting on the inside.
Maybe that's why this whole thing scared her so much. Maybe she was scared he would acthally break down those walls that surrounded her very guarded personality. He would be the first to ever get even this far, to make her want to spill everything to him, but she was worried she couldn't. Before, not even when teachers would ask about the bruises in the past would she break .
They both sat there in the silence for what seemed like forever, before McKenzie finally got up the courage to speak. "You're right, about the second thing." She began, tightening her hold around her legs. "You're the only one who knows at the time, and I am kind of hoping it stays that way, babe. It would be detrimental to my reputation." She pressed her lips tightly together, rolling her head back.
Babe? Really, Ken? Really?
However, what he said next kind of caught her off guard. What? He wasn't going to kiss her ass, pretend to give a crap about her, then maybe hope to take her somewhere more private?! Wow. Shocker! Most guys only had one thing on their mind when it came to her, or any other woman for that matter, and that was sex. But, Michael didn't seem like that. He wasn't. He couldn't be, not if he was so bold here. Right? Maybe, just maybe, she'd just found the one decent man alive.
"I'm not pissed, not at you—not at anyone. I'm just not quite sure what exactly you are going to gain by sitting here preaching to me. Oh, and, a hospital? They won't care. They've seen it all before. A broken arm, collarbone, dislocated shoulders. . . All because I 'fell' down the steps, according to my step-father. . . I—"
She listened. She listened closely, to every word that fell from his lips. Everything was starting to make sence: why he stopped to talk to her; why he had to ask about it; why he wasn't taking her stupid lie. Everything.
"I didn't know — I didn't know you went through this. . . I—I'm so sorry," she blinked as she let her eyes wonder up to his face. The light was just bright enough that she could see the features of his handsom, symmetrical face. "It's just, I — I never saw you around at school . . . I thought you were kicked out and forced into homeschool for some reason, now I get it. I understand exacrly why you hide yourself away. . . Possibly and probably for the same reasons I wish I could."
Wow, this just kept getting more and more deep, didn't it? McKenzie shifted in her position, letting her arms slip from around her knees, which forced her to sit up a bit more straight, whenever he moved closer to her.
"I'm not you, though. I'm not a kid anymore. No ones going to help me, that's what you don't get. My time is over. Now, it'll be looked at as just a cry for attention. Just as a fake scare, I guess. He's respected around town. He's loved. He knows people. I don't. . . My point is, I may know tons of people, but I don't have anyone I can run to. I can't just get up and leave. . . That's why I've felt with it for so long. . . Once, I got this bright idea that I could stab him with my scissors when he crawled into my bed. Guess what? Didn't work. At all. I mean, yeah, he still has a scar, but he's never forgotten it. He had just got worse since."
"I'm afraid you have no goddamn idea what you're slowly getting yourself into, Michael. I'm not the kind you should screw around with, trust me. . . I'm not worth worrying over, period."
