Breaking The Mirror
folder
Angst › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
3
Views:
1,947
Reviews:
9
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Angst › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
3
Views:
1,947
Reviews:
9
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Chapter Three
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Chapter Three
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Our new neighbor doesn’t get out much. Not that I mind. He’s terrifies the crap out of me. Those dark, piercing eyes look like they know all my secrets. But he doesn’t. He can’t.
But anyway, he isn’t important.
I completed Mr. Spenser’s paper on the first day. It was actually quite easy and he seemed really impressed with me. He’s way too nice. I don’t really trust nice people; they always want something from you. At least in my experience. So no more lunchtime with Mr. Spencer…that sounds like a bad cooking program.
I happen to like Wednesdays. I’m not in the house until about midnight, because my dad doesn’t want me to be. He’s got poker night. There’s about seven or eight guys there, and I don’t remember all of them, since the last time I saw them I was nine years old, but all of them have been, or should be in jail for something. My dad even sells/does drugs sometimes. They’ve been doing this poker night thing since I was about four, but after five years of me being around, my dad decided he didn’t want me dragging down his free time.
So I stay and walk around the mall- it’s right across the street from our apartment building - until it closes at eight O’clock. I’ve never bought anything from the mall. Ever. It’s just the only place you can walk around and look at everything without seeming like a crazy homeless person or a loiterer.
After the mall, I go try to kill four more hours doing whatever I can. There’s this place called ‘Lakeside Bookstore’ really close to apartments and I go there sometimes, on these uneventful Wednesdays. It isn’t next to a lake, which is just a little bit annoying. It fact, it’s next to a Captain D’s and a Hooters. Inside, a look around for an interesting book, grab one with a pretty cover without reading the back. That saying ‘Never judge a book by it’s cover’ is stupid when it actually comes to books. The best ones have the best covers, most of the time.
And if I’ve missed the next Harry Potter because of that theory, that’s it’s the publishing companies fault anyway, for not putting a decent cover on a good book.
I sit down in an armchair next to a woman in a Hooters uniform. Pantyhose, orange shorts that are practically underwear and a skimpy white tank top. I look at her out of the corner of my eye and see she’s reading a book that doesn’t have pictures. That means, she reads for fun, and that means I’m thinking why the hell does she work at fucking Hooters? A little stereotypical, I know, but still.
She’s spots me looking at her. I blush as I’m caught. Crap.
“I’m a lesbian,” She says to me, and I blink, looking at her.
“I- um…yes, ma’am?” I say. Talking to girls confuses me, since I’m so used to saying ‘Sir’ after yes or no. Only one of my teachers is female, and I almost never have to address her. She looks at me, her long dirty-blond hair falling in front of her eyes.
“I saw you looking and I thought I’d curb your natural desire to ask me out on a date,” She responds and I blink. Oh. I hadn’t thought of her sexually at all.
“N-no! I didn’t…I wasn’t…I was just thinking about something is all…I wasn’t –” This is why I don’t fucking talk to people. I stutter and babble and loose control. ‘Yes, sir’ and ‘No, sir’ are so simple. She’s screwed up my routine. She sort of sticks her bottom lip at in a ‘Huh, you’re telling the truth’ kind of way and nods.
“Alright then, sorry I just blurted that out then,” She cocks her head and raises an elegant, blond eyebrow, “What else where you thinking about me then?”
“I…” I don’t want to talk anymore. Damn. Bookstores are supposed to be quiet. You’re supposed to read, not talk. “Just wondering…um…why you’re working at Hooters, I guess…”
“Because I enjoy guys grabbing my ass and making me spill the hot wings all over the ground,” She sneers in a sarcastic way that shows she means the exact opposite of her words, and that she’s talking from experience.
“Sorry, ma’am,” I say and she narrows her eyes.
“Don’t call me that, my name is Linda, and I’m nineteen; barely old enough to be called ma’am,” She shakes her head, “I’m only working at Hooters because my insane girlfriend insists on working there, and I’m there to make sure those men keeping looking with their eyes.”
“Ah.” So she was serious about the lesbian thing. “Sorry.”
She squints at me, “You apologize too much.”
“Sorry.”
She sighs, “What happened to your face?”
My bruise is starting to fade, thank goodness. “On a boat. The big pole thing came around when I wasn’t expecting it. Hit me pretty hard.”
What the hell? I’ll never see her again.
She snorts.
“Fine, don’t tell the truth,” She shrugs and I try not to gape.
Sorry, I don’t mean to brag or anything, but I’m a damn good liar. No one ever doesn’t believe me. No matter how farfetched. Like that stupid boating accident. I used it before in seventh grade and my principal believed me. And my principal was a bitch, too. Why doesn’t this woman –Linda, wasn’t it? –believe me? That’s just not…believable. She smirks and taps her head.
“I’ve got a lie detector built into my brain,” She tells me, her lips stretched in that smug smirk. I’ve decided I don’t like her, and this novel’s cover isn’t that good. I’m leaving the first chance I get…without being rude, of course.
“Yes,” I agree with her –women like to be agreed with right? Maybe then she’ll leave be alone. I stand up and she chuckles.
“I made you uncomfortable, did I?” She asks me amusedly, “Sorry, but I just do that to people I suppose. If you’re leaving, fine. See you around.”
I start to walk away but suddenly, she’s right in front of me. She’s really fast. I didn’t have time to react, even though I heard her leave her seat. She grabs my collar and pulls me down -she’s only about 5’4 -so that her face is right in front of mine.
“But next time, I’m getting the truth.” Yeah, there won’t be a next time.
Then she lets go.
I get out of there pretty fast.
-
When I get back to the apartment, it’s only nine thirty. That means two and a half more hours of just sitting on the porch and doing nothing. Just breathing and counting the minutes until my butt goes numb. Great. I take the last step up to where apartments 330 –340 are and walk over to the soda machine.
I lean my back against the wall and slide down until I’m sitting on the ground with my knees drawn up to my chest. I take a deep breath of the cool air and bang my head against the wall. I can’t go to sleep, because if I sleep past the time the poker party is over, he’ll leave me out here. Don’t blame him. Like he has time to make sure I get inside when I’m not paying attention. Pfft.
A long time passes, like an hour or so, and then the door to 333 opens. The new guy comes out, talking on a cell phone and pulling a cigarette off of his ear. For a second, he doesn’t notice me, and continues to talk.
“…So nothing so far, but I’ve only been here for three days,” He says, shutting his door behind him. “Oh, please, you’re the one who assigned…oh, hey, kid.”
I look at him, surprised. Did he actually say hello to me? Well, to be specific, it was ‘hey’, not ‘hello’, but that hardly matters. That he greeted me in any way shape or form amazes the hell out of me. He mutters something else to the person he’s talking to on the phone and them snaps it closed and shoves it in his pocket.
“What the hell are you doing out here, anyway?” He sneers at me, pulling out a match from his opposite pocket. Who uses matches to light cigarettes anymore?
I shrug and look at the ground.
“You don’t talk much, do you, brat?” He asked, flicking his wrist so fast the small flicker of a flame goes out. I notice he makes sure to throw it in the trashcan.
“No, sir,” I reply to his question quietly. He snorts.
“Don’t you care at all that I’m calling you a brat?” He asks, his dark eyes boring into me intensely. He’s so serious and severe…it’s frightening. I blink. Why would I care about that? I’ve been called so many other things. Why, do other people get mad about things like that? That seems superfluous.
“No, sir.”
His brow furrows but he doesn’t say anything more.
We just stay there for a while. I want to ask him questions, because he’s confusing the hell out of me. Why did he say hello to me? Why did he purposely throw that match in the trash when most would just stomp it into the floor and leave it? Why does he smoke outside when I’m positive no one else is living with him to be bothered by the smoke? Why did he care if I minded being called a brat? What’s his name?
I don’t ask any of it though.
I never do.
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Sorry about spelling Neighbor wrong! I fixed it! Please review, and I'm glad you like it!
AMV
Chapter Three
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Our new neighbor doesn’t get out much. Not that I mind. He’s terrifies the crap out of me. Those dark, piercing eyes look like they know all my secrets. But he doesn’t. He can’t.
But anyway, he isn’t important.
I completed Mr. Spenser’s paper on the first day. It was actually quite easy and he seemed really impressed with me. He’s way too nice. I don’t really trust nice people; they always want something from you. At least in my experience. So no more lunchtime with Mr. Spencer…that sounds like a bad cooking program.
I happen to like Wednesdays. I’m not in the house until about midnight, because my dad doesn’t want me to be. He’s got poker night. There’s about seven or eight guys there, and I don’t remember all of them, since the last time I saw them I was nine years old, but all of them have been, or should be in jail for something. My dad even sells/does drugs sometimes. They’ve been doing this poker night thing since I was about four, but after five years of me being around, my dad decided he didn’t want me dragging down his free time.
So I stay and walk around the mall- it’s right across the street from our apartment building - until it closes at eight O’clock. I’ve never bought anything from the mall. Ever. It’s just the only place you can walk around and look at everything without seeming like a crazy homeless person or a loiterer.
After the mall, I go try to kill four more hours doing whatever I can. There’s this place called ‘Lakeside Bookstore’ really close to apartments and I go there sometimes, on these uneventful Wednesdays. It isn’t next to a lake, which is just a little bit annoying. It fact, it’s next to a Captain D’s and a Hooters. Inside, a look around for an interesting book, grab one with a pretty cover without reading the back. That saying ‘Never judge a book by it’s cover’ is stupid when it actually comes to books. The best ones have the best covers, most of the time.
And if I’ve missed the next Harry Potter because of that theory, that’s it’s the publishing companies fault anyway, for not putting a decent cover on a good book.
I sit down in an armchair next to a woman in a Hooters uniform. Pantyhose, orange shorts that are practically underwear and a skimpy white tank top. I look at her out of the corner of my eye and see she’s reading a book that doesn’t have pictures. That means, she reads for fun, and that means I’m thinking why the hell does she work at fucking Hooters? A little stereotypical, I know, but still.
She’s spots me looking at her. I blush as I’m caught. Crap.
“I’m a lesbian,” She says to me, and I blink, looking at her.
“I- um…yes, ma’am?” I say. Talking to girls confuses me, since I’m so used to saying ‘Sir’ after yes or no. Only one of my teachers is female, and I almost never have to address her. She looks at me, her long dirty-blond hair falling in front of her eyes.
“I saw you looking and I thought I’d curb your natural desire to ask me out on a date,” She responds and I blink. Oh. I hadn’t thought of her sexually at all.
“N-no! I didn’t…I wasn’t…I was just thinking about something is all…I wasn’t –” This is why I don’t fucking talk to people. I stutter and babble and loose control. ‘Yes, sir’ and ‘No, sir’ are so simple. She’s screwed up my routine. She sort of sticks her bottom lip at in a ‘Huh, you’re telling the truth’ kind of way and nods.
“Alright then, sorry I just blurted that out then,” She cocks her head and raises an elegant, blond eyebrow, “What else where you thinking about me then?”
“I…” I don’t want to talk anymore. Damn. Bookstores are supposed to be quiet. You’re supposed to read, not talk. “Just wondering…um…why you’re working at Hooters, I guess…”
“Because I enjoy guys grabbing my ass and making me spill the hot wings all over the ground,” She sneers in a sarcastic way that shows she means the exact opposite of her words, and that she’s talking from experience.
“Sorry, ma’am,” I say and she narrows her eyes.
“Don’t call me that, my name is Linda, and I’m nineteen; barely old enough to be called ma’am,” She shakes her head, “I’m only working at Hooters because my insane girlfriend insists on working there, and I’m there to make sure those men keeping looking with their eyes.”
“Ah.” So she was serious about the lesbian thing. “Sorry.”
She squints at me, “You apologize too much.”
“Sorry.”
She sighs, “What happened to your face?”
My bruise is starting to fade, thank goodness. “On a boat. The big pole thing came around when I wasn’t expecting it. Hit me pretty hard.”
What the hell? I’ll never see her again.
She snorts.
“Fine, don’t tell the truth,” She shrugs and I try not to gape.
Sorry, I don’t mean to brag or anything, but I’m a damn good liar. No one ever doesn’t believe me. No matter how farfetched. Like that stupid boating accident. I used it before in seventh grade and my principal believed me. And my principal was a bitch, too. Why doesn’t this woman –Linda, wasn’t it? –believe me? That’s just not…believable. She smirks and taps her head.
“I’ve got a lie detector built into my brain,” She tells me, her lips stretched in that smug smirk. I’ve decided I don’t like her, and this novel’s cover isn’t that good. I’m leaving the first chance I get…without being rude, of course.
“Yes,” I agree with her –women like to be agreed with right? Maybe then she’ll leave be alone. I stand up and she chuckles.
“I made you uncomfortable, did I?” She asks me amusedly, “Sorry, but I just do that to people I suppose. If you’re leaving, fine. See you around.”
I start to walk away but suddenly, she’s right in front of me. She’s really fast. I didn’t have time to react, even though I heard her leave her seat. She grabs my collar and pulls me down -she’s only about 5’4 -so that her face is right in front of mine.
“But next time, I’m getting the truth.” Yeah, there won’t be a next time.
Then she lets go.
I get out of there pretty fast.
-
When I get back to the apartment, it’s only nine thirty. That means two and a half more hours of just sitting on the porch and doing nothing. Just breathing and counting the minutes until my butt goes numb. Great. I take the last step up to where apartments 330 –340 are and walk over to the soda machine.
I lean my back against the wall and slide down until I’m sitting on the ground with my knees drawn up to my chest. I take a deep breath of the cool air and bang my head against the wall. I can’t go to sleep, because if I sleep past the time the poker party is over, he’ll leave me out here. Don’t blame him. Like he has time to make sure I get inside when I’m not paying attention. Pfft.
A long time passes, like an hour or so, and then the door to 333 opens. The new guy comes out, talking on a cell phone and pulling a cigarette off of his ear. For a second, he doesn’t notice me, and continues to talk.
“…So nothing so far, but I’ve only been here for three days,” He says, shutting his door behind him. “Oh, please, you’re the one who assigned…oh, hey, kid.”
I look at him, surprised. Did he actually say hello to me? Well, to be specific, it was ‘hey’, not ‘hello’, but that hardly matters. That he greeted me in any way shape or form amazes the hell out of me. He mutters something else to the person he’s talking to on the phone and them snaps it closed and shoves it in his pocket.
“What the hell are you doing out here, anyway?” He sneers at me, pulling out a match from his opposite pocket. Who uses matches to light cigarettes anymore?
I shrug and look at the ground.
“You don’t talk much, do you, brat?” He asked, flicking his wrist so fast the small flicker of a flame goes out. I notice he makes sure to throw it in the trashcan.
“No, sir,” I reply to his question quietly. He snorts.
“Don’t you care at all that I’m calling you a brat?” He asks, his dark eyes boring into me intensely. He’s so serious and severe…it’s frightening. I blink. Why would I care about that? I’ve been called so many other things. Why, do other people get mad about things like that? That seems superfluous.
“No, sir.”
His brow furrows but he doesn’t say anything more.
We just stay there for a while. I want to ask him questions, because he’s confusing the hell out of me. Why did he say hello to me? Why did he purposely throw that match in the trash when most would just stomp it into the floor and leave it? Why does he smoke outside when I’m positive no one else is living with him to be bothered by the smoke? Why did he care if I minded being called a brat? What’s his name?
I don’t ask any of it though.
I never do.
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Sorry about spelling Neighbor wrong! I fixed it! Please review, and I'm glad you like it!
AMV