Cherry

Title: Cherry
Author: Birddi

Claimer: I do own this and all its copy rights.

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CHERRY

He knew it was because of his name that he was going to die a virgin. He never did like his name, it was a stupid name. How was he to expect a girl to like him if he had a name as stupid as Edward? Edward wasn’t an exciting name and he hated having to answer to it. Even after twelve years of hearing it and still he hadn’t been able to get used to it. It made him irritated like having a pebble in his shoe, and never quiet being able to get rid of it.


His Aunt May was the worst when it came to saying his name, though. When she said it, it was with a squeal, a piggy squeal. Puffing up her cheeks until they looked like two big puss-filled apples, all red and round. He would have to hear it said with a wailed ‘a’. It was his Aunt May’s fault that they were in this car for so long. She just had to get married and she just had to live out of town. It was unfair, he thought, that he was made to go. His aunt was stupid too.


Just like his stupid name and his stupid virginity. He didn’t want to be a virgin. It also didn’t matter that he was twelve; he knew that other twelve year olds weren’t virgins and he didn’t want to be either. Virgin. All because of his stupid name, he was going to die a virgin. His friends at school didn’t seem to see the big problem to this fact. They were after all only children, but he couldn’t quiet bring himself to forgive their ignorance.


He kept his eyes closed and rested his cheek against the glass of the car door’s window, pretending he wasn’t there. Fighting back a yawn, he tried to ignore the world. It didn’t work. It never did. The sun was too bright for that, and he once again peered out the window. Smudged trees and other cars no longer held any of his earlier attentiveness and now he thought they were rather boring. Boring and dull- just like everything else in the entire world, it didn’t matter though they were all going to die anyways. He’d make sure of that. To the right was the scenery he had just abandoned, and he turned to his left where his younger sister sat, asleep.


He bit his lip, hard. Something dark swept into him as he took in the pillow she was resting on, curled up on, was currently drooling on. That was his pillow after all, and she was using it, getting it dirty with her girl germs. He knew that girls didn’t have things like cooties anymore, but his sister was different. She was six and still ate her own snot, so of course she was filled with germs and now they were all over his pillow. His mom had noticed that his sister was in need of a nap a while ago and because he was a big boy now he was expected to give up his pillow, his pillow, the one he had been resting on, to his sister. It was unfair but he did it because his mom had asked him. He hated his sister.


Sweeping what he thought of as doctor’s eye over her, he knew it wouldn’t take much to wake his sister, her thumb stuck in her mouth. Really, a good swift pinch with his thumb and index finger on her thigh would do nicely. A shallow thing, he thought, just a bit of skin between the tips of his fingers, and she’d wake up with the pretty sound of a kicked cat. He weighed the thought of where on her small leg he would lay his mark. The thigh would be nice as everyone would see it but the back of the knee would be much more tender, and that was surely the way to go he decided.


He saw his hand move, but stopped it before it touched her. Instead, he placed it back in his lap. What he was thinking was wrong, terribly wrong, he knew; the adults with glasses had told him so. His mother would not approve. Having come back to himself he gave up on his plan. He scowled pitilessly now more so at himself than at his sister. Shifting in his seat to find a more comfortable position, and hiding himself he crossed his legs. Putting his elbows on the ledge of the door handle with more force than necessary, he was grateful for the new ache. It allowed him to focus on other things than his sister’s thigh.


He was going to die a virgin, he decided frowning. Now wanting another distraction from his thoughts, he grabbed a juice box from the floor at his feet not caring if it was warm from the long ride or not. It was an easy thing to rip the plastic straw and wrapper from the box’s side, roughing it out of its casing, and pushing it into the tin covered hole. He liked the small pop it made when he did it, absently wondering if his sister would make that sound. Laying his head once again against the glass, he bit his lip again forcing back a sigh or what he thought was a sigh. Instead he brought the straw to his lips and began to suck.


Cherry, he was drinking cherry.


He caught his mom’s look in the passenger’s side view mirror. Pausing, he stilled, watching his mother watch him. His mom was pretty, he thought, blonde and fair like the beauty ads. Her breasts were small, pointed at the tips, with large dusty red nipples that stood up tall. He had seen them many times when his mother would feed his sister, and wondered what it must have been like for his own to be suckling them.


He understood that the red lipstick that she wore on he lips was supposed to be attractive. While he didn’t really mind the color red when she wore it, he missed her usual pale lips that the color hid. She knew that he would see the smile in the mirror’s reflection. But before he could look away, worried of what his mom might see, he was forced to blink as the sun hit his eyes, and then his mom’s face changed. She was facing away from him. He lost his thirst, setting his drink between his knees he watched her in growing disgust. It wasn’t a pretty look anymore, he thought, even though he knew she’d thought it was still attractive. Her lips pinched outward and nose pulled upward, as she laughed at something his father had just said.


He kept gaze now on the reflection since she wouldn’t speak to him now that her attention had waned. It was only her red lips now. Opening, stretching, and closing as she spoke. Her crooked teeth peeking out, like playing the peek-a-boo game his mom would still play with his sister. Even though in his mind his sister was far too old to enjoy it, but his sister was stupid though and didn’t know better.


Peek, and every time her lips pulled across the teeth, they would show. She laughed, licking her lips with a pink tongue. He watched as she held her breathe waiting for whatever thing his father was about to say. Not that his father ever said anything amusing or funny, hardly said anything at all really. He hated that man more than he hated his aunt. At least his aunt wasn’t doing anything stupid, like telling his mom jokes and trying to make her laugh. His aunt didn’t try to press kisses to his mom’s hand. Sometimes when he forgot himself he wished that man was dead and now was one of those times. A stupid boring man, his father was. He didn’t see why his mom found him funny at all or why she had married him. He was much funnier after all.


He caught a movement to the side of his vision and turned to stare, to watch as his mom’s hand ran up his father’s arm. Up and down, down until his mom’s hand rested in his stupid father’s stupid, stupid lap. It didn’t move away. His gaze did though, and he focused on the mirror to watch her red lips and crooked teeth. He watched in hatred until he had to stop. His mom should not have an imperfection. He hated, hated so much that he couldn’t save his mom from her own crooked filth.


He closed his eyes tightly. She was germy like his sister and he wanted to escape. The thought of his mom being like his sister made him itch and he squirmed in the car seat. He felt like the entire world had become that pebble in his shoe. He wanted to leave it. He tried to think that he was flying high above all of this, where he wanted to be. But it still didn’t work, it never did. It never would, he knew.


His gaze was now on the passing landscape, barely recognizing the forms anymore. Where he watched, blankly, as the world around him started to dissolve and his stomach began to churn. It was like the butterflies he felt when he would brush his hair and a lock would stand up; not lying down like it should. He hated imperfection, he hated helplessness, absolutely hated it. He hated, hated, oh god, he so utterly hated it. Why did his mom have to be imperfect?


Lost, he turned his head once his mom gently started calling his name. Edward. Edward. Edward. She admonished him, now with her pretty smile, a smile all for him. Her eyes twinkled in play, for letting his juice box to teeter at the edge of his seat. My silly Edward, she said. She had such a pretty smile when she smiled at him. He thanked her for telling him. Yes, he thought, he had come close to letting it tip over. So very close. Like falling off the edge of a great cliff and landing hard. Where it would then splatter its dyeing juice across the car’s interior like a big water-balloon upon impact. Like a big water-balloon filled with all things red. It would have been pretty.


It would have formed a pool in the carpet underneath his heels. He knew this. He expected his father knew this, too. He had come so close to smelling cherry. The adults with glasses would not have approved of this but he didn’t care, he decided. He just wanted to know if he’d ever get to have sex with a girl with lips like his mom’s.


Just as long as his mom smiled at him, he knew, he’d be okay. His mom’s hand had not moved from his father’s lap. It was unfair, he needed to fix it. Reaching over with his hand he gripped his sister’s flesh between his fingers and wrenching it between his fingertips, until she woke up with the sound of a dying animal on her lips.


There, he thought, now things were perfect. Now, he felt like he was flying.