by Leen Elle
"Mason," she said, her voice softening just a tad. "It's just your first day here, and you're already picking a fight with someone else." I didn't even bother to correct her. Would she have believed me if I insisted vehemently that I wasn't actually the one who started the fight? Considering the fact that he was the one with the injuries and not me, that is. No, I seriously doubt so.
"Sit down, Mason. Your previous school expelled you because you broke a boy's arm in a fistfight that you started as well. Do you want that to happen again?" She paused, looking at me for an answer. Without even waiting for one, she ploughed straight on. "No, I don't think you do. Why, Mason, did you go and land yourself into trouble?"
I could not think of an answer to that as I sank into the couch that faced her long chestnut desk. I ran a hand through my spiked hair, making it stand up even more. I didn't want to land in trouble, god knows how hard it was for me to suppress my anger and not bash up anyone whom I didn't take to. I tried so hard to change, just so that I could set a good role model for Melvin, not that it was going to work anymore, seeing as my resolution came a little late. Yet all my efforts went right down the drain with one single stupid punch from my fucked up hand with a damned mind of its own. That's right, Viper. Blame your hand indeed.
"Why, Mason?" Madam Pince persisted, repeating her question, clearly waiting for an answer.
"I didn't want to." I croaked. "I didn't mean to. I didn't even think I was ever going to land into trouble again. I tried so hard to change, I really did. But honestly, I don't think I can ever control those feelings of anger."
I played with the leather cords again, twisting my finger around them. I stopped myself but soon found my hand straying to my eyebrow, fingering my eyebrow ring again. I could not seem to stop fidgeting, unsure of what to do under the penetrating gaze of Madam Pince. Never in my whole life have I felt so despondent before. I wanted to kill myself right there and then. How could Viper, the one person I had so whole-heartedly cultivated, allow himself to have real emotions?
Forcing myself to meet her gaze, I held it there for as long as I could. I repeated, "I really tried to change myself for the better, whether you believe me or not."
"Mason, I don't doubt you the slightest bit, but only you can really control yourself. You can do it. It's just a matter of how determined you are," I continued sitting there in silence, letting her words wash over me. "I know your previous school said that you were in a band, and you know how to play the guitar. They also commented that you have an amazing gift for art. Is that true?" I felt myself nod numbly.
"In that case, I'd love to place you in the art class as an extra module, is that alright with you?" I nodded again, thoroughly shocked that someone was caring about me. "And at the same time, you can bring your guitar to school and you can practice in the band room any time you want, unless the band is having their CCA." All I could do then, was to croak out a thank you and leave the room.
RAYLIN
Driving up to the book house I worked at after school, I dropped Leila off at her house. I went behind the counter to fix my make-up, applying another layer of clear gloss and a fresh coat of tan blusher. Like I had explained to the girls many times, I didn't work at this job for the money. The owner of this shop was a friend of my grandmother's, and she was getting old, too old to stand behind the counter for too long. Knowing this, my grandmother had implored me to help her out. Out of sympathy and understanding of the fact that the owner didn't want to hire a stranger, I agreed to take the job.
The book house was like a café cum library, where there was a counter with coffee machines and another counter for customers to rent the books they wanted. The glass counter was laden with beautiful home-baked cakes and strudels baked by the owner herself. Just then, she emerged from the back door, walking over to give me a hug. Her name was Maria and she was very grandmotherly, having opened this shop because of her love for books and coffee.
As I worked the coffee machines to serve a latte and mocha to the bespectacled gentleman, I checked my appearance in the shiny surface of it. The customer smiled gratefully at me and took the cups from me. A familiar voice came floating over the countertop, "A hot chocolate, please." I turned to see the Goth boy from my class. If he recognized me, he made no sign of it. Serving him his drink, I watched as he took a seat in a corner of the café.
He was, in Calista's words, absolutely cute. Even I could not deny the fact that he had amazing eyes and great cheekbones. Although he was, in blunt words, a Goth, he had a loping elegance about him. The way he held his pencil, the way he moved and even the way he was holding his cup. I shook my head slightly, looking away. What was I thinking? Studying a customer so intensely.
He looked my way and caught me looking at him. He smirked, his lips curving nicely. I scowled and looked away. Suddenly, there was a shriek from the other coffeemaker and I rushed over. Sandy, the other assistant Maria had hired, had spilled boiling water over her own hand, scalding it tremendously. Immediately, I grabbed the first aid kid and stuck her hand under ice cold water, waiting for the burning and swelling to reduce. I wrapped up her burn quickly, applying a generous amount of burn ointment on it. Forcing her into a chair, I made her nurse her hand while I cleaned up the spilt water.
"Seriously, Raylin, I don't know what I'd do without you," Maria smiled fondly at me as she replaced the first aid kit to its rightful place. "You're just so efficient and calm in such situations."
Smiling, I continued mopping the area before serving up a cup of strong espresso to the frazzled woman behind the counter. Her hair was frizzled as she held a baby in her arms. I made it extra strong for her, taking pity on her pathetic state. She gave me a truly thankful smile and went to a table. Maria reached past me and took out a slice of chocolate cake from the chilled counter and gave it to her. She looked at the old woman wonderingly.
"Chocolate helps!" Sandy called from the counter where she was back in action, grinding the coffee beans.
VIPER
I was startled when the pretty girl behind the counter turned to face me. It was that Lachey girl who sat beside me in class. Her name tag read 'Raylin'. Well, it was a rather nice name. In fact, I quite liked it. Keeping my face emotionless as usual, I ordered a hot chocolate, adding a please on auto-pilot. One day, I really had to sit down and shake away all the manners my mother had drilled into me, they weren't matching up to my appearance. I took my drink from her, avoiding eye contact and walking to the table in the corner furthest away.
While she worked, I studied the careful way she balanced the cups as she poured scalding coffee into them, serving them with a brilliant smile at the customer. However, I noticed that the smiles were fake, never reaching her eyes. Why? I wondered. Her hips swayed gently in her pale blue jeans as she moved around, shifting things and tapping the cash register. I watched the way her long fingers wrapped around the coffee beans' bottles, the way her top slipped off her shoulder so suggestively and the nice way her tanned skin set off against the white cotton of her top. I coughed as I choked on my hot chocolate. I hadn't realized that I was checking her out so obviously. Thankfully, she didn't realize it either.
I stared down at the rich, swirling brown mixture for a heartbeat before relenting to the urge to look at her again. This time, however, our eyes met for a split second. She blushed a very faint crimson and turned away. I smirked, feeling uncannily comforted in the fact that I was not the only one caught staring. She had been staring at me too! There was a sudden scream and I whipped around to see a red haired girl drop a kettle of boiling water, cradling her own hand with her face screwed up in pain. I watched on as Raylin lurched into action, seemingly cleaning the other girl's wound, bandaging it up and cleaning up the mess all at the same time. A kindly old woman was saying something to her as she mopped up the place. I was impressed. She really was a good multi-taker. I took another sip from the cup, savoring the chocolaty taste.
I made it a point to talk to her tomorrow during World Histo
ry, and maybe apologize to her about the prince charming jibe earlier on. I got up to select a book from the shelf. My fingers itched to strum my guitar, but I wasn't about to return home to face my father. Meanwhile, I would just sit here, dwell in my own little world, and return in the evening when he was knocked out in his inebriated state. I flipped through the book, suddenly not feeling interested in it anymore. Then I understood why, it was a romance novel. Why did I even pick it in the first place? Novels were good, with the exception of romance novels…
Chapter 4
Drunk On What I'm Seeing
"Love can sometimes be magic. But magic can sometimes… just be an illusion." – Javan
RAYLIN
Waving goodbye to Sandy and Maria, I left the book house, settling myself into my car. I put on a CD at full volume as I cruised down the streets. Knocking off from work always made me happy, for I could finally head home to a nice warm bath to get rid of that lingering coffee smell and of course, my beloved laptop. Pulling into the garage at last, I picked up my bag and headed for the door.
Only to find myself greeted with the overpowering scent of more than three different candles lit at once. Tracing the smell to my mother's room, I peeked in. She was lying on her bed with the fluffy blue quilt, sobbing into a tissue. Littered all over the floor were scrunched up balls of used tissues, as well as random items. It was then that I realized that the rest of the house was in a mess as well. The lamp she brought back from Thailand was lying broken on the floor, next to a tapestry from India. Tables and chairs had been knocked over...
In short, the place looked like a tornado had ripped through it. Silently, I shut her door and went on to pick up the fallen chairs and tables. Rayne emerged from her room to help me, her fiery hair falling across her face. Seeing my questioning glance, she proceeded to tell me the whole sordid tale of how our mother found Chris (a CEO of a leading insurance company) cheating on her with his secretary. I furrowed my brows, trying to bring to mind his secretary's face.
"You remember Patty?" Rayne probed. At this, a vision of a dark, voluptuous woman popped into my mind. I nodded, finally understanding why Chris had felt obliged to cheat on my mother. "That's the one." She left the room to get a broom and dustpan, sweeping up the broken lamp while I hung the tapestry back up. Glancing at my mother's closed door, I asked Rayne if she had had her dinner yet. Receiving a forlorn shake of her head, I sighed and returned to my room, changing out of my tight jeans and top into a more comfortable combination of shorts and tee-shirt.
Making my way to the kitchen, I pulled out a packet of spaghetti from the cupboards overhead. Although she couldn't cook for nuts, my mother insisted on building a kitchen with all the facilities one could ever dream of. The kitchen was vast, with shining countertops and built in ovens and microwaves, a state-of-the-art refrigerator taking position in one of the corners. My sister took out all the ingredients needed to make the sauce, joining me at the work table. We worked in silence, chopping, washing, and cooking. This had become almost routine in our lives.
Finally, our dinner was ready and Rayne left the kitchen with a plate of spaghetti balanced carefully in her hands. I heard her knock gently on my mother's door, stepping in and placing it on her dressing table. She returned in a minute, sitting next to me and testing her own plate of spaghetti. I gave her a look and she reassured me at once that our mother was eating. I nodded in approval and finished off the rest of my meal. After placing my dish in the dishwasher, I returned to my room, reminding Rayne to holler if she needed anything.
At last, I could revel in the tidiness and silence of my own room, with its muted tones. I sank into my bed wearily, grabbing at my bag to retrieve my organizer. The pink cloth cover of the organizer was as flawless as ever, kept in mint condition by yours truly of course. I flipped to today's date and scanned through its contents. World History, research on the Russian War blah blah blah.
In a flash, I had my laptop up and running with the Google search engine churning out search results. I flexed my fingers, hunching over my laptop for a good two hours, tapping away at the keys as a report formed before my eyes. As I typed in the websites, I leaned back in satisfaction, hitting the print button. A muted 'Perfect' by Simple Plan emitted from my bag. I fished out my cellphone, jabbing at the call button.
"Hello?" I got up, gathering the printed papers, sorting them expertly with just one hand while I cradled the phone in the other. "'Sup, Leila?" I managed to place the completed report carefully into my file, shutting off my laptop as I went. Leila was going on about some party at the Reeses. The Reeses was this really rich family living up at Caramel Avenue and everyone knows that in order to live like that, your salary had to be at least a million per annum. They had two sons, namely Leonard and Lionel Reese. I had dated Lionel (the youngest Reese) for a short spell, say, four days. He was alright, but a real slut. If guys could be sluts, that is.
"Those Reeses don't wait much before throwing a party huh?" I responded to Leila's comment, rifling through my closet for proper partying clothes. "Alright, I'll pick you guys up in half an hour. Call the rest yet? Sure, see you."
I eyed a black halter and grabbed it, pairing it with a low hip denim miniskirt. I completed my look with a pair of skanky black heels, lining my lips in dark red. Checking my make-up one last time and teasing my hair into sexy waves, I left the house, grabbing my purse and keys.
When I passed Rayne's room, I knocked softly and opened the door. It hit me then how long I hadn't been in her room. Her walls were painted in swathes of 'Rock Candy 2' and 'Rose Trellis 4', both lighter shades of pinky-red. Unlike me, my sister's room was horribly messy, clothes thrown over random chairs and accessories strewn all over the place. She was sprawled on her bed, reading a novel by Grace Dent.
"Les Bambinos Dangereuses?" I studied the blurb of the book. "I loved that book when I was twelve." She looked up at me, then stared at the mess in her room. Shrugging, she mouthed 'oops' and promised to clean it up later.
"Later. And your idea of later is say, a couple of months right? Clear your room by the time I come home, alright? Throw the clothes to wash in the laundry basket. Call me if you need anything! Ta," I withdrew from her room. "Oh, and please make sure mom doesn't smash anything else."
When I locked the front door, I looked back up at the light streaming through her room window. It irked me that I was so carefree about leaving my younger sister home alone with an emotionally unstable mother, but still. Driving out of the garage, I made my way down the familiar roads to first Calista's house, then Belinda's and finally, Leila's. Calista wore a red baby-tee, pairing it with a pair of skinny jeans so low that I could practically see her bum crack. Belinda came bounding out of her house in three tank tops layered over one another and a skirt that I was sure Jake would be lifting later. Leila joined us in her newest purchase – a short silk dress that ended mid-thigh.
We sped off to a night of drinks, fun, and hell knows what else…
VIPER
It's evening and I returned home to a surprisingly quiet house. A quick check with Melvin explained that the son-of-a-bitch was off to buy more drinks, stumbling into a thousand different furniture as he went. My room was just the way I left it, bed covers thrown halfway to the ground, unwashed clothes left here and there. A couple of CD covers lay on the ground, half hidden by books. Hey, this is my room and I'm certainly not the type to clean up after myself.
My walls are painted black (much to my grandmother's chagrin) and hanging at my windows are dark purple voile curtains. When I went down to the textile shop to get a set of curtains for my room, I hadn't exactly expected an entire lesson in the material the curtains I had chosen were made of. In fact, the chirpy shop assistant had rambled to me the entire history and background of voile, a lightweight material – nevermind. She touched and touched and touched my arms so many times I was beginning to wonder if she was spouting all these stuff just to molest me.
Anyway, the first thing I headed for was m
y guitar, tucked safely in a velvet box under my bed. In truth, that guitar belonged to my uncle, who used to play in a band. He had both an electric guitar and a classical one, but he was unwilling to give up the electrical one, due to 'sentimental reasons'. I respected that, and was more than happy to receive the other one. I leaned against my headboard, my fingers finding all the familiar spots to place them on the string. Closing my eyes, I let my fingers find a life of their own, strumming chords and filling the room with music.
The sound of my doorknob turning made my eyes fly open. They flicked to the doorway immediately, half expecting a furious man to storm my room. Instead, my brother comes slinking through the door, padding softly towards my bed. I shifted slightly, clearing a space for him to sit. He gave me a lopsided grin, something he learned from me. I almost wanted to laugh but I gave him a 'What's up?' look instead.
"Did you realize what song you were playing, bro?" He asked, fingering my black bedsheets. Before I even had a chance to answer, he went on, "You were playing that song again." I froze, my fingers still hovering above my guitar strings, tempted to go right on strumming.
"You mean, that song?" I repeated tentatively, looking at his earnest face. He nodded solemnly. I rarely saw my brother being such a serious kid and it shocked me. When our mother died, I'd been looking after my brother. I made sure he went to his classes, and that he did his assignments, because, Hell forbids, I never want him to become a screwed-up jerk like me who draws his way through every single lesson. I ruffled his dark hair slightly, "Sorry, Mel. I didn't realize I was playing it. Eaten dinner yet?"
