by Kitty Parker
"I know," I admitted, throwing myself back down on the bed, staring up at the canopied top, "But I don't want anyone else knowing that."
"Why not?" she asked innocently, though she well knew my answer- I had told her a million times. I scowled, and though she couldn't see it I was sure she could hear it in my voice.
"Because then their arguments might convince me," I claimed insistently, "And I really, really, don't want that to happen."
"Stand strong sister, stand strong!" she laughed, then she sobered, and I could hear her real concern for me in her voice, "But one party won't make a difference, and you're lonely. I know you are. Go have some fun."
"I'm fine!" I protested, sitting straight up on my bed and punching it for emphasis, "I'm not lonely and I have fun!"
"And you're lying," she overrode my objection with implacable certainty. "Honey, I know you are."
"Fine, I am," I pouted, annoyed that I had to admit even that weakness, "But honestly, Rhi, why would I want to go interact with dozens of smashed teens when I won't let myself find the same release?"
"To laugh at them?" she suggested with a giggle. I grinned. She knew me too well.
"As much as I would love to," I admitted with a sigh that was part regret, part nostalgia, and part relief, "No thanks. It would open a bigger can of worms than it would close. I'm fine just going down after and speculating. My imagination is funnier than anything reality could be."
She giggled again, then something cut off her mirth. "Just when you do go down," she said sadly, "Make sure Brock's alright, 'kay?"
"I'll make sure he's not dieing, sure," I agreed cautiously, running a hand through my hair distractedly. I really hoped no one was in a bad way tonight. I didn't feel like dealing with that.
"No. Make sure he's actually okay," she insisted firmly, the brick wall that I knew she had in her coming to the fore, "Because it's all my fault if he isn't."
"Ill try my best," I replied. I had read too many fairy tales to promise anything, let alone something like that. How was I supposed to comfort I star-crossed lover? "But now you have to get to bed." Screw my boredom; sometimes Rhi needed someone to take care of her.
"You'll be fine?" she asked worriedly, 'I am tired, but-"
"I'm an insomniac, you know that," I told her with a chuckle, "I don't need sleep. And I'll be fine if you will." I say down at my desk and pulled it open. "Now go away."
'I'm fine," she insisted, trying to hide a yawn and failing. I could almost see her embarrassed flush. "Okay, I'm exhausted."
"Dream well," I ordered her, then hung up. I glanced at the desk, covered in notes and homework and stuff I had to do. I closed it and opened my closet, taking out a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. If I was going to be in the talent show, I would have to get back into practice.
o0O0o0O0o
I meandered downstairs eventually, the sounds of the party having died a while ago. I wandered through the sleeping people, looking idly for either people in some sort of danger, Allan, or Brock. As I made my way through the chaos, my foot hit something lightly, and I pulled up my baggy pajama pants to see what it was.
A beige box with an all too familiar logo was lying on the floor. Shit. I leaned down to make sure I wasn't hallucinating, but I was correct in my estimation. What the hell was it doing there? Allan knew I couldn't abide cigarettes. I let my hand brush over the once well-known sight, giving into even that little temptation. I looked around, but from my quick assessment, everyone was dead to the world.
I had been good for so long. So painfully long. I had resisted the temptation that Allan, Rhi, and Darien had spread before me. A little surrender wouldn't matter, I could give in this once.
I reached down to take one- just one, certainly. No more. I could only take one, I wouldn't want any more. Now if only I could really believe that before my hand, independent of me, took a cigarette…
"Emma? What the hell are you doing here?"
Startled and embarrassed at having been caught in my lapse, I dropped the pack.
* * *
Darien
* * *
Pure panic fluttered across her face for an infinitesimal second. When I was more alert, and not half stunned by her appearing out of the darkness like some sort of wraith, I would wonder what caused that spilt second of fear. But at that moment, I was shocked by her mere presence, and minor anomalies in her facial expressions didn't concern me.
"Making sure no one's dead," she spat after the panic cleared, picking her way delicately through the bodies littering the floors, where people had simply found the most comfortable place they could. I didn't notice then, though afterwards I would kick myself about it, how she had neatly sidestepped my real question.
"I don't think anyone's hurt or anything," I assured her, though I wasn't too sure about anything just then. She nodded distractedly and paused in her path to turn our star soccer forward onto his side so if he threw up (unlikely, but possible) he wouldn't choke on it.
"Well, you aren't the best witness," she countered, sounding much more awake than I was as she threw a blanket over some girl who had curled up in only a mini-skirt and tube top, "You seem to have passed out early."
'Me? Pass out?" I scoffed as well as I was able, "I can hold my alcohol. I just didn't drink much. I fell asleep legitimately."
She snorted. In all honesty, given my reputation, I didn't believe myself either. "I'll believe that when is see it."
She continued her slow circuit of the room as I tried to drag a witty comeback out of some recess of my mind. Needless to say, I didn't succeed. Why did someone I actually had to think with have to wake me up? Why couldn't it have been Jess or someone else mindless?
"Where's Allan?" she asked suddenly, her voice echoing weirdly in the resting room, the stillness only broken by me and her. The quiet noises we made were absorbed into the overpowering stillness of so many sleepers.
"I lost track of Lex after an hour or two," I admitted, dragging myself slowly off the ground. If Lex hadn't invited her, which would be the only reason she would have to be here, then why was she here? Unless she lived here…
"You're no help," she snapped, continuing her inspection. I shrugged, more comfortable now that I towered over her again.
'He's probably in his room," I suggested, giving the room a quick glance and finding no sign of him.
She frowned, surveying the room through oddly luminescent eyes that seemed to have no problem seeing in the gloom I was straining my eyes in. She bit her lip, something I noticed she did when she was worried or nervous, as she made her way to the corner, looking down sympathetically at someone I couldn't make out.
"I hope so," she murmured distractedly, leaning over the hunched figure draped in the corner. I stumbled over to her, trying not to trip over too many people, as I attempted to see how had drawn her concern. Brock was slumped over an empty can of beer, with more cans littering the floor around him. His dark auburn hair fell lankly, as opposed to its usual loose curls, reflecting its master's state of mind. His head fell back in a way that looked horribly uncomfortable.
"Why is he like this?" Emma snapped at me, dragging one of his arms over her shoulder and easing him to his feet. She buckled under his weight, and I moved instinctively to take the other arm, her words jolting my own conscience awake.
"He had issues with today," I informed her defensively, trying to both impress upon her my helplessness in this situation and to stop her from asking any more questions. His love did no deserve to be mocked like a had a feeling she would do, "He drowned his sorrows."
She relinquished the weight to me gratefully and led me over to one of the couches that were shoved against the wall. As I staggered over, Brock's weight throwing me off balance, she evicted the senior lying there with a casual shove and motioned for me to lay Brock there.
"Poor guy," she muttered with a hint of what I almost thought was regret, but that didn't make any sense. Even if she did know what had been done to him, she would have nothing to r
egret about it "He didn't deserve any of this."
She turned to leave through a different door then she had entered from, but I stopped her before she could go.
"Where are you going?" I asked, levering my friend onto the couch with difficulty. Was she abandoning me here with Brock? Not that I cared or anything, but still… And why was she here in the 1st place? She had never answered my question!
"To get him some aspirin," she explained with a quick smile that made me think she had heard the hint of desperation in my voice, "and a glass of water. I'll be right back."
She dissolved into the dark hallway, and a moment later I could hear her rummaging around. How the hell did she know Lex's house so well? It was almost like she lived here… but that was too absurd an idea to even consider. I looked meditatively at the sleeping people around me, then at the door Emma had disappeared through. She sounded like she was having difficulties, by the quiet swearing I could hear, and she might take awhile…
I slunk over to where I had first seen her and peered around the floor, trying to find whatever it was that Emma had been so ashamed of. A little blackmail never hurt anyone, and she seemed to know so much about me and I knew so little about her that I needed something to even the score. And curiosity never hurt either. Satisfaction brought back the cat, after all. But I couldn't fine anything- there was nothing there to find. Only a bunch of blankets and bodies.
After a fruitless, hurried search, I heard running water. Apparently Emma had found aspirin and was getting a glass of water. She would be back soon, and I had a feeling that she wouldn't be happy with me searching the ground-not that I cared what she felt. But I wanted her to take care of Brock.
Disappointed by my failure, I spun on my heel to stalk back, and nearly tripped when my feet planted on a loose rug. As I hastily recovered, glancing around surreptitiously to make sure no one had noticed, I saw a small box my slip had uncovered. I bent down to look at it.
"Darien?" Emma called, walking back in. I jumped, and mirroring her earlier actions, dropped the box. She gave me an odd look as she noticed my jump, but she was busy arranging Brock comfortably on the couch and didn't see what I had dropped. "Come help me. Brock's too big for me."
I obeyed, any suspicion of why she might be there driven out of my mind by my musings on why Emma was so affected by a cigarette pack. I mean, sure, she seemed to disapprove of them, knocking mine out of my hand whenever he saw me with one, but disapproval was different from shame. Yet another mystery to add to her tab.
"Emma," I asked as I sat down on the couch next to Brock and she arranged the aspirin where it could clearly be seen it was his, "Why are you doing this?"
I had thought I had been fairly clear about what I meant, but that could be put down to the bit of alcohol that was still in my blood. Her hand stilled for a moment after I had asked the question, then kept moving. She covered Brock with a careful, almost maternal motion I didn't think her capable of before answering.
"None of you drunkards would notice if someone really was in trouble," she said, once again avoiding what she well knew was the real question. I was getting sick of that, though. I wanted a straight answer, for once.
"No," I shook my head emphatically, feeling a bit like my brother as my hair swung into my eyes, "that's not what I meant, an you know it. Brock wasn't that badly off, in comparison with some people here. Why are you taking care of him? Why are you here in the first place?" I'd like to see her get out of that one.
She turned in the doorway, her back to the family wing, her dark, baggy sweatshirt and pajama bottoms blending into the darkness that surrounded her until the only part of her that was really visible was her face, glowing in contrast to the blackness.
"It's not for him, nor Allan," she said slowly, as if considering her every word. A slow grin spread across my face, as I considered who else she could be doing it for, but she cut me off before I could speak, "And not for you either." Damn, she knew me too well. "It's for…" she hesitated a moment, biting her lip, "Old promises, I guess. Good night."
And she vanished into the hall before I could insist she answer my second question or clarify the first. Frustrated, I stretched out on another couch. She always managed to leave me with more questions than I had started with.
Chapter 15
* * *
Emma
* * *
I reckoned everyone would be out of the house by noon, at the latest. Hell, I knew everyone would be gone, because if they weren't, I would force Allan to kick them out-literally. He can be very intimidating, if I'm there scaring him into submission. I had only managed to convince Mom and Jack to stay away (they deserved a lovely night out alone together, and if Allan had a few friends over I'm sure we would be fine) until 4:00, and I needed time to clean up from Hurricane Teenagers. Well, to force Allan to clean up, anyway. I set up, he cleaned- it was a satisfactory arrangement for all concerned.
So when I stumbled downstairs at noon (insomnia was fun, but I was not a morning person in any sense of the world), the surprise was extremely unpleasant when I found people still downstairs, and neither of them Allan. One was still asleep, as was only to be expected. The other, though, looked up at me out of alert blue eyes as I entered the room.
"What the hell are you doing here?" I snapped instinctively. Darien's eyes flicked up and down me, and I could feel him taking in the inordinate amount of skin me tank top and pajama pants were showing- not that I had anything worth taking in. I crossed my arms self-consciously across my chest all the same- where was my sweatshirt when I needed it?- but his eyes fixed on mine.
"Why shouldn't I be?" he retorted, returning m scowl, though not with the same moodiness. No one could match me morning mood- morning being whenever I happen to wake up- not event the notoriously broody and bad-tempered Darien
"Because I have to get Allan to clean up," I spat, resisting the urge to emphasize my point with a childlike stomp, "And everyone has to leave!" I was so not in the mood for this!
"Everyone is gone," he observed with what was for him good nature – I hate morning people- as he gestured around the room. He and Brock were the only people left, but he put me in a bad mood equal to ten others.
"I don't care. You have to leave!" I insisted, turning my back haughtily on him and stalking over to the closet where I kept garbage bags, conveniently within the area where the parties were held but able to be locked.
"I'll leave when Brock wakes up," he bargained patiently, as if trying to placate me. Didn't he get I was not in a mood to be placated! "But I can't leave while he's here. And I don't want to wake him up."
He couldn't see the eyebrow I raised at the wall. Was Darien showing concern for someone other than his brother? What a surprise! All sarcasm aside, though, the knowledge that he was staying for a altruistic purpose, not just to annoy me, made me a bit less hostile.
"Fine," I agreed curtly, irritated with having lost the argument. I spun and tossed him a bag, which he caught before he saw what it was. He looked at it in complete confusion. I rolled my eyes. "If you're here, you're making yourself helpful." I didn't leave any room for protest.
He looked from the bag to the floor then back to the bag. He met my eyes, utterly lost. I snorted.
"Garbage." I pointed to the floor, "Bag." I pointed to it with the other hand. "Make them come together." I brought my hands together, as if trying to talk to a very slow child.
"I know," he spat, face set in an obstinate frown, "But I'm not doing it."
His tone had been cordial: caring towards his friend and not all hostile towards me. But now he straightened and his eyes were hardening into a crystalline sapphire (the same color as his mother's) and the arrogant, smoldering rage that I hadn't seen in a while were resurfacing. Any sane person would have run for the hills. But sanity has never been my strong point, and I was not in a temper to deal with his pride.
"Yes you will," I stated, eyes sparkling dangerously. I didn't care if he was the goddamn Queen of Sheba,
he was either going to help me or leave. I would not hesitate to dump him out on his ass.
"No I wo-" I cut off his protest with a shove into the opposite corner. I took a wide stance, hands braced on my hips, to block him in.
"Yes you will," I growled, HE stared at me in shock- not many people had ever seen me in an honest to goodness evil mood. I ignored his surprise, "And you will at least pretend to like it."
My temper used to give even the bullyboys at my old school pause, and that was when I barely reached their waists. My temper wasn't as bad as it had been then, and Darien was cleverer than those thugs. He knew, despite his arrogance, that is was not wise to cross me in this mood.
"Fine," he scoffed, bending down to pick up a piece of trash with the air of a cat forced to do a distasteful thing, but determined to let you know it was his idea all the time. I sort of wished I had a cat to compare him with. That would be an interesting study- Darien McGavern, boy or cat?
A weak chuckle from the couch made Darien jerk straight up to face his friend, his lips twitching despite the murderous look in his eyes.
"What?" he snapped. Brock laughed again and began to sit up, then winced as the full effect of his binge hit him. He lay back down quickly.
"You. Cleaning." Brock chortled, his laughter only increasing at the homicidal look on Darien's face. "It's just so weird."
"No kidding," I agreed, not bothering to hide my satisfied smirk, "But the maid look certainly suits you." Ha. Take that as a blow to your pride.
"I am not a maid!" Darien yelled, sounding like a spoiled child denying that they had to go to bed, "I shouldn't even be-"
"Dude," Brock interrupted, rubbing his temples, "Stop the loud noises."
Darien shot me a positively evil glare and stalked over to his friend, dropping the bag to the floor as if it burned him. I managed to hold in my snort only by a horrid amount of effort. And he thought he was so mature.
"Are you okay?" he demanded of Brock, but despite the hostile tone I could detect real concern in his voice and eyes. I must have been getting better at reading him. Scary thought.
