Even let the guilt wallow so that I remember why I call this gift my curse.
When the woman hands me the stub of my ticket, I let myself focus on what is ahead of me. And that is the open door that leads to a plane that will carry me far far away. Not knowing if I’m smiling at the woman or at the prospect of freedom, I cross the threshold.
It feels better than stepping through the front door of my house.
***
Almost twenty hours later, finds me hyper and wide awake in a Country Inn a short distance from the Rochester Airport. Since the flight was roughly a sixteen hour haul, the good idea would be to sleep. But as the saying goes, I’ll sleep when I’m dead. That is something I’m trying to avoid of late.
So sleep eludes me.
Not that it’s completely a bad thing. After all, I am currently enjoying the best spaghetti and meatballs I’ve ever tasted. If my mother’s cooking is anything to go by, then this room service stuff is divine. And I haven’t even tried desert yet. Which I’ve been eye balling the last couple of minutes. I don’t even know what it is, all I know its chocolate something or other. Good enough for me.
First night away from home and already I just know I’m putting on the pounds. Finally. Living of scraps from my family isn’t exactly the healthiest of lifestyles. It was basically surviving. Now I get to live my life to the fullest. Or as full as it can get with the slimming amount of money left in my wallet. And after a plane ticket, a cozy room that charges an arm and a leg (not literally of course, only my family do silly stuff like that), and room service, I know this spoiling can’t last. Not if I want to continue surviving that is.
That I do. More so if that’s possible.
This is why across the room on the biggest highest bed I’ve ever seen, is a stack of newspapers and flyers. Me thinks I need a permanent place to squat, er, rent. The question is where and for how much. Given my limited funds and lack of anymore coming my way, I’m probably low on options. I could do what I did last time to get the money, but I can’t. After what I did back at the airport to get through security, I can’t risk it again. I’m done using, and I mean it this time. Honest. Souls honor.
Since I’m against steeling to get ahead, I’m going to need a job. Meaning I’m really going to have to plant roots somewhere. For some reason, the thought of living in another city terrifies me. Rochester is nothing like Bakersfield, but it’s still busy enough to make me uncomfortable. If by chance my family does remember enough to come after me, then a city is the last place I should be. It’ll be the first place they look. Not here per say, but it’ll be one on a long list. And I don’t want to be here waiting if they show up.
So something small then. Off the radar.
Easy enough right? Ha, not even close. After scarfing down my dinner, I carry the plate of chocolate goodness over to the bed and begin rifling through the papers. Turns out this is more work than getting where I am right now. At least there is chocolate though. And that makes everything better. As I swipe a crumb from the corner of my mouth and such it off my finger, I’m reminded of the last time (and first time) I ever had such a yummy desert.
It was my sister Riana’s eighth birthday, and she was having a party with friends from her school. I am a year younger than her and back then I was still trying to get a hang of my abilities. She and her friends tore into her cake quickly and then left the room to rummage through her presents. While everyone was distracted, I snuck out of the basement quiet as a church mouse. I crept into the dining room, and my eyes sought out the cake she had been bragging about for weeks. It was no longer the towering masterpiece. But my ravenous eyes didn’t care.
I raced into the room and climbed onto the table like a child possessed. My hands dug into the cake and dug at the frosting. After the first couple of bites, I didn’t even taste anything anymore. All that mattered was that my stomach was no longer growling. I probably would have eaten the whole thing, if not for the unmistakable chill that crept into the room. It bite tiny pinpricks of cold across my skin, and with hands halfway to my mouth, I saw my mother at the door.
She didn’t have to even glare for me to know she was angry, I could feel it in the slap of her ability. I skittered down from the table, like a kid caught with its hands caught in its sisters birthday cake (oh wait, I was) and dashed out of the room. The chill followed my movements all the way back to the basement.
I stop my train of thought before I get to the worst part of that day. What happened before now is in the past, and I can’t let it stop me from moving on. People take some things for granted, is all I’m trying to say, like sweets. It’s a treat for my taste buds that’s for sure. Focusing fully on the papers before me, I scan through page after page. Only stopping when I finally find what I was searching for. A simple ad for an apartment in the town of Watertown. It’s a one bedroom in-law (whatever that is) and it has everything included. It’s reasonably priced (meaning they don’t want anything down, just rent month to month) and it’s within walking distance to businesses.
I’m not that big on the geographic placement of New York State, but the ad makes it sound nice and cozy. And I could use something like that.
Or at least something that somewhat resembles that.
The following morning, I’m freshly showered, fed, and stuffed in the back of a cab heading to Watertown. It’s two hour drive (and more money down the toilet) and thankfully I slept enough last night to make my hyper-ness fade. The same can’t be said for my excitement though. With good reason too. The little apartment I found hadn’t been rented. After talking to the owner a Mellissa Harris (who was cheerful, even though I called her house at like midnight) agreed to show it to me today.
I can’t stop myself from fidgeting on the plastic seating the closer we (and by we, I mean me and the creepy old cabbie driving) get. And part of the reason is because I’m so gosh darn freezing. And this is coming from the girl with a mother than can make an ice cube feel warm. It’s only late September for goodness sake. Back home it’s still about ninety degrees outside, and here it feels like forty.
If I’d known I was going to be heading for the coldest place in the world, I would have packed better. Well, that’s not true. I only took what I have. But still. My goosebumps have goosebumps. I can only imagine what it’ll be like when it’s actually winter and not the beginnings of autumn. The thought of getting to see actual seasons, and not a constant summer, is pretty refreshing. I’ll have my first white Christmas, or a first that isn’t fabricated by my mother and then melted away by my father.
Again I have to stop myself from thinking about the past. It’s hard though. As much as I hate to even think about my family, they are a part of me. They make up the better (or worse really) part of my memories. And if there is something that I have control and high def. clarity of, are my memories. That could be why I can’t help but to think about things. But whatever the cause, I need to stop.
I resume fidgeting in the seat and suffer the most boring road trip.
But before I know it, we’re crossing into Watertown. I know right away I picked the best place to go to. It’s big enough to pass as a city, but still small enough to not be overwhelming. And for me that’s just right.
I take everything in like I can absorb it all into my memory at first glance. And if that was one of my abilities I would so be taking advantage right now. There are more actual houses and homes here, than where I grew up. And there are trees. Not the palm trees from back home, but tall blooming ones that are full of color. They are everywhere, and wherever they are there is a dusting of fallen leaves making the ground full of color too.
A smile forms on my face, and I feel lighter than I have in a long time. It has nothing to do with my skinny frame either, and all do to with the post card image that is this town. Along with trees and houses, there are people. So many out walking around with what I can only guess to be friends and family. They’re faces are so lighthearted, that it makes me feel the same way. I’ve nev
er seen such happiness, even from a distance.
In short time, the cab is pulling to a stop. Ignoring the cabbie giving me the eye in the rearview mirror, I stare out the window at the house I’ve come to see. It’s bigger than I would have thought for a one bedroom apartment. It sets back from the road, behind a lard yard that is fully dusted with multicolored leaves. The house itself is a two story like my old one back home. But unlike that one, this one is brightly painted yellow with white shutters on each window. It almost seems surreal.
Most of the houses on the quiet street are more of the same, and like the others, this one has a garage. Or what think is a garage. It looks more like a guest house to me, but hey I’m not complaining.
Thrusting a wad of cash at the driver, I snatch up my backpack and jump out of the car.
I literally run the few steps it takes to reach the front door and I’m already raising my hand to knock before I stop myself. What if they don’t like me? Or what if they won’t rent to me because of the way I look. Glancing down at myself, I know I don’t look the best. Or my best really. I’m showered and wearing clean clothes, but they are hand-me-downs. Short pants that hang off my bony hips, and a thin t-shirt that is so worn I don’t even know what it says anymore. Everything in my backpack is more of the same, so I can’t do anything about that.
Then there is my hair. It’s long since fallen out of the knot I put it in when I first got into the cab. With fast hands, I shake it out before twisting it back up tightly. Once it’s secure, the only thing stopping me from knocking now is me. Here I am just a waif of a teenage girl, who is homeless and on the run from her family. Who really wants to let someone like me move in? And that’s not even mentioning my heritage.
Sighing, I let my head droop as a deep despair courses through my entire body and soul. If my family of demons didn’t even want me, then what makes anyone else any different? I’m turning away from the door and contemplating walking off into the unknown, when the door opens. I freeze.
Then turn to face the person in the doorway.
Chapter Two
I turn around to face the most intoxicatingly blue eyes I’ve ever seen. They literally look like something only seen in a crystal clear lagoon. And they just happen to be attached to the body of a boy my age that is grinning like I’ve done something funny. Oh right, my mouth is hanging open. Note to self; try to act normal when coming in contact with the prettiest boy you’ve ever seen. Note. Mouth closing and drool sucked back in and hopefully not noticed. Check.
Clearly I didn’t to the best at catching myself, because he is continuing to grin at me. Only now, his eyes are scanning over me now. Blushing profusely, I flick my eyes away from him. This lands me to scan over his body that is completely blocking the open doorway. He seems to be everywhere, all tall lean muscled proportions of him.
Do not drool. Do not drool.
Keep mouth closed.
He has to be the tallest boy I’ve ever seen, but that’s not really saying much since I’m used to just seeing my brothers (who are like twin male versions of me – who is pretty dang short fyi). There is no safe place for my eyes to land. Not that I’m complaining. He seems to know that he looks good too, after all, who picks tight clothes if they don’t want to show off their bulging biceps. Again, not complaining.
Without being able to stop myself, I work my gaze back to his clear blue eyes. When I do, I’m startled to find that he’s staring right back at me. I can’t help to notice the way his wavy dark hair almost falls into his eyes. It stops just shy of them, and cups his head like a mop that is strategically placed. It definitely makes my own frizzy locks seem limp in comparison. It fits on him though, and it kind of takes my breath away.
Still grinning, he raises one perfectly sculpted eyebrow. A grin forms on my wary lips, like I’m under his spell. And maybe I am. It’s not very often that I’m this close to someone that makes me feel so emotionally weak (in a good way, I mean, my family does it all the time in the bad scary way). That’s when I realize I’ve just being staring like a loon and not saying anything. I mean hey, I’m the one that standing in front of his house. He must think I’m crazy.
I am crazy. Speak. Why am I not speaking?
“Ugh….” I whisper, not able to look away from his eyes.
He chuckles and shifts his focus to behind him into the house. The spell is broken.
“Mom, I think your prospect is here. You’d better hurry though.” He shouts towards the inside of the house, then turns back to me with a grin still stretched across his features. “By the looks of things she’s likely to bolt like a frightened rabbit.”
I scoff at this and narrow my eyes at him. This has little to no effect on him though. He just continues to give me a grin that makes my legs feel wobbly. To stay strong, and not fall over like a weirdo, I cross my arms over my chest. That’s right, I’m not frightened. Not in the slightest. Nope.
Okay maybe a little. But I’ll be damned before I show it.
Instead, I blush even more.
Before I can try to find my voice that seems to have failed me, a short woman comes up behind the boy. She literally shoves him out of the way. This makes him come out the door towards me. On instinct I back away on fast legs. Now I feel like bolting for sure, but their bright smiles stop me. I freeze a good yard away from them and watch with another grin slipping through my lips.
“Oh Chance, don’t go scaring off the only person we’ve had to show up.” She tells him in a singsong voice as she mimics a glare from the open doorway.
Chance (his name is Chance?) backs away from her and closer to me with his arms rose in surrender.
“I didn’t do anything I swear, she seemed spooked before I said anything.” He tells her before he shoots me another grin. “Right rabbit?”
Is he addressing me?
“Ugh….” I whisper in a voice that is starting to resemble something being tossed in a shredder.
I really need to get a grip. What the heck is wrong with me? I grow up with demons and one boy makes me act like I’m starstruck.
I’m not. Not really.
The woman shakes her head and comes down the stairs right for Chance. He doesn’t even move out of the way when she lightly smacks him on the arm. Again, I feel my hackles rise, like I’m about to witness something awful like my family when they are angry. But it doesn’t come. Instead, they smile at one another as she mockingly gives him a stern look. One he brushes off, by making like he’s hurt worse that he is.
Then their eyes are on me. My heart skips a beat. I tighten my crossed arms.
“Don’t let him get to you sweetie, he just likes to pick.” She says to me in her singsong voice.
“Yeah what she says.” Chance tells me.
I mutely stare at the two of them. No voice coming out of me yet.
The woman is the exact opposite of him, except for a matching pair of crystal clear blue eyes. She is more my height, which leaves Chance towering over her. It’s clear she is his mom though, the way she gives off dominance, but in a loving way. She practically radiates kindness. My breath stills and I have the sudden urge to cry, which I never do by the by, not since I was a baby.
Yup, that’s me, a rock. Then why do I feel like I’m getting soft?
“You must be Daria right?” She asks me.
They stare at me, with those bright smiles. I blush. They smile more like they are laughing at an unheard joke. I nod. Blush some more.
“Daria Pigwidgeon.” I stammer.
Finally, my voice is back.
“Nice to meet you Daria, I’m Mellissa Harris. And this goof is my son Chance.” She tells me while glancing at Chance. “Who was just leaving, right?”
Chuckling, he nods and side steps me making his way towards the garage. I have no problem watching his departure, definitely enjoying the view.
Not stopping, he glances back at me over his shoulder, “Later rabbit.”
He winks one clear blue eye at me before disappearing in
side the building, and away from my sight. Blushing more than I ever have in my entire life, I flick my gaze back to Mellissa. She is glaring after her son. But again it's more mocking than anything.
“Don’t pay attention to him, he’s always like this. Just likes to get a rise out of people.” She tells me with a smile as she steps over to me and places a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Would you care to come in?”
Nodding, I let her steer me into the still opened door. We are just reaching the threshold when I hear a noise like gears grinding against metal. Glancing over my shoulder towards the direction of the sound, I watch at the garage door opens. An old-ish red mustang backs up out of it, and I spy Chance seated in the front seat.
I smirk.
Letting Mellissa pull me inside and away from Chance taking off down the street, I can’t help but to think that the prettiest boy I’ve ever seen, drive a car preferred by demons (or at least the men in my family). It’s rather ironic actually. If I was of half a mind right now, I’d bolt for just that reason.
Instead, I stay put as Mellissa shuts the door, essentially shutting me in.
Oddly enough I don’t feel trapped.
I let myself finally relax.
I’m safe.
***
Sitting on my new bed, I feel a sense of satisfaction. I actually have something that is mine and mine alone. It didn’t take me all that long to take the offer that Mrs. Harris (call me Mellissa) graciously offered me. This happened to be a small apartment above the garage (or what she called an in-law suite – whatever that is).
Thankfully I had managed to find my voice again, and even carried on an entire conversation with her. She graciously offered me refreshments, which I couldn’t say no too. And while I munched on freshly baked apple fritter thingies, she led me back outside and to the garage. Since the door was left open from Chance leaving, we breezed right in. We made our way to a set of stairs at the back of the minutely cluttered room.
She pointed out a separate door to the right of the room as we passed by, indicating that I would have my own entrance. It would be slightly awkward to have to use the creaky big door (plus the distinction between that one and the one I left back home) it’s enough to make me paranoid. None the less, I followed her up a set of sturdy stairs to the apartment.
The Misadventures of Daria Pigwidgeon Page 2
