A Poison That Leaves No Trace
Disclaimer: I obviously do not own Twilight.
"Where the hell is Alex? She was supposed to be back 15 minutes ago…" I said, pulling the curtains in the living room aside to peer out the window. Just then, Patrick wandered into the room, drawing my attention from the window, and gave me a strange look.
"Oh great, now you're talking to yourself too… my family is crazy!" And with that he spun around and walked away. I turned back to the window. Right…
"Dad? Patrick? Anybody home?" Alex's voice rang out in the empty entryway as the door slammed shut behind her. I must have missed her when she came up the walkway.
"In here." I crossed my arms and put on my best 'mad face', though I wasn't really mad, and waited patiently for her to appear in the living room doorway. When she did, my eyes went straight to the two fancy looking bags she held and a million questions filled my head. There was nowhere fancy in town that I knew of that wasn't a restaurant, so where on earth could she have possibly been? Then I saw the words scrawled elegantly across the front of the bags and realized she had lied to me. My gaze hardened and returned to her face just as she attempted to hide the bags from view and gave a sheepish smile.
"So, Alex, where ya been?" I asked, feeling the beginnings of anger starting to boil in my chest. There was nothing I hated more than being lied to, and she knew that.
"Well, see… I ran into a few friends when I stopped at the gas station to grab a bottle of water, and they invited me to go shopping with them in Port Angeles… I still had some birthday money left over, so…" She stopped for breath and then continued on, obviously nervous. The inability to lie runs in our family. "Jeez, Dad, I didn't think it would be such a big deal… I'm sorry, I'll call next time…"
"There won't be a next time for quite awhile, Alex. You're grounded and this time I mean it." I closed my eyes and took a deep breath to calm myself, then held out my hand, eyes still closed. Bad tempers also run in our family. "Cell phone and iPod, please," I said, fighting to keep my voice calm. Alex sighed and handed over the two electronics.
"Ugh, whatever, here. I am not in the mood for this right now." With that, she turned and stormed up the stairs, into her room, and slammed the door shut. Well, that was a whole lot easier than it should have been… A few minutes later, what I had come to think of as her 'angry music' came blasting through the house. An annoyed sigh escaped my lips as I trudged wearily up the stairs and into my own room to find a hiding spot for Alex's things until I decided to give them back. That's another thing I've gotta work on…
I had one of the strangest days of my life today, Forks is a very…interesting place to say the least. But let's save that for another time.
I miss you. Well… we all miss you. Dad especially. Sometimes you can just tell by the look in his eyes… I know the accident wasn't all that long ago, but he acts as if it were yesterday. He seems so… sad. Lost, distant, all that stuff. They say time heals wounds, but I worry that the saying doesn't apply in his case. You should see him now, Mom. He's so… different. At least Patrick is still the same old smart-ass Patrick we all know and love. :D
…I know it wasn't your fault, but… why'd you have to go and die on us? I wish I'd had the chance to say goodbye…
Well, I gotta go now. Lots of homework and such.
I yawned and let my pencil fall from my hand, then gently closed the notebook I'd been writing in and placed it in its hiding spot beneath my mattress. My psychiatrist back in Florida had suggested that I try this whole writing letters to my dead mother thing because apparently it helped somehow… I wasn't paying much attention when he was explaining the reasoning behind the process, so I really have no idea how it helps. Usually it just makes me miss her more - but whatever, he's the professional, not me.
Suddenly, there was a knock at my door. "Alex?" It was Patrick. I sighed in irritation, wondering why my family found it so difficult to leave me alone for more than ten, fifteen minutes at a time.
"What?" I called back, turning down my stereo so I could actually hear what my brother had to say.
"Dad wants to know if you're hungry, he's making dinner for him and I." Now? It's almost 10…
"Nope, thanks anyway."
"She says she's not hungry, Dad!" Patrick called as he made his way back down the hallway. I could hear him tromp down the stairs, and knew he was in the living room when the TV began to blare and Dad screamed at him to turn it down or turn it off. I couldn't help but roll my eyes as the bickering began. Patrick argued how Dad was just getting too old, and made many references to the phrase "If it's too loud, you're too old" which just made Dad angrier. What a stupid brother I have. He just kept antagonizing Dad, even though he knew what would happen next because it always happened when they started fighting. Their voices were faint, but I didn't have to have supersonic hearing to understand what they were saying.
"Why don't you ever give me any goddamn freedom?! I swear, you might as well be a fucking Nazi!" That was Patrick.
"You disrespectful little sonofabitch. You dare treat me like this after all I've done for you? What would your mother think?" Dad.
"Don't you dare bring Mom into this! She isn't even here anymore. Don't go using her as a defense, just because you know I'm right." Patrick again.
And then it happened. I could hear the thud, the shattering of glass as something – probably a cup or a plate – hit the wall.
"Get out of my house. Leave. Now. Get the fuck out, and don't come back!" Dad, screaming at Patrick. I could almost see his face turning bright red and the vein in his forehead beginning to pop out.
"Y'know what? I will, and I'll do it happily. I hate you. I hate how you think one goddamn mistake is like the end of the fucking world. You're a horrible parent." Patrick. I could hear his voice shaking, and I knew something bad was going to happen. I had to at least try and stop it.
I pushed myself away from my door where I had been sitting to eavesdrop, flung open the door, rushed down the hallway, and flew down the stairs.
"Dad-" I began. But it was too late. Smack. My movement stopped, halfway down the staircase.
I was shocked. Stunned into speechlessness. I tried to move, but it was almost as if my feet were nailed to the floor. Dad had never hit us, never… at least, not me.
Patrick, his face hurt and unchanging, turned and walked right out the front door, slamming it shut behind him. "Patrick…" I whispered, my heart going out to him. Sure, he might be the biggest pain in the ass to ever exist, but he was my brother and it hurt me to see him being treated like that.
Then all of a sudden, something in me came to life. My anger sparked.
"How could you?" I screamed at the man who called himself my father as I pounded down the stairs. "You asshole! Patrick was right, you're a horrible parent." Without even thinking, I spat in his direction and ran out the door after my brother.
"Patrick!" My voice rang out loudly in the silence of the night, my eyes scanning the darkness frantically for him as I stumbled around blindly. "Pat! Please answer me, where are you? I want to talk to you…"
Okay, so I apologize for my extremely long hiatus. And for this extremely short chapter. But it's time to get the story moving again, so this is for starters. Enjoy. :D