Anyone who's on the Spashley forum knows this is just a re-posting of RA here with a couple of very minor punctuation/grammar changes.
This is the very first piece of fanfiction I wrote (early 2007), so it has many areas it could improve on; I just don't see the point changing it too much as it would take an obscenely long time to do so and I just don't have the patience. In total, this has something stupid like 130 chapters. I got attached to them and couldn't settle on a place to end it, so it does run on a lot with more than a few chapters of random interraction.
There is also a sequel (I know, God, you have more to say?) that is still in-process but I'm trying to wrap it up and I thought maybe beginning to post RA here would help me with that.
It starts off slow (and short) but it eventually picks up, and I do, eventually, improve just a little bit.
Disclaimer: If I owned South of Nowhere, it's highly unlikely I'd be writing fanfiction based on it. I own nothing but the words and the occasional OC.
On with the story.
It's Thursday afternoon. You do know what this means don't you? The worst day of the week. It's more than likely just another weekday for you, a day closer to the weekend. You're probably even wondering what's so terrible about Thursday afternoons but you, my friend, don't have to spend it with my mother.
Every Thursday we meet at a local café to catch up.
I use that terms loosely due to the fact I answer all the questions which usually centre around one thing and one thing only: my love life, or lack of, my mother likes to say.
Speaking of mommy dearest, I notice she's been gone for a while ordering our coffee. Glancing over to the counter I spot her talking to a pretty blonde, laughing obnoxiously loud while the girl barely manages a polite smile before pointing to a jock over by the door and makes a hasty exit.
You don't have to be a genius to figure out what happened there and trust me; I'm less than thrilled about it. Her car is so being keyed tonight.
Great, she's on her way back to the table.
An almost-there smile appears on my face as my mother plonks herself in the seat across from me. With a grin, she asks, "So, when is the big day?" in a tone suggesting that I'm supposed to have a clue what she's talking about.
Suppressing an eye roll, I say, "What big day is that, mother?" as I reach for the sugar to add to my drink. Maybe if I put enough in I can make myself sick and go home early.
"The day I get to meet my daughter's girlfriend, of course."
Ah, of course, why didn't I think of that? She's been obsessed ever since I came out last year. Too bad I don't remember her initial reaction.
Tripping up the stairs giggling and shushing myself, I reach my bedroom and push the door open a little too hard perhaps, as the door connects with the wall and makes a harsh thud that cuts through the silence.
"You're drunk," I'm told pointedly.
And wakes my mother. Fantastic.
Feigning innocence I reply, "What? No, never!"
Wow that was almost convincing. I take a moment to congratulate myself on a job well done.
"Okay, I had one drink, just one. I'm fine, I'll prove it to you!" I attempt to touch my index finger to my nose, successfully poking myself in the eye.
Irritated, she asks me, "I trust you had more than a good time?"
A lazy grin appears on my face instantly. "Yeah, I had a pretty good time."
She's about to reply when I flop down onto the bed and slur, "Lesbian sex is so hot," before promptly falling asleep.
I snap out of the memory as a hand waves past my eyes.
I groan. "We have this conversation every week, Mom. I'm not seeing anybody, just accept it," the last three words are said firmly.
Frowning slightly, she replies, "I don't understand, sweetheart. You're beautiful and smart, why aren't you in a relationship?"
She's right, I am beautiful and I am smart, however, relationships are not for me. Luckily so many girls don't care how long I use them for, one night usually does the trick. Taking a sip of my coffee, I answer honestly, "Because I don't want to be."
A smile appears on her face. This cannot be good.
"Oh honey, I see what this is.'' She raises her arm and gestures around the room. "Ladies and Gentlemen, meet my daughter, Shane McCutcheon."
My coffee almost sprays from my lips. "You watch The L Word?" I ask with wide eyes.
"Sometimes I'll catch and episode or two, yes. Alice and Dana were such a kick," she says with a chuckle.
There are often times where I question my mother's sexual orientation. This moment right here is one of them.
She stands from the table. "I'm just going to get a refill and then we can continue our discussion about your not-so-secret secret girlfriend.'' A knowing smile appears on her face as she leaves the table to join the queue to be served.
Acceptance, mother. Acceptance.
Thinking of the next hour that promises to be filled with asked-a-thousand-times questions, I decide to take a different approach. My mother is relentless in a task until completed and so meeting my 'girlfriend' just once would accomplish that.
I see her ordering and dash outside to grab a girl, any girl.
I don't look at her for more than a second —boobs, check, she'll do— before I drag her inside the café to my table.
"What the hell are you doing?" she demands.
Ugh, I'm so not in the mood for dramatics right now.I chance a look towards the counter and see my mom on her way back. Shit. I turn to her quickly. "You're my girlfriend for the next hour, make a scene and I'll kick your ass," I say before pressing my lips to hers.
"And just who might this be?" a sickeningly sweet voice asks.
Kill me now.
The brunette I pulled in here appears to be part fish as she opens and closes her mouth repeatedly.
"Mom... meet my girlfriend."
I'm Spencer Carlin, welcome to my life.