She Has A Pretty Face Though (Part XVI)

Posted on June 28, 2013 by R. Richardsson

Disclaimer

The following is one of many installments for a story designed specifically for my blog. While it does step out of my usual genre, there are some things still not suitable for a younger audience. Violent/Graphic descriptions, strong language and sexual situations may be found through different sections. Each entry will tell a small portion of the story during different times and may not directly follow the one prior to it.

This story follows the direct interactions, as well as the deteriorating thoughts of a young man who is struggling not only with the relationships he has with those around him, but with the relationship he has with himself as well.

Finally, all work is strictly fiction and does not reflect the views of the author. Any resemblance to actual person(s) is only a coincidence.

If this isn’t your cup of tea, then avoid these excerpts and hopefully I’ll see you around my other posts!

———-

He reached over to the towel rack with his right hand, while his left turned the water off in the faucet. Though there was no light in the room, he could only just make out his features in the mirror before him. He studied the shape of his face quietly as he wrung his hands dry, thankful that he had the cover of darkness to hide his shame.

There was only a half of an hour between now and the time he was supposed to meet Lucy at the theater and he entertained the thought of calling to reschedule the date for another night. He felt weak, disconnected from his usual self and he wasn’t entirely sure that going out right now was the right thing for him to be doing.

As he returned the towel to its rightful place, he came to a decision. She would understand, she had to. After all, how many times did anyone ask her out anyways? It wasn’t like she had made any plans. More than likely, she would have spent the night doing the same thing she had been when he’d called to invite her.

He left the bathroom on trembling legs and returned to his room. The things he usually carried in his pockets; wallet, keys and cellphone, where sitting on the nightstand by his bed, and it was the latter of the items that he was looking for. Unplugging his phone, he opened the call log and scrolled down to her number. He was about to press the send button when his screen lit up and the ringtone for his sister began yelling;

“Bitch Alert! This is a Bitch Alert. You have an incoming call from a real Bitch!”

It startled him so much that he jumped, nearly dropping the phone, and the ringtone played its message two more times before he swiped the answer button.

“H-hello?”

“Hey twerp. I know you’re probably on your way to Lucy’s house, but I just wanted you to know how proud I am of you and to wish you good luck!”

He could hear her friends chattering in the background and from the other sounds on her end of the line, he also figured that they were in a car as well.

“Thanks, I guess.”

“I’m serious! Listen, I know that you’re probably nervous and you may have even thought about calling the date off, but don’t, okay? Chances are, she’s just as nervous as you are. Just show up and be yourself. I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

It was weird hearing her say something nice to him, even weirder still that it was advice for the date he was about to go on, and he didn’t know how to answer her.

“Scott?”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“Good, I thought I’d lost you. Listen; I’m probably going to lose you soon, but I’m glad you answered.”

He smiled and for the moment, the events of the past hour were forgotten.

“Me too.”

“Hey, I know you don’t like to do it, but I left in such a hurry I forgot. Could you take Tippy out back before you go? I’m not going to be back until late and I know she won’t make it until then.”

“I already did,” he answered much calmer than he expected. It wasn’t much of a stretch; she WAS out back, after all.

“Thanks bro! Have….ood….ime….”

The line went dead, disconnected by the distance between them and he pushed the sleep button on side before shoving it into his pocket. He smiled and shook his head, amazed at the difference in their relationship over the last few days as he glanced over to his clock..

Eighteen minutes before he was supposed to be at there.

“Shit!”

He left the house running.

She Has A Pretty Face Though (Part XV)

Posted on June 22, 2013 by R. Richardsson

Disclaimer

Finally, all work is strictly fiction and does not reflect the views of the author. Any resemblance to actual person(s) is only a coincidence.

If this isn’t your cup of tea, then avoid these excerpts and hopefully I’ll see you around my other posts!

———-

Scott stood before the mirror as he worried over every last-minute detail. He ran a comb through his hair for the umpteenth time as he tried to get his red hair to lay down, but not even the strongest gel was any match for his rowdy locks. He threw the comb into the sink in frustration and then reached up to loosen the knot of his tie. It had been a tough decision, to wear his dress shirt and tie, but considering that his nice clothes had been ruined when Tommy hit him with the truck, he didn’t really have a choice. It was between this or showing up dressed the way he does for school; wearing blue jeans and a tee-shirt.

The knot looked perfect, but it was a little too tight. As he adjusted it, he reflected on how easy it had been to get Megan to help him tie it.

“Hey sis, are you busy,” he had asked as he stood outside her door. Their new-found relationship was still a bit unusual for him and he didn’t want to enter without either her approval or her permission.

“I’m just getting ready to go out with my girlfriends,” she answered. “Why, what’s up?”

“I was wondering if you knew anything about tying a tie? Dad never really showed me and I…”

She suddenly opened the door, startling him into forgetting the rest of what he was saying. He had apparently interrupted her as she was changing because when she opened the door, she was only wearing shorts and a sports bra. She didn’t say anything as she worked and her expert hands had the knot tied in no time.

“Shit! Where’d you learn to do that?”

“I learned by watching mom tie dad’s for him,” she answered as she turned away. She walked over to the bed and picked up the white blouse she was going to wear out for the evening. “That what you’re wearing to your date with Lucy tonight,” she asked as she pulled it over her head.

“Yeah… My good clothes are ruined,” he said.

Her expression was only of impatience as she reached for her jeans and taking the hint, he turned around so she could finish getting dressed.

“Oh well. I’m sure she won’t care what you’re wearing anyways.”

He frowned at the memory of what she had said. It wasn’t that he had been seeking her approval. In fact, he didn’t recall ever asking for it! Maybe it had been just his imagination, but it had sounded like her inner bitch was trying to get out. She hadn’t really said much more to him beyond that. It had only taken the time he struggled for a response for her to finish getting ready, and by then she was out the door and gone.

Finally happy with his tie, he began to fuss over a pimple that had erupted on his nose. It was large, red and angry and he knew that if he didn’t at least pop it, it would be the only thing she would see before the lights went out in the theater.

“Well look at you! I leave you alone for a few minutes and you gay yourself up!”

“Shut the fuck up,” he muttered under his breath. “I’m not about to be dealing with you tonight.”

“Oh really now? Like you’re going to have a choice? You know as well as I do about the power I have over you.”

He struggled with his feelings at that and wondered at just how much of it was true.

“Don’t forget to take out the trash,” it taunted as he was thinking this.

“I thought I told you to shut up.”

The unwelcome guest didn’t answer, and for the moment, he felt that it had gone. By this time, he’d popped and cleaned the mess from the pimple and was blotting the blood dry when suddenly Tippy began yipping from downstairs. A quick glance at his watch confirmed there was still a couple of hours before he had to leave, but he still sighed in frustration.

“Damn it,” he yelled. “Why am I always stuck taking care of their GODDAMN DOG!!”

He turned and slammed the door open, storming through it and toward the stairs.

Tippy, the family’s miniature Maltese, was at the bottom. She was sitting on her haunches, barking toward him, but as soon as he stepped into view she flew into action. Jumping to her feet in excitement, he began running in circles, pausing only long enough to watch his thundering approach. Her need was so urgent that she had no idea that the mood of The Boy had become full of deadly intent.

“It’s NOT my FUCKING job,” he screamed into the air above her head.

He took the steps two at a time as he descended the stairs at breakneck speed. His vision had focused into a narrow beam, the target of which was the spinning ball of white fur now pawing at the door.

He landed at the bottom of the stairs with enough force that he’d had to crouch to lessen the impact. His hands had balled into fists at his sides, opening and closing in time with each deep breath. Tippy was standing on her hind legs, whimpering as she continued to scratch at the door and she wasn’t as concerned so much with his approach as she was with getting to the other side of the door.

“Get back,” he growled to her.

She didn’t listen, or understand, as he closed the distance between them. It no longer mattered. He grabbed the door and yanked it with such force that it bowled her over and sucked her hind legs underneath. There was the sound of two sudden cracks as the bones in each leg broke, and…

…suddenly his head was filled with the sound of an air raid siren, only, that wasn’t right. He whipped his head once to the right and left as he tried to shake away the feeling of disorientation that had come over him.

“What the hell,” he muttered groggily when the sound didn’t go away.

The voice began to laugh hysterically and it was at that moment when his mind slipped back into place. His hand was on the doorknob, the door was open about eight inches and Tippy lay on her back, screaming unlike anything he had ever heard before…

She Has A Pretty Face Though (Part XIV)

Posted on June 18, 2013 by R. Richardsson

Disclaimer

Finally, all work is strictly fiction and does not reflect the views of the author. Any resemblance to actual person(s) is only a coincidence.

If this isn’t your cup of tea, then avoid these excerpts and hopefully I’ll see you around my other posts!

———-

It had only been a couple of hours since the confrontation in the kitchen. The unwelcome guest had quickly grown quiet after the front door had slammed and he he had been left mercifully alone. His head ached in its absence, a dull pounding that made it hard for him to keep his eyes open and for the moment he wasn’t trying to.

Even though she had left for work shortly after the pager summoned her, he’d chosen to remain in his room. He wrestled with the feelings that had been coming over him, the thoughts he’d been having more and more often, and the voice that seemed to have taken a life of its own.

Up until recently, he had been comfortable with the way he was. He accepted his rage as an outlet to the cards that life had dealt him. Whenever confronted with something that he didn’t know how to handle, something that just seemed to push all the right buttons, he ‘slipped’ into himself and succumbed to the fantasies that his mind played out for him.

In the months that passed since his father had ran away, the fantasies had grown into something else. They had taken a life of their own. They had grown stronger, crossing the fine line between fantasy and reality and at times he had difficulty determining which side of the line he was on.

Most recently, the fantasy with his sister.

It was the most real, the most involved of the fantasies that he could ever recall. Usually, they took place in a matter of seconds. The other night, when he had been taking the trash to the dumpster, he had blacked out for at least an hour. He still wasn’t sure of how much time had passed, only that it was light when he left the house and then it was dark when he came back to himself.

With that he slammed the fridge door closed. Her positioning was just right and her legs jumped from the impact.

He also jumped as the memory came to the front of his thoughts and then moaned miserably. It was a low, guttural sound, and it bore the turmoil he was feeling from within.

“What’s going on with me,” he lamented from behind his hands.

For the second time since coming to his room, tears began to leak from the corner of his eyes. They were hot to the touch and they ran thickly down his cheeks, but they didn’t stay for as long as they had the first time. He was emotionally exhausted.

“Aw, does the little baby need a diaper,” the voice suddenly spoke.

He didn’t answer, but he did grow still just as suddenly as the voice had come forth. Unlike the other times he had heard it, this time he really listened. He listened to the sound of it. It was a little like his, but with the raspy quality of someone who had spent hours cheering on their favorite team. Furthermore, and he was afraid of this, he didn’t believe that it was coming from around him, but, inside.

“No shit? Seems like Sherlock finally got a clue,” the voice mocked.

He lifted his face from his hands and rubbed his eyes with the back of his wrists, blinking a few times to help them readjust to the light in his room. As before, he chose to ignore the taunt.

From downstairs, he could hear the dog yapping from somewhere near the back door.

“Megan,” he called out loud enough to be heard down the hall. “Could you please take care of Tippy?”

“I’m in the bathroom Scott, sorry. You’re going to have to get her this time.”

He sighed and looked over at the clock. It was still early, and there was still plenty of time for him to shower for the movie, but he still felt it to be unfair that he was constantly stuck with caring for her all the time.

“…not that I wanted the fucking thing anyways,” he muttered.

His vision wavered just a bit from the pressure of his headache, and as he stood to go downstairs, the voice began to laugh. It was the soft sound of someone who was genuinely amused by something, but it bothered him nonetheless, and before he could say anything, it spoke once again.

“You might as well get used to this. I’m here for the long haul Scott.”