New York used to be more vibrant; there used to be a sensation of overwhelming bliss when Lucy walked the streets of the city. Then again, there'd also been a swagger to her step that was missing these days. Her grandmother hadn't been pleased when a tired Lucy had appeared on her doorstep weary from a long flight and broken from her farewells. However, the wise old woman hadn't said much, and had let Lucy take her old bedroom for as long as she needed it. Lucy was grateful for that quiet acceptance of whatever had been done to make Lucy feel the need to return to New York. Yet New York didn't seem to hold all of the answers that the small girl had been hoping for, there was no trick that had made her whole again, nothing that had filled the emptiness she'd been experiencing for such a long, long time.
Her old Grandmother worried- almost more than she had before she sent Lucy away. At least when the girl had lived with her the first time, she'd had the confidence that she would walk out of any situation that her troublesome nature would expose her to. Now Lucy walked with a gait that wasn't boastful- which might have been a good thing, but no one was certain. The only things the child did were work on her correspondance classes, call her brother, and take long walks that kept her out at all hours. There wasn't anything that the older woman could do to keep Lucy in; someone had taught the child to pick locks, and once Lucy even took her door off of the hinges so that she could get out. In the face of such desparation and efficiency, Clary had no recourse but to let her child wander out on the streets, and pray that she was as tough now as she had been then.
In truth, Lucy was probably a fair bit tougher than she had been before she'd left. She was silent when she could manage it- though she was always able to falsify some cheeriness for Henrick's sake. She honestly just didn't care anymore- her mind was swirling with thoughts of a certain male, of the young woman he flirted with constantly and how much she had always wished that he could have turned this attention on her. She'd done everything she could think of to get over him, but her troublesome heart would have none of it. Not even, it seemed, transplanting herself elsewhere to get over him. The end result was a numb feeling that coated everything she did, every single action and every single thought. She wondered if the people she encountered would notice that about her- none of them had bothered her, or even really jostled her on her walks; given that most of them were in the evening, this suited her well. Occasionally she would instigate a fight. It was the only thrill that she could get her being to respond to anymore. She didn't even touch things.
Today was one of those days she was looking for a fight. It was pulsing in her veins, the desire to go to that place when the adrenaline made her feel alive. She wanted a tough fight, something that she wouldn't walk away from unscathed. She wanted the sensation of flesh slamming against flesh, wanted the pain to mingle with a triumphant feeling of ecstasy. She'd become something of a junkie for violence in the past couple of weeks, each fix getting progressively more and more violent. She wanted to find the perfect fight, and so she waited and waited. Her moment came sometime after two o'clock in the morning, when she encountered a drunken male man-handle his lady friend. All of his male friends laughed at the poor woman's expense when she was slung to the ground by her escort. Lucy knew that this was the one she'd been looking for. She took personal offense to any situation that could harm a lady.
Excluding herself, of course. Lucy had given up on anything remotely ladylike. Moving as quickly as she knew how, Lucy delivered a punch to the back of the brute's arm, just above the elbow joint which caused him to immediatly release the woman in his grasp. As the furious man and his crew closed in on Lucy, she made certain to put her back to the wall, a fierce smile on her lips- more teeth baring than anything friendly. It was a flurry of punching and kicking- most of it delivered from the trained young woman who fought in the center, keeping the wall at her back. She ducked one punch to her head, and slid a very painful jab across that assailant's ribcage. Another attacker had flanked her meanwhile, and got her squarely in the back. Lucy went down and rolled, scissoring her ankles around his as she did so, bringing him down and allowing his head to slam against the wall with a sickening crack. One attacker down. One of the others- the one she'd punched in the ribs fled the scene.
Lucy was already wheezing from the blow to her back, but she didn't give any indication of her discomfort. There were still two men waiting for their chance at her. One came armed with a piece of wood he'd found littering the alley to their right. Lucy dodged his first swing and caught the second painfully in her hands. The third took her full side, and she felt something rather painful pop. Then she wrenched the wood from his hands, and tossed it to the side. She had foolishly paid no attention to the other man, who had come up behind her, and come down hard on her collar bone with a bit of metal. That, too, cracked sickeningly, and Lucy felt dizziness overwhelming her. That right arm was out of commission, unless she needed to fight that much pain to continue. She moved warily away from the man holding the pipe, watching him cautiously. Then she rushed him, tripping him up with a side-blow to the knee, though she took a blow to her own thigh as he fell, and she crashed down on his back. With a grunt, she grabbed the back of his hair, and slammed his forehead into the ground. He went still.
Lucy didn't have time to ponder whether or not she'd killed this man, for she was hurled to her feet and then into a wall by her last-standing opponent. A low groan escaped her, but she rolled along the wall until she faced the man again. A knife was held in his hand, and it was descending on her from her left side. Locking a scream behind her teeth, Lucy flung her left hand up to catch his wrist, trying not to pass out and keep the knife away from her. She angled her body, and flung her right fist at his throat with all of the strength she had left. He grunted and staggered back. The girl opened her mouth to scream, but he smashed the back of his hand into her face, which slammed her head against the stone wall. As the world spun around her in a sick fashion, she slid down the wall and stayed on the ground, heedless of the man who stabbed her to be sure she stayed down, before collecting his weeping lady-friend, and walking away. He left two men down on the ground, and little Lucy bleeding to death as she feebly tried to put enough pressure on her side to keep from dying.
She realised, quite suddenly, that she had so much to live for.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Secrets - part 2
Things had all happened in a whirlwind after Morgan had arrived; the ambulance had been called, as had Jonathan. Morgan had declined riding with Madeline, and instead had bundled Ainsley into a coat, leaving her feeling like a small child once again, and it was all she could do not to just cling to Morgan. Shock had set in, and the usually independent girl didn’t fuss when Morgan brought her out to the car and buckled her in. She couldn’t remember later what he said to her, but she knew that it was soothing, and that the sound of her Uncle’s voice slowly pulled her from that scary place her mind had retreated to. By the time they reached the hospital, she was aware of the presence of her father and older sister. Isobel hugged her sister, and Ainsley felt strange, with her sister’s pregnant stomach pressed against her. It felt sick that her mother was so frail and her sister so swollen. Reuben hadn’t been able to come with Isobel, and so Ainsley soon took charge of little Dawson, who didn’t understand what was happening; only that it was scary. But even still, Ainsley couldn’t feel anything. She was numb, and the weight of her nephew in her arms reminded her of holding her mother in a similar manner hours later. As soon as she could, she passed Dazzy on to Morgan and fled, pleading the excuse of the bathroom.
However, Ainsley didn’t stop at the bathroom, or even at the front door. Instead, she walked right outside, into the light drizzle that had begun to trickle from the sky. She wasn’t in the mood to be around people, wasn’t in the mood to deal with condolences. She walked as hard as her long legs would take her, striding away from the hospital, straight to the park that some generous government official had decided would be nice to have near the hospital. It was quiet, and it was soothing. Ainsley needed some peace, and she wasn’t sure how else to achieve it. By the time she reached the small fish pond in the centre of the park, the rain was a steady sheet that was pouring over her. She shivered in her hooded jacket, recalling how she always seemed to be drawn to water when upset- as she had when she’d first gone off to boarding school. Ainsley wasn’t certain just how long she’d been standing there, when abruptly the water ceased to fall on her. Ainsley jumped slightly, and craned her neck to see who had extended their umbrella over her.
Christian must have come straight from work, as he was wearing a nice button-up shirt underneath a wool coat. Ainsley just stared at her brother for a long minute before moving closer to him, and laying her head against his shoulder. She was grateful- not for the first time, that Christian had taken his height from his father, or this would have been harder to do. For a few minutes, the older brother said nothing to his sister, just letting her come as close to clinging to him as Ainsley ever did. When finally he spoke, Christian chose not to speak of the incident between his mother and baby sister; he knew that Ainsley would speak about it when she was ready. Talking now would only make it harder for her to process.
“Ains, you’re making it hard to eat my pretzel.” The girl made a small sound that would pass for a choked laugh, and pulled back so that he could eat his pretzel.
“Sorry, Chris.”
“No problem- want a bite?” He held the treat out, and let her take a small bite, and he smiled as he could begin to see the change. Her eyes were a bit livelier, and she was eating the first thing he knew of since their mother had collapsed. When her stomach gurgled, he held out the rest of the pretzel with a grin, and he watched her take the whole thing.
“How did you know where to find me?”
“A rather lucky guess, as it turns out.”
“Hmph.”
“One of the doctors was worried about you, and told Jon where you went.”
“So Dad sent you?”
“I chose to come.”
It took Ainsley a few moments to process that, as well as to eat the rest of the pretzel that Christian had picked up from a vendor on the way to check in on his sister.
“I’ve never seen Mom so weak.”
“I haven’t seen her yet.”
“I shouldn’t make you worry more.”
“I’m going to worry anyway, Jellybean; about you or Mom either one.”
“I was holding her, Chris. Holding her easier than it is to hold Dawson.” Her voice broke, and Christian pulled her close again. “Why didn’t they tell me? Why wouldn’t they just let me know she was sick? I-I don’t understand!”
Christian didn’t have any words of comfort; he didn’t understand either.
“I don’t know, Jellybean. But let’s get out of the rain. Don’t want you ending up in the bed next to Mom.” He shrugged out of his coat, wrapping it around Ainsley who was thoroughly soaked. Then he turned her back towards the hospital, his arm firmly wrapped around her waist.
However, Ainsley didn’t stop at the bathroom, or even at the front door. Instead, she walked right outside, into the light drizzle that had begun to trickle from the sky. She wasn’t in the mood to be around people, wasn’t in the mood to deal with condolences. She walked as hard as her long legs would take her, striding away from the hospital, straight to the park that some generous government official had decided would be nice to have near the hospital. It was quiet, and it was soothing. Ainsley needed some peace, and she wasn’t sure how else to achieve it. By the time she reached the small fish pond in the centre of the park, the rain was a steady sheet that was pouring over her. She shivered in her hooded jacket, recalling how she always seemed to be drawn to water when upset- as she had when she’d first gone off to boarding school. Ainsley wasn’t certain just how long she’d been standing there, when abruptly the water ceased to fall on her. Ainsley jumped slightly, and craned her neck to see who had extended their umbrella over her.
Christian must have come straight from work, as he was wearing a nice button-up shirt underneath a wool coat. Ainsley just stared at her brother for a long minute before moving closer to him, and laying her head against his shoulder. She was grateful- not for the first time, that Christian had taken his height from his father, or this would have been harder to do. For a few minutes, the older brother said nothing to his sister, just letting her come as close to clinging to him as Ainsley ever did. When finally he spoke, Christian chose not to speak of the incident between his mother and baby sister; he knew that Ainsley would speak about it when she was ready. Talking now would only make it harder for her to process.
“Ains, you’re making it hard to eat my pretzel.” The girl made a small sound that would pass for a choked laugh, and pulled back so that he could eat his pretzel.
“Sorry, Chris.”
“No problem- want a bite?” He held the treat out, and let her take a small bite, and he smiled as he could begin to see the change. Her eyes were a bit livelier, and she was eating the first thing he knew of since their mother had collapsed. When her stomach gurgled, he held out the rest of the pretzel with a grin, and he watched her take the whole thing.
“How did you know where to find me?”
“A rather lucky guess, as it turns out.”
“Hmph.”
“One of the doctors was worried about you, and told Jon where you went.”
“So Dad sent you?”
“I chose to come.”
It took Ainsley a few moments to process that, as well as to eat the rest of the pretzel that Christian had picked up from a vendor on the way to check in on his sister.
“I’ve never seen Mom so weak.”
“I haven’t seen her yet.”
“I shouldn’t make you worry more.”
“I’m going to worry anyway, Jellybean; about you or Mom either one.”
“I was holding her, Chris. Holding her easier than it is to hold Dawson.” Her voice broke, and Christian pulled her close again. “Why didn’t they tell me? Why wouldn’t they just let me know she was sick? I-I don’t understand!”
Christian didn’t have any words of comfort; he didn’t understand either.
“I don’t know, Jellybean. But let’s get out of the rain. Don’t want you ending up in the bed next to Mom.” He shrugged out of his coat, wrapping it around Ainsley who was thoroughly soaked. Then he turned her back towards the hospital, his arm firmly wrapped around her waist.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Secrets pt. 1
Ainsley wasn't used to the house being so quiet all the time. Jake had moved out several years ago when he went to college, leaving Ainsley alone with her parents. Her father wasn't nearly as quiet at home as he was in public, at least not usually, and his suddenly suspicious silence worried Ainsley to bits. Likewise, her mother had never been quiet in any situation and her constant exhaustion left the seventeen year old even more worried that Jonathan's silence. Even more frightening, was the way that both parents seemed to be blocking her out. Madeline always had a smile for her, but it was always tired, and distracted. Jonathan always answered her queries with a hug and a promise that everything would turn out. That answer did not satisfy the girl who didn't even know what was wrong to begin with. Even Uncle Morgan wasn't saying a word, though the fear in his blue eyes did nothing to reassure his god-daughter.
It didn't seem that Jake knew anything, either. Ainsley was racking up quite the bill on her cell-phone, with her late-night calls to her older brother. Neither one wanted to worry their older siblings. Isobel was pregnant again, and Christian was busy with the restaurant. Besides, Ainsley was afraid that they would go straight to their parents, and despite wanting to know, she didn't want to cause any more stress to them. So rather than linger in the terrified silence at home, the kind of silence that felt like the whole place was holding its breath, Ainsley was spending more and more time with her almost-boyfriend, Avery. She was certain that he was waiting until she turned eighteen to make anything official, but his door was always open to her, for which she was grateful. Ainsley knew she could tell him anything, and he was the one who had to listen constantly to the softly-spoken observations that her mother was losing weight, and that her skin was turning gray. She wasn't supposed to notice, she knew, but the day she was cleaning her parents' bathroom, and found rather long and thick clumps of her mother's hair in the shower, Ainsley began to snoop.
She spent hours in the library, poring over medical journals, trying to discover what the matter was with her mother. She took to rummaging through Madeline's desk, and even attempting to follow her mother the few times she went out. Still, Ainsley couldn't seem to figure out exactly what it was that was causing her mother to be so ill. It was killing Ainsley that she couldn't discover what was wrong with Madeline, but there wasn't much more she could do. Her parents were determined to keep their secrets.
One day, Ainsley was home alone with her mother. Jonathan had to be somewhere, and Morgan was meant to come, but was stuck in traffic. Between the two men's absences, Ainsley felt the unspoken need to watch out for her mother. She was in the kitchen, trying to prepare something that she felt her mother might be able to keep down. As she stirred her mother's favourite soup, she heard a clatter from the living room. Immediatly the girl turned the stove off, and rushed away to see what the matter with her mother was. The girl's mother lay sprawled on the floor, having fallen while retrieving a book from an end table. Ainsley knelt by her mother, carefully checking to make sure she was alright before lifting her helplessly into her arms. It was a pitiful sight, the daughter holding the mother in her arms. Ainsley had outgrown her mother years ago in stature, and her athletic build easily lifted her rather frail mother. Shock was overwhelming the poor girl, crying softly, and holding her mother. Should she call the emergency room? She wasn't even sure what had happened.
Madeline groaned, turning her face against her daughter's shoulder as Ainsley faced the front door, having heard the sound of keys rattling in the lock. The door swung open, to reveal a rather hassled-looking Morgan, who stopped cold, his gaze fixed on his god-daughter's tear-stained face.
"Why didn't anyone tell me, Uncle Morgan?"
It didn't seem that Jake knew anything, either. Ainsley was racking up quite the bill on her cell-phone, with her late-night calls to her older brother. Neither one wanted to worry their older siblings. Isobel was pregnant again, and Christian was busy with the restaurant. Besides, Ainsley was afraid that they would go straight to their parents, and despite wanting to know, she didn't want to cause any more stress to them. So rather than linger in the terrified silence at home, the kind of silence that felt like the whole place was holding its breath, Ainsley was spending more and more time with her almost-boyfriend, Avery. She was certain that he was waiting until she turned eighteen to make anything official, but his door was always open to her, for which she was grateful. Ainsley knew she could tell him anything, and he was the one who had to listen constantly to the softly-spoken observations that her mother was losing weight, and that her skin was turning gray. She wasn't supposed to notice, she knew, but the day she was cleaning her parents' bathroom, and found rather long and thick clumps of her mother's hair in the shower, Ainsley began to snoop.
She spent hours in the library, poring over medical journals, trying to discover what the matter was with her mother. She took to rummaging through Madeline's desk, and even attempting to follow her mother the few times she went out. Still, Ainsley couldn't seem to figure out exactly what it was that was causing her mother to be so ill. It was killing Ainsley that she couldn't discover what was wrong with Madeline, but there wasn't much more she could do. Her parents were determined to keep their secrets.
One day, Ainsley was home alone with her mother. Jonathan had to be somewhere, and Morgan was meant to come, but was stuck in traffic. Between the two men's absences, Ainsley felt the unspoken need to watch out for her mother. She was in the kitchen, trying to prepare something that she felt her mother might be able to keep down. As she stirred her mother's favourite soup, she heard a clatter from the living room. Immediatly the girl turned the stove off, and rushed away to see what the matter with her mother was. The girl's mother lay sprawled on the floor, having fallen while retrieving a book from an end table. Ainsley knelt by her mother, carefully checking to make sure she was alright before lifting her helplessly into her arms. It was a pitiful sight, the daughter holding the mother in her arms. Ainsley had outgrown her mother years ago in stature, and her athletic build easily lifted her rather frail mother. Shock was overwhelming the poor girl, crying softly, and holding her mother. Should she call the emergency room? She wasn't even sure what had happened.
Madeline groaned, turning her face against her daughter's shoulder as Ainsley faced the front door, having heard the sound of keys rattling in the lock. The door swung open, to reveal a rather hassled-looking Morgan, who stopped cold, his gaze fixed on his god-daughter's tear-stained face.
"Why didn't anyone tell me, Uncle Morgan?"
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