(no subject)
I started a new story. Not sure where it's going, or if I'll even finish it, but feedback of any kind would be highly appreciated. Thank you.
Fading daylight is falling slantwise on a shitty part of town in Orlando and Cassie is about to have one of her “episodes.” I can tell because she has that idiotic look on her face that she always gets: lips slightly parted, eyes unfocused, nostrils flared. When she halts abruptly barely a block away from the hotel, I immediately throw a glance over my shoulder and note the knot of sketchy tech school dropouts coming toward us across the parking lot of the Mo’ Money Pawn Shop we just passed.
“So, that’s what it’s about, huh? You little bitch, that is not the kind of fucking male attention you want.” Her bare arm offers no resistance when I yank her into a doorway and push her up against a window covered by a piece of plywood reading “Demo” in black spraypaint. “What do you think they’re gonna do with a fifteen-year-old spaz in a mini skirt? I can’t protect you from those assholes if your little plot goes awry. I don’t know if I even fucking want to.” I shake her a little to let her know I’m mad enough to leave her here, hoping she’ll get scared and give it up.
“When the seventh son of the seventh son takes the white rose from the garden of the Sultan--”
She is starting off quiet, but that’s because the guys aren’t quite close enough to hear her yet. “Shut up, Cassie. You are going to shut up and walk your dumbass self back to the hotel in silence before you get us both fucked over--”
“--and the beast rises from the waves of the saltless sea--,” her voice rises. I can see the long shadows of the guys walking ahead of them, creeping past our little alcove. “Shut up, Cassie,” I hiss into her ear, backing her further into the corner and shielding her from view with my body.
“--then you will know the Queen of the Stars once more--,” she yells, beginning to convulse as she does when she really gets going, pitching forward with all the force her hundred pound frame can muster. I could still hold her back, but she artfully slams one plastic stiletto heel into my foot, and we both reel out of the doorway.
“What the fuck?” This one smells like Wild Turkey and Kools and has his hands clamped onto my upper arms. I could take care of him easily, but Cassie has finished her tirade as quickly as she begun it and has now moved on to the passing out part of the show. I can’t hold her up and shake off Wild Turkey.
Wild Turkey’s friend, Biker Jacket, grabs Cassie around the waist when I start to slump forward. He pulls her away from me, affording me the opportunity to whip around and snarl at Wild Turkey, who takes two steps back with a parody of a sorry look on his face, quickly replaced by a shiteating grin.
“Hey, what the hell was she talking about?,” Biker Jacket demands, shifting Cassie’s weight a little. “Fucking Queen of the Stars and shit?”
“She nuts?” This from Lackey McBadteeth in the background. I swing my eyes from guy to guy, trying my best to look tough. Goddam Cassie. There are five of them, all early twenties; Biker Jacket is Head Asshole, judging from the way the others seem to watch him. I catch sight of a patrol car half a block down out of the corner of my eye and start drawing in a deep breath to scream when Cassie gasps and opens her eyes.
“Oh, Lydia, I did it again, didn’t I? I’m so, so sorry.” She throws a weak smile at me, but I swear to God there’s a twised glint in her eye. There is definitely a blush rising on her face as she gathers herself and pulls away from Biker Jacket. “I guess you caught me when I blacked out. Thanks...”
“Mark,” Biker Jacket supplies. Oh, this is disgusting, he actually looks embarrassed when faced with those big, grateful blue eyes.
“Let’s go, Cassie,” I growl.
“Of course, just, do you mind...” There’s that weak, apologetic smile again. Goddammit. I loop my arm around her waist and she throws an arm over my shoulders. “I’m just always so shaky, after, you know.”
“Where are you going, I can walk you there, make sure she’s okay?” Biker Mark directs this at me. At least he’s smart enough to know who is in charge.
“No thanks. What are you, fucking Prince Charming? We’re fine.”
Wild Turkey steps close enough I could get drunk off the smell. “Watch it, bitch.”
“You watch it, motherfucker.”
“Lydia!” Cassie sighs, making a big show of just how worn out she is and what a burden it is on her to reign in my temper. “Can we just go home now?”
My back is aching from dragging her ass along when we get to the hotel. As Big Dee opens the gate for us, I catch Cassie smiling over her shoulder. I let Big Dee usher her inside and start fussing over her. Outside, under a sickly moon, I watch through the gate as Biker Mark lights a cigarette and leans against the speed limit sign across the street.
The first time was when I was in the third grade spelling bee state championships. I was eight, Cassie was five. I was standing in some high school auditorium, scared as shit in front of hundreds of people, spelling A-A-R-D-V-A-R-K for the win, and Cassie just starting bellowing from the audience, “They’re burning, they’re all burning!” Over and over she screamed it, building volume, thrashing around in her seat. Our parents freaked, I freaked, babies got spooked and started wailing, the whole contest came to a halt while she was carried out of the auditorium. After she passed out and came to seemingly normal, I was given a new word to spell. I do not remember what it was. I sputtered out a meaningless string of letters and took my seat with the other losers.
The second time was a few weeks after that, at my ninth birthday party. This time they were all falling. The third was when we went to see The Little Mermaid at the dollar theatre. They were all drowning. I really wanted to see that movie. My parents spent money they didn’t have on a string of doctors, psychologists and psychics. By the time they sat me down to tell me that we didn’t really need anyone else to tell us what we all knew, that Cassie had a “special gift,” we had left our house in a quiet suburb behind and moved into Delilah’s Economy Hotel. Delilah insisted we call her Big Dee and clucked over Cassie like a permed hen.
Over the years Cassie got some fresh material and built up quite a show. But she never deviated much from the routine she established at five. Go blank, scream some cryptic prediction, jerk around, pass out, and wake up with no memory of any of it. In the beginning I was scared for her. And of her, a little. But I was determined to be the big sister, and take care of her, defend her when other kids made fun. It probably took me two years to realize her episodes never occurred when we were alone. It took me another few months to determine that Cassie didn’t act without an audience.
Big Dee has tiny, pale circles on her chest from when she falls asleep behind the hotel reception desk and her huge tits catch the Virginia Slim that falls from her frosted coral lips. The scars in no way discourage her from wearing alarmingly low-cut shirts. Tonight it’s a pink and white polka dot halter top, paired with white spandex capris and clear plastic hooker heels. She’s got Cassie’s cheek pressed against her cleavage while she strokes her hair with one hand and gesticulates wildly with the Slim-wielding other.
“Baby girl, what are we going to do with you? Thank goodness you got Lydia to watch after you, or Lord knows...”
“Dee, it’s alright, I’m fine. Although Lydia’s attitude nearly got us into a mess...”
“Fuck off, Cassie, I never would have had to talk to those guys at all if you hadn’t...”
“Lyddie, you gotta stop blaming your sister for what she can’t help.” Big Dee releases Cassie and takes me gently by the shoulders. Her day-glo acrylic nails click together near my ears. She leans her face in close to mine and looks me right in the eyes. The smoke from the cigarette dangling in the corner of her mouth creeps up my nose. “It is not good for you to be so angry all the time.”
“Dr. Phil someone else, Dee. I’m going upstairs.” I start for the staircase, but notice Cassie fussing with her reflection in the glass of Big Dee’s obligatory hotel wall art. “First I’m gonna have a cigarette, though.”
Cassie shoots me a dirty scowl. “You shouldn’t smoke, Lyddie.” She flings herself into Big Dee’s chair behind the desk and crosses her arms when I give her the finger.
I’m shivering, perched on the edge of the broken, algae-ridden fountain out front, thinking I wish I really did have a cigarette to smoke, when Biker Mark slinks out of a shadow to sit next to me.
“Got a smoke?”
“Sure,” he grins as he pulls two Reds out of a soft pack. He lights mine first. What a goddam gentleman.
“Cassie is fifteen. And I got no problem reporting you and all your buddies to the cops if you fucking touch her.”
He leans in and blows smoke in my hair. I keep staring straight ahead. “Fuck you. Who wants Cassie?”
Fading daylight is falling slantwise on a shitty part of town in Orlando and Cassie is about to have one of her “episodes.” I can tell because she has that idiotic look on her face that she always gets: lips slightly parted, eyes unfocused, nostrils flared. When she halts abruptly barely a block away from the hotel, I immediately throw a glance over my shoulder and note the knot of sketchy tech school dropouts coming toward us across the parking lot of the Mo’ Money Pawn Shop we just passed.
“So, that’s what it’s about, huh? You little bitch, that is not the kind of fucking male attention you want.” Her bare arm offers no resistance when I yank her into a doorway and push her up against a window covered by a piece of plywood reading “Demo” in black spraypaint. “What do you think they’re gonna do with a fifteen-year-old spaz in a mini skirt? I can’t protect you from those assholes if your little plot goes awry. I don’t know if I even fucking want to.” I shake her a little to let her know I’m mad enough to leave her here, hoping she’ll get scared and give it up.
“When the seventh son of the seventh son takes the white rose from the garden of the Sultan--”
She is starting off quiet, but that’s because the guys aren’t quite close enough to hear her yet. “Shut up, Cassie. You are going to shut up and walk your dumbass self back to the hotel in silence before you get us both fucked over--”
“--and the beast rises from the waves of the saltless sea--,” her voice rises. I can see the long shadows of the guys walking ahead of them, creeping past our little alcove. “Shut up, Cassie,” I hiss into her ear, backing her further into the corner and shielding her from view with my body.
“--then you will know the Queen of the Stars once more--,” she yells, beginning to convulse as she does when she really gets going, pitching forward with all the force her hundred pound frame can muster. I could still hold her back, but she artfully slams one plastic stiletto heel into my foot, and we both reel out of the doorway.
“What the fuck?” This one smells like Wild Turkey and Kools and has his hands clamped onto my upper arms. I could take care of him easily, but Cassie has finished her tirade as quickly as she begun it and has now moved on to the passing out part of the show. I can’t hold her up and shake off Wild Turkey.
Wild Turkey’s friend, Biker Jacket, grabs Cassie around the waist when I start to slump forward. He pulls her away from me, affording me the opportunity to whip around and snarl at Wild Turkey, who takes two steps back with a parody of a sorry look on his face, quickly replaced by a shiteating grin.
“Hey, what the hell was she talking about?,” Biker Jacket demands, shifting Cassie’s weight a little. “Fucking Queen of the Stars and shit?”
“She nuts?” This from Lackey McBadteeth in the background. I swing my eyes from guy to guy, trying my best to look tough. Goddam Cassie. There are five of them, all early twenties; Biker Jacket is Head Asshole, judging from the way the others seem to watch him. I catch sight of a patrol car half a block down out of the corner of my eye and start drawing in a deep breath to scream when Cassie gasps and opens her eyes.
“Oh, Lydia, I did it again, didn’t I? I’m so, so sorry.” She throws a weak smile at me, but I swear to God there’s a twised glint in her eye. There is definitely a blush rising on her face as she gathers herself and pulls away from Biker Jacket. “I guess you caught me when I blacked out. Thanks...”
“Mark,” Biker Jacket supplies. Oh, this is disgusting, he actually looks embarrassed when faced with those big, grateful blue eyes.
“Let’s go, Cassie,” I growl.
“Of course, just, do you mind...” There’s that weak, apologetic smile again. Goddammit. I loop my arm around her waist and she throws an arm over my shoulders. “I’m just always so shaky, after, you know.”
“Where are you going, I can walk you there, make sure she’s okay?” Biker Mark directs this at me. At least he’s smart enough to know who is in charge.
“No thanks. What are you, fucking Prince Charming? We’re fine.”
Wild Turkey steps close enough I could get drunk off the smell. “Watch it, bitch.”
“You watch it, motherfucker.”
“Lydia!” Cassie sighs, making a big show of just how worn out she is and what a burden it is on her to reign in my temper. “Can we just go home now?”
My back is aching from dragging her ass along when we get to the hotel. As Big Dee opens the gate for us, I catch Cassie smiling over her shoulder. I let Big Dee usher her inside and start fussing over her. Outside, under a sickly moon, I watch through the gate as Biker Mark lights a cigarette and leans against the speed limit sign across the street.
The first time was when I was in the third grade spelling bee state championships. I was eight, Cassie was five. I was standing in some high school auditorium, scared as shit in front of hundreds of people, spelling A-A-R-D-V-A-R-K for the win, and Cassie just starting bellowing from the audience, “They’re burning, they’re all burning!” Over and over she screamed it, building volume, thrashing around in her seat. Our parents freaked, I freaked, babies got spooked and started wailing, the whole contest came to a halt while she was carried out of the auditorium. After she passed out and came to seemingly normal, I was given a new word to spell. I do not remember what it was. I sputtered out a meaningless string of letters and took my seat with the other losers.
The second time was a few weeks after that, at my ninth birthday party. This time they were all falling. The third was when we went to see The Little Mermaid at the dollar theatre. They were all drowning. I really wanted to see that movie. My parents spent money they didn’t have on a string of doctors, psychologists and psychics. By the time they sat me down to tell me that we didn’t really need anyone else to tell us what we all knew, that Cassie had a “special gift,” we had left our house in a quiet suburb behind and moved into Delilah’s Economy Hotel. Delilah insisted we call her Big Dee and clucked over Cassie like a permed hen.
Over the years Cassie got some fresh material and built up quite a show. But she never deviated much from the routine she established at five. Go blank, scream some cryptic prediction, jerk around, pass out, and wake up with no memory of any of it. In the beginning I was scared for her. And of her, a little. But I was determined to be the big sister, and take care of her, defend her when other kids made fun. It probably took me two years to realize her episodes never occurred when we were alone. It took me another few months to determine that Cassie didn’t act without an audience.
Big Dee has tiny, pale circles on her chest from when she falls asleep behind the hotel reception desk and her huge tits catch the Virginia Slim that falls from her frosted coral lips. The scars in no way discourage her from wearing alarmingly low-cut shirts. Tonight it’s a pink and white polka dot halter top, paired with white spandex capris and clear plastic hooker heels. She’s got Cassie’s cheek pressed against her cleavage while she strokes her hair with one hand and gesticulates wildly with the Slim-wielding other.
“Baby girl, what are we going to do with you? Thank goodness you got Lydia to watch after you, or Lord knows...”
“Dee, it’s alright, I’m fine. Although Lydia’s attitude nearly got us into a mess...”
“Fuck off, Cassie, I never would have had to talk to those guys at all if you hadn’t...”
“Lyddie, you gotta stop blaming your sister for what she can’t help.” Big Dee releases Cassie and takes me gently by the shoulders. Her day-glo acrylic nails click together near my ears. She leans her face in close to mine and looks me right in the eyes. The smoke from the cigarette dangling in the corner of her mouth creeps up my nose. “It is not good for you to be so angry all the time.”
“Dr. Phil someone else, Dee. I’m going upstairs.” I start for the staircase, but notice Cassie fussing with her reflection in the glass of Big Dee’s obligatory hotel wall art. “First I’m gonna have a cigarette, though.”
Cassie shoots me a dirty scowl. “You shouldn’t smoke, Lyddie.” She flings herself into Big Dee’s chair behind the desk and crosses her arms when I give her the finger.
I’m shivering, perched on the edge of the broken, algae-ridden fountain out front, thinking I wish I really did have a cigarette to smoke, when Biker Mark slinks out of a shadow to sit next to me.
“Got a smoke?”
“Sure,” he grins as he pulls two Reds out of a soft pack. He lights mine first. What a goddam gentleman.
“Cassie is fifteen. And I got no problem reporting you and all your buddies to the cops if you fucking touch her.”
He leans in and blows smoke in my hair. I keep staring straight ahead. “Fuck you. Who wants Cassie?”