Ten Thousand Acres of May

A/N Starting another story... But I will finish Just Friends. I've been pretty busy lately, and my internet cut out and-- Sorry? I'll update it eventually, I just wanted to put this up. It's odd, but we're all odd here. Oh, and there is no Bob Marley-ness in this story, is that weird of me or what?

Chapter One

Before I explain exactly what I am doing here, let me please get one thing straight: I hate games.

I hate games, I hate losing, and, Hell, I hate winning. Being the centre of attention is one of those prospects that I cannot come to grips with, no matter how hard I try. I blend into the background (perfect plain little wallflower), because in the background people do not notice me. I like it that way.

My sincere apologies if I sound bitter, but I am speaking the wholesome truth when I say that games are the bane of my existence.

Actually (risk a glance in the direction of the driver of this particular vehicle), I think that my best friend is my real worst enemy right now. And her girl friends who do not seem to notice that I am here (why am I here?), I hate them, too.

Right at this moment in time, I hate just about everything.

Let me clarify why I am having this little internal rant about my hatred of competition: My so-called best friend has dragged me onto a Murder Mystery week. Is there anything in life, anything at all more stupid? We are going to be inside of a house together for five whole days while someone pretends to kill people, trying to figure out who did it without driving each other crazy. I can already tell you that the murderer will be the butler. The butler is always guilty, that is why I am so scared of Gina's.

And the beautiful best friend of mine (Gina I will kill you when I get the chance) has decided that her birthday treat from her parents would be to go on this little trip, run around giggling with her girl friends and let me sit in a corner counting the hours until I can leave.

Of course, Gina knows how much I will hate this. I am beginning to believe that the only reason she is taking me along with her is so that the girls can laugh at me when I prove to be completely incompetent in the area of sociality.

I have half a mind to leave the game as soon as it starts, but we are miles away from my home and stealing cars had never exactly been my territory. I am not the rebellious type (save for all-black clothes, but that is mainly because I cannot keep up-to-date with fashion and have given up trying), I don't even know what type I am. The quiet, plain type. Who's that? Oh, that's just Theodore Knight, he's nobody.

Nobody.

That describes me perfectly.

"Hey, Theo, you alright back there?" Gina asks, adjusting her rear-view mirror to look at me. I nod and fake a smile, brown hair whipping around my cheekbones in an almost painful manner. Whether or not I want to be going on this trip with her, it is her birthday treat and therefore I have a commitment as the best friend to be here. Even if the two other girls that she has insisted on bringing along scare the Hellflames out of me, I am going through this for Gina. And I won't complain (much).

She smiles back at me, bright and beautiful through a dark sheen of hair that wisps over her face, brown skin glowing healthily in the sunlight. My own skin is nothing but washed out and pale against the dark coloring of my clothes, light freckles dusting the bridge of my nose and spreading out over the tops of my cheeks.

I wonder what it would be like to be beautiful like her.

She flicks the mirror again, upwards, to look at Chelsea. The blonde's feet occupy the seat next to me, and she is leaning back (isn't that dangerous?!), sunglasses catching in the light. She is laughing. She is laughing for no apparent reason, head tilted upwards and a pretty stream of laughter flying away in the wind that makes her hair fly frantically, dancing above the red convertible that I really wish I wasn't in.

I wrap my arms around myself, slightly chilled by the wind despite the hot day, short nails biting into my upper-arms through the over-sized fishnet top I am wearing over a tight sleeveless linen shirt with red writing scrawled across it. I must look like I have thrown any outfit together (well, I have), because it does not go very well with the dark gray that is not quite black of my too tight and too long jeans, or the lime green of my shoelaces.

Sighing, I duck my head and pull my knees up to my chest. I can feel Gina's frown on me ('you're doing that closing-in-on-yourself thing again, Theo'), can still hear the pearls of laughter escaping Chelsea and the faint buzz from Iva's headphones, but I try to block out everyone else.

It is easier to relax when it is just me.

I am not a complete loner, and I suppose I have Gina to thank for that, but being around people for too long makes me.. weird. Makes me twitch, and feel incredibly uncomfortable, and if it lasts too long I occasionally have panic attacks. The worst thing about panic attacks? Everyone notices me, and guess what makes me panic more? Oh yes, that's right, being the centre of attention.

And now I have to spend a week in a house with a bunch of people I don't know.

Claustrophobic, anti-social Theodore, stuck in a house with random strangers who could be anybody--

Stop. Thinking. Like. That.

Gina and I have known each other half our lives. We met when we were nine and have both recently turned eighteen. Eighteen. High school years are over, and I don't have a clue what I want to do. I do not have any talents except for running very fast and reading anagrams and remembering large amounts of numbers. That, and be possibly the most innocent and unnoticeable person to exist. None of those are talents that can be brought into a future job.

When I was younger I never considered my future. Didn't think I would have to. And now it is getting closer and closer to the time when I will have to choose, and I've got nothing. Nothing! I've never had a girlfriend (just not that type of guy - I don't have that vibe), never had a job, never had a real friend that wasn't Gina. Never had much of a life. Good at nothing but math and running track and puzzles, talent with acting but scared of cameras and audiences, and not particularly bad at anything either. Just average. Average, average, average Theo, plain and little and nothing special.

Nothing special in anyone's eyes. Not even my own.

"Is he alright?" I hear Iva say, her voice hushed as if she does not want me to hear. I scoff, the sound muffled against the material of my jeans where my face is pressed.

"We've been in the car for over an hour now. He just-- He--" Gina stops and sighs, making me feel guilty for being such a burden. "Must be sick of being around people for too long. He'll be fine, there's not much further to go."

Not much further to go, thank Heavens. I squeeze my eyes shut and hug my legs closer, feeling incredibly small and insignificant in comparison with- with- with everything.

Which I suppose I am. Insignificant. I mean, if I were to die, who would miss me? Gina, but she would soon move on with her more suitable and interesting friends. My Aunt Lindsay would probably be glad to have the burden of her 'screw-up' sister's child off of her shoulders. People from school wouldn't notice my absense, because we are out of school now and they won't expect to see me. Where did that little quiet kid go? Oh, you mean Theodore Knight, the crazy one? He's probably around, he's just so plain that nobody knows where he is unless they fancy a punch-bag that doesn't fight back.

Well, I would be lying to say that people haven't attempted to befriend me in the past. Gina's friends are always trying, and sometimes they seem to try so hard, but it just never works. I am simply not the type destined to have friends. I am supposed to die alone and there is nothing that will change that. Nothing will ever change the situation (tiny little boy that might just be slightly pretty if you look deep enough, skinny, weak, green-eyed boy who's only glory is the blush that he bears), nothing will ever change the reality of my life. My would-be life.

I feel a shift next to me, a slight movement that must be Chelsea sitting back down in the seat, then a warm arm around my shoulders.

I stiffen next to her, my entire body going rigid.

Okay. Okay. This isn't weird. This isn't.. it isn't-- Don't panic, Theo, don't panic, it's okay, it's okay, oh Gods it's not okay--

"Chelsea." Gina's voice is sharp, cutting through the air around us like a two-edged sword. "Don't."

That simply, Chelsea withdraws her arm and sits still in the seat next to me as I repress the urge to shake. My clothes are now covered in, in Chelsea and oh they must be dirty now, I want to take this fishnet top off. Would that seem weird? It needs washing now. To get rid of the essence of her. The smell and the- the- I don't know. It just needs to go.

"Theodore?" Chelsea asks, voice deliberately set to a gentle tone. "Are you alright? You're shaking."

Am I shaking? No. No, I'm not shaking. Am I? Oh, yes, maybe I am shaking but that's her fault, it's her fault, she touched me, she--

"Chelsea." Gina snaps again, and I feel Chelsea jump next to me. Next to me, too close, too close-- "Just leave him alone."

Oh, bless you, Gina. Bless you, queen of my heart.

Now that Iva has turned off her music and Chelsea is no longer laughing, the car is silent with the exception of the noises of the road. I try to concentrate on breathing steadily, the shaking of my hands dying down to a dull vibration, clutching at my jeans as I pull my body into a tight little ball. When I feel Chelsea move to sit on the back of the car again I feel myself relax very slightly, shoulders slumping and hands loosening. To anyone else I may look no different, but I feel much better without her close to my body.

Human contact, I have been told time and time again, is essential. I don't get it. Gina is the only person that I let get very close to me, and even then I feel awkward at times. She holds my hand when I seem uncomfortable, but I am always itching to go and wash afterwards. Washing my hands repeatedly, scrubbing, then my arms in case I brushed against someone, and I usually end up in the shower just from that.

I sigh again (green-eyed boy always seems exasperated, exhausted), trying to force my face into a relaxed state.

I sometimes wish I smoked, or cut, or did drugs or something that would relieve stress. But I'm too scared to get into any addictions like that. Instead I put up with this knawing feeling of being dirty all the time, never clean, never having anything to get rid of the feeling.

I must be going insane.

Coffee. Coffee would be a good addiction, right? Right. Coffee, hot and bitter and-- yuch. Wish I liked coffee. Wish I liked anything. Anything normal. Numbers are not a normal thing to like, to feel more comfortable with than people. But I like numbers. Numbers don't make me feel dirty or claustrophobic, numbers don't insult me or hurt me, they are just numbers. Nice, solid, normal numbers.

Weird?

"Almost there." Gina says quietly, and I raise my head slightly as to look at our surroundings. We are driving up a dirt-path, a hill, the car vibrating when it drives over small rocks. I shudder from the movement, eyes wide.

The town has been left a few miles behind us, and there isn't even a real road leading up this hill. Just a dirt-path where the grass has stopped growing, that looks as if it has been used repeatedly for a large quantity of time.

I can just about make out the top of something peeking over the very top of the hill. Black. It's a-- It's a roof. A very large roof. On a very large house.

After a moment of staring, I realise that it isn't a house at all. It's much too big to be a house.

The walls are white and there are so many windows. Dark blue curtains, light pink tint to the paint of the house. Almost unnoticeable. We are nearing it now, and I can make out the front door (large, Victorian style), can make out other cars. I glance at them all quickly, (a silver Cadillac, a red Buick, a yellow Saturn, a silver Lexus) before turning back to the house. As we circle it I count the windows, and find that there are two on each side, which means there must be two different rooms or hallways for them. There is also thirteen windows on the back (five top, five bottom, one on bottom floor two on top look like hallways, two in the middle like stairs, one at the top), and fourteen (four hallways?) on the front that all have heavy and closed curtains. Three of these are stairs. I start mentally mapping the house in my mind, including the third story that has only one window on each side (must be the attic).

Chelsea insists that we circle the house again to look for clues (we haven't even started the dumb game yet, woman), and a certain window catches my eye.

It is at the back, third from the left, and it looks normal except that it is the only one that doesn't have dark blue curtains, but rather a very inky and direct black.

The girls are all laughing as we park, but I was not paying enough attention to remember what they are laughing at.

I jump high when I realise that there are a few men outside, smiling at us as the girls exit the car.

"Theo, you coming?" Gina asks, and Iva and Chelsea stop to watch me. I shake my head, staring at the men in suits. I point to them with a shaking hand.

The man in the middle glances at the others, before clearing his throat.

"'Ve are here to take your bags, sir?" Oh, Gods, he even has one of those creepy (though maybe a little sexy) French accents. And a goatee. He must be the murderer!

After a full thirty seconds of staring, curled up into a ball in the back seat with wide eyes, I realise how silly I am being. It's a game. There is no real murderer. I can leave any time I want to.

No, no, can't leave now. Gina relying on me. Just get up, that's right, that's it..

Gina holds my hand when I step out, looking concerned as I make sure not to go anywhere near the men with suits. They move towards Gina's car, probably to get our suitcases and I have to hold myself back from turning to make sure that none of them are doing anything suspicious.

Have I mentioned that I hate games?!