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Conscience can be Bothersome

There was something horribly wrong with the way my brain communicated with my body. Was it the short-term effect of being lost for over three hours? Or, was it another weak spot of mine that I had just recently discovered? I had the whole night –that is, if my parents permitted me the luxury of beauty sleep at all- to figure this trivial matter.

My current goal now was, to go through the wrath of my mother and my father combined, and stay alive to tell the tale. This was not a harmless adventure, as both of my parents have poor control of their bodies when they are mad. Plates and flowerpots could end up flying in the air, and tonight, those would have contact with my forehead.

Oh, woe is me. Woe is definitely me.

Marcus was climbing the tree that grows near my house to reach my room. Our plan (a bit modification, it was my plan. His was just to break through the door, ask permission to my parents, and whether they let him or not, he’d sleep on my bed. Had we done that, by tomorrow my remains would only be a broken skull.) was this: Marcus would perch on the tree which, fortunately, branches reached the window to my room, all the while I’m dealing with my parents. When I’m done, I will immediately go to my room and open the window so that he could get in.

It’s a bit unfair, isn’t it? I had to undergo all the malicious things, when all he needed to do is to wait and see. And probably had a good laugh when he saw me having a new lump on my head due to my mother’s ‘raging hands that suddenly become out of control’.

Anyway, that’s her excuse whenever she ‘accidentally’ hits one of her kids, quote to quote. And she always says that with Japanese schoolgirl-fashion. You know, with eyes that suddenly become as big as saucer pans, voice that’s annoyingly high-pitched, intertwined fingers, and don’t forget about the slightly lifted foot

Even having the image of her doing that in my mind could make me shudder like crazy. Tells you how scary the view is.

My father said that in her high-school life, my mother could always get away from nearly everything with that Japanese-schoolgirl persona. He said that many boys loved her big eyes and pouty mouth and cute voice.

The thing is, my dear father, when you’re 45 and weighs as much as 156 lbs and already have three friggin kids, it’s not appropriate to do such ‘sweet’ things and get called cute.

Alright, stop thinking bad about my own parents. I should stop wasting time and just get the frigging in.

Okay. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Don’t forget to breath.

And yet, the moment I twisted the doorknob, I found myself forgetting all the basic principle of breathing.

The view inside my house was kind of appalling, and not to mention ridiculous. There was my father and my father, along with my siblings, got stuffed into one sofa. Yes, even Cerella got stuffed, too. It’s like they were trying to impersonate the Simpson and didn’t realize that they lacked the general cuteness to pull it off. I didn’t need to think long to know that their buttocks were slamming against one another and itching like hell. It was all clearly shown on their faces. Yet they insisted to maintain that position.

“W-What are you all doing there?” I couldn’t help asking, their positions, their identical elated faces, and especially, the wine glass that each of the Hales had, it was not normal My family may be fond of having a little reunion from time to time but they never sit in the living room holding a wine glass and look happy in the same time. And the way my father suddenly smiled widely at me upon seeing my face gave me the chills. Big time.

“Corina, you’re home!” he said a bit too happily.

Mother smiled, Caleb smiled, even Cerella smiled.

I got the impression that they all had gotten a new way to punish me for being late: smile at me. Hate to say that their ideas fly; I was scared to the point of near-hyperventilating.

“Yeah…” suddenly, my words are said in a slow motion, “I’m.. sorry… that I’m late.”

“Oh, that’s alright.” Still smiling her death defying smile, Mother reassured me.

“It’s almost half past ten.” Caleb added, nodding approvingly to me, “Great record for a rookie.”

“I lost by only an hour and twenty three minutes difference…” Cerella informed with her soft, muted voice. She then trailed off, expecting to either of us to respond to her statement.

Everyone tried their best to pretend that they didn’t hear her. Smart move.

Before she broke into tears and threw the extra-expensive wine glass, father got up (and I could see how the others’s faces relaxed when he did that) and held the glass to the air, “Cheers for Corina!”

To this, my mouth gave away and opened wide.

It seemed that Caleb caught with my confusion, “You’re the last Hale who comes home later than nine o’clock.”

“The Hales are night people, dear daughter,” Father chirped. The way his voice was a few tones higher than the usual and how his mouth always made this goofy smile, I seriously doubt that my father is mentally conscious.

“We’re so proud of you, Corina…” Mother said with teary eyes.

“My heart is shattered to pieces when I do this, but for you, my sister, I’ll toast with them.” My sister said. Believe it or not, Cerella had her eyes closed when she lifted her hand to a toast, as if she’s in eternal pain.

I stared at Caleb, the closest to normal in this family aside from me. I gave him what I hope comes off as ‘please don’t let me go loco’ glare. He noticed my glaring and winked at me, his smile said ‘I want to drink wine!’.

Fink, fink, fink!

Getting up from his seat, he also lifted his hand and has his glass clings with the other family members, “To Corina’s newfound (bad-girl) persona!”

They all then toasted their glasses in very much happiness. Genuine happiness.

Okay. It’s official. My family is dysfunctional.

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His Conscience is Nowhere

It took only about ten minutes to ensure my family that I got home late due to Andrew’s blunder. But it took a lot longer to ensure them that no, I haden’t gotten a new bad girl persona. And yes, my throne in the League of Golden still belonged to me. I find it weird that my parents want me to be wild. I think most of my friends’ parents always make sure that their kids act exactly like me.

But then again, my family is kind of peculiar. They don’t go to the usual rules.

However, I’m quite certain that as much as they love to break the rules, I don’t think that they’ll keep me alive when they know that there’s a guy staying over in my room.

Marcus was half alive when I reached my room. Thank God I had a little balcony; he’d been waiting there and (miraculously) hadn’t tried to do anything suicidal. Nevertheless, his face indicated that in a short amount of time, he’d throw out. I quickly glided to open the window, and he immediately got in, stumbling around my goods in the process.

“Whooo…” he says as he looks around clumsily at my room. He then progressed to stare at my photos that were hung in the wall, before, shortly thereafter, he showed obvious signs that he’d puke.

“Trash bin?” I offered, and in just a second, there’s Marcus’s half-digested food in it.

Seeing how revolting his vomit could be, I believed that my face changed color to purple. Marcus sat on the floor, his back leaned to the wall. Seems that the other side effect of being drunk was taking effect, he almost lost consciousness.

It’d be very easy for me to be disgusted. His breath induced strong smell of alcohol, and there’s some of his vomit splattered around his clothes. He’s a good looking guy when he’s sanitary, but I doubt that any girl will find him hot in this particular condition.

But then I made a big mistake by looking at him in the eye; instead of being disgusted like any normal person would feel I sympathized with him. His eyes were half-closed, his pale skin was even paler this time. A few strays of his black hair glued on his face as sweats covered his entire skin (I have this notion that it’s probably mixed with tears). His eyes were kinda red, and he had bags under his eyes, he certainly hadn’t been sleeping properly these days.

I stormed off to Caleb’s room. Marcus was in desperate needs of new clothes. And there’s no way my clothes would fit with him, or would make him looked better than his current (wretched) condition.

When I got into Caleb’s room, he’s talking on the phone. He immediately lowered his voice upon seeing me, and blush suffused on his skin. I speculate that he’d been shamelessly flirting with one of his girls on the phone.

“What do you want?” he hissed.

“Clothes.”

This girl must be special. Caleb didn’t ask me further about why I needed his clothes or whatsoever. Even he turned to his cabinet and pulled out one of his t-shirt. He handed it to me and his hands made motion of expelling. “Scram.”

“Thanks.” I said, but he’f closed the door. Thank God I haf great reflexes. Right before the door hit my nose, I’d taken backsteps.

Now, to the main problem…

I got back into my room, and I saw Marcus writhing on the very same spot I’d left him. My lips caught between my teeth as I tried to visualize how much pain that he’s handling. I felt nothing. Maybe Cerella could when she tries, she’s especially good at relating herself to the others in exaggerated fashion.

“Coriba great bedroom.” He said dreamily as he looked at me with an unhealthy amount of innocence.

I had difficult time repressing myself from saying ‘Awww’ and pampering him. Then I kneeled in front of him and take a clutch to his clothes. “I’ll take off your clothes.”

“Horny?” he asked again.

This time, the difficulty was to stop myself from hitting him on the eye. I ignored him then slid his clothes off him. Surprisingly, he cooperated with me easily and actually didn’t say anything as I stripped him.

I took one of my clothes from the cabinet and wet it, and then I started cleaning his body. The tattoo that I’d once spotted is still there, and I notice that he had quite a few bluish bruises around his arms.

After quite a while, his body started to make me feel disconcerted. I know that it’s natural for girls to ogle at boys with six-pack (Marcus’s still four, but the last two are in development, from what I see), but I didn’t think that it’ll be appropriate for me to stare at him when I already had Andrew and he’s going to sleep here now.

To distract myself, I averted my gaze to Marcus’s face. He’d been looking at me as I cleaned his torso.

His intense stare made me twitch, “What?”

“Is this the first time we get social to other each?” he asked, his eyes had gotten big and his mouth was pursed when he says that. This time, I couldn’t stop myself from ‘Aww’ing.

“Coriba?” he continued, and I snapped back to reality.

“Yeah… I guess so,” I answered as I try to recall my memories. Nope. None of my memories starred Marcus.

I told him to turn around and I started cleaning his back. His muscles were rippling everytime I got the cloth touched some of his bruises.

“We’re neighbors, right, Coriba?” he asked again.

“For ten years.” I nods in agreement, “And it’s Corina.”

“I like Coriba.”

“But my name is Corina.”

He turned his head and stuck out his tongue in a childish manner, “Co. Ri. Ba!”

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Remember, this guy was not conscious. You could charge him for money later when he’s in his normal state.

When I was done cleaning his body, I showed him the shirt I get from Caleb.

“You got big body.” He commented bluntly.

Patience. Patience. “It’s Caleb’s.”

Suddenly, he got wrinkles appeared around his face, “Ew. Cocksucker. I refuse!”

Baring my teeth, I struggled to make him wear Caleb’s shirt. “Wear it!” I almost yelled, I knew that my room temperature was kind of low and he’s half naked. He could get sick.

“No!” even when he’s half-conscious, he’s still stubborn. Now I know why Uncle Gregory always yells at him.

I stretched the shirt and slid it to his head, but before I could push it further to his body, he’d caught my hands in death grip. “No!”

“Why not?”

“It’s cocksucker’s.”

Against my characteristic, my temper tantrum broke, “Moron! You need clothes!”

After hearing that, Marcus halted. I almost felt that the problem’s all solved when- “What’s moron?”

I sighed. Even his vocabulary level had dropped into what a six year old would have. “It’s a fancy way to say ‘stupid’.”

He pulled down the shirt to his shoulder so that his face was exposed to me, “But I genius!”

Yeah, right. A genius who couldn’t even form a decent sentence structure and acted like a five year old.

Wait. I think I know how to handle this.

“But, Marcus…” I talked sweetly, “you’re not a genius unless you wear Caleb’s shirt.”

Like any five year olds would do, he quickly put on the shirt. Then he looked at me expectantly, hoping for praise. I grinned at him, and then led him to the bed. Despite his childish demeanor, he looked exasperated. My prediction was true. As his body flopped onto my bed, he closed his eyes and took a sleeping position.

Looking at him now, I couldn’t remember why I was afraid at him. Yes, he might be big and was capable on breaking my bones, but I don’t think that he’ll do anything bad to anyone on his own initiation. I often hear that when a man’s drunk, his true self is revealed.

But still, I find it hard to believe that the stoic, uptight, badass Marcus that I know is a five year old at heart. I almost had the urge to kiss him in the forehead, just so that he wouldn’t have nightmares about boogeyman.

“Coriba…” Marcus’s voice almost webt unnoticed as he only whispered it quietly.

I leaned closer to him.

“The room’s better than it looked from my room.” He said.

To digest those perfectly structured words properly, I needed quite a lot of time. I thought that I have heard it wrong, but I coudn’t ask for confirmation, Marcus had been in the snoring state.

So, all this time, Marcus also often watched me from his room? Geez, that made the two of us stalkers.

Against all the odds, I smiled.

That didn’t sound too bad at all.

The problem is, where am I gonna sleep now?

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AN
Thanks for reading, and for the reviews. :D