Chapter One: Build A Wall Of Books Between Us In Our Bed
07182007 – 0602P
AN: This is my new story. Yay. There's not a lot to say about it. It is what it is.
And those of you who are familiar with my work know that that means that this is SLASH! You have been warned!
Additionally, I feel the need to point out that all of the places in this story really exist, and some of the characters are modeled after people. It happens to be the town that I live in. The main character, however, is not modeled after anyone. So yeah.
Music for this chappy was "Back In Your Head" by Tegan and Sara.
Build a wall of books between us in our bed I just want back in your head When I jerk away from holding hands with you
repeat, repeat the words that I know we both said
relax into the need we get so comfortable
remember when I was so strange and likeable
I just want back in your head
I'm not unfaithful but I'll stray
When I get a little scared
I know these habits hurt important parts of you
remember when how sweet and unexplainable
nothing like this person unlovable.
I just want back in your head
When I jerk away from holding hands with you
I was seventeen years old and just about to start my senior year when my family decided to move to the small town of Beckley, West Virginia. You can imagine what a nightmare it was for me and my sister, given that we had been previously brought up in San Francisco. We had formed in our minds a picture of poverty, of houses in shambles and broken down cars parked in lawns. Barefoot pregnant women on the front porch and about a bazillion smelly hounds under the house.
Well, while that was a bit of a caricature, we were pretty close. The part of Beckley that we lived in was actually called Prosperity. It was tidy and patch worked; one-acre squares of land separated by chain link fences.
Lana and I groaned simultaneously when we saw our new house. It was a large, white-sided affair, with brown shutters and a brick porch. The clear glass storm door was propped open. Apparently the movers had made it there before us.
"We're here!" Mum chirped. I rolled my eyes.
"Goody," Lana muttered darkly.
"Now what kind of attitude is that, honey? Now get out of the car and let's go see our new home!"
As you can probably tell just from her manner of speaking, our mum was very June Cleaver-like. So the opposite of Lana and I.
Lana was a year younger than me, and she had a different father. That's why my father left when I was twelve. Lana went through renal failure when she was ten, and was put on dialysis to await a kidney for transplant. Dad was going to undergo the procedure, but during early testing he discovered that she wasn't really his child. So he left.
Lana finally did get a new kidney, and its working well, although she has to take about twenty different medications a day to keep her body from rejecting it.
But that wasn't what I was talking about, was it? No… Let's see, Lana and I are as different from Mum as physically possible. Lana was what Mum called a rebel, and what I called an emo kid. She had short, choppy hair that was longer in the front than the back, and while the back was spiked and bleached, the front was straightened and dyed dark blue. Her clothes were about two sizes too small, but she had the body for it, and her tee shirts and zippers were covered with the names of bands like Taking Back Sunday and The Amazing Transparent Man. She had snake bites and an eyebrow ring, and she was planning on getting her tongue pierced, but hadn't at that point.
Back in San Francisco she spent all of her time at a local theatre, spouting emo music and poetry with her friends and I don't know, cutting herself in the bathroom.
Okay, that was a joke. And self-mutilation isn't funny. Shame on me.
I was also a rebel, according to Mum, but I wasn't an emo like Lana. I looked more like I should be on tour with Billy Idol or something. My favourite clothes were tight leather pants, chunky boots that came up to mid-calf, my vintage concert tees (among them the Ramones and the Sex Pistols), and a black leather collar. My hair was short and spiked, dyed black and tipped blonde. My ears were gauged, a process that annoyed Mum to no end, as I didn't do it gradually, figuring that would waste time, and as a result she often found blood on my pillowcases from when my ears tore open.
I wasn't particularly fond of people, so I spent a lot of my time listening to music in my room, or going to the cinema by myself, something that I particularly enjoyed. I was happiest when left by myself.
We only had to look once around our new neighbourhood to know that we weren't going to fit in at all.
The local high school, Woodrow Wilson, was puny compared to our former one. Two floors and two wings, and a gym, auditorium, and third wing separate from the main building. There was a total of fourteen hundred students, and a faculty of maybe one hundred.
The student body was ripe with cliques, and Lana easily found a cluster of students that could've been her twins. Being as painfully shy as she was, however, she practically clung to my side as I scanned the crowd, finding no one that particularly interested me. It was just as well. Like I said, I was happier that way.
After a few moments in which Lana kept casting feverish, intimidated looks over at the group of emo clones, I led her to the main office and we began the first day of our lives in Beckley.
AN: I know this chapter read kind of dry… It's also very short, isn't it? I didn't mean to do that. I promise that the next one will be more casual. And longer. There was just a lot of explaining and introduction to do in this chapter.
And yet I never named the main character. Whoops.
If you review (and it would encourage me greatly if you would), please give me a suggestion of a name that you think would fit him. I would be so grateful, because honestly, I can't think of one.
Uhm… I guess that's about it for this chapter. I hope you'll stick around for the next one because like I said, it'll get more interesting.