Author's Note: So, this is my first story on , so be nice. I'm hoping for reviews, and I have other parts written already. I would like to hear some criticism, to see what to improve on. That's about it, so read and enjoy, oh, and review!
I always heard his voice. In my dreams, in my thoughts, everywhere. It was like a track replaying my mind, over and over again. The only problem, though, was that he was mute. As in he didn't speak, not even for me. I'm not going to lie, that hurt. More than anything in the world it hurt, but I suppose you can't force somebody to talk. Especially after everything he's been through…
We've both been through a lot, ever since we met each other. From the moment I met him, I always felt a weird attraction to the male, as if there was some magnetic force pulling us together. That was about ten years ago, when we were eight. It hadn't been that great of a year for me, my parents had just sent me away to live with my grandmother; supposedly I was a trouble maker.
My grandmother, whom I was sent to, lived across the country, in a small town in Georgia. I still remember receiving the news, my mother's voice ringing like bells in my young ears. 'This was the last straw, Jadeyn Nicholas Berrington. The last straw.', then of course my father backing her up, 'Your mother's right. You know better than getting into another fight at school, young man.' The fact of the matter was that fight, the one that was 'the last straw,' was not my fault. That little mongrel of a child hit me first, just because I told him to shut up. So what if he had to get five stitches after the fight?
I flew from California to Georgia, four long hours, and a waste of my time; at least I thought so at that young age. It wasn't the first time I had flown by myself. The first time was when I was five, when I went to visit my uncle in Alabama for the summer. I always went some where over the summer; my parents were avid workers in the 'business world,' which meant they were never around. Even at that age I promised myself I wouldn't become like them.
Reaching my destination, the sickly sweet flight attendant escorted me off the plane and into my grandmother's grasp. Gloris was her name, and she wasn't as old as you would imagine. Only fifty-two and still kicking; my mother was an early child, but so was I. I was my mother's 'dirty little secret,' I was that 'mistake' at sixteen. I chuckle at the thought that I was practically blamed for ruining her life, even though she had turned out to be a successful business woman.
As bad as I thought moving into a hick town in the middle of no where would be, it was quite different as what I had imagined. My grandmother embraced me with opened arms and a smile, cooing and cawing at how much I had grown, a regular routine, but this time she would be able to watch me grow, since I wasn't leaving anytime soon. She was a lithe woman, but not sickly by any means. She still had a job, still gardened, and still worked out. Her hair was a dyed blonde, which was cut short in the 'latest-hairstyle,' since she was always trying to keep up with the times. At that time, I always wondered why she 'painted' her face, now I know she just splattered on make-up ever morning, so thick that you couldn't tell her real skin colored. No matter her strive for youth, or how much make-up she put on, in my opinion, she was so much better than my parents.
The drive back to my grandmother's house was so very long and boring, two more hours to go after my four hour trip on the plane. My grandmother kept on rambling on about how much fun we would have, but I didn't exactly believe her. I noticed everything was so different from California as I peeked out from the back seat, since my grandmother deemed the passenger seat 'unsafe' for some one my age. There were a lot of trees, fields, fences, and cows… Lots and lots of cows. Houses were scattered along the place, but as we entered the 'town' the grouped closer together. I frowned at how different it was to the city I had once lived in.
It was… okay, I guess. With little stores up the sides, a restaurant here and there, and signs that claimed it was 'historical.' There was even a McDonalds and Burger King, but it seemed at the time, no other fast food joint had burst through the simple lives of this small town. I already resented the place.
We exited the small town once again as we were close to my grandmother's house. I had missed my nap, and that was obvious because every five seconds a yawn erupted from my mouth. My grandmother only giggled and cooed at me; telling me I was 'cute' and 'adorable,' even though I was just a mop of plain brown hair that was cut and trimmed in a perfect line. My hair was just long enough to come above my eyes, and cover my ears, where as if I had continued to live with my father, it would be cut, since touching your ears or the back of your neck was too long. I had pale skin, which looked sallow if I didn't sleep enough, or I was sick, even at that age. The only redeeming quality that I found about myself was my vibrant green eyes; otherwise I find nothing cute about me back then or even now, in the present.
Finally pulling into a cement driveway, a petite brick house stood out in a row of many different houses, all unique in how they were built, what they were built with, and their color. Flowers covered the whole front yard, creating a rainbow of color that would come to intrigue any eight year old. Even with the flowers, the only thing that registered in my mind was that the house was small. Not that any other house around it was a lot bigger, or a lot smaller, but they all seemed tiny compared to what I was used to.
Surely enough I had a whole four story house, not including our basement, to run around in, and yet here was this well-kept, 'homey' house, that only had a ground story, and looked as if it only held eight rooms. I would soon find out to be correct about the number of rooms. Where was I supposed to fit my stuff? I had only brought three suitcases with me, but the other forty-six boxes and three bags were being sent from California. They would never fit in what ever tiny room I would be given.
As my grandmother came around and opened the door to the blue Pontiac, I stepped out cautiously. I looked up at my grandmother with my green eyes filled with tears, not even a watery smile to grace my lips.
"I… I have to live here?" I asked in a quivering voice, knowing I would burst into tears at any second.
My grandmother looked aghast by my rude comment and she shook her head, "Now, Jadey-poo. It's not that bad. It's enough for two people: me and you." She told me, kneeling down so she would be my height.
Right then and there I knew that my life would never be as I expected it when I was back in California, and all too soon I was missing my house, and my servants. The only thing I didn't miss was my parents, although I missed the benefits of living with them.