I know, it's hard to believe, considering romance is one of my least favorite genres and I've never actually read any romance novels before. I prefer to dabble in the world of speculative fiction...but nonetheless, I've been cooking this idea for a while and have decided to write it up. (Besides, it'd be something different from the usual vampire romance...)
Vicissitudes will be a series of interconnected short stories, each narrated by a different character. The basic summary is that a girl's in love with her gay childhood friend, but that's too simple to do it justice. ^^ So yeah, this story does have same-sex relationships and bisexuality in it. If either of those two things offends you, then I kindly ask you to abstain from reading further.
Anyway, I'm terrified at how this will turn out as this is my first attempt at a true romance story (though actually...it's not very romantic). >_> So I'd really love critique in that direction. And I always welcome nitpicks at my prose.
Vicissitudes
1. Alice
It’s funny. I claim to be the one friend of Vance Hikari who’s been with him the longest, but even I don’t know him nearly as well as I like. I only first met him when we were twelve, and while I’ve been best friends with him ever since, I still feel like a piece of our connection is…missing.
I shouldn’t be so upset. I should, in fact, congratulate myself—because it’s true I know Vance the best. Not even Tyler knows about Vance’s childhood; how else could he have stared at me, wide-eyed, for so long, unwilling to believe what I told him? I feel comforted that I’m the only one Vance confides matters of the heart to. This should be enough, enough that he holds our friendship so sacrosanct.
Who am I trying to kid? I’ve gone beyond wanting a friendship.
I’m getting ahead of myself, though. When we first met, romance was the last thought on my mind. I gravitated to him not out of animal magnetism, or chemistry, or what-have-you—I gravitated toward him because we were alike. Both of us were shy, quiet, and observant children, less concerned with the opposite gender and bands and TV and more concerned with our own introspection. We were outcasts, disdained of by all the popular kids who frowned on us for not having the right hair, for wearing clothes that weren’t “in”, for not knowing and caring who 50 Cent and Madonna were. So it was only natural, I suppose, that Vance Hikari and I drifted together.
I remember we didn’t talk much at first. We still don’t. Unlike me, Vance does love and appreciate the power of words, but he prefers words in a more solid, tangible form—poetry in particular. Neither of us cares much for talking out loud, and we care even less for small talk. Mostly, we spend our time together silent, watching the stars, understanding each other without having to say anything between “Here we are” and “I suppose we should be getting home by now.”
Sometimes, I can’t quell the aching for something more, though…
Being taciturn myself, though, I understand the futility of trying to convince another taciturn person to speak when they don’t want to. I think this was what caused Vance to finally open up to me—he realized I was the first person who didn’t try to get him to talk more, who didn’t try to make him “open up” when that was the last thing he wanted. And, paradoxically, the moment he realized this was the moment he finally did open up to me.
“I can trust you, Alice,” he told me not too long ago. “That is a very unique thing, did you know that? Finding someone you can trust—unconditionally.”
This statement, along with so many others of his, should comfort me. Should make me bask in the knowledge that I am the only person he trusts unconditionally, but it doesn’t. In fact, it makes me—angry. When he told this to me I felt a quiet discontent stir in my stomach, and I almost wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him, and scream at him, all the rage I’d kept pent-up over the years:
“If that’s the case, why did you choose Tyler? Why did you choose Laurence? Neither of them cares about you unconditionally, and you don’t trust either of them! So why—why?”
I didn’t say it because I respect him too much. But I can’t keep silent on it, not for long. In my head, I keep asking myself, over and over again, the exact same question: Why?
And why indeed. What made my friend Vance, the quiet boy, the shy boy, the boy with the eyes so dark and serious behind his glasses, who loved nothing more than poetry, become…the man he is today? The man who smirks so caustically, lip ring gleaming, his elegantly slanted eyes surrounded by a heavy layer of makeup, his hair bleached and constantly falling in his eyes? I’m not judging his fashion sense (in fact, I have to admit I appreciate it). What disturbs me more is the way his face has changed. In a way, he’s become more expressive than before, when the only expression his face registered well was studious concentration. Now, he can display a full range of emotions—hatred, bitterness, sarcasm, abject misery, harsh judgment, sardonic amusement.
But I’ve never seen him smile.
He doesn’t even smile for pictures, something that disturbs Tyler greatly. Tyler the fool who smiles a bit too much, if you ask me. He does everything a bit too much, though, except when it comes to loving Vance. Love? Tyler? Ha! Even in my mind those two words seem odd together; I can’t see them mixing. Like oil and water.
“Alice,” Tyler asked me about a week ago, when he was bothered that Vance wasn’t smiling in a single one of the pictures we’d taken in our summer camping trip. “I gotta ask you—why is Vance so—I mean—why’s he so miserable all the damn time? It wouldn’t kill him to smile.”
Looking back, I realize that my response was incredibly rude and unrestrained—even I try not to sink to such depths when dealing with Tyler. Needless to say, I said two words that caused Tyler’s face to flush, and him to turn around and storm off muttering worse expletives under his breath.
Tyler Daniels. Sometimes, idly, I wonder—how did it happen? How did Tyler and Vance, two total opposites, end up…the way they are now? I would say “together” but not quite. I refuse to believe it.
I refuse to believe it because it might mean a chance for me…
Ahem…moving on! Concerning Tyler and Vance, most of my friends are content to believe that they’re together because of the age-old maxim: “opposites attract”. Or, as Laurence in his nasty fashion puts it, “Idiots like to follow geniuses.” Which I suppose is fair enough, and makes sense in the context of Tyler and Vance’s relationship. I know that Tyler’s long admired Vance because Vance is so smart. So different from Tyler, the struggling musician who barely graduated high school and is still blessing Lady Luck for propelling him into college. No wonder he looks up to Vance, the boy who got a perfect score on the SAT and could have gone to any number of first-tier universities but somehow decided to go to our floundering state university. I know why, though. Tyler.
I wish Tyler translated that admiration into action, though. On the other hand, I wish that Tyler never translates that admiration into action.
I don’t understand it! I already accept that Vance swings the other way (or do I…?), but what I don’t understand are the men he tends to swing towards. First there was Laurence, who was a hundred times worst than Tyler in every aspect. He was only fifteen when he first met Vance, but already I could tell a cunning devil hid behind his charming hazel eyes.
I remember their first meeting. Oh, how vividly I do. Even today, the words “Hey, you left this behind”, spoken in Laurence’s brashly confident, quietly satisfied voice, still haunt my dreams.
This was how he formally introduced himself to Vance…I remember all of it. He approached us at our lunch table, on the far end of the cafeteria from all the other more “trendy” students, bearing a beaten leather wallet in his hand, and spoke those horrible words, a quiet smirk in his hazel eyes all the while.
Vance denied it. “This isn’t mine. And who are you, anyway?” A surprising number of words, particularly for him back then.
“Laurence Flannery. I’m in your chemistry class.”
“Oh…I recognize you.”
If only, if only, I think with frustration, we were more versed in the popular kids at school! Maybe I could have avoided what happened…maybe I could have avoided the past five years entirely! They say what you don’t know won’t kill you, but I must say that is a lie. Another maxim, I’ve realized, is much truer: Knowledge is power.
We should have known, both of us. We should have known that Laurence Flannery, the boy so innocently offering Vance a wallet that was not his, was a star member of the school’s tennis team, the son of a cop, and one of the most popular boys in the sophomore class. He was intelligent, too, sharing many of the same AP classes as me and Vance.
We should have known more than that, though. We should have known that despite his academic and athletic achievements, Laurence Flannery had begun to acquire a reputation as a “bad boy”. We should have known that nightly he’d vandalize property and get drunk and high with his friends, and we should have known that he was feared as a fighter—as well as for always making sure he got his way. He was clever, crafty, and a manipulator, constantly seeking to exploit the weaknesses of not only his “friends” but also his parents, his teachers, and…classmates he didn’t even know.
But because I was so ignorant, and Vance was too, we let what happened happen.
I never fail to see the irony in it. We could have prevented everything if we were actually in tune with the school gossip network, instead of insulating ourselves from it and holding ourselves above it.
I still struggle to make sense of what happened. It started innocently enough—Laurence kept seizing on pretexts to approach Vance. At first, he did this mostly at our lunch table, but over time he must have started seeing me as an obstacle, because he started trying to talk to Vance alone. I know this because one afternoon, after a memorable lesson on conjugating in the imperfect tense in Spanish that ended with Señor Rodriguez hitting his head on his desk so hard it bled, I caught Vance and Laurence speaking outside the AP Chemistry classroom.
“—very sorry, but it’s so sudden and I—” Vance was saying as I approached.
“Look, I’m not asking for an answer immediately,” said Laurence, his tone low and cajoling, but his eyes never leaving Vance’s face. “I’ll give you some time to think it over, okay? There’s no hurry. But I already have the feeling you don’t like girls, so this shouldn’t be that difficult a decision.”
What? My heart froze in my chest, and awareness gathered at the farthest corners of my mind—but I refused to believe it. It couldn’t be…it couldn’t…wanting to know more, mind tingling in numb anticipation, I slipped behind a wall and watched, wide-eyed.
“I…I don’t know…” Vance’s voice was barely above a whisper, and he was staring at the floor, his eyes inscrutable behind his glasses. “I don’t—I don’t know. I barely know you…”
“Then it’ll be an opportunity to get to know each other better,” Laurence said, still in that cajoling tone. “Come on. Think about it—your first Homecoming dance! Don’t you want to go?”
“I…” Vance shook his head, and then met Laurence’s gaze again. When he spoke, his voice was firmer. “Why—why are you even asking me in the first place? Me, of all people? Surely you must have your reasons. Well, I want to hear them.”
Laurence took a step back, looking startled, but only for a moment. The next instant, to my horror, his face hardened and he reached out and snatched Vance by the collar—and slammed Vance full force into the wall. I could only stand where I was, paralyzed, watching as my best friend jerked and gasped in Laurence’s grip.
“I’m going to teach you a lesson, you poor, pathetic, naïve little boy,” said Laurence, all traces of friendliness gone from his voice, now replaced by a cold, deadly resolve. “Listen up well and listen up good, ‘cause I’ll only say this once: Don’t question me. It might just help you survive a little better…”
With that, he slowly opened his hand, releasing Vance. Vance slid down the wall and crumpled to the floor, a dazed look on his face, coughing weakly.
“I—I’m sorry—” he began, his voice hoarse.
“See you at Homecoming,” was Laurence’s brusque reply, and he turned around and strode down the hall, leaving Vance where he was, pathetic and helpless.
I couldn’t believe it back then. I can believe it now. I’ve seen all the atrocities Laurence has committed on Vance—some because I simply had to look at Vance and see them, and others more subtle, less easily understood, because they were all psychological, not physical. Now I understand that what Laurence did back then was only the tip of the iceberg. He’s capable of so much cruelty, to the point where I’m not the only one who wonders if he’s fully human.
There is still one aspect of the experience that I still can’t believe, though—and that is my reaction to what happened. Looking back on my actions causes my knees to tremble and a sick feeling to well up in my stomach. How could I…how could I have been so cowardly? My best friend in the entire world was suffering only a few feet away from me and all I could do was just stand there, stand there trembling in sick horror, before turning around and running…
I was such a coward. I’ve never forgiven myself for what I did. Even now, it keeps me up at night, tears me from my sleep with a cry on my lips.
A cry of hatred. A curse, an angry invocation against myself. The knowledge that I let it happen. I could have stopped it then…could have stopped Vance and Laurence’s freak show of a relationship from developing further. But because I turned and ran like the coward I was…
No wonder Vance considers me unfit for loving.
Well, I don’t know that. I’m sure the logical explanation is that he’s gay and he’s just incapable of loving me, no matter how much he might want to. But I still can’t help but feel that deep inside, he knows I was there and he blames me for my actions—or rather, inaction. I know I’m just being stupid, though. Even today, he doesn’t know I was there.
And ever since then, I’ve begun to overcompensate, anyway. Wasn’t I the one who railed and ranted against Laurence the whole while, and begged Vance to leave before Laurence could kill him? And aren’t I the one who hates Tyler Daniels now, who curses him and tries to make Vance see the goddamned truth?
Of course, Vance is a smart young man. I think he already knows the truth—but chooses not to see it. Or rather, unlike me, he’s an optimist. He knows that Tyler doesn’t really care about him, that Tyler only considers him a trophy and a toy, but to Vance that doesn’t matter. Vance can see a happy future with Tyler, a future where Tyler truly does love him. Me…? I can’t see anything bright in store for Vance and Tyler. How could they ever have anything real, when they’re both such different people? And they’re not the kind of opposites who fit neatly together like complementary pieces of a puzzle. No, they’re the kind of opposites that tug and tear at each other, each trying to drag the other a different direction and failing. I know, deep in my heart, that such a relationship is doomed.
But Vance…he smiles to me when he speaks about Tyler. It’s not immediately identifiable as a smile, and I myself am hesitant to label it one. But still…I can’t deny that there’s something about that faint twitching at the corner of Vance’s lips when he speaks Tyler’s name, something that seems to light his entire face up and makes me want to die inside with joy.
Not that it’s me he’s smiling about, I remind myself…
I wish I could still be Vance’s best friend. There isn’t a day that I don’t. I wish I could still be in full faith the conscience tugging at his sleeve, reminding him to fear Tyler even when Tyler was the one who “rescued” him from Laurence, reminding him to never cast himself away in his quest for love. I still play the role of Vance’s guide and voice of reason, but there’s something now hollow and empty about my actions. You see, once upon a time I could do it because the only attraction I felt for Vance was platonic. We were friends and so I was something different, impartial, something outside the maddening arena of love and alliances. Now…
Now I fear I’ve joined the fray. Now I fear that when I put my hand on his slender shoulder, and remind him that Tyler doesn’t love him, I’m not speaking as a concerned friend but as the girl who loves him and sees in Tyler simply a powerful rival. I feel sick and crummy inside when I think about it this way. I don’t want to think this is true. I still want to cling on to my fantasy of friendship, but day after day, it slips farther away from me.
When I’m at my worst, I want to blame him, almost—damn you, Vance Hikari, making me fall in love with you! I know I’m being immature, though…and worse, using Laurence’s argument. I couldn’t help it, man. He made it too easy. No. I must not blame Vance for my own silly hormones. I must sort through this on my own, in a responsible, mature manner, instead of burdening Vance with my childish troubles. Goodness knows he has enough to deal with already without me.
For now, I’m content. I’m content to lock my feelings for Vance deep within me, and still play the perfect role of “childhood friend”. The role everyone expects me to play. I still go with him for those midnight drives, where we admire the stars and remain in silence until morning breaks. Some times, I irreverently start thinking that these stargazing occasions are dates…but they’re not. They’re something far deeper than a mere date, something that goes beyond simply mutual attraction into a more meaningful connection. Ever since I first bought a car, we’ve been going for these midnight drives. Laurence never liked them and tried his hardest to stop them, and Tyler also implies he’d like to see us stop, but neither of them will ever cause us to abandon this tradition. It’s too far entrenched in our friendship, and our friendship—despite the strains, despite my own desire to know more—is stronger than either of them.
Sometimes, I put on a little music—soft jazz, mostly—and watch him. I watch the profile of his face as he gazes out the window, attention focused on the stars splashed in the night sky above. I can never watch him for long, though. Always, I feel the sigh in my heart intensify, and I need to turn away and open the door, and feel the cool air on my skin and remind myself he will never love me.
Most of the time, though, we stand outside the car, leaning on its shiny red frame, and admire the heavens stretching endlessly above us. Up on our hill, away from light pollution, we can see the cosmos in all its immense glory. Sometimes we try to identify constellations and planetary bodies—Orion and the Big Dipper are easy enough to find. Once, we were lucky enough to witness a meteor shower.
“That is Venus, isn’t it?” says Vance, indicating a particularly bright object in the sky. “I’m not quite sure…I left my glasses behind…”
“Even without them I’m sure you’d be able to judge how bright a star is,” I tell him, not admonishingly, but with a teasing edge. “And yeah. That is Venus…the goddess of love.”
“Love, hmm?” Vance casts me a sidelong glance, his familiar sardonic smirk in place…but the look in his eyes is pensive, faraway. “I wonder.”
“Wonder what?” I ask.
“Nothing.” He turns away from me again, and this time tries to inform me that he thinks he sees the International Space Station. Which is just…
After a half hour spent trying to identify planetary bodies (and satellites, if Vance is to be believed), we lapse back into silence. That’s fine by me. Our relationship began with silence, so it makes sense that it continues to be defined by silence. We remain where we are, leaning against my car, content in each other’s presence and the cool tranquility of the night sky. Up here, alone, with Vance, I don’t have to think. I can just be.
Somewhere deep in the back of my mind, gnawing at the corners of my consciousness, is the knowledge that morning will come and with it a fresh set of problems to be wrestled with. Somewhere, deep within, I know that I can’t continue to hide from my feelings for Vance Hikari. Not forever. Sooner or later, I’m going to have to face the truth and ask myself—and him—the toughest question possible.
These are concerns for a later time, though, and they don’t bother me now. For now, nothing exists but me and Vance, alone at the top of our hill, the stars turning slowly above our heads. For now, I can almost throw my troubles to the night wind and forget everything. Almost.
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Wheeew yeah. Fire away. *ducks and hides* How's that for a first attempt?
[s]I kind of have the feeling that this has very little in way of a plot[/s] I love specific comments because they help me grow as a writer, so...
). Here I am for the promised review and I really hope it can help you out. So, on with the review ...
