Author's note: Yes, I know I said I was going to wait until the New Year. But my inaction finally got to me and I got antsy. I just can't take not working on this story for extended periods of time. Eric won't leave me alone.
Year 1 can be found here: topic20414.html
P.S. I really dislike this bit, but that might be because a) half of it was written at ridiculous hours of the morning, b) I know the bad beginnings from which it was born, and c) I'm kind of cranky right now. Have at it, my hungry wee hyenas.
Year Two
East meant Edinburgh.
I rolled out of bed, shaking off my hangover as best I could. I had made up my mind and I knew where I was going. Edinburgh, the capital of Scotland. A town with a very, very rich history. And I loved history.
Also a city very rich in alcohol. And I loved alcohol.
A match made in heaven. Or hell, but that's a matter of perspective.
It was all a matter of planning when I would leave, where I would go, how I would go, and what to do when I got there. It took months of work -- my father’s bank card number came in handy, too. The logistical stuff was easy -- take a coach, get some money for the fare and for food and the like, pack your bags and go.
It was saying goodbye that was the hard part.
+++
I started spending as much time as I could with my friends. It was like the old days, when we would run around town in youthful high spirits and get away with whatever we could. We used to do it before we started secondary school. Always before the sun came up, we’d take a coach into the city and play around in one of the parks. We’d stop by Tesco on the way, buy some lunch and just while away the day in the city. It confused a lot of people, to see a bunch of teenagers running rings around each other on the swing set or the carousel. It would confuse us too, because there was no real point or purpose to it. Just the four of us spending time together as friends. A lot of times we’d end up climbing trees or playing rugby or football or something. It was fun, but completely aimless. Folks used to pin it down to too much sugar and not enough to do. Now that we were older, they pinned it down to adolescent boredom.
We pinned it down on the sheer fun of freaking people out.
“Hey, we forgot to stop by Tesco,” Chester said as we got off the coach one Saturday morning in June. We trooped to the top of a hill in a play park, where a few early morning mums were pushing their toddlers on the swings, looking exhausted.
“Ye realise ‘his now?” Clyde said.
“Erm, yeah,” Chester said sheepishly. I cocked an eyebrow at him.
“It’s only a few blocks away, let’s walk there,” Sarah suggested. I locked eyes with Clyde- we had a long history of rivalry in “walking” places.
“You’re on,” I said to the unspoken challenge. He grinned.
We took off before Sarah and Chester had the chance to say anything in protest. I nearly tripped at the start, but managed to regain my footing in time to charge ahead of Clyde. He was more athletic than me, but I was taller, with more powerful legs. And on a slope, it was no trouble gaining ground on him.
He caught up a bit as the ground leveled off and we zipped past the swing set. He nearly knocked over one of the frazzled mums pushing her toddler on the swing. I laughed my head off as he shouted an apology over his shoulder, still running as hard as he could to keep up with me. I slowed down a bit to drop into line next to him.
“Let me know when you want me to actually try to beat you,” I said lazily. He was already breathing hard, flipping me off as we jumped over the park fence in unison. I heard Sarah and Chester not far behind as I hit the ground running, heard Chester grunt as he leaped up the fence. Chancing a glance behind me, I saw that taunting Clyde was costing me my lead, big time.
I put on an extra burst of speed as Clyde and I dashed across a road, running with full, long strides down the block, weaving in and out of early morning foot traffic. We’d done stupid stunts like this so many times that it was no trouble at all to dodge in and out of folks who got in our way.
“Crazy arse kids!” I heard an old man yell after us as we blazed by. Clyde and I laughed, running backwards for a brief moment to watch him nearly get knocked over by Chester and Sarah. All four of us had wild grins on our faces, our cheeks a furious red, our breath coming in ragged gasps. I turned around and hung a sharp left down a side street, gaining a bit of ground on Clyde as I did so.
“Fucking lunatics!” I heard Sarah shout from behind me. I smiled to myself and shut out the other three, running as hard and fast as I could to get to the Tesco first.
I jumped over a low wall, pausing for a brief second to let traffic clear before running across the road. I had completely lost track of my friends as I skidded right and tore up the street, vaulting over another low wall and tearing across the massive car park that spread out in front of the supermarket.
I could see the line of carts ahead that we used as a makeshift finish line and celebrated internally. The race was mine to the point that it wasn’t even funny. I slowed to a regular run- I had been sprinting the whole time and was starting to feel my lungs catch on fire- and turned to see where the others were.
Clyde was just coming up to the low wall on the edge of the car park, and Sarah and Chester were nowhere to be found. I stuck my tongue out at Clyde as I ran backwards.
“I win,” I called out to him.
Next I knew, I was flat on my back on the ground, dazed and momentarily stunned. I watched Clyde dash past me, heard him laughing his head off. I sat up, looking at my feet. I had tripped over a planter. A fucking planter. I put one hand on the back of my head, checking for blood or cracks or anything. Feeling none, I stood up, turned around, and finished the rest of the run to where Clyde was holding on to one of the carts for dear life, laughing so hard he couldn’t stand.
“Yeah, you win a’right,” he said between laughs. “Ye shid’ve seen yerself, ma’e. One sec’nd ye’ there and nex’ one, yer no’. Funny shite, mate, funny shite.”
I flipped him off and sat down beside him, hugging my knees and watching for Sarah and Chester. My right elbow was throbbing- I glanced at it and saw that I had scraped the shit out of the skin. It was bleeding- not terribly, but bleeding all the same.
“What happened to you?” Chester asked as I wiped away the blood gingerly and he ran up, Sarah panting as she jogged up behind him.
“Got cocky and fell over,” I said truthfully. He offered me a hand and I took it, letting him help me to my feet.
“That’ll teach you,” Sarah said, breathless. “Come on, let’s go inside. I want something to drink and Eric should wash off his elbow.”
“Yes, Madame Montgomery,” I said, bowing with a flourish. She flicked my ear as I straightened up and the four of us marched inside.
I could’ve sworn I heard several mutters of “crazy kids” as we strode in.
+++
“So how did you fall, exactly?” Chester asked as he leaned against a wall, his arms folded across his chest as he watched me rinsing dirt and blood off of my elbow. I told him the story and he cocked an eyebrow at me.
“Just when I thought you couldn’t be more of a fucking idiot,” he said, his eyes wandering to the ceiling of the restroom.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked defensively as I gingerly rubbed soap into the cut on my arm.
“Oh, nothing,” he said in a singsong voice. He started to whistle as I finished cleaning my wound. I straightened up, splashed a wee bit of cold water on my face, and dried off my elbow.
“I know I’m clumsy, you can say it,” I told him as we left the restroom.
“It’s not that, I just like giving you crap,” he said, grinning cheekily at me. I punched his arm. He rubbed it with his other arm, saying, “How does it feel for someone to be cheeky back to you, you bastard?”
I grinned as we walked through the store, trying to hunt down Clyde and Sarah, who were standing in front of a shelf full of pre-made sandwiches, trying to decide which ones they wanted to take back to the park we’d started from for lunch.
“Let me just take a second and say that we’re walking back,” I said as we walked up to them. “I can only suffer so many injuries to the elbow in one day.”
“Fair enough, mate,” Clyde said jovially, articulating unnaturally well. “Here, ham and egg or tuna salad?”
I picked up the ham sandwich, cocking one eyebrow at him. “I hate tuna, you know that.”
“Oh yeah,” he said in a half whisper, picking up the tuna salad sandwich for himself. I glanced at Chester for support. He only shrugged dismissively.
“Some help you are,” I muttered as I pushed past him, headed for the checkout register. Standing in line, sandwiches in hand, the four of us discussed our plans for the rest of the day.
“Lunch at the park, and then head back home for a wee while? My folks aren’t home, we could relax at my place,” Sarah suggested. I shrugged, as did Clyde.
“Chester, any objections?” I asked. He was standing at the back of our group, staring off to his left, a vacant expression on his face.
“Eh? What? Sorry, wasn’t paying attention,” he said, snapping his head up and glancing around at us. I leaned over Sarah to stare at him. He stared right back, his green eyes thoughtful.
“Eric,” Sarah said, elbowing me and pointing. The person in front of us in line had finished and moved on, and the cashier was watching me with one hand on her hip, coughing lightly, trying to get my attention.
I apologised, paid for the food, and the four of us left with a sandwich and drink of choice each. I dropped back to walk next to Chester, letting Clyde and Sarah get ahead of us.
“You alright mate? What’s on your mind?” I asked him quietly. He shrugged.
“A lot of things, really.”
He looked down at my plastic grocery bag, where my ham and egg sandwich rested against a can of Guinness. “Did you really have to get that?”
“Well, the only other option was the tuna one, and you know how much I hate tuna.”
“Not that, Eric. That.”
He pointed to the can, barely visible through the opaque plastic. I shifted the bag in my hand.
“I wanted a Guinness, that’s all. Is that so very wrong?”
He shrugged again and said nothing more. I stared at him for a wee while.
“Hurry up, you two,” Sarah called behind her. Looking up, I noticed that they had gotten a decent ways ahead of us. Chester and I had to jog to catch up.
We walked the rest of the way back to the park where we had started. The mum that Clyde had almost knocked over when we began was still there, giving us the evil eye the whole time we ate, sitting on the grass under a tree.
“She’s really makin’ me ’ncomf’terble,” he said, shifting awkwardly. The three of us laughed.
“You should go over there and make friends. She probably thinks you’re some loose cannon punk kid and she’s telling her kid not to grow up like you. Go on, go say hi. Or at least say sorry,” Chester said, leaning over and stage whispering in his ear as if it was some big dramatic scene. Clyde grinned sheepishly and set his sandwich back down on his bag and stood up.
“He’s really going to do it, isn’t he?” Sarah said, leaning her head against my shoulder as he walked off.
“Yup, and I’d say it went a wee bit worse than he expected it to,” I remarked, taking a bite out of my sandwich as we watched Clyde open up a conversation with the woman, only to be slapped as she walked away in a huff.
The three of us laughed until he got back. We were still in stitches as he sat down, trying to get control of ourselves. Sarah got there first.
“What did you say to her?” she said, still laughing between her words.
“I jus’ told ‘er I was sorry fer earlier and ‘hat it was really stupid o’ me tae do,” he said, burying his face in his sandwich. Strangely, I felt he was lying. It seemed like a stupid reason to slap him, but I kept those thoughts to myself.
I reached for my can of Guinness and stood it up, snapping open the lid. Sarah watched me with distaste.
“Do you have to drink that?” she complained.
“Yup,” I said lightly, bringing the can to my lips and drinking deeply. She shifted uncomfortably beside me.
“I wish we could be together for once and you wouldn’t be drinking,” she said, pouting a wee bit.
“Alright, next time we do something, I promise I won’t drink any alcoholic beverage,” I said, raising my right hand in a mock oath.
“I’ll hold you to that,” she said, straightening up and scarfing down her own sandwich faster and more indecently than the three of us boys put together. We gaped at her in awe.
“Honestly, Sarah, you have worse table manners than Clyde,” Chester remarked. Clyde threw a stray bit of tuna at him.
+++
We ended up stopping at Sarah's house only to pick up a take-away dinner, and then it was off to a nearly abandoned park with a bundleful of firewood. Sometimes we'd go to the most deserted place we could find -- the beach, the stretches of green fields that made up most of Scotland, parks -- and started a fire. We called them bonfires, but they were sorry excuses for bonfires, to tell the truth. Tiny, pathetic wee things. Built entirely on haphazard firemaking knowledge Chester and I had gleaned over the years. A lit match would put our fires to shame.
I digress.
We would do them at night. We would lie under the stars and dream big. We would talk, rant, rave, laugh, drink, eat, and enjoy ourselves in a tiny, isolated bubble far removed from reality. For years we had dreamt of something bigger and better than what Glasgow had to offer, typical teenager stuff: the breakaway from parents and family, a newfound indepenence, all of that. We dreamt of a life we would never have.
That night was no different. By the time the fire was beginning to wane, we were all a bit intoxicated -- probably me more than anyone else -- but that didn't change tradition.
"Remember when we'd lie here and talk about how our lives would be in the next few years?" I said, only vaguely aware of what I was saying.
"Yeah," Sarah said dreamily from where she rested against my leg. My thigh was playing the role of her pillow as she lay on her side, staring at the dancing flames, her eyes half-closed.
"We don't do that much anymore," Chester remarked from my left, where he was hugging his knees and drawing in the dirt with a stick. Clyde was stretched out beside him, his head pointing towards my feet.
"Why not?" I wondered.
"Because we've got more sense now," Sarah said, sitting up.
"What does that have to do with the price of tea in China?" I shot back, feeling a fire ignite in the bottom of my stomach. It wasn't anger, no. It was something else. I couldn't find the words to describe it.
"'Cause we're m're se'led no' an' we're no' sub'ect to stupi' teena'e fancies?" Clyde guessed.
When will he learn to speak properly? I snapped mentally. "Stupid teenage fancies? What bollocks is that?"
Chester looked at me over his elbow.
"I dunno about you, but I'm happy here."
I felt a small pang of mixed anger and despair. I was hoping I could talk someone into coming to Edinburgh with me, so I didn't have to say goodbye. I figured bringing up our dreams of bygone years would reignite that fire. But that plan was failing fast. I had to do something.
I stood up, raising my whisky bottle to the clouded moon as if making a toast.
“Everything we could ever ask for, everything we could ever want, it’s all there. Just over the next hill. All we have to do is go get it. All we have to do is chase after it. We won’t get anything done by sitting here getting pissed night after night. We have to do something.”
I sat back down, my hair askew from the wind, a wild grin on my face. The others were just staring at me.
“It’s all we ever wanted, isn’t it?”
“Eric…” Chester said, hesitation evident in just those two syllables. My face fell slightly. “That’s what we wanted when we were younger, stupider. We’re older now. You just turned nineteen yourself. You’re not a kid anymore.”
“I know that,” I snapped. “but it’s never too late to go somewhere in life, right Clyde?”
Clyde was usually the one to back me up in situations like these. I looked to him hopefully, but he shook his head.
“Sorry, mate, I gotta side with Chester on this one.”
The way he said it told me I was fighting a losing battle.
“Sarah?” I pleaded, turning to her next.
“I thought… I thought we were going to get married here,” she said, her cheeks reddening a bit. “Now that… we’re older, I don’t think I want to leave.”
I felt like I was staring at three complete strangers. When did this happen? I thought to myself. When did they move on without me?
We had been drifting apart for a while by then. I just never noticed.
I walked home that night. Alone.
Points:
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Canary word: Present
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Original Text:
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125,029 Literary Works • 672,781 Reviews
Okay, um, wow, I've taken a whole new direction with this and I'm gonna lock this for now.
**LOCKED**
--:pirate3:
Hello,
A town with a very, very rich history.- very is a word that can be taken out whenever it is used and only strengthen writing. It means (very) little.
Now that we were older, they pinned it down to adolescent boredom.
We pinned it down on the sheer fun of freaking people out.- I think because you say "pin it down to" twice, then the third one should be "pin it down to" and not "pin it down on"
Clyd's speech is very difficult to follow for me.
I love the friendship of the kids already. They're kind of hooligans, but it's endearing. It feels like real friendship, where they are mean in a familiar way to one another.
Watch out that you don't say "wee too much"
A lit match would put our fires to shame.-LOL. I think this chapter was MUCH stronger than the first. It felt very real and in such a short span you managed to establish the main character very well and the environment as well. Great job!
Eeeh?
Eeeeeeh?
EEEEEEHHHH??
Wow. This was a pretty awesome chapter. It left me totally confused and disoriented, but in a good way. I've got to know what happens next!
Nitpick time! "Living conditions" sounds like a rather formal phrase to be using in an argument.
This sentence seems kinda awkward and clunky to me... my first reaction was "Huh?" and I had to read it at least three times before I got what you were saying. Might want to rephrase this.
This seems a little like telling, rather than showing. I suggest just getting rid of this phrase, because the remainder of the sentence shows us well enough that he became antisocial.
Once again, kind of an awkward phrase. "feeling the way a hummingbird must feel" or something similar might be a bit better.
In other news, I love how you've been developing Eric's friends and family members in these last few bits.
So yeah. This is just too awesome, Razor. MORE PLEASE. XD
Author's note: OMG. Kick butt new avatar, Zankoku. xD
Er. Anyway. I had more typed up, but apparently I fail at life and didn't save it. D: So yeah. Welcome to the delightful world of BLACKOUTS! =D
Yay. So let's see what fun shite Eric gets into next, seadh? ^^
+++
“Eric!”
I jumped nearly a foot in the air. The glass I was holding fell from my hand and fell to the floor, where it smashed and spilled a clear liquid all over the floor. I stared at it blankly.
Where did I get that? I thought in wonder.
“Eric, I can’t believe you!” the voice said. It was piercingly high, but I couldn’t figure out why Clyde was talking like he’d swallowed a tank full of helium.
Then it clicked.
It was Penny.
“Penny? What… what the hell are you doing at Clyde’s?”
“What do you mean, Clyde’s? This isn’t Clyde’s flat, this is our house. Why would I be at your friend's disgusting excuse for living conditions?”
“Hey, don’t talk about Clyde that way,” I snapped. “I don’t insult your friends.”
“That’s beside the point,” she said, waving her arms in the air. “What are you doing drinking that?”
“Drinking what?”
“That vodka, that’s now making a small puddle on the floor.”
“Vodka?” I said in bewilderment. “I don’t even like vodka.”
“Don’t play dumb with me, Eric,” she said in an uncanny likeness of Mum – hands on her hips and everything.
“What? I don’t like vodka. Why the hell would I drink it?”
“I don’t know, why don’t you ask the bottle in front of you?”
“I… wha… bottle?” I said, glancing down. Sure enough, on the kitchen counter in front of me sat a small, iridescent bottle filled with the same clear liquid as the pool at my feet.
Wait a minute… kitchen counter? When the hell did I get here? And where was I when this happened?
“Why does it matter, anyway?” I said aloud. “I’m nineteen, I’m allowed to-”
“Don’t give me that,” she cut across. “You promised Mum you wouldn’t drink so much anymore, and that you would never drink at home. Remember? A few weeks ago, when you got home from Clyde’s after you two had that big fight? You had a hangover, and more or less swore off alcohol for good.”
“What the bloody hell are you talking about?” I insisted.
“Eric,” she groaned. “You’ve been good about it until now…”
“I never promised that I wouldn’t drink!” I yelled. Penny flinched. I hardly ever shouted, and when I did, it was blatantly obvious that something was wrong. “Those words never passed my lips. And when did I get home from Clyde’s? I was there just last night, chatting with him on his settee. It wasn’t even eleven o’clock yet.”
“Eric, that was well over a month ago. And yes, you did tell Mum that you would stop drinking. I was there, as well as Dad. And yes, you were there too. I shouldn’t have to tell you this. Stop playing stupid.”
She’s being unusually bitchy, I thought, scapegoating as always and cementing a new brick into place – if only I knew how many had appeared while I had apparently been unconscious for a month.
Penny stepped forward, careful not to put her bare feet on the glass covering the floor, and took the vodka bottle. Turning, she retreated to the door.
“Oh, and you also promised Dad you’d take care of the shop all this week, in case you forgot about that too,” she said, uncharacteristically sarcastic. She disappeared, taking the bottle of vodka with her. I felt a small pang to see it go.
I stood riveted to the spot for a moment, gobsmacked. What the hell just happened? I thought, dazed. I looked down at the mess of shattered glass and vodka at my feet. With a sigh, I stepped over to the closet and tugged out a broom.
As I closed the door, I glanced at the hanging wall calendar next to the phone.
It was December.
I froze. December? But it was late November just last night… and now it’s a few days to Hogmanay. Last I checked, America was prepping for their Thanksgiving or whatever it is. But now… December? An entire month… just gone?
“What’s happening to me?” I said in small, weak voice as I slowly started sweeping up the shattered glass.
+++
Two more days passed, and to the best of my knowledge, I was there the whole time. No more unexpected change in location happened, but the last one had taken a month, and I had only counted a few days.
I kept myself on edge, keeping to a strict routine so that I would know exactly what happened, when it happened. Nothing unexpected, nothing I didn’t see coming. I saw almost every living thing as a threat to my carefully structured life. I became antisocial, spending any minute that wasn’t spent drinking or down in the shop holed away in my room, my back against the door so that no one could interrupt my borderline psychopathic episodes.
A knock came at my door came during one such episode. I felt my heart rate jump to around a million beats per minute, feeling like what a hummingbird must.
“Eric? Sarah just called. She wants to meet you at the park later today.”
Shit, I thought, bringing my knees closer to my chest. Mum knocked again.
“Eric? Eric, are you in there?”
“Fine,” I said before my mind could get control of my mouth and come up with a convincing lie. “I’ll see her there. Thanks for the message.”
I felt like kicking myself repeatedly as I listened to Mum walk away, no doubt wondering why her son was acting rather neurotic.
+++
Argh. I wish I had saved it. There's such an interesting tidbit coming up. So much juicy plot stuff. Oh well.
Late! Again! What the heck is wrong with me?
...Okay, I know Clyde is supposed to talk strangely and all, but it seems odd to abbreviate "ceiling" that way. I read it as "cling" and was momentarily very confused. XD But do as you like, really.
I really liked the last line of the first bit, and the dialogue in the most recent bit made me laugh.
... I always feel so unhelpful when I critique your work, I've got nothing to offer. XD Sorry, once again, for not having much of use to say. Maybe I'll do better next time...? XD
Great work as always.
Author's Note: *twiddles thumbs* Eric's drunk! Yayness. xD
Fun stuff on the way. Sit tight. Lotsa plot twists. ^^
+++
In all my years as Clyde’s friend, I never knew how utterly horrible of a cook he was.
In a goodwill gesture, he’d offered to cook dinner for the two of us, and I foolishly accepted. I only took one bite of the unrecognisable slop that he had produced before nearly puking up my entire digestive system.
“On second thought, how about take-away?” I said after ten minutes of trying to wash the foul taste out of my mouth.
Clyde simply grinned.
We settled for fast food – stopping on the way back to pick up some proper drinks, not the fountain sodas we’d gotten with our food – and spent the evening chatting over dinner and Clyde’s shoddy television reception.
I’d bought two bottles of cider – Clyde already had some whisky – and had drained one and was halfway through the other before 10 o’clock had rolled around. Clyde could only beam proudly.
“I worship the ground ye walk on, mate,” he said as I reduced the second bottle’s contest to just a quarter. I set the bottle down, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, and chuckled.
“Really? What took you so damn long to figure out my pure awesomeness?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone drink with as much vigor as ye,” he said, pointedly ignoring my question. “I mean, two bottles of cider all to yourself? Mate, I’ve only done half a glass of whisky!”
“I do what I can,” I said dismissively. “By the way, speaking of that whisky of yours, are you planning on finishing it?”
He held up his hands in the universal gesture of surrender. “Help yerself, mate. I’m just surprised yer still coherent.”
“Same goes for you,” I said, slightly offended. Clyde made a face.
“Ye hardly ate anything, either Mate, how do ye even have breath in yer body?”
“A magic which you are too young and innocent to explore, young Padowan,” I intoned. Clyde flicked a cigarette filter at me.
“I’m older than ye are, ye pretentious sod,” he said. I grinned.
“Age does not matter in the realm of wisdom,” I said airily, taking a flying leap off of the settee as Clyde lunged to tackle me.
I laughed. “Too slow.”
“My house,” Clyde pointed out. “Quit being a smart arse or get out.”
I felt my temper flare even though Clyde’s tone was a joking one, feeling a hand ruffling my proverbial feathers.
“I can be smart with you all I like,” I snapped, a little more anger and defensiveness in my voice than necessary.
“I didn’t say ye couldn’t,” he said. “I wasn’t serious, mate, relax.”
I patted my head, smoothing out my feathers. I sat back down on the couch, no longer caring about the questionable substances that decorated it. Reaching out, my hand closed on the cold glass of the remaining cider bottle. I downed what was left in one gulp.
The two of us sat there in an awkward silence, staring at our shoes. The minutes ticked by silently, the unintelligible dreck spouting from the television the only source of noise.
It felt like a glorious release when the last of the cider permeated into my bloodstream. I felt my muscles relax, my body deflate, and my thoughts simplify in no time flat. It was all I could do not to let out a long, pleasurable sigh.
I giggled. Clyde glanced at me.
“What?” he said. I could only laugh with more badly suppressed glee.
“What is yer problem?” he half-said, half-chuckled.
“I dunno,” I said before falling into a mad fit of laughter.
“Yer drunk!” he said.
“No I am not!”
“Yes ye are. If yer not, what’s so damn funny?”
I only laughed harder. It was infectious – Clyde started to laugh as well.
“Yer pissed, man. Yer pissed off yer damn ass.”
“I am not!”
I stood up, partially stumbling as I started to walk aimlessly before tripping over the coffee table and crashing hard to the floor.
Clyde let out a loud bark of laughter.
“Serves ye right, ye drunken sod,” he said. My temper flared again, and I nearly snarled at him, before discovering how apparently hilarious such a though was.
“I almost… I almost snarled at you,” I said through hysterical laughter, literally rolling on the floor and holding my sides. I crawled up and back on to the settee. “I almost… I almost… haaaah…”
+++
*giggles* Eric is a funny drunk.
This is just on the first part; I don't have time to review the others. These are the only things that I didn't like:
He probably did hear it, right? Considering that they were just racing and being loud, etc. So why should he be unsure about it?
Earlier you said that Chester was the more athletic one than the MC, so why is it that Chester is already tired and the MC is not?
Cut the "wee". Sounds better with just while.
Good addition. Your descriptions weren't too much, and just enough to help mentally picture the surroundings. The dialogue was very real. I also really liked the race. Will try to read the rest when I have time.
Author's Note: More to come later today. My brother came home sooner than I expected so now I can't type up any more. Ah well. But yay! Awesome stuff coming up.
My blood was frozen in a more literal sense by the time I stopped at Clyde’s doorstep.
I had forgotten the full force of a Glaswegian November – not as bad as the later months of winter, but still freezing cold. The glory of being on the same latitude as a place like Moscow. It felt like my fingers were going to fall off each time I moved them. Each knock on Clyde’s door felt like it would be the trigger for ten icicles to drop from my hands and shatter on the floor.
Clyde eventually answered, and a wave of blissfully hot air washed over me. I felt my extremities thaw almost immediately.
“Hey Clyde,” I said, trying to control my chattering teeth.
“Eric,” he said, sounding surprised. “Alri’ there, ma’e?”
“Not really. Can I come in? It’s cold.”
He stepped back and I nearly fell in, relishing the fruit of whatever inventor came up with indoor heating.
I stood in the foyer for a few moments, letting my limbs thaw as the air circulated around me. Clyde shut the door and stood behind me. I could see his confused expression in the reflection of the mirror at the end of the hall.
“Are ye jus’ gon’ stan’ there ‘n’ worshi’ me c’ling o’ are ye gon’ say summat?” he said. I glared at him over my shoulder.
“You know, if I hadn’t known you as long as I have, I’d smack you for being so damn lazy,” I said. Clyde made a face.
“Ha ha. Come on, ‘here’s mor tae me flat th’n thi’.”
He forced his way around me and took an ungraceful flop onto his secondhand settee. I sat down on what his lanky frame didn’t occupy, gingerly avoiding stains of questionable origin.
“Wha’s on yer min’?” Clyde asked, pulling out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lighting it with a lighter he produced from somewhere between the cushions.
“Spot me one of those and I’ll tell you,” I shot back. He grinned and handed me another fag and his lighter. In between drags, I told him the epic tale of my long battle with my poltergeist, to my conclusion that Penny was behind it, to the realisation that I was wrong and Mum catching me by surprise.
“…And then I just got up and left,” I finished, blowing a cloud of smoke out of the corner of my mouth.
“Bol’cks tae her, ma’e,” Clyde said, only reinforcing the damage I’d already done to myself. “Yer old e’nuf tae control yer own li’e. She needs tae min’ her own bi’ness.”
“Will you talk like a normal human being for once in your life?” I snapped at him before I knew what I was saying. He raised his eyebrows at me.
“What’s with ye?” he said, blissfully articulate, but I still felt slightly guilty for yelling over nothing.
“Sorry. Just a bit tense. I mean, who wouldn’t be?”
“Aye, I agree with ye,” he said. Mentally, I thanked him.
“So what do you think I should do?”
Clyde thought for a moment, smoke from his fag winding round his head. He’d always been at good at pulling off that fag thing – the burning cylinder hung loosely from his lips, the smoke trail seeming to go where he willed it. He didn’t bother to move, sprawled out on his settee and staring blankly at the television screen – which didn’t work properly. It never really had; Clyde just liked watching it struggle to do its job in its last throes of life.
“Ye really should get out of there,” Clyde said suddenly, jerking me back to reality.
“Sorry?”
“Ye heard me,” he said, sitting up and putting out his cigarette on the coffee table – which was originally light brown in colour but turned mostly black with cigarette burns and dirt. “If yer parents are going to try and hold ye down like that, then there’s better things for ye. Hell, me own mum tried the same thing, and I got out as fast as I could. And man, life is great. Look at me! I’m living a dream here.”
He smiled broadly and threw his arms out, inviting me to survey the dingy, badly lit one bedroom that hardly had enough furnishings to sustain a rat. I couldn’t help but think, some dream.
I kept it to myself, though, opting instead for a different internal battle of morals before reopening my mouth.
“To be honest, I was thinking about going to Edinburgh,” I said hesitantly.
Clyde paused, his arms drooping and his smile fading.
“Were ye now?” he asked. I nodded.
“I haven’t made any… serious plans just yet. I’ve only thought about it, toyed with the idea, you know.”
I could see the cogs turning behind his hazel eyes. I tensed, wondering what kind of reaction he would have to such an unexpected bombshell.
“Good for ye,” he said at long last. I breathed a tiny sigh of relief. “Get out of there while ye can, smart now. Good thinking, mate. Better than I could’ve done.”
He playfully punched me in the arm, and I grinned, relieved.
“Have ye told anyone else yet? Chester, or Sarah?”
“Not yet,” I said truthfully. “Like I said, I haven’t made any actual plans yet. I might not even go.”
“Aw, but ye have to go! Especially after what happened with yer mum and trying to control ye and all that.”
“I know… it’s just that…” I trailed off.
“What? It’s just that yer in denial? Face it, mate, yer a smart chap. I trust ye to do what ye think’s best. Yer welcome to stay here long as ye please. And trust me, what’s best for ye is to get a place of yer own – in Edinburgh, if that’s what ye think is right.”
He patted my shoulder awkwardly – brotherly affection wasn’t really his forte – and stood up, walking to the kitchen.
I sat there where he’d left me on the settee, my mind turning in on itself.
The cigarette I had completely forgotten about ran out of tobacco to burn and instead charred my finger. I swore and dropped it, stomping on it with my boot and examining the tiny burn mark already forming.
I still have that scar, even now.
---
Can you tell that was a total ploy to get it so that I didn't have to keep doing Clyde's dialogue that way? God, he annoys me. HE IS GOING TO DIEEEEEEEEEEEE. *wrath*
Aaaand I'm as late as ever. *eternal shame*
This phrase just sounds awkward to me... I'm not sure how to explain why... it feels almost like you're stepping out of the conversation with this phrase to explain something to the reader? I dunno how to phrase what I mean... anyhoo, it might be more natural if you changed it to something like "You haven't been to French class in three years, Eric." or even "This isn't about your French class, Eric." or something similar. Eh, I dunno.
This is on the side of extreeeeme nitpicking, but "endeavours" is a bit of a big word, of the kind that I don't imagine would come up in conversation a lot, especially since Eric's upset.
The plot thickens! I'm enjoying this, can't wait for the next chapter. I just love how real all the characters seem... your characters are awesome. ^_^
Out of curiosity, though, why did you decide to change the title? Just wondering.
Author's note: Haha, sincere apologies for having taken so long. I've been writing Year Three, and I realised it sucks because I wrote it when I was sick and Eric refused to get out of bed long enough to help, so it'll need a complete rewrite. Plus, it put me off this for a while. But I'm back and better than ever!
...Not really. Expect more soon, though. I have to take some state standardised tests this week and I'll have lots of free time on my hands.
“Eric, we need to talk,” Mum said as I stumbled into the dining room early the next morning.
I let out an incoherent mumble that equated to something along the lines of “Sure we can talk, but don’t expect me to actually say anything.” Mum sighed and sat down at the table.
“Sit,” she said. She didn’t have to tell me twice.
Out of pure habit, I reached to where the marmalade and toast usually sat during breakfast. My hand grasped nothing but air, and I felt myself wake up slightly. For the first time, I noticed that there was no food on the table.
I felt my stomach clench. No food meant no breakfast, and no breakfast meant something major. Mum would do it when she was angry with me about something – when I was still in school, it was usually about grades or the shenanigans my friends and I got up to.
“I’m not failing French class. Honestly.”
“This isn’t about the French class you haven’t even been to in three years, Eric,” she said. Shit. Not even a giggle or twitch of the mouth. Bad news.
“It’s about this,” she continued, reaching underneath the table and setting upon it a bottle of whisky – my bottle of whisky. From under my bed.
My blood froze. All of my worst fears had been confirmed in the space of two seconds. I was wrong about Penny – it was Mum all along. She had probably taken them each time she wanted to bring it up to me, and then put them back when she lost confidence. And setting up all those traps and changing the hiding place – it probably just confirmed what she feared.
Well, shit.
I tried to play it cool, employing my sarcastic streak to my benefit. “Oh, a bottle of 10-year-old whisky. That must have been expensive.”
Mum looked at me, her green eyes saying what she didn’t need to: “Don’t be clever with me, young man.” I’d heard it enough times in my life.
“Eric, don’t be clever with me,” she said. I made a mental note to pat myself on the back later for being so accurate – at least she’d dropped the “young man” part of it. “I found this under your bed.”
“Your point being?” I said, my heart still pounding. That was a major screw-up – now she knew I was lying.
“Why do you have a bottle of whisky under your bed?”
“Because if I drink it down there it’s less of a painful fall when I pass out,” I said without missing a beat.
“I mean it, Eric.”
I hate when parents use that phrase. In essence, it translates to “You didn’t give me the answer I want so I’m going to force it out of you whether you like it or not.”
I was getting unusually good at reading my mum.
“Mum, I’m nineteen,” I said, adding the proper amount of exasperation into my voice and thanking my old drama teacher. “I’m allowed to have a bottle of whisky and drink it at my leisure.”
“I’m aware of that, Eric. But how did you get this? I don’t remember buying it for you.”
“Here’s a thought: I bought it for myself.”
My tone was unusually rude, and Mum winced. I didn’t feel any sort of remorse for what I’d said, though. She deserves it. Accusing me like this. Who does she think she is?
Ironically, she hadn’t accused me of anything.
“With what money?” she persisted, cutting across my thoughts.
“With the money you and Dad give me? I may be your son, but I’m also your employee and you do pay me.”
Mum sighed. I resisted the urge to smirk. I was winning.
“Why do you hide it, then?”
I paused. I wasn’t expecting that. I felt the tables shift – Mum was gaining ground.
“Because… because… oh, what does it matter? Not like you’re totally honest about your own endeavours with alcohol,” I spat.
It was textbook self-defence. I was cornered, so I attacked.
My brick wall got a little thicker in the process.
Mum flinched. “I… what… what do you mean?”
“I’ve seen the wine cabinet, Mum,” I said. “You and Dad like to have yourselves a good time every now and again. I’m not stupid, I know that when you go out with your friends you go to bars and pubs and drink yourself silly. I’ve seen you come home drunk a few times. Dad, too. And don’t pretend I’m the only one of your children who enjoys a drink every now and again – hell, Mark used to wander about drunk almost on a daily basis. So take a good look at yourself before you come hounding after me.”
I stood up, all grogginess forgotten, and swept towards the door. As an afterthought, I turned back around and swiped my whisky bottle from the table.
“And I’ll thank you for not going through my room again,” I said in the fiercest tone I could muster. I walked away without another glance, stowing the bottle back where it belonged before bounding down the stairs and out onto the streets without another thought. Clyde would be willing to listen to me rant, so I turned right and trod the familiar path to his flat.
If it wasn’t so cold outside and I had remembered a jacket, the newest brick would have dried faster.
I love how there's a brick on the cover of the book. XD
This sentence was a bit redundant, since you already mentioned the sound of dealing cards was wearing on Eric's nerves in the previous paragraph.
... and... I don't have much else to say. This was an awesome bit as ever. I'm running out of words with which to describe your awesomeness. XD
Author's Note: I really hate the way this segment starts off. But I do like how it ends. And everything in the middle is like, blah. -.-
Not one of my favourite segments. But I do have some interesting stuff coming up. [/teaser]
Pardon the lateness, I thought I had more typed up but it turns out I didn't. Oh well. Now I do. =D
+++
It wasn’t the last time such a thing happened.
It happened monthly – almost to the point where I could pinpoint and predict when it would happen. I learned not to fear it, and to trust that my stash would always return promptly the following morning. It never failed. In fact, I came to kind of enjoy it – I would change around my hiding places to see if my poltergeist could find them in their new places. When I ran out of new ideas, I started setting up traps. I’d stuff the bottles inside pillowcases, tie them to something heavy, anything I could think of. It was great fun, but I was getting pretty reckless about it. I let my guard down in the most sensitive of locations. I knew one of these days my poltergeist would get fed up with my games and never return my precious whisky.
Eventually, after quite some time of toying with my poltergeist, I was the one to lose patience first. I wasn’t idiotic enough to try something stupid like asking outright who was behind it. It took me an eternity to come up with a plan – mid November, to be specific.
Penny and I were in the shop alone – Mum and Dad were out, thankfully. I knew what I was going to do, but just thinking about it alone made my heart race.
I was shelving books – as if I really ever did anything different – and Penny was behind the counter with Dad’s infamous deck of cards. I’d shown her where they were hidden eons ago. They never moved – Dad wasn’t clever enough for it, bless him.
Each sound that the cards made as she dealt them – no particular game, Penny never played a premeditated game, just dealt the cards in whatever pattern she took a fancy to – tightened my nerves bit by bit, tiny slap by tiny slap.
I was terrified, feeling my confidence beginning to fail. Every tiny sound started to wear on my nerves. The clock on the wall ticked at an obscenely loud volume. I glared at it as if the power of my eyes could silence the intrusive heathen. Ironically, I lost track of time.
“Eric, that one goes two feet directly in front of your stomach,” Penny’s voice called, breaking my staring contest with the timepiece.
“Sorry?”
“That book. You’ve been holding it and staring off into space for the past five minutes. Put it where it belongs already.”
I looked down to see what she was talking about, and realised right away that she was right. The dark blue book I was holding had small patches of sweat from my palms. I dried it on my shirt as best as I could and stuck it in a small gap between two volumes.
“You are so weird sometimes,” Penny said dreamily.
“Look at the pot calling the kettle black,” I remarked, scooping up the now-empty cardboard box at my feet. Punching out the bottom, I collapsed it and went into the back room to throw it on as a new part of my ever-growing nest.
As the door swung shut and out of the way, I noticed something. A bit of the cork was exposed in the whisky bottle I had buried.
My heart started its pounding anew. My poltergeist had visited again – the second time that week.
It had to be Penny. It had to be. No one else had been there all day. I seized the neck of the bottle and yanked it out, taking a long, deep drink to calm my nerves. I nearly choked because I forgot to breathe in between swallows.
It took a bit of time, but when it found its way into my bloodstream, I was back shelving another box of books. I relaxed and was able to think about it rationally – well, as rationally as is possible when halfway to being drunk and completely mentally confused.
Why is she doing this to me? She must know. She has to. It doesn’t explain itself any other way. What the hell is she doing, nosing through my stuff like that? She has no right. No right at all.
Satisfied with the assumption that it was all Penny’s fault and she needed to mind her own business, I relaxed. I’d confront her about it later. I had to catch her in the act, as she was doing it.
I didn’t know how I was going to manage that, but I didn’t care. I had other, more self-destructive business to attend to.
I couldn’t be bothered with facing the truth.
I shelved a book on the history of stonemasonry that had a large picture of a brick on the cover and spent the rest of the afternoon drinking.
+++
Author's Note: Sorry if it seems like I'm shafting you guys with how short these recent bits have been. I'm just not writing in a straight line and I can only type up what I have, lol.
More lateness from me! Gah! I'm sorry, I thought I'd already reviewed this. *forgetful*
Both these sentences confused me... I'm sure the latter is some saying I've never heard of, but the former, you might want to reword, because I'm not quite sure what it's saying. It sounds like it's something like Eric's looking back now to realize that he really just wanted to stay in Glasgow, but... it still left me a teeny bit confused.
Awesome job, I really want to know what'll happen next. I'm enjoying this story a lot, keep up the good work! ^_^
Oh, deal with it, Emer. =P
All of this is on my bloody school server. It's kind of annyoing. -.-
Ohmigod lack of dialogue. *twitches*
+++
No one spoke about the whisky that had no doubt been discovered and taken from under my bed, but that didn’t stop a tense air from hanging about.
I ate my breakfast in a hurried silence, not looking at anyone. I was so intent on getting out of there that I stuck a knife in my orange juice and tried to spread it on my toast. I blinked, shook the offending utensil dry, and scoffed the rest without looking.
Just to be sure, after breakfast I bounded downstairs and into the back room to check on my other stash, but to no avail. I swore rather loudly. I had no clear idea where it had all gone, but I was pretty sure Mum had found it and dumped it down the sink, especially after setting me up with Catty the previous day.
And it wasn’t cheap whisky, either.
I was furious. It occurred to me that Mum had used Catty as a decoy to get me away so that she could invade my privacy and see things for herself. I should have seen it coming when she told me that Mum had asked her to get me out of the place for a while.
I didn’t bother to stick around. No one was going to say anything to my face. There was nothing for me at home.
There was nothing for me in the city, either, but that didn’t stop me from putting on my coat and taking to its streets.
+++
I saw a coach go by as I walked, its plume of exhaust rich in the sickly sweet smell of petrol. It reminded me of something – I had promised myself to get out of here as soon as possible. Edinburgh was only about forty-five miles to the east – I turned that direction and scanned the horizon, standing on my toes as if hoping to see Scotland’s historic capital far off in the distance.
I could only see the drab skyline of Glasgow. And to be honest, I was sick of seeing Glasgow. I’d only been there nineteen years, and I was still stuck where I’d started from – which, ironically, is where I’d wanted to end up all along.
There’s some sort of hidden meaning to that, I’m sure.
Wandering the streets was one of my favourite pastimes when I had a lot on my mind. I would usually end up in a store or at someone’s house – almost never my own until late in the evening or sometimes even the next day. But this time, I was walking for a lot longer – it was just after sunrise when I took off, and the sun was lurking around its midday position by the time I snapped out of my reverie.
I looked up, stopping dead and scanning my surroundings. This was a part of town that I wasn’t familiar with – too far towards the West End. I knew that Mark lived somewhere in this vicinity, in a flat somewhere – I vaguely remembered visiting him once – but I couldn’t tell up from down, let alone how to get to Mark’s.
No. I was alone.
I turned around and backtracked east, figuring one way or another I’d get to somewhere familiar and navigate my way home from there.
On the way, I stopped at a pub, got drunk, and stumbled my way in the general direction of home. Burying my true feelings underneath a cloud of fermented yeast, I risked my whole life as I tried to make my way home.
On the whole, it was six one way, half a dozen the other.
I was dead whether I got hit by a car or not.
+++
The hangover was hell the next morning.
Hooray for deus ex machina or however I managed to make it home that night. I lay in bed, my head throbbing each time I tried to open my eyes, each time the tiniest of sounds reached my ears. I muffled my groans with my pillow for well over an hour. Finally, the pain began to fade – replaced by an overwhelming desire to run. Nowhere in particular as a destination, but I wanted to run and never look back. Terror wreaked havoc on my psyche. I couldn’t explain it, but I knew how I could muffle it. Desperate, I forgot what I had discovered the day before and rolled off of my bed, automatically reaching underneath it.
To my surprise, my hand closed on cool glass.
I blinked, the hangover fog fading from my eyes. My fingers weren’t lying to me – laying my head flat against the floor, I could see a tiny speck of light reflecting off the liquid inside. I pulled.
As if it had never left, one of my whisky bottles was clamped in my hand. The cork hadn’t moved, the liquid inside was still at the same level. If I hadn’t been sober at the time, I would have dismissed the disappearance as drunken lunacy.
But there it was, in my hand, cool and solid and… friendly. As if nothing had happened.
I wasn’t one to complain, taking a hearty swig before sticking the cork back in and shoving it back into its hiding place.
Sitting back, my back to the bed, staring at the vacant bunk beds Mark and Wyatt once occupied, I had something to think about. It wasn’t until the fresh whisky permeated my bloodstream that the gears in my head started to turn properly, though.
Had I imagined their disappearance? Had someone taken them but put them back out of guilt? Who was responsible?
A sudden brain wave hit me and I bounded down the stairs, waving a good morning to Penny, disappearing into the back room without a word.
My nest had been disturbed – the familiar indent was lopsided. I stuck my hand down the hole I had dug for another stash, feeling the same cold glass at my fingertips.
It was hard to digest as I reset my nest the proper way. Two disappearances, two reappearances – I wasn’t hallucinating. There was no way. I had definitely been sober enough to remember –- well, for the most part – but something had definitely been disturbed.
I sat down heavily on my nest, one hand on my forehead, the respective elbow resting on my knee.
What to do, what to do.
What? There's no more? I just read all of Year 1 and this in one sitting, Saint! I demand more!
*pounds fists on table like toddler*
In all honesty though, while, as you've pointed out, there's a lot that needs to be fleshed out and polished, this has the makings of a truly terrific novel. The characters are easy to like--even Eric, though half the time I want to smack him--and the language is charming and comfortable. I expect more soon. ^_~
More lateness on my part, I'm so sorry! OTL
I thought this was maybe a little bit confusing.... first you say there are three customers, than that the third one isn't a customer. I dunno. ...I'm really running out of ways to criticize this story. XD
This felt like a bit of an awkward sentence as well.
This was a great bit as usual, I really like how you mentioned at the end that the pub has a brick facade.
Gah! I've totally run out of things to say, sorry for yet another unhelpful review... hope to see the next bit soon. ^_^
Author's Note: Yay more! Hah, I've been going trigger happy in Spanish class. And boy I cannot read my own handwriting. O_O
I'm so behind on typing. *shame*
+++
We ended up stopping for dinner at a random pub Catty had picked out, sitting outside and watching the sun sink over the city’s skyline. I rejoiced inwardly at the fact that she was drinking a glass of cider -- it meant I could get away with one of my own, as well.
Which I could have anyway, since I was nineteen, but it was the irrational mind of an alcoholic that was nervous about letting anyone else in on my “private” disease.
I wasn’t really hungry and I would rather have been home in the back room, but I didn’t have much of a choice. My barely concealed annoyance made for a tense meal. I ate slowly, looking anywhere but at Catty – the people on the streets, the slowly descending sun, back inside the pub. With a note of amusement, I noticed that it was a rather dingy place. There were all of three customers – myself and Catty included. The third man wasn’t a customer at all, rather a bloke who was responsible for the upkeep of the place and lived in the room above.
From the look of him, passed out drunk on the bar, he was neglecting his duties. Horribly.
He’s doing a fabulous job, I thought with a mite of amusement. I could draw pictures in these layers of filth.
“Eric,” Catty’s voice said, cutting into my meandering thoughts. “Stop staring off into space. I’m over here.”
“Sorry,” I said without an ounce of sincerity, looking down at my plate as I took a sip of cider. It wasn’t my drink of choice, but I had hardly been paying attention when Catty asked me what I wanted. I had only said, “Whatever you’re getting is fine,” and now I was paying the price.
“You look like you’ve got something on your mind,” she said.
“How about my skull and a head full of hair?” I said, my streak of cheeky sarcasm having yet to fail me. Catty slapped my hand lightly.
“Why does everyone respond to sarcasm with violence?” I observed with an air of detachment, still not meeting her eyes.
“Why are you changing the subject?”
“Ooh, standoff.”
I could sense her rolling her eyes.
“Eric, look at me.”
I hesitated, unsure of both whether or not I should look at her directly and why I was so scared to do so.
My common sense won out in the end, and I met her eyes with a gradual reluctance.
“I don’t like lying to you, Eric,” she began. Oh, here we go, I thought, bracing for the lecture that was bound to be coming.
“I didn’t stop by and take you out like this on a whim,” she continued. “I mean, I like spending time with you, we hardly get to do so anymore. You’re my favourite, you know that. But today, I have an ulterior motive.”
That got my attention. I feigned like it hadn’t.
“Mum gave me a ring the other day. Says you’ve been acting strange and that you constantly smell like whisky. Wanted me to spend a day with you, see if I can get you to relax or tell me what’s wrong. She’s relying on our relationship for that. But Eric, I just can’t keep that kind of thing from you. It’s not right.”
She poked her food with her fork, seeming to waver in her normally unfailing self-confidence. I was still feigning disinterest, but the truth was that my heart was pounding, seeming like it was willing to sacrifice anything to tear itself out of my chest.
“So, Eric? Anything to say?”
“No,” I replied without hesitation, probably a bit too quickly. “There’s nothing wrong. Mum’s just being paranoid. Promise.”
I watched her chew her lip, my heart pounding. She had me in a corner – I had to play my cards right.
Time to pour on the charm.
“Listen, thanks for dinner, and the film. It’s great to spend some time with you. I’m having a great time.”
I made a mental note to stab myself later for how terrible that sounded. Inside, I was cringing.
It worked, though. Catty blushed. “Oh, it’s no trouble, Eric, really. You’re my brother. It only makes sense.”
Could this be any more sickening of a scene? I thought, my face twisting into a weird half-grin, half-grimace. I felt like I was about ready to throw up.
As we left, I noticed the pub featured a brick façade.
How fitting.
When I got home, I put on my play of the Happy Son for my parents and went up to bed. I noticed something, though, as I entered my room. Someone had been in there. Things were in places far from where I had left them. There was a sense of violated privacy throughout.
I looked under my bed, out of sheer habit.
My whisky was gone.
Damn.
Gah! Sorry for my lateness. *shame*
That was a really good bit, gives us a chance to get to know a character who, up to now, has been relatively minor, as well as showing even more of how Eric has grown detached from his family.
I think "I appreciate your concern" sounds a little formal to be used talking to your sister, but...eh. *shrugs*
Good job, I can't wait for more. ^_^
Author's note: Hallelujah! I'm finally un-stuck! *dances wildly*
Okay, so this bit isn't the greatest. But after a long period of "Ohemgee what do I do with all of this disjointed nonsense?" it's better than nothing. I'm happy, and that's what matters.
Although I both hate it and love it. Bah, I confuse myself.
+++
A few days later, Catherine came to visit.
It was highly unexpected. Usually, whichever sibling was deciding upon a random visit would ring first. Which is a fact I relied on a lot, especially when I was in the store, alone.
“Hello family!” she called as she walked into the store, her usual blur of Irish good looks (courtesy of our mum) and glamour. I was in the back, in the middle of a long swig of whisky.
The majority of it ended up on the wall in front of me as I spat it out, surprised to hear her voice. My ears immediately tuned into the smallest of squeaks, the swish of her clothing. In a heartbeat, I had the bottle corked and hidden. I was about ready to wipe off the wall when she poked her head in and I whirled around.
“All right there, Eric?” she said, smiling broadly.
Get it together, I scolded myself mentally. I forced my face into the most sincere smile I could muster.
“All right, Catty. What brings you by?”
“What, no hug?” she teased. “Just a ‘what’s-your-business-here-now-get-it-done-as-soon-as-possible?’ That’s lovely.”
Feigning reluctance (which, in truth, was actually not hard to do), I walked out of the back room and hugged her tightly, feeling her tiny arms wrap around my chest.
“Have you gotten taller since last I saw you?” she asked, stepping back from me.
“Maybe a wee bit,” I said noncommittally.
Just then, my mum came downstairs, called by the sound of her eldest child’s voice.
“Catherine? Catherine! Dear, what are you doing here? Oh, what a pleasant surprise!”
I’m not proud of it, but when they came together in a bear-like embrace, I turned away, disgusted.
“Just thought I’d drop in to say hello. Where’s Dad?”
“Out at the moment, but if you stay for a while, he should be back soon. He just went to the market to buy a few things.”
“Actually, I was thinking of stealing Eric for the day, if that’s alright.”
By this point, I had taken a step back to lean on the counter and started counting ceiling tiles, but at the mention of my name I returned to the conversation in front of me.
“What now?”
“Of course you can take him. Goodness knows, he deserves a break.”
“Eric always deserves a break,” Catty said affectionately, trying to reach up and ruffle my hair. I bowed accordingly.
“Why do I fear the concept of being kidnapped by you?” I said, in a tone that I hoped was a teasing one.
I straightened up before she could thwack me on the head.
“Just to see a film, that’s all,” she reassured me. “Nothing too painful. No Chinese water torture, promise.”
Mum giggled. “Just have him back in one piece.”
Is anyone going to bother to ask me if I want to go in the first place? I thought.
“Go get your coat,” Catty said, nudging me with her elbow.
+++
A few minutes later, and I was seated stiffly in the passenger seat of her car, the streets of Glasgow flashing by.
Glasgow. Why am I still here? I thought, watching the familiar façades as we passed. There is nothing for me here. Nothing at all.
Catty must have sensed my distance.
“Eric, are you alright?” she asked. I shot her a sideways glance.
“I’m fine, Catty. Why wouldn’t I be fine?”
She shrugged. “You just seem a bit… off lately. Every time I come home you act annoyed and short with everyone. It’s not like you at all. I’ve got red flags going up in my head all over the place. Call it a sibling instinct.”
“Well, your radar must be off,” I said shortly, turning back to the window. “I’m perfectly alright.”
I caught her reflection in the mirror. She looked uncomfortable, and I tried shutting her out. Is this just an excuse to patronize me about every single flaw she sees in me? Can’t she just take a good look in a mirror and critique herself before she goes after me?
Ignoring the brick that was settling comfortably into place, I faked a smile.
“I appreciate your concern, Catty, but really, don’t worry yourself. I’m just fine. Really.”
I jumped a bit when I felt her hand squeeze my shoulder. The tension, however, relaxed surprisingly fast. I pondered it for a moment, then I realised what she was saying through that one tiny gesture.
It felt good, to be honest. I’d forgotten that anyone at all could love me.
I gave her an awkward grin, feeling a strange sort of lightness. I felt like I didn’t have to go it alone anymore, like I had someone I could rely on. It was such a foreign feeling that I wasn’t sure what to do with it.
She let go, and the feeling of happiness, of relief, was gone like a snuffed-out candle flame, and I felt like shit again.
But Catty was there. She could save me, if she knew.
If she knew.
And that was a damn big if.
nice story!
only a few things. . . .
You used the word "wee" more than what is probably acceptable in what can only be a page and a quarter in a Word Document.
Also, "coked an eyebrow" is used a lot too.
Otherwise, good story!
I'm going off to go read part one!
cheers!
jai
Whee, I like how you started with a tieback to the first part, the 'East meant Edinburgh' bit ^_^ Actually, I thought that this whole first section was very well written. Even continuing into the next part, I didn't even mind the block of flashback. It seemed very fitting to Eric's character. And I don't like liking flashbacks
I think you can cut out things like "I said to the unspoken challenge" because the reader already knows this from the explanation of "rivalry in "walking" places" in the previous paragraph. Tell them something that will advance the story ^_^
hahaha. Language in general, I thought, was nice. Not overdone, but enough to give everyone character.
Who's Madame Montgomery? And does Sarah have any female friends? Or does she just hang with these guys all the time?
They seem to like grinning cheekily.
I think you could expand on her being uncomfortable; more about her distaste, rather than it just existing.
They're always off by themselves; don't their parents ever worry about them? Or is it a cultural thing?
I think you could do more with the actions here. You can tell how Sarah feels by the reddening of her cheeks, but the reader is told in explanations how Eric feels. It loses the dramatic flair that had built up.
Wonderful. This was really, really good. I loved... well, all of it really. The dialouge, the characterization, everything. There wasn't much happening, I suppose, but in the immortal words of Snoink, "Boring is good." This was a great laid-back, calm chapter.
... this really isn't helpful, is it.
*tries to think of critique* Well, occasionally, Clyde's way of speaking makes his dialouge just too hard to understand... it takes extra work for the reader to figure out what he's saying. That's pretty much it...
Sorry this wasn't very helpful, it's tough to think of critique for this story. *fails at life* Great job, I can't wait to read more! ^_^