Izzie Business

by calei esprit

Chapter 01

Dungeons and Dragonesses

 

Please be aware that this story deals with a number of rather upsetting topics/scenes in varying degrees of detail throughout its chapters. Also, please do not post this story anywhere without asking me first. Insert your other stardard disclaimer stuff here as needed. Just in case: this story is copyright the author (me), calei esprit.

Pain flooded my senses, and I knew I was awake again. My head throbbed with an alcohol-free (for once) hangover, and my throat ached for moisture. Sitting up abruptly, the world heaved as blood shifted around in my head. I groaned and relieved some of my discomfort by cracking my neck noisily.

Grudgingly, I dragged myself out of bed and into the bathroom. I ran the sink tap and splashed my face with the far too cold water. Grabbing the glass I left in the bathroom, I hurriedly filled it from the tap and gulped its contents greedily. I repeated the ritual until I began to feel human again–well, as human as I ever feel anyway.

When I returned to my bedroom, I glanced at my alarm clock and sighed. I missed dinner–again. Hopefully, I thought, I can get out of the house before I get another lecture about it. Throwing open my closet, I started grabbing clothes at random, not wanting to waste time picking something out. I moved on to my dresser and pulled out underwear and some tights torn in several places. I threw everything on as quickly and quietly as possible, and took a moment to apply dark purple lipstick and an excessive amount of eye makeup (mostly black). On my way out of my room I snatched my, affectionately and aptly named, “Artist's Bag”, and bounded downstairs.

I could hear my mother start towards me as I neared the door. “Eric! Where do you thin–“ she was rudely cut off as I roughly shut the door behind me.

I rushed down our street, and didn't slow down until I was at least a couple blocks away. For the first time, I took a look at what I had put on. I didn't think I did too poorly all things considered. I was wearing black short shorts with all kinds of pretend pockets and metal bits over top the tights, a purple t-shirt with an offensive bit of literature displayed across the chest, and my favourite article of clothing: my mesh “sweater”. Abruptly realizing that I didn't take the time to do anything with my hair, I decided to pull the artificially black mess into pigtails using a pair of Hello Kitty ties from my bag. The purple tips of my hair bobbed about as I walked.

Knowing that it would be in my best interests to not go home until well after my father was in bed, I idly wondered just what I was going to do all night. He was on nights this week, so he wouldn't be getting home until at least five or so. In the meantime, however, I knew exactly where to go.

The only place worth being at this hour was The Dungeon; one of the few clubs in the city at which an underage person could go see a live show. I had been going there for a couple years, so it was a place where I felt comfortable. As I made my way towards the club, I passed a Chinese restaurant I liked, though I could rarely afford. My stomach grumbled, sharing its sentiments about my unsurprising lack of money. Sighing, I continued onward, trying to ignore the hunger and the cold. Not a moment too soon, I saw the familiar lights of The Dungeon sign pointing to the entrance into the basement club.

I entered the smoky, dark club. It was unusually quiet for the hour. I mean, it was loud; between the drunken billiards players, the asshole, attention-grabbing punks, and the general buzz that went along with bars and sexually charged youths, it was impossible for it to not be loud. Still, there wasn't a band playing, so you could hear yourself think. Probably a late show, I reasoned. I started to relax more as I moved in further.

“Hey Izzie!” A voice shouted in my direction.

I instantly recognized it as belonging to Dave. Turning in his direction, I smiled and waved. He motioned for me to come over to the bar–he worked here, and did just about everything needed doing in the place, but he always seemed to find time to socialize. I walked over to the bar, lifting my “Artist's Bag” off my shoulder as I did. Before I sat down, I put the bag at my feet, careful to make sure the strap was partially around my foot so someone couldn't “lift” it without my knowing.

“Hi Dave,” I said smiling (a thing rarely seen on my face by the way), “What's up?”

“Nothing much. It's a slow night,” he said, and I looked around. It was a slow night–you could see the floor. “How's my favourite anti-social sister-in-arms?”

My lips thinned out involuntarily. Swallowing, I looked away briefly and said, “I'm fine. Life goes on.” I tried to force a smile. The look he gave me told me I didn't do a very good job of it.

As if out of nowhere, Dave placed a full glass in front of me. It looked to be a drink I commonly had: gin and ginger-ale. The ice cubes floated in a clockwise direction, telling of a stirring previously inflicted upon the drink. “Enjoy it. It's the only one you're getting tonight,” he informed me with a stern look on his face. I knew all the other bartenders and they sometimes sold me drinks even though I was underage, but I know Dave would have spoken to them. I resigned myself to only having one drink tonight. Satisfied that I wasn't going to argue, he went off to serve other (legal) customers.

I lifted my glass to my mouth. This drink always reminded me of pine trees; don't know why. Briefly, I could almost see a crystal blue sky filling in the holes in a forest of pine trees, and smell fresh mountain air lightly floating around in a gentle spring breeze. I returned back to reality as quickly as I left, and took a sip from my glass.

“Elizabeth,” I heard from behind me in a flat, emotionless tone.

My sip quickly turned into a gulp, and every ounce of me tensed at hearing that voice. Placing my drink down, I slowly turned around, remaining on the barstool. “Kurt,” I said, matching his tone as closely as I could. Still, I think some of my tenseness seeped into my voice. And why shouldn't I be tense? I mean, just because your ex-boyfriend (with whom you enjoyed a rather violent break-up) sneaks up behind you out of the blue, is no reason to be on edge, right? Ha. Ha.

“I trust you are well,” Kurt said without a hint of it being a question, but he paused for a response nonetheless.

“I am well, and you?” I tried to force myself to be polite. It hurt, but then, civility can be just as sharp a dagger as any formation of foul words. At least, that's what Jane Austen taught me.

“Fine, fine,” he paused, “How are your... healing?”

I flinched, and I hated myself for it. Unfortunately, it didn't go unnoticed by him either. He didn't have to say what was healing for me to know exactly what he meant. See, a couple months ago, when he and I were still dating, I got drunk one night. Okay, I was drunk plenty of nights, but on one particular night things got out of hand. He wanted something from me, and was drunk enough himself that he wasn't taking no for an answer. Truthfully, I guess my refusals weren't very strong either. Anyway, before long he found something unfortunately attached to my person that he didn't quite agree with and took offense. I was in the hospital for a while, but I was lucky; it could have been a lot worse. Finally, I croaked out, my mouth suddenly very dry, “F-fine.”

Kurt looked like he was about to say something, but his eyes moved behind me and widened slightly. I looked over my shoulder and saw Dave. “What are you doing near her, Kurt?” he demanded. Kurt suddenly looked very uncomfortable, and I couldn't blame him. Dave was very protective of me, especially since the... y'know.

“I just came over to apologize.” I looked back at Kurt as he spoke, “I'm sorry for... for what I did, Elizabeth.” His wall of apathy wavered a little as he continued to speak, but I couldn't make out any particular emotion.

I had to look away. I closed my eyes and tried to force my emotions back down. If I let them loose, I didn't know how long it would be before I got them back under control. And I was really sick of crying. “Thank you,” I said quietly; almost too quiet for him to hear. I wasn't sure what to say, but that seemed appropriate. It did make me feel better to know he felt remorse over what happened.

Whether on his own or assisted by Dave's glare, Kurt decided it was a good time to leave, and I turned around to take another big gulp of my drink. I was trying desperately to not replay that night in my mind; to not see the look Kurt's face had worn; to not remember the “I told you so” response from my parents; and most importantly to not cry. If I started, there was no telling when I'd ever stop.

“Izzie,” Dave called me out of wherever it is I had gone. I looked up at him asking something with my eyes. I'm not sure what exactly it was that I was asking, but he seemed to know. He motioned for me to come around behind the bar and into the back. I looked back down at my drink, surprised to see that it was almost gone. Shrugging, I drained the last of my gin and ginger-ale, grabbed my bag, and headed around to the back. A few people looked curiously too see what was going on, wondering why a customer was going in the back. However, most of those at the bar knew of me so they didn't give it a second thought, or maybe they just didn't care.

As I made my way into the back, I noticed I was feeling pretty tipsy. I always was a cheap drunk, and the speed at which I finished the beverage didn't help, or helped immensely depending on one's intentions I guess!

Once in the employee lounge, I started to head towards the ratty old couch occupying the left wall. However, Dave grabbed my hand, and I turned to look at him. Before I could even blink, he pulled me into a hug. I could already feel myself losing more control over my emotions, so I tried to push him away, afraid that if he didn't let go I wouldn't be able to keep from crying.

He just held me closer, and a few tears started to leak out. Reading my mind, he said, “So let yourself cry.”

“But--” he squeezed me a little, trying to silence my argument. “I'm scared,” I took a shaky breath, “that if I do, I won't ever stop.”

“Well, I'm staying with you until it does stop.”

“But what,” I said between nearly silent sobs, “about the bar?”

He simply replied, “Karen will have to make do on her own.”

That did it. All semblance of control was gone. I cried uncontrollably, clutching David's shirt. He had to hold me up to keep me standing, and true to his word he stayed there with me for what seemed like an eternity. I had no idea how long I had been standing there with him when the tears finally began to recede. I was too exhausted to cry any more. He held me more tightly for a while. It hurt a little, but it felt good too, so I didn't say anything. Before long he put some space between us and kissed my forehead. I was so shocked I didn't even react to him suddenly picking me up.

Putting me down on the couch, Dave said softly, “Rest here for a while, okay? I'll come wake you before the band leaves so you can go have some fun.” He smiled at me, and then left the room quietly closing the door behind him. I lay there, wondering when the band had started playing, because I hadn't noticed until just then. I fell asleep quickly, feeling warmer and happier inside than I had felt in a very long time.

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I hope you like the story so far, and I'd love to hear some comments about it! Chapter two should follow in a couple days.

Izzie Business
By calei esprit

Chapter 02
Circumstance

 

I followed Dave into his apartment, but waited in the doorway as he went to go turn on some lights. Before long, a dim living room lamp filled his small flat with its gloomy glow. The place was a dump. There were odds and ends everywhere, and no semblance of organization. Still, it's probably pretty clean for a guy's place, I mused. Dave moved on to the kitchenette and flipped another light on.

“Want something to drink?” he asked.

“What do you have?”

He opened the small, “well-used” fridge before saying, “Uh... water?”

“Okay,” I said and cleared some computer parts off the armchair so I could sit down. Dave's computer sat where a TV might have. I don't think he believed in televisions. I guess it was a pretty good computer though, but I couldn't tell you a thing about it (or any other computer for that matter). The armchair faced it directly, and a couch lined the wall on the left. There was a coffee table in the centre–I think. I couldn't tell whether it was a coffee table with a big pile of junk on it, or just a really big pile of junk. Nothing gross like last week's dinner or anything; Dave wasn't dirty. He just had lots of computer bits and books and more CDs than your local HMV. The only immaculate area in the whole place was the far right corner of the main room, just past the kitchenette. His guitar stood there, propped up on a stand. It was acoustic–he had to sell his electric for rent last year–and it was pretty.

I had been here only a couple of times before. Dave didn't really like having people over, but he insisted I come over tonight. He had offered to drive me home after The Dungeon closed, but knowing that I couldn't go home I gave him your standard evasions. I guess he knew me too well, because it didn't take him too long to figure out the truth of the matter.

“Here you go,” Dave said as he handed a glass of water to me.

Accepting the the glass from him, I thanked him, and he dropped rather ungracefully onto the couch. We sat there awkwardly silent for a pretty long time. The bad thing about silence is that it tends to lead to me thinking about painful things, and this time was no exception. Even being aware of the fact doesn't seem to help; if anything, it makes it happen all the more!

I took a sip of my water, and idly wondered about my mother. I hated how much I had hurt her. I hated that pained look she wore whenever she looked at me. I hated the way I always seemed to disappoint her. She's hard on me about the choices I've made in life, but she really is a good woman. I think, I would be lucky to turn out half as good. Sometimes, I think she truly is okay with who I am, that she accepts me, but is too scared of my father to show it. Maybe it's just wishful thinking, but true or not believing that made bearing my parents' harsh treatment easier. I daydream a lot about what it would be like if she ever accepted me as her daughter. We were very close before, and now we barely even speak. I know it was probably irrational, but I blamed my father for it.

Truly, my father is someone I hate. I know hate is a strong word, and that it isn't something that should be taken lightly, but I can't help but hate him. He has shown himself capable of cruelty I didn't think a person could possibly inflict upon another human, let alone their only child! Still, I kept forgiving him all through my childhood, and even now I guess. As much as I hate him, I do love him. I just wish he could let go of his prejudices and his dreams for Eric, and form new dreams for Elizabeth. I knew it couldn't happen, as I was reminded every time I was in his presence, but for some reason I kept hoping.... If tomorrow he gave me a hug and told me he was sorry, I'd probably forgive him of all the horrible things he's done without a moment's hesitation.

Gods, what a silly, naive girl I am.

Dave spoke up suddenly, “We need to get you out of that place.” His comment trailed off as if he was going to say more, but he didn't.

I looked over at him. It was so creepy how he did that! He always seemed to know what I was thinking. “There isn't anything I can do about it right now,” I replied tiredly. It wasn't entirely true. I was sixteen, so I could legally leave; I could go to a shelter; or I could get a job and share an apartment with some college kids or something. I could do any number of things to get myself out of there, but I didn't. I felt helpless to affect that kind of change, and kept going back for more. I didn't really understand why.

Gods, what is wrong with me?! I screamed at myself. Almost as if it was mocking me, my body replied with an embarrassingly loud stomach grumble.

“Want me to make you something to eat?”

“No, that's okay. I'm not really all that hungry.”

“Bull! I'm not so poor that I can't feed a friend when she's hungry. Besides, I bet you haven't eaten anything since last night at the club,” Dave insisted.

Reflexively, I chewed my lip, and shifted a little in the seat. Sighing, I conceded, “Alright,” and so as to not sound ungrateful I added, “I'd like that.”

Grinning smugly over his “victory”, Dave got up and struted over to the kitchenette. Jerk, I thought, and resisted the urge to stick my tongue out at him–and kick him. Okay, I wasn't quite able to resist the urge to kick him, so I did, and he complained. For a minute or two, he rummaged through the cupboards to find something suitable to eat.

“Kraft Dinner okay?” he asked.

“Sure!” I smiled at him. I could tell he was a little embarrassed, but I acted as if I hadn't noticed (or at least, that's how I hoped I was acting). I watched him as he got everything set up on the stove, and when he was done he just kind of stood there watching the pot.

With his back to me, Dave asked, “Izzie?”

“Yeah?”

He hesitated before continuing, and I started to get kind of freaked out. Thankfully, he did eventually look over his shoulder and managed to ask, “A–Are you going to be okay?” To say I was surprised by his question would be a considerable understatement, and I'm sure my shock was written all over my face. He looked away again and elaborated, “at home; with your Dad, I mean.”

“Oh,” I paused, “Yes, I'll be fine.” I didn't really believe that, but I wanted to. My father hadn't done anything in a while, after all. I started to wonder why Dave was so worried, and decided to ask, “Why?”

“I just... don't want to lose another friend to shit like that,” he said straining to keep his voice even. I just sat there with a worried expression on my face, and looked at him. I wanted to ask him what happened, but I wasn't sure if I should. “It's okay. I don't mind,” he assured me.

There he goes, doing it again!

Dave returned to the couch, and started to tell me about his friend: “Jake and I met during our last year of elementary school. Luckily, we ended up going to the same high school. It was when we were in high school that the problems started. As time when on, I bulked up and out, like all the other guys at school, but it was pretty apparent that Jake wasn't doing the same.” My eyes widened in surprise at that, and he continued, “No, not like you. He had some changes, like his voice, and a bit of facial hair. Anyway, his Dad was,” he thought for a moment and said, “disgusted with Jake. By our second year, his Dad had taken up drinking. I didn't notice until nearly the end of our third year that he had taken up hitting Jake too.” Dave stopped to take a moment to contain his anger, and his grief.

Just from the way Dave spoke, it was apparent that he and Jake had been very close; like brothers. I wanted to go over and hug him, but something held me back. He looked like he wanted, needed, to get this out, and I wasn't sure he'd be able to if I did go over to him. Or maybe he didn't, maybe I was justifying my own desire to hear what he had to say?

"Jake got a hard time from the guys at school too. They even took to calling him 'Davey's little girlfriend', but rarely when I was around. I got in a lot of fights over it, so most of the guys were afraid of my temper–before Jake made me promise to stop fighting anyway. He said something about it 'bolstering their image of me'; of him that is. Jake always tried to hide what happened to him from me, so often it would be weeks (or months) before I would hear about anything, and I'm sure there's a lot that I never did hear about.” He took a deep breath. “He was always smiling though, and generally seemed to be happy despite what happened. I knew it was an act, but, I guess we both needed to keep it up. The only time I really saw the pain he felt was when we played music together.”

I saw his eyes flicker briefly towards the guitar in the corner as he recalled some painful memory, but he didn't dwell there long, because he forced himself to continue, “During our senior year, he was attacked (worse than usual). He was in the hospital for a pretty long time, but not long enough. His–“ Dave choked on his words, and was visibly shaking.

Crying, I stood up and walked over to him. I just couldn't not hug him. It looked like he was dying. So, I did. I sat beside him and held him. I didn't let go when he began to speak again.

“His father refused to pay any additional medical charges, so once his coverage was up, Jake was sent home. He couldn't take care of himself, so I went over as often as I could to make sure that he would get food, and clean clothes and trips to the bathroom and everything. A couple of days after Jake got released from the hospital, his Dad came home from work, and got smashed like he usually did, I guess. I–I had forgotten to leave Jake's pain pills beside his bed, so he hadn't had any in several hours. His Did kept telling him to shut up, and stop making noise, but he couldn't help it. He was in too much pain. I remember him telling me that even just breathing hurt.” He started crying himself, and I held him tighter. “His dad got sick of all the noise, I guess, and hit him until he stopped making it.”

We were both quiet for a really long time, and I found myself holding on to him for my own comfort as much as for his. I don't think I had ever felt so close to someone before then, or even seen someone is so vulnerable a state. Gradually, he stopped shaking, and became more and more calm.

“Izzie? Thanks,” he croaked, and turned to look at me.

I looked up at him, racoon-faced for the second time tonight, and he kissed me. Actually kissed me. On the lips. Everything just seemed to freeze. My heart started beating one point seven million beats per second, and all my senses were in overdrive. Abruptly, time decided to flow again, and I found myself kissing him back. What am I doing?! I asked myself frantically. But before I could answer myself, Dave broke the kiss. He was looking me in the eyes; I mean, really looking at me. It felt more intimate than I imagined even sex could be, like he could see everything there ever was to see about me. A very large part of me wanted to run from this kind of closeness, but another loved it. My body was unresponsive to any of my instructions in any event, so I just sat there looking back at him. I tried to find his thoughts in his eyes, and read them in the same manner as it felt like he was reading me. Nothing was revealed to me before he leaned in to kiss me again. This time I responded a little more consciously. He kept leaning forward, guiding me down towards the couch cushions. I moved my right hand up to his neck, and my other arm kept me from falling over. As inexperienced as I was, it felt so natural, that I barely even thought about it before doing it. Noticing a strange smell, I broke the kiss.

“Do you smell that?”

He looked kind of confused for a moment, but then he smelled it too, and exclaimed, “Oh shit!”

With speed I didn't know he was capable of, he jumped off the couch and ran to the kitchenette. He turned off the stove and lifted the pot off the burner. The macaroni and cheese was burnt, and I wondered why he put the noodles in before the water boiled. I couldn't help but laugh. Well, it really came out as more of a giggle, because I was trying not to laugh. I didn't want him to think I was laughing at him, which I wasn't. But the whole circumstance was just so... cliché.

Dave filled the pot with water and placed it in the sink, and did some general clean-up before returning to the couch. With an embarrassed grin, he said, “Sorry.” So what did I do? Play it cool, and say it was fine, no big deal? Nope, gods help me, I giggled again. Witnessing me do something so out of character (twice!) left Dave grinning, and now it was my turn to be embarrassed.

“You look so cute when you blush like that,” he said as if it wouldn't just make me blush harder, which it did. I hadn't even felt the heat on my cheeks until he mentioned it, and now I felt utterly mortified. I don't think I had ever been called cute before, or blushed for that matter! He took mercy on me though, and asked, “Want to go out and get something to eat?” With a grin, he added, “Since I botched the cooking thing.”

“Sure,” I smiled at him, “just give me a moment, kay?” He nodded, and I got up and went into his bathroom. I did a necessary deed, and just sat put for a moment afterwards to calm down. After a few minutes, I decided that was enough, and went to the sink to wash my hands and redo my makeup. I also made absolute sure I wasn't blushing any more. I had a public image to maintain you know! When I finished, I took a deep breath, and headed back out into the main room. Dave was ready to go, so I just grabbed my bag and followed him out of the apartment.

Dinner (breakfast?) was good. We ended up going to a little burger place not too far from The Dungeon, where the food wasn't too bad. I was feeling a little sick afterwards, but I usually do after eating. I ate more than usual too. Dave and I mostly talked about music. He wanted my opinion on some line-ups for some future shows, so we worked on that for a most of the time we were there. I always liked doing that with him. I knew the local music scene almost as well as he did, so I wasn't lost like I was whenever he went on about computer stuff. We didn't talk about what happened in his apartment, but, for some reason, it didn't feel like we were avoiding talking about it. It just didn't seem all that important to talk about it. We stayed for a while after we had finished eating, because I had some time to kill before I could head home.

Dave turned into my driveway about half an hour after my Dad would have gone to bed. When I opened the door and stepped out, I noticed, to my surprise, so did Dave. He had never done that before. He walked with me up to my house, and we stopped a few feet away from the door. My house didn't have a front porch. We both just stood there kind of awkwardly. I wasn't sure what to do now, and it looked like he wasn't either. Not wanting to drag the awkward moment on any longer, I raised myself up on the tips of my toes and kissed him on the cheek. Then, I gave him a hug, and told him I'd see him tomorrow at the club.

He went back to his car, and I waved to him as he drove off before heading inside. I closed the front door and relocked it as quietly as I could. Taking similar care, I crept upstairs and made my way to my room. I went in and closed the door behind me. Making my way over to my bed, I dropped down on it and sighed tiredly. As I lay there, I thought about the night. So much had happened. Mostly though, I thought about what happened in Dave's apartment. Was that just an “in the heat of the moment” kind of thing? or does he want to be more than friends? I wondered, Do I want to be more than friends?

Any conclusions I might have come to were interrupted when my bedroom door suddenly swung open. With a sudden realization, I cursed at myself, Fucking idiot! I forgot to lock my door. I was scared to look and find out who it was, but I knew I had to. I sat up, and turned slightly to see my father standing in the doorway looking–enraged would be an understatement, but that was the word I thought of at the time. “Fuck,” I muttered.

“You little shit!” He growled.

He started advancing towards me, and I slid to the floor and started to try and get under the bed. I was about half way there when I felt the first punch. I bit down hard, being careful to keep my tongue out of the way. I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of making noise. He dragged me away from the bed with ease, as if I weren't resisting at all.

“I saw you outside with your little boyfriend,” he spat, “I would have thought you learned your lesson with that last boy, but I guess not!”

Without any hesitation, he kicked me in the chest. I couldn't get my arms in front properly in time, so it landed full force onto my left breast. I yelped and tried to curl myself in a ball as quickly as possible.

“It isn't enough that you disrespect us, and go about looking like a freak in public is it?! You have to flaunt your faggotry at our home too? Fucking faggot son.”

Tears were stinging my eyes, and the throbbing pain from the kick was quickly drowned out as he continued to punch and kick me. After a while, I couldn't tell the difference between his fist or his foot. I hurt absolutely everywhere, and I was pretty sure that at least my arm was broken, if not more.

Amongst it all, I heard a woman scream, “Paul! Stop!” She kept shouting it, and after a couple times, I recognized it as my mother's voice. I think maybe she grabbed him or something, because he stopped hitting me. It took me a few minutes to realize that though. Just as I was starting to think it was over, I felt something drive into my middle with such force that I wondered if I might split in two. I blacked out before the full thought could even form in my mind.

The next thing I felt was a cool cloth against my arm, and someone's hand running gently along my face. Both kind of hurt, much like everything else, but I felt comforted by them.

“Honey?” I heard, “you need to wake up now. Come on.”

“Mom?” I wheezed out, and coughed. I tasted blood in my mouth, and felt some other things I couldn't identify. I silently prayed to the gods that I hadn't bitten off my tongue or something, not cluing into the fact that I had just used it to speak.

“Yes, honey. Please get up now, okay? I can't carry you.” She was still petting my face. It felt really nice, so I just wanted to lay there. She tried to “lift” me into sitting up, and it made everything hurt a lot causing me to moan loudly. Putting me back down gently, she stifled a sob. “Do you have a friend I can call who will help me get you into the car?”

Friend? I wondered, Shouldn't she call an ambulance? I simply said roughly, “Amblance?” I had trouble saying the “u” part for some reason. She squeezed my hand lightly. I hadn't realized she was holding it.

“No, dear. They would take you to the city hospital. We have to take you somewhere else,” my mom spoke slowly.

 I didn't understand, but I figured she had a good reason. She could call Dave. He would come, right? I reasoned before saying aloud, “Dave?”

“What's his phone number sweetie?” she asked in a soothing tone. I told her as clearly as I could manage, and she said, “I'll be right back. I'm just going to go call him, okay?”

Once again, I was confused by what she was saying. Why couldn't she use my phone? Had Dad broken it? I decided it didn't matter, so long as she came back quickly. I knew it was silly, but I felt like everything hurt even more while she was gone. Before long, my Mom was back and she held my hand and petted me again. We didn't talk the whole time we waited for Dave, so when I suddenly heard him ask “Is she okay?” I jumped, causing me a fair bit of pain. The resultant moan seemed to be enough answer for him. I guess Mom was used to the quiet too, and thought he was pretty loud, because she told him to be quieter. I felt Dave's hands slide under me: one under my leg, and the other under my torso. It hurt something, because I inhaled sharply when he did it.

“Be careful!” My mother hissed quietly.

“I am,” Dave said, trying to sound reassuring, but mostly he just sounded frustrated. “Ready Izzie? It's going to hurt. I don't think there's any way we can do this without it hurting.”

I nodded, and he lifted me into the air. I felt a sharp pain around my ribs, and the places where he was holding me up hurt from the weight. As he lifted me, my left arm slid off my stomach. I quickly learned that it was the broken one, and screamed into Dave's bicep so I wouldn't make as much noise. My arm was just hanging now, and it really, really hurt. “Ow, ow, ow! M–Mom...” I whimpered. She rushed over to me I guess, and I felt her gently lift my arm and place on my tummy again. As soon as she did this, I sighed, and started breathing again. Dave stood still for a little while so I could get used to the new position, and I must admit that it helped. It wasn't as painful when we started to head downstairs.

The whole time I was terrified that my Dad would show up, or wake up, or whatever. He never did though, and we eventually made it to the front door and outside. When we went out, I could see it was pretty bright out through my eyelids. I noticed for the first time that I hadn't opened my eyes since I woke up. I was scared to now though, because one felt really swollen, and I didn't want to make it any worse.

“My car?” Dave asked.

My Mom must have nodded her answer or something, because I didn't hear her respond. I heard a car door open, and Dave tried to put me in the back seat as gently as possible. It was still rather painful though, because of the awkward way he had to carry me. After he set me down, I heard the car door close, and then the driver side door opened. Someone climbed in, and I guessed it was Dave, because the person sounded heavier than my Mom. A few seconds later, the back seat door nearest to my head opened and my Mom slid in. I knew it was her, because I could smell her. She lifted my head a little, and when she lowered it again, it was in her lap. She pet my head and face until I fell asleep, and every so often she told me that everything would be alright.

I don't really know what to say except, I hope another chapter like that doesn't want itself written by me any time soon. ^^;; I also hope I haven't lost everyone.

Izzie Business
By calei esprit

Chapter 03
Familiar Forests, New Trails

I apologize for the rather long delay between this chapter and the last, and thank you to those who have commented on the story thus far!

“The seating plan is on the centre table. Please use it to find your seat.” I heard a man say as I walked into the classroom. It was brightly lit, much of it by sunlight from the wall of large windows across from the entrance, and looked to be by far the friendliest classroom I had ever been in. Since this was one of the few elective courses in grade nine, most of the students actually wanted to be there, and it showed.

A fair number of students were already seated at the large studio tables, and were chatting quietly with their neighbour(s). I didn't have to wait too long before I was able to check the seating plan. Quickly orientating myself, I ascertained which seat was mine, and walked over to it.

I was about to sit down when I heard an urgent, “Miss!” from the same male voice as before. Being used to being referred to as such, I spun around to face him without thinking about it. “That isn't your seat,” he continued. I motioned to myself questioningly, and he responded, “Yes, you. That is Eric MacIntyre's seat.”

With some embarrassment, I said, “I'm Eric MacIntyre.” The lanky teacher's eyes widened with surprise, but to his credit, he quickly recovered.

“Um, very well then, have a seat,” he said awkwardly.

I did just as he suggested, ignoring the soundtrack of laughing students I had grown accustomed to hearing in elementary school. I had honestly believed that high school would be different, but I guess it was naive of me to think my peers' disposition would change just because another summer was behind them. I just hoped I wasn't doing something to make matters worse, like blushing. Sighing tiredly, I put my new canvas shoulder bag on the studio table and dropped myself on my assigned stool.

Glancing over at my neighbour, a dark haired girl of some ancestry that I couldn't identify, I noticed that she did not join in with the “mirth”. I hoped that, that was a sign of her being different than our fellow classmates, but it felt more realistic to believe that it was just because she was too busy worrying (about the social ramifications of sitting next to me) to laugh.

“Megan,” the girl said, and I tilted my head to look at her. I must have looked confused, because she elaborated, pointing at herself, “Me. Megan.” She spoke and looked at me like I was daft. My only response was to blink a couple times. It was enough for her, because she then asked, “So, what's your real name anyway? Obe Lisk over there might buy that Eric crap, but I don't.”

Obe Lisk? It took me a minute and a glance at the teacher, but I got it eventually. This girl is so weird! I thought. “Unfortunately, that is what is written on my birth certificate.”

 

“Whatever you say kid,” Megan said nonchalantly. “I'll find something more suitable to call you later.”

I like her, I decided.

Thankfully, I was saved from having to come up with some kind of response by Obe's timely, attention-grabbing clap. He moved right into a standard introductory class, only just barely waiting for everyone to stop talking. I sat with smirk on my face, thinking that I was going to enjoy this class, and the feeling had very little do with anything the teacher said during his spiel.

When the teacher finished speaking, he told us to use the remainder of the class to work on our first assignment. We were to draw anything we wanted, as it was meant to be an “ability assessment assignment”, but the medium was limited to pencil only. I rarely used anything other than a pencil, so the limitation didn't bother me at all. Megan and I didn't speak much throughout the rest of the class, as we were both very involved in our drawing. Far too soon, the bell informed us that it was time to go to our next class, wherever that may be.

I started packing up my art supplies. Most people did that well before the bell even rang, so there were only a couple students still in class by the time I headed towards the door. As I neared the exit, I heard something smash against a locker. I stepped out quickly to see what it was. “It” turned out to be a giant manifestation of jock-essence that looked like he ate people like me for a light afternoon snack. Holding “It” against the locker was Dave, who I knew, because he helped out in my class last year. He almost looked small next to the other guy! Dave glared up at him with a malicious expression that made me scared, and it wasn't even directed at me! I couldn't tell if he was about to throw up, or bite his “prey”.

 

“Don't you ever say shit like that about him again!” Dave growled, “or I might accidentally forget this society has consequences for violent actions.”

 

Suddenly, someone shoved me from behind. I tried to stop myself from falling and turn to see who it was at the same time.

 

“Don't stand around in the doorway, kid,” Megan said, sounding as if she were chastising a toddler.

 

****

 

I found myself looking at a big blurry patch of brown something, but quickly shut my eyes. It hurt to have them open. “Mom?” I asked with urgency in my voice. I don't think it came out right, because my Mom sounded really worried when she asked what was wrong. “Please, don't tell Dave what Dad said, okay?” I breathed, trying to do so coherently, but quietly. This was a question I didn't want Dave to hear.

 

Mom was quiet for a time before she answered, “We'll talk about it later.”

 

Her answer didn't set me at ease in the least, but the sound of her even breathing and the gentle hum of the car did. I don't know why, but I always found this sort of strange non-silence very comforting.

 

****

 

Finding myself now laying on my back, I stared up at the tall towers of business that scrolled across the car window. They loomed over me menacingly, like frost giants surveying a trespasser of Jotunheim, threatening to crash down in on me and swallow me whole. Briefly, I could almost see teeth amongst glass and steel.

 

As we continued to move through whichever city we were in, it seemed as though the rows of skyscrapers continued on endlessly. I didn't feel in a hurry though, because I wasn't in pain anymore. I felt tired, very tired, but I wasn't in pain. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see my mother still sitting with my head in her lap, but I couldn't pull my gaze away from the car window. I think I was afraid that if I looked away, they would strike–I wasn't so sure anymore that they weren't frost giants. Slowly, they began to back away until they were just barely within my view.

 

I stared at thedark sky above. Storm clouds unlike any I had ever seen before covered every inch of the sky, as far as I could see. They seemed almost angular in nature. I might have been scared, if I wasn't so in awe of their strange, and almost violent, beauty. A large bird floated along like a wisp of black smoke, looking almost entirely ethereal. Before I knew it, the bird, which I guessed to be a raven, was gone. I blinked roughly, wondering if my mother had given me some of her migraine pills, because I felt like I was tripping.

 

At last, the car came to a stop, and Dave got out. He left the car running. I heard my mother open her door, and felt her lift my head as she slid out. Lowering my head to the seat slowly, my mother kissed my forehead and told me she would be right back.

 

I was starting to find it hard to stay awake, but I wanted to wait for my Mom to come back before I fell asleep. My neck felt a little stiff, and wasn't very happy about my head's new elevation. Thankfully, that was the only discomfort I was feeling. I decided that my Mom must have given me something, but I didn't remember taking any pills.

 

Outside the car, Dave and my mother were talking, but I couldn't hear any of their conversation clearly. Something is wrong, I thought.

 

I tried to roll on to my side, and I began to worry when I found that I couldn't. Suddenly, the lack of pain I felt was no longer a blessing, and as time and thought dragged on I grew more and more worried. Gods, I'm not paralyzed am I? That can't be; it doesn't make any sense. Could I be?

 

The car door at my feet opened roughly. I could smell Dave, as I began to rise towards the ceiling of the car. I saw his face briefly as he carried me out of the car. He looked so different that I might not have recognized him under different circumstances. He was very nearly snarling, and looked absolutely dreadful. The way he held me limited how much I could see of our surroundings, but I could tell we were on a bridge. I wondered why he was taking me out of the car here; maybe a tire popped, I theorized.

 

“Hurry up!” my mother hissed, “I thought you said you've done this before.”

 

What?

 

“I have; though I didn't have to get rid of the body last time,” Dave responded.

 

Get rid of a body? Last time? Oh my God...

 

Dave lifted me slightly higher, and began to hold me away from him. I wanted to grab onto him, but I still couldn't move. I wanted to scream at him, but I couldn't find the words. I wanted to know why they were doing this, but I was given no answers. He dropped me, and I stared upwards watching the bridge move further and further away.

 

****

 

I screamed and bolted upright. There was a brief moment when my mind was completely blank, even forgetting why I was screaming. I didn't stop screaming though. Sharp, throbbing pain dared to bring me back to reality. Following it was the dull throbbing pain that existed everywhere the sharp pain didn't. Noticing that I was now in a hospital room, I guessed that it must have been a dream: I wasn't paralyzed; I wasn't falling to my death. I had stopped screaming, but I was shaking uncontrollably. I felt a hand guide me into laying down, and I had the sense to let it. The pain I felt lessened significantly, and I sighed in relief.

 

“It's okay. You're safe now,” I heard my mother say softly.

 

I nodded, but I still couldn't stop shaking. She held my hand almost too tightly. “Where's Dave?” I asked.

 

“He had to go make a phone call,” Mom responded. Her statement hung in the air as if there was something being left out. After some time, she broke the silence, “I'm not going to tell him what your father said.”

 

“Thank–“

 

“That's your job,” she interrupted me. “You shouldn't hide the truth from him, like you did from that Kurt boy.”

 

“What?” I croaked, and then coughed something out of the way of my vocal chords. “He knows about me. I met him in grade eight.” She looked a little surprised at that, and I decided I didn't want to know what was surprising about it. “I just don't want him to know Dad saw us out front; right be–”

 

She squeezed my hand, and interrupted me again, “Okay.”

 

I closed my eyes, and breathed deeply. I felt a lot better now. The swelling around my eyes seemed to have gone down, and I found it a lot easier to breathe. My arm still hurt, but it was a bearable, dull throb. I felt a tightness around the middle of my torso, but the area had more or less stopped hurting when I laid back down.

 

“He's kinda cute. A little old for you though; don't you think?” my Mom shared, much to my surprise and embarrassment.

 

“Mom~!”

 

Not a moment too soon, Dave returned from his phone call. He didn't look very happy, but when he saw that I was awake, he smiled at me and asked how I was feeling. “Not too bad,” I replied, offering a small smile of my own. I tried not to wince from the movement of facial muscles over bruised areas. I guessed that I managed, because Dave looked reassured.

 

Dave was about to say something when a nurse, or possibly intern, walked in. He was wearing pale blue scrubs, and carried a flimsy looking clipboard. He looked friendly enough, and about as tired as I felt. His eyes looked at me, and then at the clipboard, and he seemed confused for a moment.

 

“Ms McIntyre?” he asked, and I nodded. “Right. Sorry, someone must have copied down the name on your insurance card wrong, so I was confused for a minute.” I swallowed, and sat there feeling awkward. When I didn't say anything, he asked, “Is it okay if they are here for this?” He motioned to Dave and Mom. I nodded.

 

“Okay,” the man took a breath, “Your left arm is broken. We've got it set right now, and we'll get it in a cast some time today. You also have two cracked ribs, which look like they will heal nicely so long as you are careful in your movements for the next little while. Nothing else looks too serious; some bruising and minor abrasions. Irregardless, you'll need to stay in the hospital for a day or two, maybe longer if we find any signs of internal bleeding or other complications.”

 

I tried not to sigh at the mention of staying in the hospital, even though I didn't want to go home any more than I wanted to stay in the hospital. The intern/nurse showed me where the “help button” on the bed in case I needed something and my Mom wasn't around. He said I should stay in the bed for now, but he did say it was okay for me to go use the room's attached bathroom if I got someone help me there and back. He gave me the standard instructions to get lots of rest and whatnot, and finished by telling me someone would be in to talk to me later. I assumed that it would be a psych-something, the same as when I was in the hospital from the incident with Kurt. I worried about what I might, or should, say to them.

 

“I have to go,” Dave said once the intern/nurse had left. He frowned. “The Old Guy said he couldn't spare me at the club tonight. He said for you to heal up fast, though, and I'll spare you the other things the crazy old fart said,” he chuckled, and I managed a weak smile. Knowing the Old Guy, I probably didn't want to know what he said. Dave looked like he truly did not want to leave, and I wished he didn't have to; I wanted him to stay. He walked over to the side of the bed opposite my Mom, leaned down, and gave me a gentle hug, which I returned. “I'm sorry,” he whispered.

 

“It's okay.”

 

He released me, and turned to my mother, “Do you have someone to come pick you up or whatever?”

 

“I'll arrange something,” she responded.

 

“Okay,” Dave nodded, and started to head for the door. “Bye Izzie, Mrs Scott.”

 

“Bye!” I said, and my mother offered a “Drive safe!”

 

Once Dave left, my mood withered rather abruptly. My ribs, however, were just glad that the goodbye hug went on without forming an acute angle using them as the vertex–or an angle less than a hundred and forty-five degrees for that matter.

 

I yawned, another wave of tiredness washing over me, and covered my mouth. Blinking my eyes a couple times to clear out the tears that formed as a result, I looked over at my Mom. She looked as though she was deep in thought, and kept looking over at me.

 

“I left a note for your father saying you ran away, and that I was going to spend a couple of days at my sister's, with whom you are going to be staying. They don't get along at all, so he won't show up there.” I yawned again, and she waited for me to finish before saying, “I.... Get some sleep, dear.”

 

I didn't want to go to sleep. I wanted to know what was going on. I wanted to know what this all meant. I wanted to know if her recent behaviour meant she was okay with me being her daughter. But as I looked at her, I got the feeling that she didn't know any of these things much better than I did.

 

“Mom, why did you help me?” I asked. She looked at me as if I slapped her, and I instantly regretting asking.

 

She reached for my hand again, and said, “You're my baby.”

 

I tried to ask her if that meant she was okay with me–with Elizabeth–but I couldn't. Instead, I started to cry. She moved her chair and herself closer, and wiped my cheeks with a finger.

 

“I'm sorry,” she said, “I don't know why I'm having such a hard time with this. I... I look at you, and I can't help but see my little baby boy. I don't know what's wrong with me. Some mother I am, huh?” She laughed mirthlessly, and wiped away some tears of her own. She started talking again before I could say anything, “Someday, I'll get over the hang-ups I have. I just hope that when I do, it's not too late for me to get to know that wonderful girl you no doubt are underneath all the makeup and strange clothes you normally wear.” She smiled, but the sadness didn't leave her eyes. “But in the meantime, you need to rest.”

 

I wished I could get up and hug her, especially because I couldn't find any words to respond to what she had just told me. I started to say something a couple of times, but I would have stopped for lack of words, even if my Mom hadn't silenced me with her insistence that I rest now, and talk later. Still, despite everything, I felt kind of happy. She was trying, and right now that was good enough. I lay there for a long time thinking about what she said to me, and to be honest, sometimes thinking of how it would be even better if Dave were there with me.