literature

Project Seven - Chapter 4

Deviation Actions

ChocoLatte5's avatar
By
Published:
252 Views

Literature Text

A L E C

The  rest  of  my  afternoon  felt  like  a  lazy  one.  I  depended  on  Jasper  to  cover  which  locations  of  the  town  Dakota  was  in  most,  so  I  had  the  free  time  to  do  whatever  I  wanted.  When  you  have  a  heavy  job  like  mine,  moments  of  freedom  during  work  hours  are  rare.

It  was  around  four  thirty  in  the  afternoon  when  I  managed  to  get  a  cup  of  coffee  with  Sonia(though  she  always  preferred  hot  chocolate).  We  were  talking  in  the  cafeteria  inside  Emerald  HQ.  Somehow  I  always  found  myself  going  back  into  the  workplace  no  matter  what.

Her  job  is  to  physically  train  and  guide  the  recruits  who  are  aiming  to  become  field  agents.  She’s  basically  their  temporary  mentor  until  that  recruit  is  handed  off  to  be  paired  with  someone  else  experienced  with  the  field  missions.  Sometimes  those  recruits  end  up  going  solo  once  they’ve  had  enough  time  learning.  It’s  similar  to  a  bird  leaving  the  nest  to  fly.

“Hello?  Alec?”

“Huh?”

“How  are  your  parents?” Sonia  questioned.  “It’s  been  a  while  since  I’ve  seen  them.”

“They’re  okay,  I  suppose.  Mom  is  a  bit  quieter,  but  she’s  still  herself.”

“Witty  and  loves  poker?”

I  nodded  with  a  grin  on  my  face.  “That’s  her.  Dad  could  be  better  though.  He  was  a  bit  grumpy  after  I  last  saw  him.  He  insists  it’s  not  too  late  to  get  a  different  career,  rather  than  be  a  ‘journalist’.”

The  one  thing  I  hated  about  this  job  was  that  it  had  to  be  absolutely  secret.  I  always  had  to  lie  to  my  parents  about  the  subject,  and  I’ll  always  have  to,  even  to  new  people  I  meet  who  ask  me  what  I  do  for  a  living.

Sonia  conveyed  a  sorrowful  expression.  One  that  wasn’t  a  depiction  of  pity,  but  rather  empathy.  She  understood  what  I  was  going  through  from  personal  experience.  By  now,  she  would’ve  reached  over  the  table  to  place  her  hand  on  mine.  Then  I’d  turned  my  hand  on  its  side  and  rub  my  thumb  over  her  fingers;  a  habit  of  mine  I  did  so  often  it  was  normally  unintentional.

But  it  wasn't  appropriate  to  show  everyone  at  your  workplace  you're  in  a  romantic  relationship  with  a  co-worker.  Especially  here.  We  both  knew  that.

Once  stepping  inside  this  building,  we  go  back  to  secretive-mode  and  only  give  each  other  smiles  and  second  glances  when  we  walk  by  each  other.  It's  amazing  how  discreet  we've  been  and  not  be  detected  by  anyone  else  who  saw  us.

“You’re  his  son,  Alec,”  Sonia  said.  “He  still  loves  you.”

I  told  her,  “I  know . . .  But  it  certainly  doesn’t  feel  like  it  sometimes.”

“What  was  something  nice  he  did  for  you  or  said?”

“He  bought  me  my  first  guitar  and  paid  for  my  lessons.”

Nein,”  Sonia  said.  A  thin  lock  of  her  strawberry  blonde  hair  fell  in  front  of   her  face.  She  ignored  it.  “Something  that  doesn’t  involve  money.”

I  thought  for  a  moment,  while  Sonia  looked  at  me  expectantly.  She  was  hoping  my  answer  would  prove  me  wrong.  But  I  slowly  shook  my  head  and  replied,  “I  can’t  say  that  I  remember  a  time  like  that.”

It’s  sad  to  admit  that,  and  it  made   me  realize  how  disconnected  the  relationship  is  with  my  father.  In  the  back  of  my  mind,  I  wasn’t  sad.  Because  I  was  used  to  it.



K O D Y

I  overslept.

But  it’s  not  like  I  had  an  appointment  to  go  to.  The  day  following  after  the  Mist  Haven  incident,  I  went  back  to  my  secret  spot  in  Rosewater  Park.  A  small,  but  comfortable  area  surrounded  by  mostly  bushes  and  overbearing  foliage  so  it  was(to  the  most  part)private  for  anyone  inside  it.

That's  my  haven.

Not  even  Ryan  knew  about  it.  Only  me.  I  always  went  there  to  clear  my  mind  and  get  some  peace.  After  all,  my  head  was  still  so  very  cluttered,  just  like  a  neglected  attic.  Only  this  “attic”  received  a  whole  load  of  junk  under  a  few  minutes—that’s  all  it  took.

Anyways,  I  wanted  to  take  a  power  nap  on  the  hammock  I  set  up  myself.  I  set  my  watch  to  a  thirty-minute  timer,  I  relaxed,  and  it  was  easy.  That’s  what  I  planned  at  four  thirty  p.m.,  but  it’s  not  exactly  what  happened  later.
 
I  slept  for  four  hours.  Four.  Have  you  ever  taken  a  nap  and  instead  of  feeling  refreshed,  you  woke  up  disorientated  and  wondered  what  day  it  was?  That’s  what  happened.  I’m  exaggerating  when  I  say  this,  but  it  was  like  I  had  been  hit  by  a  truck.  I’m  sure  I  looked  like  I  had  been.  Emotionally.

The  sun  had  already  sank  below  the  horizon,  but  it  wasn’t  completely  dark.  It  was  going  to  take  a  lot  more  than  the  lack  of  light  to  make  me  feel  lost  inside  of  Rosewater  Park.  Plus,  if  anything  happened,  I  had  Slash  safely  tucked  into  my  combat  boot.

Slash  was  the  name  I  had  given  to  my  switchblade.  Weird?  I  know.  But  I  feel  a  sense  of  security  knowing  I  have  something  on  me  I  can  protect  myself  with.  Especially  when  the  situation  called  for  self-defense.  So  why  not  give  my  precious  knife  a  name?  Nothing  of  importance  happened  while  I  was  in  the  park  alone—in  fact  nothing  did  happen.  But  I  was  on  my  way  home  in  the  commercial  district  sticking  close  to  the  shadows.  Then  it  happened.

I  paused  in  the  middle  of  the  sidewalk,  and  glanced  to  my  right.  Beside  me  was  Witches’  Brew,  a  family-owned  local  bar  that  was  popular  but  a  run-down  joint  for  ex-cons,  motorcyclists,  and  people  who  were  the  type  to  glare  at  you  if  you  looked  at  them  wrong.  My  mother  visited  this  place,  and  often.

Next  thing  I  know,  a  woman  burst  out  from  the  double  doors  of  Witches’  Brew  stumbling.  Her  face  was  flushed  and  she  couldn’t  stand  still  without  leaning  sideways  or  forward.  It  was  Mom,  and  she  was  drunk.  Mom  locked  her  gaze  with  mine,  and  pointed  her  pale  index  finger  at  me.  

“You . . . !”  she  exclaimed.  

For  someone  intoxicated,  she  moved  fast.  Mom  grabbed  my  arms,  tightly.  I  kept  myself  entirely  motionless,  because  I  knew  better  than  to  try  and  writhe  myself  away  from  her  grip  while  she  was  in  this  state.  Her  fingers  were  cold,  and  her  voice  sounded  like  steel.

“You  worthless  daughter!  Where  have  you  been?!”  Mom  shook  me  violently,  and  her  voice  caught  the  attention  of  others.

I  didn’t  answer;  I  remained  calm.  I  stared  into  her  eyes  and  noticed  she  was  on  the  brink  of  tears.

“Do  you  have  any  idea  how  I  feel  when  you’re  gone  for  hours?!”  she  shouted.  Mom’s  breath  reeked  of  alcohol,  and  a  tear  fell  down  her  rosy  cheek.  But  her  face  was  twisted  in  raw  anger  as  she  shook  me  again.  

“Do  you  want  to  leave  me  like  your  father?  Huh?!”

My  nerves  were  struck,  but  I  didn’t  respond.  Mom  and  I  stared  at  each  other  for  a  long  time.  Her  eyes  were  glassy,  and  we  were  surrounded  by  our  own  silence.  Her  next  words  came  out  as  desperate  whispers,  so  quiet  only  I  could  hear  her  and  not  the  spectators.

“Just  like  Natalie . . . ?”

That  name  hit  me  like  a  tidal  wave,  and  I  felt  like  I  was  on  the  brink  of  tears.  Mom  finally  broke  down  into  a  sob,  and  hung  her  head  on  my  shoulder.  I  let  her  do  this  for  as  long  as  she  needed.  When  she  revealed  her  face,  I  realized  how  much  she  was  crying.

I  said  to  her,  “Let’s  go  home.”

Mom  used  my  arm  for  support  as  we  walked.  Though  what  she  said  tonight  shocked  even  me,  I  knew  she  wasn’t  going  to  recall  any  of  it  tomorrow  morning.  She  never  does.
This chapter's main purpose was to pretty much to give some insight on Kody and Alec's personal life regarding home/family.

Useless fact: my best friend has always described me as "the evil puppet master" because I usually make sad/traumatic events happen to my characters.  Laugh  I have no regrets.
I can't not agree with my friend And if you're one of those people who do the exact same thing... Welcome to the club.

I appreciate comments, and thanks for reading!

First:  chocolatte5.deviantart.com/art…

Previous:  chocolatte5.deviantart.com/art…

Next:  chocolatte5.deviantart.com/art…
© 2014 - 2024 ChocoLatte5
Comments0
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In