Drabbles... #8 Shade and any of his family not Farley or Mare. :)
#8 - “Forget it. You fucking suck.”
Fade Modern AU - A NewPlace
A/N: I’m so sorry this took me so horribly long. I can’t excuse myself saying I didn’t know what to write since the basics of the story were in my mind for a while. I can only hope the long time means I made the best version of it. As this is a modern AU, there’s a lot of real lfe stuff (as in my other AUs), but please don’t take it too seriously, I don’t have reliable personal experiences in every regard ;-)
As most of my stories, my Modern AUs are related/taking place in the same story at different times. Here are the other parts:
A New Place
Growing Up
The Dinner
Roman Holiday
The Wedding
Find this on wattpad and on AO3
Shade POV
When I wake, all I seeis her face. I blink, too tired even to just move my hands and rub my eyes. Itfeels like the middle of the night.
Only the small bedside lamp fights the darkness, itsreddish sheen gentle to my senses as it reveals Diana’s widely open eyes. Shecrouches beside the bed, her hand on my shoulder.
“Sorry,” she says, because she woke me up. “Justtelling you I’m leaving for work.” She bites her lip, seeming insecure. “Andthen I’ll be at the uni, so until later … the afternoon.”
“Bye,” I whisper with a yawn.
She smiles faintly. She lingers, undecided whether tostay or go. I don’t want her to go, want to fix her with my eyes although I canbarely keep them open. I can only feel her fingers squeezing my shoulder oncemore, and her lips brushing a kiss on my temple. Then she rises and I wish tostay awake even more and to give her a real goodbye. But I barely notice herwhispered “sleep well,” and neither when she turns off the lamp and closes thedoor, leaving me behind to rest on in this cold and dim early morning.
I don’t remember what I dream afterwards, but when I’mconscious enough, I see Diana’s beautiful face, illuminated by the warm, redlight.
The secondtime I wake today, I’m hit by Diana’s absence. Theharshness of aloneness unsettles me, indeed so much I wonder where I am. Ittakes me a minute to recognize Dee’s flat. Our flat now, since I moved inyesterday. It doesn’t feel that way, like my home. When I stayed the nightbefore, it was at days when we both had the same schedule. On a free day, itmeant sleeping late, cuddling in each other’s arms, and a big and longbreakfast. If not, we woke together and left together. I thought that werecouple things to do. How wrong I was. Only now, alone here for the first time,I learn that Dee made it a welcoming place for me. Without her, I’m a fish outof water.
Between my bags and boxes, most still unpacked, andthe few things we’ve already found space for, the herness of the placespeaks to me. Her smell and phantom shape left on the bed, the book and waterbottle beside it. There’s the rack by the door, with my coat hanging ungainlynext to her bi scarf, her summer jacket and the empty space where her coat hasbeen, and a couple of clothes lying here and there. She doesn’t bother to putaway all of them, although the closet is just a meter away from them, from thebed, from the desk filled with her papers in progress. Everything is soclose to everything, the space made even tighter with the onslaught of myboxes. Separated from the “bedroom” only by an open wall, I can see the kitchencorner and its table from the bed, where some food or drink always lie readyfor a quick snack of the single inhabitant. The bathroom, invisibly on theother side of the wall, would be even worse, organized thoroughly utilitarianto see to Dee’s needs.
She left in a rush today, I remember, too fast andquiet for having cleaned much. Yet I find no stains of a breakfast at all andinadvertently, I ball my fists. Did she skip breakfast so she wouldn’t disturbmy sleep even more? Or was it a bout of morning sickness that killed herappetite? If so, it’s another thing I failed to notice. I moved in to be therefor her now that she’s pregnant, and all I feel is out of place and useless.
I let myself fall down onto the chair at the kitchentable and stare at the bread instead of eating it. I don’t know how we’llmanage. I can’t imagine how a child should grow up in this little den where Ican hardly find space for myself. I snort at the silly thought, as I didn’tgrow up a mansion either.
I promised Diana.
Yet I know the difference between wishing andbelieving and I feel anything but certainty.
While Dee’sday is scheduled with duties, I have the day off. We eventalked about this before, making it a reason for when to move in. “You canunpack and clean a bit,” she proposed, and I agreed, thinking nothing aboutstaying “home” alone for the first time. But the cleaning reminds me this isnot my home, and unpacking of how much more work and re-shelving the nextmonths – no, years – will bring.
After one bag of clothes, I give up. I grab twolecture books I’ve littered on the floor and snatch my messenger bag to getout.
I hesitate at the door, thinking what a horribleboyfriend am. I’m running away, I realize. But not really, I want tobelieve. I run to shake loose the looming dread, wishing to get one gaspingbreath outside of here. I hope.
I can’tconcentrate on the books while riding the train taking me to myhometown. My thoughts keep on revolving around that specific personal problemthat leaves no entry way for neither Socrates, nor Plato, nor Aristotle. Afterall, I know it isn’t nice to run to my family, about to tell them about its newmember without Dee present. She’s alluded to the matter before, vaguely, butnot decidedly. I let it rest in my uncertainly. Probably, she didn’t thinkabout it that much. She doesn’t have many people to tell, unlike me.
She needed some time before she told me about herfamily, but when she did, her relief in sharing her story was palpable. Almostlike she’s glad to have me as a family now.
I’ve felt proud about it, to be honest, as I suspectedshe trusted her college friend Tristan as much as me. They seem so close,having made me wonder what exactly went on between them. But as I got to knowhim better, my suspicions dissolved piece by piece. They’re friends, and godsknow she needs them, having come here to study as a foreigner. If she toldTristan her personal history, good for her. But I stick to the honour of havingbeen the first she trusted with her family’s fate.
Her mother and younger sister died in a car crash,mere months before her high school graduation. Her father wasn’t even home butoff on a military mission at the time.
His return for the funeral and to take care of thingsdidn’t improve the situation, least of all the relationship to his daughter. Hestayed with Dee until she left the house, the country, to study abroad and live with her aunt Rosa, hermother’s cousin.
Although Diana relied on family when she came here, itstill astounds me she needed to get away from her home, her family, hermemories in the first place. I’m going to all of them, at least for today, hopingto find my way. My dad’s been a soldier too, until he was gravely injured andforced into an early retirement. He still struggles with his past and his newlife, so I can imagine some of Dee’s problems with her father. I don’t pressher about contacting her father as it’s not my decision to make. I’m here tosupport her once she knows how to treat him. But I’d never be able to cut awaymy family from my life.
I doubt that’s Diana’s wish either. She misses the peopleshe’s lost and she’s grateful for Aunt Rosa. We told her about the baby a fewdays ago, when we started to prepare my move-in. While Dee just spat out thetruth after some hesitation, I hardly know what to say and Rosa hardly knewwhat to reply. But that awkwardness, the accidental eye contacts, pauses andhand-wringing, bonded us in a weird way.
Rosa’s cool, obviously, from what I’ve seen of her.She travels often due to her work, so Dee fends for herself most of the time,which gives me hope it’ll work out in the future too, when Rosa’s small housewill have not only one, but two new inhabitants. So far, Diana’s been hesitantto ask Aunt Rosa to take more rooms for herself – for us – although she doesthink we’ll need a study room for one of us to work alone without infantdisturbances. It’ll happen eventually, and this is why I’m moving in after all. Dee’s livings are easier to adapt for couple with a baby than collegedorms or a new flat.
The roads of the Stiltsare as wet as in the city, and as I walk the three kilometers to my old house,I pull up my hood against the wind and occasional raindrops. Yet rays ofsunshine break through the heavy grey clouds every now and then, giving onefalse expectations for a nicer weather. A tiny spot of warmth doesn’t drive offthe cold, or the winter settling in. Thus when I see the transporter at ourhouse, I don’t hesitate to ring the doorbell to get in.
I rue it immediately. I wasted my time not thinkingabout what to say. And while I crave just to jump into Mom’s arms, I don’tdesire to break Dee’s trust and spill out everything without her. I take a stepback like a coward, intending to re-consider my options. But before onepresents itself, the door opens, with my brother Tramy on the threshold, a mugin hand.
He smirks. “Hey, where do you come from!” he exclaimsand pulls me in. I follow without resistance. My brothers and I have ourquarrels, but I’ve missed him too much. The sight of the corridors, crammedwith our stuff, the smells of the rooms, the sounds … no, there are nosounds besides our shuffling feet.
I blink. “Is … no one here?”
“I’m here.” He laughs as we reach the kitchen. I rollmy eyes and sit down. Tramy chuckles as he refills his mug, obviously withcoffee, and raises his eyebrows suggestively when he takes the seat oppositemine. “Maybe you’ve forgotten in your fancy college life,” he says, “but it’s aweekday?”
I give him a shove although I do blush at his correctassumptions. I prompt only more chuckling. “What, it’s true,” Tramy says. “Thegirls are in school, Mom’s at work and Dad is at physio. Remember?”
I nod, blushing harder. And our oldest brother Breehas moved out, too. Yet I cross my arms obstinately and lean back. “And you?”
He takes a long sip from his mug and rises from hischair. “I should offer you a drink too, huh?”
“Like a good host?” I smirk. “Don’t worry, I don’tthink I count as a guest yet.”
He nods along and gets a coke from the fridge, andfills a glass that he shoves to me. I raise it in thanks.
“Finished the job in the neighbourhood early,” Tramyexplains. “I thought that’s the perfect chance for a good lunch at home.” Hewinks. “Don’t tell my boss.”
“You have lunch?” I ask.
“Sorry, too late.” He pats his belly and laughs whileI shake my head in jested accusation. The idea of our parents’ homemade food ismouth-watering. I down my coke instead.
“Why don’t know tell me why you’re really here?” Tramyasks, all jokes and amusement gone from his demeanour.
I freeze, startled and at loss for words, but Tramy’sseriousness doesn’t falter. It’s me who skittishly breaks eye contact to stareat my hands, knowing Tramy’s gaze remains on me. “I wanted to get some stuff,”I say with a shrug, lifting my head without looking anywhere. “I, uh, moved outof the dorm.”
“You what?!” he cries out. “Shade, you didn’t fuck up,did you? Didn’t leave college? Or got expelled? Tell me you aren’t ruining yourlife!”
“No! Tramy, please.” He’s rather morebewildered. I realize I’m again in the corner I wanted to avoid. And didn’t I‘fuck up’, in a way? “Maybe,” I concede, before a cackle overtakes me anddestroys any inklings of composure. I laugh so hard I start coughing, swallowit out, and laugh more, until my eyes tear up. So it takes me a moment tonotice Tramy’s aghast face, but even that doesn’t help me calm down quicker.The chuckles are still dying slowly as I hide my face with my hands, wiping myface.
“Don’t worry,” I manage to say eventually, “I moved inwith my girlfriend.” I lower my hands when Tramy sighs and in this second offalse relief, the words slip out, to never be taken back. “She’s pregnant.”
The following set of Tramy’s expressions are imagesfor the gods. Relief switches to shock, into disbelief and then amusement thatfreezes as it, finally, shifts into the appalled realization that I meant whatI said. He stares at me, with compassion and helplessness.
I wonder what I’ve looked like in these last seconds.I’ve no idea.
Tramy doesn’t ask more. He takes my hands, then he’sbeside me, hugging my head to his stomach, for I don’t know how long. I relaxinto is presence. He isn’t Mom or Dad, not my best friend, but he gives mesomething I need right now.
Shouldn’t Dee and I give that to one another?
The thorn of the sudden doubt cramps my heart. But I dowant this with Diana. We had it, and we’ll have it again. I won’t let stress,demands, responsibility, money, fucking life, take it from us.
“Have you thought about buying her flowers, Shade?”says Tramy, and pulls me out of my thoughts – as I pull away from him.
“What?”
He smiles. “A bouquet of flowers for congratulation.Roses – or whatever she likes. We have quite a variety at the workshop,especially for occasions … like this.” He shrugs. “Of course, I’ll give you‘uncle discount’,” he finishes with a wink.
M chair scrapes the floor as I jump up. Suddenly, Ican’t deal with teases. “Forget it, you fucking suck,” I snort, throwing up myarms and then grapping my bag to leave.
He runs after me, full of apologies. He clasps myshoulder and I turn, wanting to apology myself, to explain that Diana isn’tinto flowers. I can’t. Because Tramy’s more than sorry or concerned, he’sashamed.
“Sorry,” he says oncemore in an unsettlingly coarse voice. “I shouldn’t have … I mean, if you don’t… want …” He swallows, and I understand before he has to go on with hisstruggle for words.
“That’s not it,” I sayquickly. “That’s not it,” I repeat, quieter now, and let my head sink.
Tramy gestures to thecouch and I follow suit without resistance. Again, I sit down as he crouches infront of me, keeping silent to wait for me.
“We’ve having thebaby,” I state. He nods. “And I thought, uh, I don’t know what exactly. To askMom and Das about … stuff. Or for stuff.” I look up into Tramy’s eyes. “To behonest, I was uncertain whether to tell you all yet, without Diana. I guess, Icame without a plan.” I cackle, and I’m grateful Tramy doesn’t remark theobvious – although his creased brow speaks by itself.
But as I don’tcontinue, he swallows the words on his tongue, finding something better to ask:“What do you want, then?”
I snort. The decisivequestion. As if it didn’t chase me everywhere nowadays. “You don’t have to pityme, Tramy. I know what I’m getting into. I hope. I mean, we, Dee and I, we doour best.”
“I didn’t imply theopposite, but that’s not what I’ve asked about,” he retorts, his eyes boringinto mine. “Is it what you want? Because you don’t seem … elated.”
“I want Dee, okay?!” Isnap. “I love her, and I’m not letting her alone with it.” I gather the energyto dart one fierce glare at him before I fall back onto the couch.
“She asked me the samething, you know,” I begin. “But what should I have said? I couldn’t tell herwhat to do, and it was obvious she didn’t want an abortion. I don’t know whetherI would’ve wanted that, but …” I shrug. I lean farther back, so I face theceiling. “After a while, she told me why. She couldn’t imagine doing it. Not ingeneral, but for herself. She’s … lost too many people she loved to give up another.”
Silence. “And do youthink that’s unfair?” Tramy asks eventually, trying to tread carefully.
I jerk up anyway.“Unfair? That I support her in what concerns us both?” I shake my head. “It’sunfair it’s happening now. Unfair we couldn’t plan to have a child at our pace.Unfair that our situation is so insecure. Unfair that our child will have togrow up with this insecurity too.”
I’m afraid. So, soafraid. But I also wish to meet this new person that’s both Dee and me andsomeone entirely their own, and see them grow up. Sometimes, I dare to thinkabout how it’ll be, and not only to wonder about the problems it’ll bring. Iimagine their smiles and wobbly tries to stand, their first words and theSpanish I could teach –
“But it’s not unfairthat it exists, nor that the woman I love wants to … ah …” Heat creeps up myface. “That she wants a family with me,” I manage to conclude.
Tramy, having listenedattentively to my declaration, starts to grin like an idiot. “My little bro’sbecoming a dad,” he says. “Congratulations.”
I give him a shove. Hissmile becomes broader, and I feel my eyes starting to wet. “You could say‘thanks’,” Tramy reminds me, but instead of doing so, I fall forward andembrace him.
He returns the hug, hishands stroking my back during my sobs. I’m shocked this happens for the secondtime today, with him, but I’m not complaining. After the doubts plaguing metoday, I finally find my ground.
“Don’t tell the others,okay?” I rasp. “As I’ve said, I’m glad to have talked to you, but Dee and Ishould tell you all together. We’ll visit soon, or something.”
He pulls away to lookat me, his silly grin still plastered on his face. “Sure,” he agrees. “But canyou tell me before you come? I might get you something.”
I sigh, “Tramy …”
“No, listen. I’ll getyour girlfriend a plant, a nice little orange tree from the workshop.” Hewinks. “Then you can train to look after someone.”
“What? I don’t think –“
“And whenever Dianasees the tree, she can think of the us Barrows, welcoming her into the family.”
I’m too stunned forwords. I believe Diana will be too, if Tramy actually does it. But even so, Iknow he’s absolutely right. It’s a gesture she’ll cherish.
“That’s … cool. I mean,thanks,” I reply, awfully helpless, and wipe my face.
He accepts my gratitudewith grace.
I forgo my intention to searchthrough whatever baby utensils we might still have in attic; as the ones who’dknow, our parents and Gisa, aren’t here and Tramy has to return to his job. Inthe end, I guess I didn’t come to find some old blankets I won’t need formonths, but for something else. And I believe I’ve found it.
My brother offers tobring me to the train station with his transporter and I agree. When we arriveand I’m about to jump out of the cabin after a half-hug-handshake, Tramy pullson my sleeve. “Wait a sec,” he asks, and then we both go out to round thetransporter form different sides. Tramy rummages through the cargo area untilhe can produce a tiny bouquet of three red flowers that look like oversized daisies.
“Gerbera,” Tramyinforms me.
I raise an eyebrow.
“Well, I still think youshould give Diana a little present. It’s a treat from me, of course,” he adds.
“Okay, thanks, butactually, I didn’t go along with your bouquet idea because Dee isn’t intoflowers. At all.” He laughs. “What?!” I snap.
He pats my shoulder.“Shade, I won’t go on telling you that all women secretly love flowers becauseI know you’d only say I’m repeating florist ads, but see it like this:” Hetakes a breath and spreads his arms wide. “These are something nice andpretty,” he begins, and holds the bouquet toward me. “And before we talked, youdidn’t appear to feel nice and pretty at all.” When I frown, he adds, “nooffense, I don’t mean your face. But I’m just saying, put these in your flat,look at them, smell them, and think of today. Of anything you enjoy. Let themcheer you up for a second, okay?” He winks and hands me the flowers.Begrudgingly, I take them.
“You make adisturbingly good gardener-florist,” I admit.
He waits.
“And I’m glad of it.”
“You’re welcome,” heanswers, and we go on our ways.
Back at home, Dee’s home, I getback to settle myself in, to unpack and re-order, with more vigour than in themorning. I shove down my doubts about whether she’ll like changes in theclutter as they’re necessary. The sinking feeling remains, and it still nearpanics me to imagine a child and their things fitting in here as well. A baby, I remind myself, as in the end,we can always search for a bigger place in a few years. If we can afford one –
Still, while the weighton my heart has lightened, the prospect of thinking in years pulls me down to earth, every time again. But that isn’t abad thing. I won’t let it be.
With what I find in thekitchen, I prepare myself a late lunch, one also large enough to serve asdinner for Diana and me, once she comes home. Indeed, her absence tells me howlong this day has been. I make the best of being alone, starting with my ownpapers and homework after eating. The understanding and the words arrive fasternow with my new determination, while the sight of my phone poses a temptation totext or call Dee to feel closer to her.
I think I only refrainbecause while cleaning up, I saw she’s currently attending a lecture; thus Idon’t want to disturb her. I get back to writing.
I’ll have to learn herschedule by heart fast.
Darkness falls early thislate in the year. It doesn’t assist me in staying concentrated forever, so I’myawning for the fifth time and finally shut down my laptop when the dooropens. I sit up immediately and get up when Diana enters. She looks tired anddishevelled.
Instead of greetingher, I take her into my arms and she doesn’t hesitate for a second to leanagainst me. “I missed you,” I say softly, brushing her hair and loosening itsbraid even more by doing so.
“Missed you too,” shemumbles, before turning her head to kiss my cheek. I feel goose bumps at hertouch, while she’s wearing a thick coat that rustles at our movements.
She’s out of itquickly, tossing it and her bag aside in a motion so natural she must’ve doneso hundreds of times. Her fingers play with mine as she leads me to the bed tolay down. I rush to slide my laptop away. She groans as she let herself sinkinto the bed. “You didn’t have to stop working because I’m home,” she says.
“I did already. I’mjust making space.” When she raises her eyebrows, I add, “oh come on, we are still adjusting to living together.”
“We are,” she admits,smiling faintly. “But honestly, I’m too tired to work on it tonight.” She yawnsin demonstration, although it makes me worry a bit. Dee’s so energetic most ofthe time, is it the pregnancy that tires her? And if not directly, shouldn’tshe be careful not to exhaust herself either way? But I don’t tell her so.“Surely you’re hungry?” I ask instead.
“Later,” she mumbles,“give me a moment.”
I do. She splays on thebed she’s still used to sleep alone in on most nights, looking peacefulhalf-dozing and as gorgeous as when she laughs or argues.
I find a space tolounge beside her, stroking her thigh where I can feel the pulse of her blood.Has her pulse changed now that her body nurtures someone else, too?
Dee isn’t a thin woman.At a random meeting, a person would think nothing of the roundness of her bellyyet. But I know it’s new, the first sign she’s starting to show. It’s humbling,really, to glimpse our child come into existence.
I rest my head next tothe curve of her waist. As she isn’t fully sleeping, I’m not surprised when herhand finds its way to my head and begins to play with my hair.
“Sorry I didn’t reply,”she says eventually.
“Hmm?”
“When you texted. Ishould’ve replied.”
“No matter.”
“No – ” She gets up alittle, and so do I, slightly confused. “I know I implied I had no time tospare, but I did – well.” She blushes and her other hand moves closer to her,brushing her belly. I don’t think she notices. “I made an appointment with anobstetrician next Wednesday. I believe you’re free then?”
She appears genuinelyuncertain. I nod to relieve her. I’ll make time if anything gets in the way.
“Good. I thought it’sabout time, to find out if the little one’s alright.” She bites her lip and inthat moment, her composure shifts. “I’m afraid, you know. Really afraid. Idon’t want anything to happen to it. And also …” She hesitates, lowering herhead as her hand takes mine and holds tight.
“I just hope it’shealthy. If it wasn’t … if it was sick, I’d have no idea how we’d manage. Ourbudget’s tight. Probably will get only tighter after the birth. It’ll be sohard, Shade, and if we had to care for a sick child, nothing will – ” shestops, wiping her eyes. I inch closer to her, to embrace and calm her, althoughI fear the same. And I can’t promise her worries away.
“I’m so afraid, Shade,all the time. It’ll only get worse.”
“I know,” I utter,taking her other hand as well, squeezing and kissing it. I meet her eyes. “Iknow,” I repeat in a coarse voice. “I’m afraid too. And I’m grateful you speakabout it. We can’t pretend everything will be alright, can we?” She blinkswildly as a tear rolls down her cheek. I pull her closer still and she sagsagainst my chest. I don’t let go for a long time, rubbing her back and, finallymumbling some reassuring nonsense. The words aren’t the point. I’m here, withher, and I won’t leave, even though – or because – I might cry myself.
“Now I am hungry,” Dee says with asniff as we disentangle.
“Good.” I smile at herand start to get up. “I hope you like – “
“Shade?” She hasn’t letgo of my hand and her blue eyes staring at me tether me similarly. “Would youlike to know …”
“What?”
“You know …” She rollsher eyes.
“What?”
She snorts. “When we goto the ob/gyn, would you like to know if it’s a girl or a boy?” her playfulexpression vanishes as sudden as it came. Likely because my face fell.
“No,” I answer.
“That’s determined.”She lifts an eyebrow.
I sit down in front ofher and cup her face with my hands. “Dee, don’t you think that’s oneinformation we really don’t need yet?”
“Well …”
“And if theobstetrician is wrong? That would be worse. Not that the kid won’t know best intheir time…”
“Sure,” she agrees, andshifts onto her knees to kiss me on the mouth, her fingers soon on my cheek, myneck, my hair. Not that I can keep my hands off her. I love the feel of herwaist, the soft flesh above her hips contrasted by her strong back muscles.“I’m proud of you, Shade Barrow,” she whispers between kisses. “You make mebelieve we won’t be awful parents.
I laugh against herlips. “Ditto. And if worst comes to worst, I have a great family for help.”
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