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cheekysos · 4 years

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Road to Nowhere

Best Friend! Luke Hemmings x Reader

Summary: Luke asks his best friend Y/N on a road trip.

Warnings: Unrequited love, angst, minor swears

Author’s Note: Thank you for being patient with me the past couple of weeks. I’m still unsure about this piece honestly but I hope you enjoy it. Feedback is always very much appreciated, whether it be positive or constructive. Thank you for reading.

You and Luke have been best friends ever since he moved to LA. When you first met him you were in a somewhat serious relationship and by the time you admitted to yourself your feelings for Luke he just met someone. You wallowed in self pity for quite some time before you forced yourself to move on, Luke seemed happy and you wanted to be happy too. When Luke was single again, you were a few months into a new relationship. This cycle has continued for the entirety of your guys’ friendship, the timing just never worked out. Not that it would have mattered, you knew your chances with Luke were slim to none. You two joked, laughed, cried, and confided in one another but there was something missing on his part. You could tell by the way he looked at you that he didn’t love you the way you loved him. He doesn’t look at your smile and instantly get butterflies, your laugh doesn’t send a shiver down his spine, and your touch doesn’t make it hard for him to breathe. Now here you are, single for almost a year and Luke is in what seems to be a very serious relationship and it’s eating you up inside. You wasted so much time ignoring and hiding from your feelings because you were too scared to lose your best friend. Now your feelings are so strong it’s difficult to ignore.

His current relationship was definitely putting a strain on your friendship. She wasn’t comfortable with it, you knew the second he introduced you to her. The way she scanned you up and down, like she was assessing your level of threat. She occupied most of his time and didn’t want you around much, she never came right out and said it but you could tell - basically everyone could except for Luke. It was little things like the way she touched him in front of you, like she was claiming him or how it took her months to “learn” your name. But you put up with it because you loved him, granted you were also in love with him as well but you respected their relationship and would never act on your feelings. Between touring and her Luke hasn’t had much time for you so when he called you and asked if you wanted to go on an impromptu road trip with no certain destination you didn’t hesitate.

You packed enough clothes and toiletries for three days, that’s all the time off you could manage from work. Luke arrived that morning with your favorite coffee in hand and looking as adorable as ever. He was dressed casually in blue jeans, T-shirt, and boots.

“You’re really going to wear jeans while we drive across the country?” You teased snagging the large cup of coffee out of his hand.

“Hey what’s wrong with my jeans?!” He asked defensively.

“Nothings wrong with them. I just meant they aren’t very comfortable.”

“Well thanks mom but I think I can dress myself.” He quipped.

He stood in front of you with that stupid look on his stupid perfect face you loved so much. “So did you decide where you exactly were going?” You asked, spontaneity was not your strong suit.

“You pick, anywhere you want,” answered Luke.

You hesitated for a second, racking your brain for ideas. “Grand Canyon?”

“Whatever you want to see,” he flashed a sympathetic smile. What was going on?

“Seriously?” You asked. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

“What a guy can’t spoil his best girl?” Luke had a tendency of saying things like this. Things that were obviously meant to be harmless but hurt you more than you’d like to admit because you knew he didn’t meant them, not how you wanted him to. Luke helped you with your suitcase to his car and typed the coordinates into his GPS. While he did that you connected your phone to his car. Right after Luke asked you on this trip you started making a playlist for the occasion, of course a majority of the playlist was already assembled in a secret Luke playlist you already had.

“I hope you’re ready for this playlist, it’s going to blow your little rockstar brain.” Music is what immediately connected you to Luke. You guys didn’t have exactly the same taste and there were definitely songs and artists you disagreed on but his passion for it was contagious. He changed the way you consumed music, pushed you to listen to more than just lyrics and the beat.

“Excuse you I have a big rockstar brain thank you very much.” His hand rested on the back of your headrest as he backed out of the parking spot. It’s strange how Luke made everyday normal activities just effortlessly sexy. The way his seat had to be all the way back for his massive limbs to fit, how he gripped the steering wheel with one hand while the other rested on the gear shift, or the way the sun landed on his face and illuminated his sharp features.

Before you officially got on the road Luke stopped to fill up his car. “Here pay for the gas and grab some snacks,” he handed you his card.

You went inside and gathered an array of different snacks, candies and drinks. When you came out you saw Luke on the phone, at first you thought he was talking to her but he looked anxious and stressed while speaking. Maybe they were fighting, maybe that’s why he wanted to get away for a bit. When you got closer to him he hung up the phone and returned the pump to it’s holster.

“Let’s get the show on the road darlin’.” He faked a smile.

You were on route soon enough, Luke quietly snacking on the bag of chips you bought for him as he drove. You really didn’t want to pry and you hated asking him about her but it was obvious something was bothering him.

“You alright?” You questioned turning down the music.

He forced a smile, “All good. Just quietly regretting my decision to wear jeans. I wish someone would’ve told me not to.”

You playfully tossed a sour patch kid at his head. You knew that’s not what was bothering him but you didn’t pry. After many hours of stupid car games, spontaneous singalong dance parties and a small cat nap on your part you couldn’t ignore the rumbling in your stomach any longer.

“Luke I need food and I’m tired.” You whined “I think we should call it a day, get some food and find a hotel.”

Luke rubbed at his 5 o’clock shadow. “Ya ok find a place nearby will ya?”

It took a little time but eventually you found a small bed and breakfast. “Take the next exit.” You instructed.

As Luke drove to the bed and breakfast you passed an In n Out. “Take a right!” you yelled.

Luke jerked the car into the turning lane, “the fuck Y/N! Scared the shit outta me.”

“In n Out! Need fries and a milkshake.” You exaggerate and pout your lip.

“You know I can’t say no to that pout.” Again, how could he not realize what he was saying to you? Could he be that oblivious?

You went through the drive-thru and ordered way too much food for only two people and continued driving to the B&B. The Bed and Breakfast was a decent sized Victorian styled home, they probably couldn’t have more than five rooms. You stayed by the car, taking in the fresh air of a new state while Luke went inside to check for a room.

“Good news and bad news,” Luke said walking back to the car. “Got a room but it’s only got one bed, she’s got a cot though so she’s going to have it brought up to the room. I’ll take the cot.” Luke grabbed the luggage and you followed him with food and milkshakes in hand. The room was cozy, the main focus of the room was clearly the bed. This bed and breakfast most likely catered to couples looking for a quiet getaway and in any other situation it probably would have been romantic but not when you were with Luke and he was with her.

The two of you sat on the floor eating and catching up. Against your better judgement you asked about her, you were surprised to see his expression fall.

“I don’t want to talk about her, this trip is about us.” he said quietly. “Remember when we took that road trip to visit your parents?” he laughed.

“You mean the trip you agreed to take after being on tour for months leaving me to drive for HOURS while you slept the entire time?” you teased.

“Hey, It’s the thought that counts!” he defends. Things with Luke were great, back to how things were before.

After spending a considerable amount of time reminiscing, the two of you got ready to go to bed. When Luke walked out of the bathroom he was dressed in only athletic shorts. You’ve seen Luke half naked plenty of time but it seemed like every time you saw him his shoulders were broader, his chest hair more dense, and his skin softer.

“I-I’ll sleep on the cot Luke. There’s no way your lanky ass is going to fit. I don’t mind.” You tried deflecting with jokes.

“Ugh! How rude!” Luke played. “I am not lanky! And it doesn’t matter - that thing’s for children, neither of us are gonna fit on it. We’ll just share” He tossed aside the extra throw pillows and pulled back the duvet.

“Are you sure this is okay?” you hesitated.

“It’s fine, just get in.” He turned off the lamp on his nightstand and tucked his extremities into bed, his back facing you. You followed his lead and got yourself situated on your side. You knew you should have turned around so your back was towards him but you just couldn’t bring yourself to look away.

“Night Y/N.” he yawned.

“Goodnight Lu.” As creepy as it sounded you spent some time watching his back, counting the times it rose and fell with each breath before he succumbed to sleep.

You woke up the next morning before Luke, he wasn’t a morning person in the slightest. After you finished getting ready and found Luke still in a deep slumber you figured the best way to wake him was a pillow to the face. After lots of whining and arguing the two of you were ready to get back on the road. Since Luke was still half asleep you offered to drive the rest of the way, which meant you spent most of the time in silence again, but you didn’t mind, you needed the time to think.

When you finally arrived at the Grand Canyon you and Luke stood there awhile speechless, taking in the beautiful scenery around you. His arm suddenly snaked around your shoulders and pulled you into his side. You followed his suit and wrapped your arm around his waist. You felt completely content in this moment, for a second you could forget about everything and just relish in this the now. When you looked up at Luke tears were brimming in his eyes. You stood in front of him with both hands held onto his waist.

“Hey...what’s the matter?” you pleaded.

“It's...I just. I’m just really happy to be here. To be with you, my best girl.” He pulled you in for a hug, his arms wrapped around you tightly and he placed soft kisses on the top of your head. Your heart soared in this moment. Everything felt so perfect, it felt like there was an inkling of a possibility that Luke loved you back. As you pulled away from the hug, Luke tucked the stray hairs behind your ear. Your faces were closer than they’ve ever been, your foreheads pressed together, noses just barely touching.

“I need to tell you something Lu..” There was no more denying your feelings. You couldn’t go on like this anymore you needed him to know, even if that meant that he didn’t feel the same about you.

“Lemme go first.” he cut you off. “She gave me an ultimatum, you or her…” Your heart was in the back of your throat and your entire body was on fire. This was it, he was about to kiss you.

His calloused thumb brushed along your cheekbone, “I..I chose her.”

#Luke Hemmings #Luke Hemming Fic #Luke Hemmings Blurb #5 seconds of summer #Bestfriend!luke #Luke Hemmings oneshot #Luke Hemmings Fanfiction #Luke Hemmings angst #5sos blurb #5sos fic #5sos imagine #5 second of summer imagines #5 seconds of summer blurb #5 seconds of summer fanfiction #5 seconds of summer fic

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dreampeople · 3 years

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We’ll Come Back To This Later - a drabble

synopsis: ravi and mina reminisce during a quick trip to the convenience store.

words: 1.8k

read under the cut:

It was afternoon—aggressively afternoon, to Mina’s discomfort. An amber overcast hung in the room, the brightness of the oncoming dusk worsening her screen-induced headache, coating the walls in a dark, ugly brown color. The house had been unlively all weekend. Mina somehow managed to make being curled up on the couch on her phone under a blanket the core of her day, drifting in and out of naps as an intermission, and now the anxiousness she’d been able to suppress from the morning came creeping back up her stomach and into her throat, making her queasy. She prayed for a thump, a crash, a holler—for any cause to direct her restlessness towards. She was answered with a trail of footsteps coming from the end of the hallway, footsteps she immediately recognized as Ravi’s. His steps had weight, a clunk to them, and she could hear keys jingling somewhere on him, a melody she’d lately become quite familiar with. It meant he had somewhere to be. He had no time anymore for his steps to be soft, muffled by socks and dragging pajama pants, to be eager and willing to waste the day along with her like they used to. After all, being a college student was a great responsibility. He had much greater goals to pursue than correctly predicting the outcome of some contrived competition show or seeing how many shortbread cookies they could eat before one of them got sick. He’d just been way too busy for any of that anymore, for her, she thought.

Unbeknownst to her, Ravi had picked up on a shift in her own nature too. He’d noticed that he was now able to spend an evening alone in his room without her coming in to assert her presence, completely unprovoked. Whenever he saw her she looked pensive and uneasy. Instead of letting anything and everything she’d thought or felt throughout the day fall out of her mouth whenever Ravi seemed to her, ready to listen, she now barely said anything.

When she’d first moved in with him and his mom, her Aunt Reese, they were both tiny, stout and sticky little kids, both wary and hesitant to give way to being in each other’s space. The awkward period of adjustment was made easy because of Ravi. All it took was one kind gesture from him and she was stuck to him like wet taffy, and despite the expected begrudging of a nine-year-old boy whose main focus was to be cool, he still let her. Soon enough he did it without any grief, and for a while they were close, having composed a rhythm between one another that worked perfectly for them. But for the past few months she felt like the world had been spinning backwards, except now she felt even more unfamiliar around him than she did before.

Though she’d gotten the action she wanted, as Ravi approached she remained frozen underneath her blanket, scrolling through social media posts she’d already seen hours ago. She heard his clunking and jingling stop somewhere across from her near the kitchen.

“Hey,” she heard him call to her. She feigned sleepiness, clumsily sitting up and dramatically squinting her eyes against the invading sunset, then at him.

“I’m going to the store, did you wanna come?”

“Huh?” she made her voice a little hoarse, pretending to not have heard him. Ravi fought against rolling his eyes.

“I said I’m going to the store. Do you wanna come?” he enunciated, fishing out the keys in his pocket. Mina’s eyes filled out as she quickly shook off her “sleep”, gently swinging her feet from the couch to the floor.

“Yeah, sure,” she hid the long awaited relief in her face by staring at the floor. Ravi nodded and headed out the door, expecting Mina to follow. She hurried from the couch, sliding on a pair of makeshift slippers from the pool of shoes left by the door, the heels of what used to be sneakers welded down partly for easy access, and partly as a result of Mina’s laziness. Out the door she was faced immediately with the burning, setting sun, Ravi’s form eclipsing. She heard more unplaced jingling as another form blackened by the sun’s shadow flew into her field of vision, nearly hitting her in the face if she hadn’t caught it.

“Lock the door,” Ravi said.

“You almost fucking hit me,” Mina did as she was told. She skittered down the porch steps to catch up with him as he started down the road without her.

“You’re not driving?”

“I just meant the corner store,”

“Oh.”

The neighborhood looked like a savanna. Houses, street signs, and trees were all plastered black against an orange sky. Mina felt a hundred lengths shorter than Ravi while walking next to him, him providing the perfect protection and coolness underneath his shade. When Mina thought of being younger, this is what was usually in her head. The outside, the pavement slowly scrolling underneath her feet, and Ravi somewhere in her periphery. Jun was usually there too. An excited buzzing in her belly. No aim, no plan, no destination, but somehow their day always ended up being full. She tried not to think about how different it felt standing next to him now, how much faster he seemed to walk, how much greater an indent his steps seemed to make. Maybe it was all in her head, she thought. She felt like a fly that had latched onto his arm unnoticed.

It was quiet between them for a long time aside from the crunching of loose asphalt and the occasional passing car. The constant birring of someone cutting their grass baselined their silence. The sort of desperate panic that she often felt when trying to keep a conversation with someone, when trying to keep someone interested, when trying not to upset someone, rose up in her, a feeling she never recalled ever having felt around Ravi. Instead of saying anything her jaw clenched tighter.

Ravi inhaled through his nose and turned, looking her up and down.

“How did your shoes end up like that?” he asked, the corners of his mouth edging toward his ears.

“What?” Her head swung from one side of her body to the other and she kicked a heel up, a shoe nearly flying off. She smacked her lips.

“It’s more comfortable,”

He looked her up and down again, at the dingy t-shirt that was swallowing her upper half and the childish pajama bottoms she’d been wearing since the night before, and strands of hair that were crossed every which way into some kind of up-do, grinning wider.

“You look unloved, Mina,” he dramaticized, trying to make it clear he was joking.

“Wow, can you leave me alone, maybe?” Mina smiled, Ravi’s laughter easing her a little. Normally him laughing at her was one of the things that agitated her the easiest.

“Why are you fully dressed for the corner store anyway?” Genuinely, she wanted to know. It was the first time she’d been honest with him in a while. He got quiet, watching his shadow float with him. She could feel him slowing down to match her pace.

“I was gonna go see Jun later,”

“All that for Jun?” she thought but didn’t say.

“It’s just Jun,” she grinned up at him, softening her delivery. Ravi responded with another laugh, this time in the way that irritated her, like there was something he knew that she didn’t. They were a block away from the store now, and the light around them began to fade. The silence between them returned for the next block.

“Aye,”

Mina’s brows jumped closer together, startled by his breaking. Her face was all balled up, and she looked both really focused and really confused, staring at her feet again.

“Have you been alright?” He finished without looking at her.

“Me?” Mina responded, louder than she meant to. The strange kick in her voice caught Ravi’s attention, and he looked down at her, chuckling a little.

“Yeah, you,”

“Yeah, man,” she sounded like a puppy whose paw had been stepped on. Ravi knew how hot it got her when he laughed at her, and normally he would anyways just to see her get that mad, but this time he refrained.

“Why?”

“I dunno,” he stuck his hands deeper into his jacket pockets. “You just seem a little different lately,”

Mina thought of being younger again. She remembered that weird period of adjustment again, facing unknowns and being unknown. Though she was known at home, being out in the world was an entirely different giant. She remembered the distance between herself and others—between herself and everything. She remembered her heart’s relentless throbbing in her throat, how the eyes of everyone around her clung like velcro, being able to feel the wind’s slightest shift in direction against her goosebumps and how uneasy it would make her. She remembered one day in particular, her mouth and throat sticky and clogged with the words she’d held throughout the entirety of it, waiting to walk home with Ravi, to finally end it. She remembered watching buses and cars and other kids pass, and Ravi still not being there. She remembered seeing the sun set far sooner than she usually would, the wind, the tears welling up in her eyes, and Ravi’s cloudy figure finally appearing behind them, his concern, her relief, and her shame.

By the time they reached the store the street lights were on, along with the colorful fluorescence of neon signs shining behind every window, illuminating the walls of ads, party promotions, help wanted signs, and missing person posters that hid the white shining from inside of the store. Air conditioning collided with the summer heat they brought in with them. Mina trailed off into the candy aisle, grabbing a pack of sour straws, the kind covered in sugar specs and that always got stuck in her teeth, and a sports drink from the front of the aisle for her headache. She watched as Ravi grabbed a bag of jalapeno chips, a cookies-and-cream chocolate bar, and a tall can of lemon tea, just like he always did, then a box of saltines and a bottle of gingerale. She felt herself wanting to get queasy but fought it.

“Can I get a separate bag for these two?” he motioned at the crackers and ginger ale to the store clerk. He paid for the both of them.

“How much do I owe you?” Mina asked on their way out. Ravi shook his head.

Mina expected they’d be heading straight home, but Ravi had claimed a piece of pavement on the side of the building. His tea cracked open with a quick, soft pop. Naturally, Mina settled beside him. They ended up talking through the dusk. The dark was cool and soothing on Mina’s eyes, the chill of night rushing in and blowing against them as they walked home. She welcomed its tinge on her face and skin. By the time they made it back, she realized her headache was gone.

#writeblr #my writing #black writers on tumblr #oc writing #my ocs #lgbtq writing #fiction #drabble #short story #mina #ravi

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extremelyblackandwhite · 4 years

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i wanna know what love is - 07

Pairing: rockstar! sebastian stan x writer!reader

Warnings: fertility talk

A/N: sebastian is in his early 30′s in this fanfic, idk if i’ve ever mentioned it before but i felt i should say it so no one’s confused. let me know what you guys think, i love receiving your feedback always warms my heart listening to your opinions xx

Last Chapter // Next Chapter

Y/N woke up to a different yet pleasant environment. The bus had stopped and there were no bumps that could wake her up and the sun was shining into the bus and all she could hear were people on the outside laughing following for some movie. She raised her torso from the bed where she was covered by yellow papers and walked over to the window, pulling the curtains to come to sight with what she had heard and seen for years in pop culture. Las Vegas.

The lights were off as it was daytime but she could see the grandeur of everything. Y/N had only been to Vegas when she was a young girl with her father who was accompanying her mother to a writing gig and stuff seemed to remain the same.

Sebastian took zero time to wake up once he felt the bright light hit his eyes. No matter what people said, waking up sober to bright daylight was somehow worse than waking up hangover to bright daylight. He lifted his head to stare at what he thought was his brain playing tricks on him. Y/N was looking out the window, back turned to him in the shortest, tightest shorts that enhanced her backside. This had to be his mind playing tricks on him.

- We’re in Vegas. - she rushed to his side. - C’mon, we gotta go out.

- No. You go out, I’m tired and too important. - he turned to the other side, grabbing her fluffy white to cover over his head and try to stop the light from hitting his face. Y/N however was determined to get him to wake up, after all the boys and Sherrie had left already so she had no one else to go with her and going out by herself sounded like trouble. Y/N pushed the cover off him and onto the floor. - Go piss off someone else.

- Put a shirt on and let’s go. - she crossed her arms, one foot on top of the covers so he couldn’t push it over himself again. Defeated, he lifted his torso, rubbing his face and eyes to stare at the woman in front of him. - C’mon, don’t you wanna see Sherrie before she goes back to her work place?

- I already had sex with her and said goodbye. - he groaned, looking at her with hatred in his eyes. There was nothing he hated more than having his precious sleep interrupted. But yet again he was fighting Y/N over going outside and she really wanted to. - Go meet the boys at the venue, they’ll take you.

- I’ll pay for breakfast. - she said, poking his cheek with her baby pink painted nail. Sebastian could not refuse free breakfast, specially when he was in Vegas and everything was over the top.

The rockstar got up from his bed, looking at the mess of yellow papers and polaroids. He didn’t exactly remember if they had finished compiling them but he sure hoped they had because there was no way it would be possible to organise everything once again. He heard her say thank you as he walked to his own room to get dressed.

Y/N on the other hand was jumping around in her room like a little kid, grabbing clothes out of her closet and deciding what to wear. She lived in New York most of the year so she normally had little to no summer clothes but she found a nice short white summer dress. She grabbed her bag to check if she had her wallet, fully knowing he’d only gotten the rockstar to wake up due to free breakfast, and walked outside her room to find him in his usual dark jeans and a white shirt, cap and sunglasses on.

- You do realise that wearing a cap and sunglasses doesn’t exactly count as a disguise, right? You still look like you do cocaine on Fridays. - she looked over everything on the kitchen to check if the guys had left the stove on, which wouldn’t be the first time. She swore that living in this bus was a constant “when will I die” contest.

- I don’t do cocaine, that’s for newbies.

- I’m sorry I don’t know what’s your favourite dying poison.

- Poison would kill you so why add dying before poison, that’s just redundant. You’re a writer you should know that. - he grinned, happy he had corrected miss perfect but instead of getting the sweet satisfaction of watching her explain herself in fluster, she just opened the door and started walking straight ahead. - Hey sweetheart, do you know where you’re going?

- I’ll google it. - she kept walking like a child whose mother told them no candy at a shop isle. Sebastian smiled to himself and started walking behind her as she asked Siri what cafes were close by. She shifted to the left as they walked into the centre Vegas.

Sebastian always hated Vegas, it was loud and showy. He had enough to entertain himself with in the city but if he was asked to do a forever tour in one of the casinos that would be a no for him. The only good thing about the Vegas stops in all of his tours were that his bandmates wives would come to visit them so everyone would be off his back. Besides, the other good thing was that Sherrie would finally be off his back to go back to her job at the Hard Rock cafe. He wasn’t a fan of having the same girl next to him for longer than a week.

He was so lost in thoughts that he didn’t notice the young writer stop in front of a smallish cafe. Once she stopped, he woke from his thought filled mind and looked at the building in front of him. It was small, homey, not like his style but he guessed there was a smaller chance of people noticing him. She leaned against the door, opening it and making the bell sound calling for the attention of some of the customers who had disgusted looks on their faces. Y/N gave them a shy smile, once again feeling embarrassed by the fact that she had interrupted someone’s meal. However, Sebastian was having none of that.

- Isn’t this a lovely cafe, honey? - he wrapped his arm around her, gaining a confused look from her. - Sorry fellas, we’re a bit late in our honeymoon schedule, late for breakfast.

A bunch of the people who had given her dirty looks, immediately started to apologise making Sebastian grin to himself. There was something he knew for sure and it was that people loved not to stop a newly wed couples plan with their dirty looks, besides, if someone was gonna berate her for going for breakfast at 11 AM it would be him, not a bunch of lazy people.

They got into a table by the window and Y/N took one of the laminated menus, her hair falling in front of her face as she studied what she could have for food. Sebastian found himself looking at her, the way her face twitched every time she saw something she didn’t like.

- I found a typo. - she said, a huge smile in her face. - They wrote ceasar salad instead of caesar salad.

- You’re such a nerd. - he rolled his eyes, a small smile on his face as he returned to pick what to have for breakfast. An old lady reached their table, holding a small waitress pad.

- You two are such a beautiful couple, how long have you known each other.

- We are ... - Y/N was about to come clean, she hated lying, but Sebastian was having the time of his life making people fell bad about giving them dirty looks, so he was not ready to let this go.

- Five wonderful years, isn’t it so babe? - he reached his hand to touch hers but she still gave him the “touch me again, you’re dead” look. - Gotta enjoy our honeymoon before we start trying for a little one.

- What can I get you two, sweethearts? - she asked and Y/N smiled at the mention of finally getting some food.

- I’ll get a full English and Buck’s Fizz, thank you. - Sebastian handed her the menu as Y/N finished looking at the menu.

- I’d like some Eggs Benedict with a Diet coke, please. - she handed her the menu too, putting her hands on top of her lap. The old woman gave her a puzzling look. - Is there something wrong?

- Soda is not good if you’re trying for a little one. - she said making Y/N immediately shot a look that only translated into his death sentence.

- You heard her babe, better not have that diet coke. - he tapped her hand, trying not to burst out laughing at the devastated look the writer had in her face.

- Freshly squeezed orange and grapefruit juice is better for fertility, sweetheart. I’ll add that to your order. - the old woman turned and walked back to the kitchen leaving Y/N to cross her arms at Sebastian who was wheezing in silence at her face.

- Damn daddy, I sure hope that juice makes me magically pregnant. - she mocked him, looking at the table next to her being served the nicest coldest glass of Diet Coke. Sebastian, on the other hand, grew flustered at her words, looking out into the window. - I can’t believe they would believe I would marry you, much less try for a baby.

- Look, there is a lower chance of people thinking I’m me if we keep pretending we’re married and trying for a baby.

- That makes no sense. Besides, I’d rather die slowly than have to carry your offspring. - she mumbled as the lady came back with a tray containing their order and lacking her beloved Diet Coke. Y/N adored Diet Coke which was a controversial choice but back in university she used to down two cans of it per day while revising in the library. Cut to present day and she still enjoys a nice cold glass of Diet Coke with a slice of lemon. Instead, replacing heaven in a bottle, stood the freshly squeezed orange and grapefruit juice. She didn’t even like grapefruit, it was too sour for her.

She placed the metal tray on the table, placing Sebastian’s order in front of him and Y/N’s in front of hers along with a bowl of wild berries. She looked up to the old woman, quizzing if she had ordered it or if it was a mistake.

- Berries are good for the baby, sweetheart. It’s on the house. - she gave them a kind smile and left them to their food. Y/N shrugged, a gut feeling of guilt but yet again she loved berries and free berries sounded good to her.

- So ... - she burst her egg yolks using her fork, her question stuck in her head and failing to come out. She didn’t want him to get annoyed at her, not when they had spent more than an hour without bickering. - Do you wanna get married and have kids?

- Too late for that. - he chuckled but it wasn’t his normal chuckle, it wasn’t that chuckle she had gotten used to.

- You’re in your early 30′s, Sebastian. Besides, men are technically fertile until the end of their lives.

- Men like me don’t get married, we continue our life until no girl wants to lay down with us and then we disappear into oblivion.

- Is that what you want? Oblivion? - she questioned, one of her eyebrows raised at his comment.

- It’s not about what I want anymore. What about you, kids and engagement in the cards for you?

- I used to want it but I don’t know. I don’t know if I want to get married if love is something that’s not everlasting. Besides, I do have to work. - she gave him that sweet smile of hers. - Why are you leaving the band? For real, why don’t you wanna be part of it anymore?

- Just felt like it.

- You know, I don’t believe you’re a “just felt like it” type of guy so you gotta lie better to me.

- Anyhow, we’re moving into a hotel for the rest of the week so I won’t be annoying you during the nights anymore.

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan fanfic #sebastian stan AU #bucky barnes imagine

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endingscenery · 5 years

Text

Road Trip | Ten

ten lee x reader

genre: fluff

summary: travelling with someone can make you realise all the things they do that are different from you, but you can’t help but notice those things can also make Ten and you work so well

words: 3.5K+

As soon as you wedged the door open, Ten pushed past you and into the motel room, heading straight for the queen sized bed in the middle of the room. You chuckled, watching him jump onto the soft mattress as he sighed contently while you dropped your bags onto the floor. Ten stretched, relaxing into the foam as you grabbed yourself a drink of water, familiarising yourself with the kitchen layout and where the cutlery was stored. You had been on the road for close to nine hours, including the few stops along the way, and you were both exhausted, happy to finally have reached your accommodation for the night before continuing your trip in the morning. You both still needed to cook something for dinner, but as you heard the soft snores escaping Ten’s lips, you decided not to bother him. As tired as you were, you could manage whipping something up on your own while he rested. You had both planned this trip for a long time now. Ten, yourself and your friend, Mark, promised once you graduated from university you would travel together somewhere and you settled on a road trip along the coastline. In the end, Mark couldn't make it, so it was up to Ten and yourself to keep your promise. If he was honest, though he felt bad Mark couldn’t come along, Ten was somewhat grateful he could keep your company to himself just this once.

You were thankful you managed to stop by a supermarket in one of the small towns you passed before arriving to your stopover since you could prepare a nice meal for Ten and yourself and refrain from using the emergency ramen packets you brought along. You were stir-frying meat and vegetables when you heard Ten yawn behind you. Turning your head, you watched as he rubbed his eyes, adjusting to the kitchen lights.

“Why are you cooking by yourself?” He whined. “You should have asked me to help.”

“You were tired enough, I thought I’d just let you rest,” you shrugged. “Besides, we can’t have this place burning down.”

Ten raised an eyebrow at you, crossing his arms.

“How dare you, there’s no way that would happen,” he defended, pouting his lips.

You laughed at his reaction, apologising between your chuckles.

“The food’s ready now anyway, get the plates.”

He followed your instructions and set up the cutlery on the small round table in the corner of the room, filling your glasses with water while you transferred your cooking onto a serving plate.

The two of you ate in a comfortable silence, both too tired from the drive to converse. You were the first to finish eating and as you took your dishes to the sink and began to wash them, Ten watched you as he slowly finished off his meal. He still felt guilty he didn’t help you and had fallen asleep though he knew you too needed rest, but at the same time he admired your caring actions. You often thought about others before yourself and he loved that about you. If he was honest, he loved many things about you and for a long while now. He only wondered if you felt the same about him too.

❁❁❁

You drove onwards, the country fields and the expanse of light blue sky was the only view ahead for the past couple of hours. Ten was asleep in the passenger seat beside you. He hadn’t slept well the night before, the motel couch not the most comfortable sleeping spot, but he was insistent on letting you sleep on the bed even if there was enough room to accommodate the both of you. You looked over to the sleeping boy beside you, letting out a sigh. You loved Ten, very much in fact, but so far the trip had made you notice things about him that didn’t seem to match with your personality. Things you hadn’t noticed or considered before.

Ten is not a morning person, you discovered that quite quickly. His mind was everywhere in the morning as if his body hadn’t quite caught up to his thoughts. This meant you were the one mostly getting things ready and organising the motel room, checking out, your bags, breakfasts and everything else the morning required. You knew you couldn’t blame him, he would even offer to help even if he sometimes forgot what he was supposed to be doing.

Ten is also more spontaneous than you were. Whereas you liked to have your day and your trip as planned out as possible - down to which town to have lunch, where and when you would refuel, the exact places you wanted to visit - Ten was happy to go with whatever the journey takes him. He was happy to go to whatever caught his interest along the way and to forgo some of your planned routes to take detours to somewhere that looked more interesting, even if it delayed your journey and meant you’d arrive at your destination for the night a little later than expected. This wasn’t always a bad thing you admit. You had seen many gorgeous sights along the way that you otherwise wouldn’t have if Ten didn’t decide to follow his impulse, but there were times you did just want to follow the plan and get to where you wanted without distraction.

Ten has more energy in comparison to yourself. You knew this beforehand, knowing well his love for dancing and sports, but now you realised the extent of it. He could go out to explore towns and nearby places long after you were already tired and wanting to call it a day. When you would be happy to just rest at the motel and read a book he was wanting to go out and see new sights and meet the friendly shop-owners, still full of vigour and energy to satisfy his curiosity. He never wanted to go alone though, so despite being tired you always seemed to give in and let him take you along, lending him your camera just to see his face light up as he captures the scenery.

These weren’t so big differences though were they? You pondered over the question in your head. You had been coping with your differences fine so far, and would both find a compromise, so maybe things would continue that way. Yet, you couldn’t help but wonder if they always would or if the differences would continue to chip away at you until you couldn’t take them anymore. You wanted to wish and hope that whatever life throws at you, you wouldn’t, but you knew of relationships where that had happened. Had seen relationships where that very thing happened over time, and you couldn’t help but wonder. But as you looked back at your best friend beside you, the man you love so much, a part of you believes it won’t happen.

❁❁❁

You watched out the window and at the rough seas, waves crashing against the shoreline and against the large rocks in the distance. You had now reached the coastline, meaning you were no longer far from the accommodation Ten and you would be staying in for the following week. It was a holiday beach house of a family friend and they had allowed you to rent it out when they heard of your plans for a road trip. You looked forward to being near the sea, and waking up with the summer sun on your skin, the sounds of the ocean waves filling your ears.

“Y/N?”

You looked to your side and at Ten, his eyebrows raised in anticipation.

“What?”

“I asked you a question,” he chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the sides. “But I guess you were distracted.”

“Oh sorry.” Your cheeks felt warm.

“I was just saying we could take a break and go down to the sea. There was a sign saying there’s a spot we can stop and go down to the shore. We should still be able to make it to the house before evening even if we do stop for a bit.”

You nod.

“That would be really nice.”

As soon as the car was in park and the engine switched off, Ten was running towards the beach, pushing his shoes off and embracing the feeling of the sand under his feet. You laughed, taking your camera out to capture the moment. The way the sun reflected off his skin and the glistened against the ocean waves in front of him suited Ten so well. He looked in his element. After a few more shots, you ran towards him, dragging your beach towel and snack bag along with you. As you approached him, he looked back at you, lips upturned in a wide smile, his eyes crinkling at the sides. God it made your heart skip a beat. He noticed the towel hanging from your arm and immediately took it from you, spreading it on the sand for the both of you to sit on. You kneeled onto the fabric, opening your bag and taking out the various snacks you had stored; chips packets of different flavours, chocolates you hoped haven’t started to melt, sour candies, berries for yourself - Ten avoided them like the plague - and cookies. You shifted your weight, your right hand supporting your body as you stretched out your legs, trying to get more comfortable. You removed your camera, lifting the neck strap over your head and off your body, allowing Ten the opportunity to take it from you. Of course, you thought. He started to take photos of beach and of your picnic, and you weren’t so conscious about yourself being captured. You wouldn’t say you were one for the camera. You loved photography yes, but were happy to be out of the photos, preferring to document the scenery or the people around you, but not yourself. However, with Ten, it didn’t bother you. You loved his photos - were even jealous of them at times - and you trusted him to take nice ones of you. He always seemed to capture you in ways that made you feel beautiful looking back at them. Better than you swear you look like normally. It felt like some odd kind of magic trick.

You enjoyed sharing this same hobby and passion. Though he always stole your camera saying yours was better. You reckon it’s just because he always forgets his. He’ll never tell you, but the first time Ten did so it was because he wanted to be closer to you. He remembered lingering around you saying he was just waiting for you to be done so he could photograph something cool he saw, when in reality he just wanted to be near you. It was a habit that stuck. You never complained about it anymore and sometimes you would hand him your camera before he even asked to borrow it. Ten was happy to think you could understand him that well.

By the time you reached the beach house both Ten and you were exhausted. You stopped by a diner prior to arriving, too tired to cook anything yourselves, and now you were both ready to prepare for bed. Ten let you wash up before him and busied himself with unpacking his belongings, setting up his things in one of the bedrooms. Once you were done using the bathroom, he took a shower, washing the sand and seawater from his body. When he emerged from the room, feeling fresh and clean, he made his way to the kitchen, needing a glass of water. He turned from the counter, looking over towards the living room where you had been on the couch reading, and noticed the book lying on your chest, still opened to the page you were up to. He noticed the steady rise and fall of your chest as you breathe. You must have fallen asleep. Chuckling, he placed his empty glass into the sink and walked over to where you rested. Carefully, afraid of waking you up, he slid his arms underneath your body, against your back and legs before gently lifting you up. He walked you towards the room you had taken as yours and laid you onto the bed, lifting the thin blanket over you. Ten moved to head back to his room when he felt a grip on his wrist. He looked down at you, waiting for you to speak but no words left your mouth. He slowly tried to wriggle his wrist out of your grasp but it only tightened. You still didn't say anything. A smile crossed Ten's lips as he tried to refrain from making a noise.

"I have to go back to my room," he laughed, unable to subdue it.

You mumbled in response.

"What, you want me to stay?" He tried to make it come across in a joking way but his voice betrayed him. He sounded more vulnerable and warmer than expected.

"Mmhmm," you mumbled again.

"Okay."

Ten climbed onto the bed, his heart beating so loud he was afraid you'd hear it. He had imagined what it would be like to sleep beside you, wake up beside you, but that hadn't prepared him for the nervous butterflies in his stomach or his anxious heart or his loss of breath. But as you sleepily wrapped your arms around him, drawing him closer to your body, he started to feel a little at ease. He didn't know what this meant but it was something. He must mean something to you for you to drag him towards you like this and he couldn't help but feel hopeful at the thought.

The warmth of his body against yours felt strangely right. It felt like your bodies were meant to be together. Meant to be this close. And in your sleepy haze you thought maybe it didn’t matter that you had your differences.

❁❁❁

You woke up to the smell of vanilla pancakes. You grabbed your phone from the side table, checking the time to find it read 10:37am. Later than you expected. Groaning, you rolled over and off of the mattress, stretching your arms and side as you stood. You wandered into the kitchen, half asleep, eyes still adjusting to the painfully bright ceiling lights, to find Ten at the stove, pancake batter on one side, spatula in hand and a stack of freshly cooked pancakes on the table beside a bottle of syrup, a jar of nutella and some berries (for you and you only obviously).

"Aww, did you really prepare all this?" you asked, unable to contain your surprised.

Ten jumped at the sound of your voice. He hadn't heard you walk in and as he looked back at you, rubbing his hands through his hair, he shyly nodded.

"You were always up getting ready for the day before I was during this trip, so I thought I'd let you sleep in and try to make you something."

Your heart softened at his thoughtfulness, but you couldn't help but tease him.

"You sure it's safe to eat?" You chuckled and Ten glared at you in response, sticking his tongue out.

"This is what I get for being nice? Not a 'thank you very very much Ten, I'm very grateful and happy you got up early to make breakfast'?"

You smiled, walking up to him and resting your hand on his shoulder.

"I am very grateful, you know that I am. Thank you, I really really do appreciate it."

"I tried to follow your recipe anyway so if it's bad I'm blaming you."

You raised an eyebrow at him.

"Ok fine, I only have myself to blame, but yes. Technically it's your mum's recipe since I messaged her for it one time I was craving them, and I assume you use the same one too and yes, yours are better. I have yet to master your special way."

You laughed as you took a seat at the table, amused at his need to explain himself.

"It won't be the same as mine," you shrugged. "I have an additional ingredient I add, but that's a secret."

"Damn, that's why mine never tastes as good."

Smiling, you continued to watch as Ten finished off the last of the batter and pancakes, admiring his loving actions. You watched as his eyebrows furrowed in concentration, he was taking this so seriously and with so much care and detail, though there was the occasional mishap. Maybe he wasn't always a morning person and maybe you did spend most days organising during the morning, but when it came down to it, Ten wanted to help and knows his early morning scatterbrain is one of his weaknesses, and he's willing to show his appreciation to make at least a few mornings relaxing for you.

The photos came out so beautiful. Ten and you decided to have a lazy day, away from all the sightseeing, outings and exploring, and simply chose to have a day to rest at the house. You're camera was filling up, so you took this free time to go through the photos on your laptop, upload them to your cloud and look for the good ones to transfer to your phone. Ten's photos were breathtaking. You knew this already, but seeing them always left you speechless. There was one of a town festival you had stumbled upon, and Ten managed to capture the mood, the atmosphere, the essence of the occasion. He caught the happy smiles and laughter of the stall owners, the way the fairy lights tinted the town buildings in a warm yellow hue, and the warmth and the close-knit feeling of family amongst the townspeople; he captured it all. It was such a fun night. A night you wouldn't have experienced if it weren't for Ten's spontaneity and curiosity.

"Dance with me."

You shook your head, content to watch as Ten swayed and moved with the beat of the song playing from the bluetooth speaker, while staying out of it.

"Come on, it's fun."

"You may be an amazing dancer, Ten, but you and I both know that I am not."

"I'm just messing around, we won't dance seriously, come on."

Sighing, you got up, taking the hand Ten stretched out towards you. He sways you around and started to make silly movements that left you laughing. You copied him, following his lead as you both interrupted in more laughter, you having to clutch onto your stomach to calm yourself down and soothe the muscles that now ached from happiness. The song ended, allowing you to catch your breath. You recognised the soft melodies immediately as Ed Sheeran's Perfect plays, and you can't help but feel like you're in a cliché movie scene as Ten hesitantly laid his hands in front of you, palms open. You put your hand in his as he wrapped his other around your waist, your free hand resting against his chest. He swayed you from side to side, and your breath hitched. He was so close to you, you could smell the scent of his cologne, you could feel his heartbeat against your fingers on his chest. You were happy his addictive energy dragged you into dancing with him. You were happy it led you to how close you both were now.

❁❁❁

The two of you were resting in Ten’s room. He was sitting on the bed, sketching something on his iPad while you sat on the cushioned seat beside the window, relaxing during the final hours of the evening. Most of your days ended like this, the two of you winding down from the day’s events in one of the bedrooms while you both quietly entertained yourselves individually, whether it be a book, drawing, scrolling through social media or catching up on TV shows or movies. You were both happy to do your own thing whilst still being in each other’s company.

You reached the end of the chapter and rested the book against your chest, looking up to check on Ten. He was focused and busy concentrating on his drawing, making you smile. You had always thought he was too talented for his own good. You continued to watch him, his sure and thought-out hand movements oddly calming, and now you realised you were happy to be alongside Ten. You could imagine a life with him. Yes, you had your differences, but in a way those differences make the dynamic between the two of you interesting; it balances you both. He adds adventure and spontaneity into your life while you offer him the steadiness and sureness of an organised and well-thought out plan. His energy allows you to push forward and explore things you probably wouldn’t have. To get out, have fun, try things you wouldn’t and experience things you wouldn’t if you had stayed home, while your need to have time to relax helped remind him of the importance of getting the rest he needs. You both care for each other deeply that you help each other and try to make things easier for each other. And you loved him. And just maybe that was enough for you to work with whatever differences you had.

#ten chittaphon #ten lee #nct scenarios #wayv scenarios #nct #wayv #fluff #ten x reader #writing 📚💕

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cassiavioletblue · 6 years

Text

Part Two of “Bon appétit”

Summary: fanfic of @saltyauntyoonji ‘ s “L’etrange”; for more read here

• Pairing: Yoongi/Namjoon/Jungkook (even though it’s only hinted at here) • Genre: Angst , MagicalAU • Chapters: I, II

II “Plat principal“

(Main course/Jungkook)

A few days later he was sleeping on his favorite tree when he sensed it. Him. His eyes shot open in surprise and he almost fell off of his tree from the sudden rush, scrambling to get a hold of the branch he was sitting on. He blinked, doing a double take because he couldn’t really process what he was seeing. But there he was; a normal looking human on the outside, good looking maybe but nonetheless pretty normal. Apart from what was hiding inside of him. He was practically blazing with magic! Every cell, every thought was saturated with it and even just looking at him made his stomach tighten in anticipation. He needed to have him. Even if it was just a little nip, he needed to know what he tasted like. What made him so special. In all this hundreds of years on the hunt he had never, never laid eyes on someone like him.

His object of desire had arrived with Namjoon, the guy the little witch was in love with and apparently he was part of the family too because he was greeted with the same kind of affection as Namjoon.

Waiting had never really been his strong suit but this time it was a real torture to wait for the night to come. Sweetest torture. Because at the end of the day he would get a taste of this beautiful, magical thing that was this raven haired boy he had laid his eyes on.

When night came he was still sitting on that same tree, as tight as a bowstring and getting more and more impatient by the second. Because those people didn’t seem to get to sleep!

They had been talking and cooking and eating and doing god knows what else but when the sun went down they were still up, running around the house and being busy as ants. He had noticed that they were also never longer apart from each other than necessary. It was oddly domestic. And infuriating. He hated it.

Finally, finally the two witches separated themselves from his raven haired delicacy, going somewhere into another room with lots of herbs and books and magical stuff. It was obviously their magical kitchen and it looked like they were about to brew some potions or whatever else witches where up to in there nowadays. But the raven haired one wasn’t with them. Which could mean he wasn’t even a witch. Or he was just tired and therefore went to bed on his own.

It was nagging him that he still couldn’t figure out what he was. Besides it was utterly stupid to attack someone whose abilities you didn’t comprehend. Of course he knew that but this time he had decided to hell with carefulness. His appetite had already won him over. He wanted to indulge himself here. It couldn’t be so different from his normal feeding strategies whatever that human-like creature was, right?

He was watching closely until he was sure the raven-haired one was fast asleep. Checking one last time that the others were still busy he climbed along the branch until he was as close to the bedroom window as possible. He was pretty sure that no matter how occupied the two witches were they would sense him sneaking around the house if he tried to pass them on his way to the bedroom so this was the easier way in. And also quicker. He had waited long enough and wanted to get his well-deserved feast. He opened the window without any problems (there was still Yoongi’s magic cursing in his veins after all) and jumped into the room with a soft thump. His little sleeping beauty didn’t even stir. He changed his form into that of Yoongi’s before approaching him further, coming to a halt right besides his bed.

Jungkook was sleeping on his side which made it a bit more difficult to kiss him but it wasn’t difficult to coax people that were in love with someone to kiss said person. So he softly stroked Jungkook’s hair behind his ear, admiring the silkiness between his fingertips before he placed a little kiss on the cheekbone of the sleeping figure in front of him in a perfect imitation of love and care. Being this close he could sense the magic simmering below his skin like heat radiating from a fire. Now that Jungkook was sleeping it was softer, more similar to a flowing stream than raging cascades but it was still as powerful as before. It was breathtaking. Fascinating. Mouthwatering.

Because the boy still hadn’t moved yet he sneaked his fingers under his chin, slightly turning his head towards him to kiss him but before he could claim those plush lips the boy crunched his nose and opened his eyes. “Mhm, Yoongi?” Jungkook looked at him sleepily and then his eyes went wide and he tried to sit up. “Who are you?”

He was taken aback, mute from the shock. He had never ever been found out before. Not in another form. And definitely not with that person’s magic cursing through his system. What was he to be able to see through him like that? The raven haired didn’t really seem fearful until now, just confused and curious, sitting up on the bed while he was stumbling away a few steps. His heart was beating so fast he could feel it in his throat. He needed to act quickly now. He was in a house with two witches and – and something else right before him that had enough magic in his system to kill him right then and there. If he didn’t get this under control right now he was probably gonna die tonight. And he definitely hadn’t been alive for centuries to let that happen to him!

He straightened up and got closer to that boy again, his mouth pressed into a thin line. “I’m Yoongi, your lover, you must be confused from sleep to not see that.” Jungkook’s eyes narrowed and he leaned back, his stance getting more defensive, more dangerous. “You’re not.” The tone of his voice didn’t leave any room for doubt. He knew. However he had managed to find out, he knew he wasn’t Yoongi and he would not let him get close if he didn’t act fast now. He made no other attempt at persuasion, it would be futile. Instead he used his inhuman qualities to attack him right away, pinning Jungkook back down on the bed and keeping his wrists pressed onto the mattress on each side of his face. His form wavered, letting the claws protrude from the human illusion and nicking the boys skin. Jungkook gasped from pain or shock (he didn’t know and didn’t care) and froze up for a second. And a second was all that he needed. He pressed his mouth down on the boys lips, not even trying to be gently anymore cause there was no use for it now. All he wanted was the venom to take over and calm him down enough for him to take his meal and leave before the others came back. Still the kiss knocked the breath out of him. Jungkook tasted like heaven. Like magic in its purest, rawest form, fresh and strong like liquor on an empty stomach. The raven haired fought against him like crazy and if he hadn’t been sure that he wasn’t some ordinary witch before he definitely knew now. He was simply too strong for that. Jungkook broke free from the kiss but not from the iron grip around his wrists, staring at him with pure hatred. His eyes were blazing, purest black twirling inside his irises. He was mesmerizing. Too beautiful to be true. “What are you?”, he breathed against the boys mouth softly in awe but Jungkook wasn’t having any of it, baring his teeth like he was ready to attack him right back. “Get off me or..” He closed Jungkook’s mouth with another kiss, cutting him off effectively. He would never know what that cutie would have threatened him with but he had more pressing matters to do. A sharp pain ripped through him and he jerked back, tasting blood in his mouth. His own blood. The boy had bit him. Hard. He chuckled, licking his lips to clear them from the sticky substance. “Oh beautiful.. you just dug your own grave.” There was only one thing more venomous than his spit. Which was his blood. Soon enough he could see the effects kicking in and the boys eyelids were starting to drop. “Wha..” Jungkook’s tongue was too slow for his thoughts, his head suddenly filled with cotton candy and time slowed down until it was stretching and expanding like a rubber band. He could practically see the moment realization set in in the boys beautiful eyes. And he saw something else. Fear. He didn’t like fear. It tasted sour, tainting the magic that was such a rare delicacy, so he tried his best to soothe him. “Shsht, it’s alright. I’m not going to kill you. It won’t even really hurt. You’ll barely remember what it was like in a few days. Just relax and let me take over. I did this to Yoongi too and he’s fine isn’t he? It’s gonna be alright. Just close your eyes.” He loosened his grip on his wrist to comb his fingers through the dark, silky strands the way he had seen Yoongi do it before. He finally remembered what Yoongi had called him. “Jungkookie..” He must have remembered right because the boy shivered, trying to push him off of him but his iron grip had lost its strength completely. It was like a shove from a kitten, soft and cute as apposed to its aim. “No..” Jungkook’s voice sounded weak and he barely got out this one single word. It would be easy to shut him up completely with a kiss while feeding on him.

When he heard the steps on the stairs leading up to the first floor he thought he must have heard wrong. Surely one couldn’t have so much bad luck in one night. But he had heard right and the soft sounds came to a halt right before this room. He covered Jung kooks mouth with his palm to shut him up but it didn’t help. Whoever was outside was trying to get in here. “Jungkook? Are you awake?” It was nothing but a soft whisper but he recognized Yoongi’s voice immediately. He was fucked.

The door was opening carefully and for a heartbeat Yoongi stared at him, how he was hovering over Jungkook’s limp form, pressing a hand over his mouth and his body down with his own weight. His instinct kicked in right away and he turned back to his true form, snarling, gripping Jungkook in a choke hold and dragging him out of bed towards the corner closest to the window. “Namjoon!” Yoongis scream for help echoed through the house meaning the other witch wouldn’t be here any moment.

Shit. This was bad. Really bad. His eyes flickered to the window but he knew he wouldn’t be fast enough, not with Yoongi right there and no meal inside of his body. He needed to finish this. Otherwise he could sign his own death certificate. He bared his claws all the way and got a good hold of Jungkook’s throat so that it would be clear that one wrong move would be enough to kill him. “Goddamnit!”, he cursed desperately while Yoongi was flinching at hearing his own voice coming out of the creatures mouth.

What came next would be even worse. Kissing was one way to get to a persons magic because they usually opened up for him willingly. It was the soft way, the way he preferred because there were no traces or wounds afterwards. But he couldn’t turn Jungkookie around and kiss him without leaving Yoongi out of sight. Which could very certainly be deadly for him. So he would have to do it the old fashioned way. Which was way more messy. And hurtful. He bend Jungkook’s head slightly aside to bare the boy’s neck, glad that he was sedated enough to let himself be moved around pliantly. Only Yoongi wasn’t as easy to handle, tensing as if he was about to step in and so he saw the necessity to address him directly. “Stop right there if his life means anything to you. This won’t kill him, so relax and stay back if you’re keen on watching. But if you make one wrong move or if you even try to whisper a spell or pull any magic trick – and you can bet I’ll feel it before you even get to finish it – then he’s dead. I’m gonna rip out his throat in a heartbeat. Not even magic will be able to fix him then. So think it over for a second and decide if you rather have him hurt or dead. And please do me a favour and hold back that lanky idiot as soon as he comes in here.” He barely gave Yoongi any time to fully proceed what he had just told him before biting down and piercing Jungkook’s neck. The moment his fangs broke the tender skin he could feel the energy starting to flood his senses. It was overwhelmingly intense. And utterly delicious! He moaned around a mouthful of the Boy’s blood (which was a side effect he didn’t really mind) and started to drain him. He was basically safe during this, there wasn’t much that could go awry now. Except that it didn’t go as planned.

Jungkook’s eyes widened in shock, losing their sleepy look and then he started screaming. It was pure agony breaking its way out of the boys chest and he noticed something was wrong. He didn’t just take his magic from him. Jungkook’s magic was interlaced with his soul, woven so tightly around his very being that tearing it out of him was like ripping flowers from the earth along with their roots. He was ripping him apart. But he couldn’t stop. If he stopped now he wouldn’t be strong enough to flee. He slowed down to catch his breath, feeling Jungkook shake inside his grip. There were tears in the boys eyes and he was looking pleadingly at him, begging him silently to leave him be. When he didn’t react Jungkook tried to beg him with words as well, but his voice already broke on the very first syllable “P-please.. let me...” He felt something like pity for him. Jungkook looked helpless and beautiful even in his pain – and he wasn’t used to his victims suffering. However there was no way out alive for him unless he drained the boy for a lot more of his magic that he had already done so he ignored his pleas and took a deep breath before the boy would have a chance to make him stop. He pulled him closer to his chest to keep him from struggling (even though the venom did a very good job at that already) and held him as gently as he could. “I’m sorry, but I have to.”, he whispered to him and watched the horror creep back into Jungkook’s eyes, extinguishing all the hope in them before he bit back down on his neck. Jungkook couldn’t even scream anymore. All he managed was tortured whimpers and desperate sobs. He sensed the boy fainting before he could even feel his body falling against him with the way his magic dried up into a trickle. Jungkook’s eyes were firmly closed but his body was still shivering, muscles convulsing from the shock of his magic being ripped from deep within him. His feeding time was over. He wouldn’t get a single drop out of him as long as Jungkook was unconscious. “Wake up!” He shook the lifeless body to no avail, gripping him so harshly that he would leave bruises but his panic was stronger than caution. He felt the fear lick at his spine with the way Yoongi was glaring at him, mouth pressed into a thin line and hands balled into fists at his side even though he still held on to the “no move, no word”-rule for the sake of the boy in his arms. There was the sound of heavy footsteps coming from the stairs as someone was running them up and he knew that he had mere seconds before all of this would blow up right into his face.

What should he do: Try to escape, maybe with Jungkook as his leverage or stay were he was to try and fight with the power that Jungkook’s magic had given him?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So what do you think he should do now?;)

#mywriting #L'etrange #bts #fanfiction #Jungkook #Yoongi #Namjoon

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amganabcc-blog · 8 years

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Dita Versus The World

Monday, November 26

My 10th birthday is in a week, and everyone's acting weird. Like it's some kind of horror movie or a funeral or something.

Dita hated it when her dad did this to her.

“But I'm supposed to see the doctor, Kos—mom said I had an appointment at 4, and that you'd—”

“Well, the plans changed,” Kos enunciated loudly, making sure she understood his words were final. “You don't need to see no gov'ment doctor, anyway—it's just that pre-10 bullshit they started forcing on us a few years back... Your sister didn't have a doctor, and she did fine when her time came. Just the damn bigwigs sticking their noses into everything...” Her dad's voice turned into a grumble, blending with the whining thrum of the car's engine as they drove down the highway.

But Isabel doesn't think it's right, was what Dita wanted to say. But the last time she mentioned her imaginary friend to Kos, he slapped her so hard she saw bright fairies dancing around her head. Good thing spanking your kids ain't illegal, he'd often say.

Instead she stared out the passenger side window at the bleak landscape of abandoned housing and run-down businesses. Kos had taken her on many outings these past few years, and she was beginning to recognize certain landmarks. They seemed to be heading to the other side of the county.

“Where are we going?” Dita spoke softly, afraid to look at Kos.

He remained silent for a few seconds, and curiosity forced Dita to cast a sidelong glance. A devilish grin and a twinkle in Kos's eyes forced her to turn and question him with her face.

“I got a surprise for you—think of it as uh early birthday present.”

Dita narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. She didn't like surprises.

They continued driving down the nearly empty highway in silence, paralleling the raised track of the old light-rail train, unused for many years. The setting sun revealed just how old the omnipresent billboards were: dirty, tattered ads with public safety warnings about washing one's hands or wearing a mask around infected people. Dita was too young to remember the global pandemic named GP1—that happened even before the Swarm arrived—but evidence of its effects were hard to miss. Even for a girl with an invisible friend.

When they finally turned off the highway the first thing she saw was a church. What in the world are we doing here? Torn placards and other litter sullied the bushes in front of the austere building, the signs of a recent protest, and Dita realized it was a Church of the Swarm. She furrowed her brow, and knew without a doubt that Kos wouldn't be taking her to what he called The Temple of the Devil Bugs. She had never been to one, and didn't really understand what the Swarm was, but she imagined a colony of bees buzzing in the rafters of the church and stinging the worshippers below into a religious frenzy.

Halfway down the street, Kos turned left into a charging station, and then it started to make sense. His Jeep was an older model, a hybrid that required both electricity and biofuel, so he pulled up next to the pump.

“How is this a surprise?” she grumped as he turned off the engine. “It's not like I haven't been to a charging station before.”

Kos's expression was a mixture of disbelief and amusement. “Don't get mouthy, girl—this one's got a carwash.” He turned and got out to fill up his Jeep, shutting his door behind him and leaving Dita alone with her confusion.

“What's the big deal about getting your car washed?” she asked invisible Isabel, then peered into the charging station's convenience store. She couldn't see the store clerk, but she knew there must be one inside. Probably sitting behind the cash register, which was blocked from her view by a display filled with boxes of ammunition.

Her dad returned to the car and started it, grinning but not saying a word. He brought his Jeep around to the front of a building that at first Dita thought was a garage, then drove up to the entrance and waited for the clerk. Mechanical arms lurked in the shadows holding ropey constructions of various colors, while a grooved track in the pavement ensured no vehicle could escape the course laid out for it. Dita drew her feet up onto the seat and hugged her knees to her chest.

Kos rolled down his window and told the pudgy, dark-haired man who approached that he'd like the Super Eco-Deluxo Wash. After verifying Kos's receipt, the clerk turned to a small console next to the carwash entrance, put a key into a lock and pushed a button. Kos's Jeep lurched forward, and Dita couldn't stop a squeal from escaping her throat.

“Kos!”

Her dad laughed, rolling up his window as the Jeep was pulled into the dark chamber. Soapy jets of water hit the windshield with an exhilarating splash and Dita's eyes grew large.

“Oh, yeah! I forgot about these things! You took me once, when I was little, I remember now! I was scared of the big floppy tennacles...” Dita giggled as the mechanical arms extended their spongy mops onto Kos's Jeep and flopped around as they'd done before.

As the car made its creeping journey through the sudsy contraption, Dita's delight was spoiled as she sensed the mood turn sour. She glanced at Kos's face, long and serious, and wished immediately that she hadn't. It seemed to spark his next words.

“You know what you need to do. And don't gimme any mouth about it—you won't have to do this stuff for too much longer. I got one more grand plan in mind, and then that's it. But I'm gonna tell you something—call it my pre-10 counseling... You're gonna figure it out as you get older, so you might as well know now.”

Loud jets of water rinsed the car for a second time, before more soapy rollers. Dita groaned at the thought of another of Kos's grand plans.

“There're times in life when you gotta do things you don't like. Times when you might have to do quote-in-quote bad things—even kill—just to get by.”

Dita's brows cast shadows on her eyes.

“Don't look at me like that, now, you know I said it before—and with your birthday coming up and all—” Kos pursed his lips and raised an eyebrow.

“All I'm saying's if you wanna survive in this world, sometimes killing's necessary. You'd best wrap your head around that, Edyta Mazurek.”

Dita breathed through her nose, wrinkled her chin, and made duck lips in response.

Fading sunlight glistening on the windshield signaled the end of the carwash. Kos took the wheel and drove out to a parking spot alongside the convenience store, turned off the ignition and glanced once more at his daughter. He didn't need to say a word. He got out and raised the hood of his Jeep, then nodded to her and headed to the store entrance. She climbed out of the car and skipped up to him as he pulled open the glass door.

A picture of an astronaut and his rocket hung on a column, a lost hero, the only image in the store that wasn't advertising. As they approached the man standing behind the counter, Dita noticed the cash register was a Barion model six-eight-eight.

“Easy cheesy pineapple queasy,” she singsonged, raising a curious glance from the clerk.

Kos smiled at the man and held his hands open before him. “Sorry to bother you, bud, but do ya think you could gimme a hand? I'm not sure, but I think there's something going on with my Jeep, and I need someone who can rev the engine while I tinker with it, and the girl, well... It'll only take a minute or two of your time.”

Kos glanced around at the empty store while Dita peered over the countertop at the racks stuffed full of magazines with brown paper covers and titles like Vintage Gals and Bathing Suit Beauties. She knew she wouldn't be able to stop herself from taking a peek.

The clerk smiled and conceded that he could spare a minute or two, then came out from behind the counter. Dita strolled over to the comic book rack near the candy and pretended to be interested in Flying Wombat issue number two hundred and eleven while Kos and the meek man went out to look at his Jeep. She waited thirty seconds, then reached into her coat pocket and pulled out several thin, metal rods.

Later, back on the highway traveling in the opposite direction, Kos looked straight ahead at the road and asked, “See anything you like at the store?”

“Yes,” she sighed, familiar with the routine. She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. Placing the money on the seat between them, she spoke clearly, ignoring Isabel's protests: “The nice man gave me an early birthday present.”

Kos grinned. “That's my girl.”

Tuesday, November 27

Mom's even worse than normal. She saw someone I don't know, and got scared. She didn't like him, that's for sure. I've never seen her this sad.

Dita sat at the big table and drew fantastical creatures while her six-year-old brother, Leshek, played with toy cars on the floor with the other young kids. A sixteen-year-old girl sat cross-legged among them, tasked with watching the children while Sister Margie made phone calls in the nearby office about the upcoming St. Andrew's Day festivities.

Today, Dita drew a fire-breathing unicorn with tiny fairy wings. She decided to name him Bazzle.

Two pictures of Jesus Christ hung on the wall, one of his radiant, unblemished face, and the other of Jesus bleeding on his cross. Dita always imagined that Jesus's cross was his rocketship, just like Captain O's.

“Baka Jo!” Leshek exclaimed. He rushed up to his grandmother as she entered the church's daycare room and wrapped his arms around her wide hips.

“Ah, it's good to see you, Leshek, and you, Dita—” She extended her hand to the young girl, and Dita couldn't resist. Abandoning her drawing, she jumped up and ran to hug her grandma. “If only I could see you every day of the week...” She spoke with a Serbian accent, despite having arrived in the US as a young woman—before the current traveling restrictions were enforced. “How was your day, little Leshek—did you have fun with your toys?”

Dita's slow-witted brother smiled up at his grandma and blathered, “I was got, I got pick by da elefan guy to race da cars!”

“Awww, such a sweet boy. And you, Dita—” Baka Jo's face grew solemn all at once. “Tell me, what trouble did you get into today—and don't lie to me, devojka!”

Dita made her face as long as she could and looked off to one side, causing Leshek to giggle at her goofy expression. Baka Jo laughed as well, and caressed the young girl's cheek before turning and leading the children out of the room.

“Come, your mother is waiting for us.”

She insisted they call her Baka Jo—like the American Joe, despite the fact that her name, Jovana, was pronounced Yovana. Dita's dad never seemed to get along with her, using the Polish Baba Jovana instead of Baka Jo. She never had a smile for him, but she showered her grandchildren with affection.

Kos is a dick, her older sister, Lidia, had once explained to her. He thinks being Polish is better than being a Serb.

Kos hadn't yet told Dita the details of his upcoming grand plan, but she knew it was just a matter of time.

When they entered the sanctuary, the primary and largest room in St. Andrew's Catholic Church, Dita spotted her mother at once. She sat in her usual place among the pews, five rows back on the righthand side. She turned frequently and seemed to be agitated as she waited for her mother and children to reach her. Her dark eyes wore worry lines like unwanted plumage.

Baka Jo knew it as well: something was up. “What's the matter, Nadanje—you act like a whirlybird,” she joked while Dita and Leshek found their spots on the pew. Lidia wasn't here, but that wasn't surprising; she hadn't come to evening mass with her family for a couple of years. And Kos had declared himself to be agnostic, which Dita figured meant he didn't have to believe in anything.

“It's the bishop,” her mother hissed, drawing Baka Jo closer. “He's here—Bishop Stanczak, he's here for Saint Andrew's Day.”

Dita didn't recognize the name, but it was clear that Baka Jo did. She looked sternly at Nada in silence, then placed her hand on her daughter's shoulder. “Give it no thought, Nadanje. What is he to you? He is nothing. He's part of a story that's over—I tell you, don't give it another thought.”

Her mother had no response, but Dita didn't think she would listen to Baka Jo's advice. During the evening service Nada sat, kneeled, stood, and sang at all of the appropriate places, but she was clearly distracted, glancing over and over again at the man in the funny hat who sat behind Father Frank. As the congregants stood and sang a hymn, Nada turned and scanned the pews, taking stock of the two or three dozen worshippers. She knew most of them by name, but at one point her head stopped and her mouth slowly dropped open.

“No.” Her lips mouthed the word but no sound came out. Dita's heart raced as she watched terror increase the size of her mother's eyes. Nada turned to Baka Jo and said something, then grabbed Leshek by the arm and dragged him away.

Baka Jo shook her head and instructed Dita to follow after her mother and brother. Stopping at the end of the pew and ignoring the stares of her fellow worshippers, Dita knelt and crossed herself, then ran down the aisle toward the church's exit.

“He's here!” her mother whispered as Baka Jo met up with her outside. “The bishop's son—in the church!”

Dita's grandmother tried to calm her daughter, instructing Dita and Leshek to walk ahead of them so she and Nada could talk.

That was the first time, at least in Dita's memory, that her mother had ever walked out of church before the end of service. She wanted to talk to Isabel about it, but her desire to eavesdrop on her mother and grandmother's conversation was greater.

The only thing she heard before her grandma had to split off and follow a different path home was something about prison, and then her mother uttering these words:

“I just wish he was dead.”

Wednesday, November 28

Baka Jo once said there's a 'first' for everything, and you should never be afraid of it. I don't think she's ever lied to me.

I had a 'first' today: I thought I was going to be sent to jail.

Leshek could be the most confusing—and irritating—brother in all of God's brown earth. Dita sometimes wondered if he even was her brother.

“Buh-buh-but he said I wasn't reeeal!” he blubbered nonsense between sobs.

“Who said? Your little friend in kiddiegarten?”

Dita could see that her mother was trying to react to Leshek's whining with patience, but she didn't have much in her. Her right arm crossed over her body as if she was hugging herself during their walk home from school. A cloth grocery bag hung heavily from her left hand. Her eyes had dark circles beneath them, blacker than normal, and she seemed to be staring at something far away under the sidewalk.

“No!” Leshek was outraged. “Sandy Claws!” Then more wailing.

Meanwhile, Dita was trying to get Nada's attention for herself, trying to have a normal conversation like normal people do. She didn't get to spend as much time with her as she wanted due to her mom's work schedule at the hospital, and Dita was eager to recount her day at school.

“My favorite part was when we learned more about lines and angles, about how two points form a line and how a cute angle is smaller than an ob—attuse one—oh wait, or... did I learn it the other way around? Oh, shut up, Lesh! You're mixing me up.”

“Buh he wasn't real! Where will the presents go-o-o-o-o?!”

As they passed the neighborhood mini-mart, Leshek saw flashing red and green lights had been draped around the windows, and this really set him off. Not only did his wailing grow louder, but he dropped to the ground and began to kick the air.

“I don't want I want da Sandy Claws to be real!” he nearly shrieked.

At the same time, a group of teenagers were teasing a blond-haired kid in the alley next to the mini-mart. Dita heard them accuse the boy, who must've been eleven or twelve, of being a bed-wetter. With tears streaming down his face he cried out, “I do not wet my bed!” Rapid convulsions shook his small body at once. His eyes bugged out and face contorted, his arms went spastic and elastic for a few seconds until the seizure ceased. The other kids howled in laughter, pointing at and imitating their victim.

“Swarm'll get ya if ya lie!” one of them taunted.

Dita tried to ignore them too. “We also learned about a new statue they built downtown, a memorial for the victims of GP1. Did you know more people died because of GP1 than any other flu or virus in all of history?” She was amazed by this fact.

Her mother, however, had finally had enough. Yanking Leshek up from the ground by his arm, she first directed her vitriol at the rowdy boys in the alley.

“You there, you brats—stop picking on him! You're gonna shorten his life! Go and find something better to fill your time with. And you—” turning to Leshek, dragging him along next to her as she continued on the path home. “Lech Mazurek, what in God's name do you think you're doing? You're a kindergartner now—you're not a baby anymore! Why are you acting like one? There's no need to cry about what that boy said to you—tell him people are allowed to believe whatever they want to believe, there's no law against that, and if you want to believe in Santa Claus, that's none of his business!”

Shocked by her mother's anger, Dita stood rooted to the spot in front of the mini-mart for a few seconds before catching up. She heard one of the bullies mutter, “Whatev, he's still a baby bed-wetter,” while the blond-haired boy ran away.

Her mom looked worn-out, like she could use a ten-day nap, as Kos would say. Dita hoped the rest of the walk home would be more peaceful, but Nada had one more thing to get off her chest.

“And yes, Dita, I did know. Your brother Raymund, born three years before you, died as an infant because of GP1.”

Dita saw again the melancholy in her mom's eyes, and ached to dispel it.

I just wish he was dead.

That was definitely something she'd never heard her mom say before. Who was this man she was talking about, and what had he done? She was determined to talk with her sister about it; she knew that if she asked her mom directly she'd get nothing but a stern look and a Never you mind about that, you should be worrying about bluh and bluh and bluh...

“Don't forget about the fundraiser this weekend, Edyta,” her mom spoke hollowly as they turned the last corner onto their street. “You'll have a lot of responsibilities at the church on Saturday.”

“I know, mom, you don't have to constantly remind me.” Her mom was more forgetful than Dita was.

Instead of reacting to Dita's exasperated response, Nada stopped and nearly caused Leshek to trip over his feet. Dita looked up to where her mother stared, and her heart started to gallop.

A policeman.

The officer stood alongside his car in front of the fourplex where they lived, watching Nada as they approached.

“Dita, take your brother inside and let me speak to the policeman—go on now, get started on your homework, you hear me?”

Dita didn't want to take her brother inside, but she nodded anyway, then took her mother's keys and Leshek's hand. After unlocking the bottom unit on the north side of the building, she let her brother in, then lingered by the doorway.

“Missus Mazurek, we have reason to believe your daughter may've been involved in a burglary at a charging station in West County.” His words emblazoned themselves across Dita's mind. We have reason to believe your daughter was involved in a burglary. “May I ask how old she is?”

Dita couldn't hear how her mother responded, but she thought she might have heard the word birthday.

“I see.” The officer, a handsome man with blond hair, blue eyes and an athletic build, glanced over at the front door, slightly ajar.

“I belieeeeve in Sandy Claaaws! I belieeeeeve!” Leshek's irritating voice obscured some of what the policeman said next. Dita tried to hush her brother, but he was twirling around the living room like an alien spaceship, oblivious to her pleas.

“...new law... ...year-olds—especially the last... ...lenience. Just make sure it...

“I believe I am Sandy Claws!'

“Shut it, spaznozzle!”

“Ha ha!” Leshek was tickled by funny words. “Shpanish Noodle! Dita said I'm a Shpanish Noo! Ha ha! Nooda nooda nooda nooda!”

When Nada came into the house, shutting the door behind her before the policeman had even gotten into his car, she didn't look at Dita. Instead she brought her bag of groceries into the kitchen and set them on the counter with a sigh.

“Settle down, twirlybird, settle down! Go play with your crayons while I get dinner ready.”

But Leshek didn't want to settle down. Distressed by learning that Santa Claus wasn't real, he was desperately seeking ways to make it right again. “I'm a Noodle Claws!” He spun himself dizzy and fell on the floor giggling after that one.

Dita retreated to the kitchen table and started another drawing, trying to ignore her little brother. When Lidia came home from school, Leshek was still spinning around the living room, but at least he was doing it quietly. Lidia retreated to the bedroom the three siblings shared and slammed the door.

Typical.

Leshek sat on the floor for a full twenty minutes, piecing together tracks for his racecars, but the lure of the whirling spaceship eventually pulled him into motion. He didn't get far, crashing into his mother just as she was about to transfer a box of macaroni to a boiling pot of water.

Ssscrasssh!

Noodles everywhere.

“Noodle Claws!” He seemed so pleased with himself.

Just then, Kos walked in through the front door, and the mood grew chill. Leshek trotted over to the kitchen table next to Dita and pretended that he'd been drawing the entire time. With the air sucked out of her chance to shriek at her youngest child, Nada scooped up the spilled noodles into a bowl and picked through them for dirt.

“I won't let you spoil dinner for all of us,” she muttered, barely acknowledging her husband's entrance. Kos solemnly took off his shoes and sat in his easy chair, as he did every day before dinner.

A mischievous urge prompted Dita to comment on her mom's cooking. “It's already spoiled if you're using that ento-meat stuff, it's gross—”

“You mind your tongue, little girl,” Kos's gruff voice cut her off. “We can't afford fancy hamburgers and steak, you know.”

“Is that what you tell her to get her to steal for you?” Nada's voice was as tense as violin strings.

Kos's eyes turned black, but her mother wasn't through.

“A cop came by today—waiting for me outside our house when I got home. Yeah, that's right,” she nodded when Kos flinched at her words. “The police. He said they had video of Dita busting into a cash register—our Dita! Is this how you're raising our little girl, Kosmy? Raising her to think that stealing's okay as long as you don't get caught? You're just setting her up to be punished after she turns ten—is this how you're gonna raise Leshek? To be nothing more than a thief?”

Kos remained uncannily detached throughout Nada's fury, right up to when she mentioned Leshek. It was clear to everyone in their family that Kos didn't care for their youngest child, and the twist of his lip, the tension in his left nostril, both signaled his disgust at the thought of raising the boy. Thief or not.

“You should be ashamed of yourself, Kosmy Mazurek,” Nada pressed on, her cheeks aflame with indignation. “To take advantage of your children in such a way.”

“Dita!” Kos barked, jumping up from his chair. Dita stiffened, but didn't look up from her drawing. “Take out the trash, then make a peanut butter sandwich for you and your brother. It's time for—”

Dita could already hear her mom groaning in protest.

“—your mom and I to have our playtime.”

“No, Kosmy, please—I'm so tired, and the kids need a proper—”

“You heard me! Dita!”

Leshek scrambled off to the kids' bedroom as fast as he could, while Dita slammed her pencil on the tabletop and stomped off to retrieve the trash.

She hated it when her dad did this. It made no sense.

It made her sick.

She brought the kitchen trash to the can they kept outside near the house, and said goodnight to the giant oak at the end of their block. For a mere second, she was tempted to walk down the street and keep walking, never turn back, and never have to see Kosmy or Leshek or anyone ever again. The thought was flushed away at once, however. Her family was awful. But the world was too terrifying for a nearly-ten-year-old girl on her own.

As she reached for the doorknob to go back inside, she heard Nada's muffled protests turn to sobbing and moaning, and Dita knew that Kos had already begun. For the next hour or more, Dita's parents would stay locked up in their bedroom, as they had many times before. She knew that her dad would stuff something into her mom's mouth, gagging her and garbling her pleas for mercy. She'd hear what sounded like slapping, sometimes punching or kicking. Cutting into her heart like an ax blow, Dita would hear each of her mother's muted groans, each time her dad gibed at Nada for forgetting their safe word.

Sometimes her family made her want to die.

“At least I have you, Isabel,” Dita whispered to the cold sky before going back into the house.

Thursday, November 29

We learned about Captain O in school today. His name was Yuriy, but people called him George. He left Earth eight years ago, before the Swarm came, on a mission to Mars, but he never made it. Something happened to his ship. Some people think he's still alive, out there in space, and that he's going to come back and save Earth or something. But wouldn't he be a human popsicle by now? I think space is pretty cold.

We also played some ancient game called square dancing. I wanted to keep doing it all day and all night, so I wouldn't have to come home, but everyone else thought it was stupid.

At daycare I learned about St. Andrew and his saltire. A saltire is a cross in the shape of an x instead of t. Andrew was a follower of Jesus Christ, but some people didn't like what he was doing, so they decided to crucify him. He said he wasn't good enough to be crucified on the same kind of cross as Jesus, so they put him on a saltire.

I think that's silly. If you have to die, why does the shape of the cross matter? Death is death. The point of life is to avoid it as long as possible.

Kos was at it again. He'd spent three hours the previous night torturing Nada, but that wasn't enough it seemed. Muffled moans and cruel taunts filled their home; the kids did their best to ignore them. Leshek listened to his radio and hummed to himself, but that wasn't enough for Dita. She hated Kos more than anything during playtime.

She decided she'd go find Lidia. Opening the front door as quietly as possible, she snuck out and climbed the stairs to the landing pad and entryway to the upper unit. No one lived there, although a woman lived in the upper unit on the south side of their fourplex. She was probably in her living room surrounded by her many cats.

Dita went to the end of the balcony and climbed up a ladder to the roof. Crouching down as she ascended the shingled slope, she found her sister sitting in shadows, her back pressed against the brick chimney. Lifting her head at the noise of Dita scrambling up the roof, Lidia frowned then put her head back on her knees as she hugged her legs.

Dita sat next to her sister, and Lidia grudgingly shared the wool blanket she'd draped over herself. In one hand she held a small bottle, unopened and containing a brown liquid. They sat in silence for a few moments, and Dita looked at her favorite tree at the end of the block, the enormous oak that was as wide as a house. That tree awed her, made her sure that life was worth living. It changed with the seasons, and it had an entire society of animals and insects that lived in, on, under, and around it. It was its own world.

“We missed the meteors,” Lidia spoke quietly, worn out from the cold. Her pale skin looked almost blue in the dim light from the streetlamps. “Meteor swarms that come around every year in November, but I learned about them too late.”

Dita imagined a flock of winged rocks swooping and buzzing past Earth in a strange outer-space migration.

“Like the Swarm?”

Lidia scowled. “No, stupid, the Swarm's always here.”

“What's in the bottle?” Dita asked after another few moments had passed.

“Bourbon.” Lidia lifted her head again and looked directly at Dita's face for the first time tonight. “It's a kind of alcohol.”

“But that's for adults, isn't it? Why do you have it?”

“It's not illegal anymore for kids to drink alcohol... but I haven't tried it.” The way she phrased her words it seemed as if she had more to stay, but nothing came out.

“How come?” Dita prompted.

Lidia's head sank back to her knees. “I'm scared.”

Dita didn't understand that, but she let it pass. “Well, why do people drink that stuff in the first place? Doesn't it taste terrible?”

Lidia raised her head again, but not to respond to Dita's questions. Leshek's head had just popped up over the edge of the roof. His eyes asked if he would be allowed to climb up and join his sisters. Dita sighed.

Before their brother reached them, Lidia looked at Dita and something in her sister's eyes made Dita's heart race: they were cold and hard, like their dad's.

“You'd better do it soon, before it starts counting against you. If you don't, it'll be up to Leshek, but that'll be years from now. I don't think mom'll survive that long.”

Dita had no idea what her sister was saying. The words bounced off her head like inert pine cones, but the tone of her sister's voice terrified her. Shaken, she welcomed Leshek's arrival and hugged her brother close to her while they sat on the roof.

Friday, November 30

I might get arrested before my 10th birthday. Kos finally told me about his grand plan.

Looking down at two men on the ground, convulsing as if they'd been shocked by live wires, Kos spat. “Damn bugs. Come on, let's get outta here.”

They left the gun range after witnessing an argument turn into fisticuffs. Normally Kos had Dita practice with a small rifle, since that's what kids were taught, but today he had her use a small semi-automatic handgun.

You never know when you'll need to protect yourself from a thug or a rapist, he'd said. The handgun's your best bet.

It turned out she was just as good a shot with a handgun as she was with a rifle. Shooting a gun felt natural to her. Still, she was annoyed at her dad for taking her to the range. Today was St. Andrew's Day, and there was a special mass at church tonight. Dita would much rather be with her mom and Baka Jo in church than at the firing range.

Back in the Jeep, Kos didn't start the engine right away. Instead, he lit one of his hand-rolled cigarettes and lowered his window just enough to let the smoke out. Dita wrinkled her nose: she detested the smell of burning tobacco. He took a few drags and breathed deeply for a moment before he spoke, saying something that Dita knew she wouldn't want to hear.

“The world's uh effed-up place, Dita. People do some crazy shit just to get by... and some people do crazy shit just for the hell of it—just to get off on it.”

Like you? Feeling nauseous from a mix of smoke, adrenalin and bile, Dita shot her eyes over at Kos, not daring to utter her thought. He ignored her anyway, looked out his window and kept speaking. She turned away and stared out the passenger side window at the brick wall of the gun range building, graffitied with the phrase OBEY THE SWARM.

“About six or seven years ago, when it all started... when it was worse than it is now, when people started losing their shit and killing themselves, and killing each other... Someone hurt your mom, hurt her real bad. He did something to your mom that—” Something seemed to catch in his throat, so he cleared it, swallowed, and paused for a moment before resuming.

“He polluted her,” he said more loudly, anger rising in his face. “And cuz of who he was, the son of a god-damn priest, he got off light.”

Kos turned to Dita and made sure she was looking at him.

“There ain't no way he's paid for the damage he's done. If I could get away with it... I'd make sure justice was done.”

Dita didn't dare utter a word. She understood exactly what Kos was telling her.

“Tomorrow at the fundraiser,” he continued. “You'll be busy helping Sister Margie with the bake sale and kid stuff, right?”

Dita nodded once.

“You'll have your jacket with you, right?”

Dita nodded twice.

“Well, just be sure you don't forget it, you know, back in the back office or whatever, cuz... Well, I wouldn't want you to be without your jacket, cuz I guess I'd have to bring you back later and see if we could get it... right?”

Saturday, December 1

You'd better do it soon.

I'd make sure justice was done.

I just wish he was dead.

The voices of her family haunted Dita as she and Nada took the county bus to the Lake Park cemetery. Somewhere deep inside she understood what they were all saying to her, but she was reluctant to examine their words too closely. Reluctant, or perhaps, repulsed by what she might find. It was all too much for her young soul.

She wanted to talk with her mom about it, but at the same time she didn't. Nada was the most frustrating person in the world to talk to. She could try to discuss it with Isabel, but that'd become unsatisfying as she grew older. She'd never actually seen Isabel, but ever since she could remember she simply knew Isabel existed. There were times when she thought she could hear her imaginary friend, as a high-pitched ringing noise, which is how she got her name: Is a bell?

The electric bus sped away from them quietly, as if it'd never been there, and Dita glanced up at her mother's face. Clutching some flowers she'd picked earlier this morning, Nada eyed something ahead with suspicion, but Dita couldn't tell what it was. She hesitated for a moment, then decided to pose one of the many questions burning in her mind.

“Why was Uncle Miki buried here instead of at Saint Andrew's with Raymund and grampa and gramma Mazurek?”

Nada turned with anger in her eyes and scowled, but didn't reply. After a moment she sighed, then walked up to a wooden booth near the cemetery's entrance. While she signed her name on an open book that'd been placed on a pedestal, a woman approached holding a stack of folded paper. At first glance, her hair appeared neat, but it was really just a jumble of quarrelsome curls.

“Hi, my name's Beverly,” the woman spoke with a slight lisp, holding one of her pamphlets out to Nada. “Have you considered joining the Church of the Swarm?”

Nada looked up, confused and irritated, and refused the pamphlet by waving her hands in front of her.

“We're the first religion based on rational thought and proven science,” Beverly offered, but Nada took Dita's hand and walked away from the woman.

When they reached the wall where the ashes of her brother were interred, Nada touched the plaque which bore his name: Mihailo Damjanović. Placing her sorry bouquet in a tin vase attached to the wall next to the plaque, she spoke softly to her daughter.

“Your uncle Miki was a good man, Dita. Caring... generous... kind. He liked to play golf... and paint watercolors. You remind me of him sometimes—he was so stubborn. He never let anyone tell him what to do... or how to be. He had a hard time when he was younger, but he figured it out. He was ... happy.”

Tears began to well up in Nada's eyes as she touched the wisps of hair around Dita's forehead.

“Then, when everything changed... when the Swarm... it was hard on people like your uncle. He'd always been Catholic, but he... he did things. Sinful things. It was too much for him to bear.”

Nada watched Dita as her words sunk in, then bent closer and placed her hands on Dita's shoulders.

“Now listen to me, Dita: your birthday's coming up, and you're going to be asked to make a choice. You'll have some time, but I want you to think carefully about everything you've learned from—and about—the Church before you do. No matter what you decide, I want you to know that I'll always love you. Okay?”

Dita smiled and nodded. Her mother rarely said those words to her.

“One more thing.” Her eyes grew dark. “I know Kos has something brewing, either today or tomorrow. I won't ask you to resist, because I know what he's like, but I just want you to remember one thing: be true to yourself, Edyta Mazurek. In your heart, you know the difference between right and wrong.”

Dita's pulse quickened. She wasn't sure if her mother was right.

Dita spent most of Saturday afternoon at St. Andrew's Church. She and some of the other children helped Sister Margie and Father Frank with their annual St. Andrew's Day fundraiser, where they sold food and hand-made crafts to help fund the daycare and other charitable work. Long tables draped with white sheets filled the entryway near the baptistery, as well as the chancel, the raised area where the priests conducted the services. Half the tables were covered with plates of paczki, poppy-seed cake, and other baked goods, while the rest were adorned with holiday-themed wreaths, wall hangings, statues and dozens of hand-crafted items donated by members of the community.

“But I want da Sandy Claws!”

Dita could hear her younger brother screeching all the way on the other side of the nave. She spotted her mother and Baka Jo nearby, engrossed in a conversation with the woman who'd made forty dozen pierogi for the sale, then saw Kos and Leshek near the wooden Santa Claus statues.

“Why can I have da Sandee Claaaaaaws!” His demands turned to sobbing, and Dita knew that he'd pushed it too far. Kos slapped the six-year-old boy hard, knocking him to the ground, then dragged him away from the sparkling red and white figurines and away from the eyes of onlookers. Dita abandoned her table and ran across the church's sanctuary to a wide hallway that led to the administrative offices in the back. Kos had already removed his belt and was yanking Leshek's pants down as he made the young boy bend over.

“Kos!” she pleaded, but her dad ignored her. Folding his belt in half, he flogged Leshek's buttocks five times fast, eliciting squeals of pain. Stopping, he looked up at Dita with a sneer on his face, then all at once his face changed. His sneer vanished, his eyes grew wide, and he seemed to be looking at something past Dita. She turned and saw a man walking away, a tall man who was somehow familiar, though she couldn't get a good look at his face.

“Go find your mom,” Kos barked to Leshek as the boy buttoned his pants and sniffled. Her dad turned his gaze upon Dita. “You're coming with me.”

“But, Kos, I gotta—”

He took her by the hand and dragged her with him toward the front entrance of the church, the way the man had walked. He released her as they exited the church and put his hand into his jacket pocket while they walked around the building.

When no one was nearby, Kos pulled out a small gun and handed it to Dita.

“Hold it in your sweatshirt for a bit—it's too heavy with my keys and everything.”

Dita breathed through her nose, but she didn't have the nerve to defy him. She took the gun and slid it into the front pocket of her sweatshirt, holding onto it so it wouldn't bounce around as she walked. As they followed the man toward the building that housed the offices and guest quarters, Kos spoke in a low voice.

“That's Simon Stanczak. He raped your mom seven years ago. Hurt her so bad she was in the hospital for almost a week.”

Dita had learned what rape was from Lidia, who'd said it was the worst thing a man could ever do to a woman. Worse than death.

Simon Stanczak didn't seem to notice Dita and Kos as he entered the building. When the door closed behind him, a strange thought came to Dita. Seven years ago? Leshek is almost seven years old.

“I would understand it,” Kos continued. “If you wanted to hurt that man, you know, in retribution. I wouldn't condone it, but I'd understand it.” He was using his official voice, the precise enunciation and conditional sentences that indicated he was trying to say something else to her. “If you walked in there, knocked on his door, and shot him in the face—I don't think anyone would be surprised.”

Dita's eyes grew wide. Her heart galloped like a frightened horse.

“I can't—wouldn't ever want to see you do such a thing, you know—I couldn't lie to the police about anything...”

He looked at her as if he was waiting for her to do something, and then she realized: she needed to go in alone. She glared at him, then walked up to the building's entrance and opened the door.

She knew exactly where the guest quarters were, having spent many of her afternoons in the church's daycare which was housed in the same building. She could probably guess which one had been assigned to the bishop's son: colorful panels of stained glass next to the entry doors showed which rooms were currently lit or unlit, and only one glowed with bluish light. Dita blinked rapidly, cleared her mind and took a deep breath. Her heart still raced, but she felt as if she was on a path laid out for her, and she didn't know how to stop.

She knocked on the door, timidly at first, but ending with three loud raps. The gun felt cold and lifeless in her hand as she withdrew it from her sweatshirt pocket, making sure to load the chamber.

Footsteps approached the door, and Dita's vision went black around the edges.

As Simon Stanczak opened the door his face paled with shock. Dita held the gun as if she knew exactly what she was doing and aimed for his heart. The man's eyes were wide, his hands presented palms forward, as he sputtered. “Wh-wh-whoa, little girl, what are you doing with that? Put that down before you hurt someone.”

Dita tried to focus all her pent-up rage and use it to drill through his quivering, fat face with her eyes, but his expression softened.

“You're her baby girl, aren't you?” Something about the familiarity of his tone made Dita's heart grow black. “Listen, I'm sorry, I'm real sorry for what I did—I didn't mean, I didn't—”

“I'm not a baby.” Dita's hands trembled. She grew perplexed by the realization that she wasn't going to squeeze the trigger. That wasn't for her to do. That decision belonged to someone else.

For most of dinner that night, Kos fumed at her, but didn't say a word. Dita did her best to avoid his gaze. The uncomfortable silence was punctuated by occasional and inappropriately mirthful outbursts from Baka Jo.

“And those wreaths! Best I've ever seen, hands down. The Bruskis really outdid themselves this year,” she proclaimed.

“What happened to your jacket, Dita?” Her father's gruff voice startled her. “I noticed you didn't have it when you got home.”

Nada eyed Kos with some suspicion. Dita didn't look up, instead speared a potato pierogi with her fork and stuffed it past her teeth. With her mouth full, she mumbled, “I yeft it at da furff.”

Kos chewed on that for a moment. “I need some tobacco. I'll take you to the store with me and we can stop at the church and see if anyone's still there.”

Dita didn't say a word. Both Leshek and Lidia kept their eyes on their plates, as they did most nights.

“Why not wait until morning?” Baka Jo's voice was cheerfully mystified. “You'll be there again for morning mass, won't you?”

“What if something happens before then—a fire, or something, you never know. You don't want your granddaughter to be without her jacket, do you Baba Jovana?” Kos sneered.

Baka Jo shrugged, wrinkled her nose and smiled at Dita, then served herself more green beans.

In the car ride to the church, Kos asked Dita what she'd done with the gun after she ran from Simon Stanczak.

“I threw it in the bushes behind the church.”

She stared straight ahead as she replied, ignoring the tiny bells in her ears, and Kos said no more.

It was dark when they got to the church. Kos said he'd wait outside while Dita went around back to see if anyone was there to let her into the administrative office. She knew there wouldn't be this late at night, but he needed to say it aloud.

“Go on in and see if you can find your jacket—and if you see the cash they collected from all the sales today, don't you touch it now.” He winked. “I'll go see if I can find that gun.”

Dita screwed up her lips, then did what her dad's unsaid words told her to do. It was easy getting into the administrative offices—she had done it before with her tools—but the hard part was walking down the hallway. There were no windows on this side of the building, hidden from the streetlamps and autumn moonlight of the world outside. Once she got more than ten feet in, the light coming through the glass entrance doors grew dim and useless. Shadows crowded the corners and Dita nearly froze with fear, reacting to every little noise.

Her galloping heart forced her to press on.

“I know this is wrong, Isabel,” she whispered as she crept toward Sister Margie's office. “But I don't think I have any other choice.”

Once inside, she felt her way to the nun's desk and dared to turn on the small lamp that was clamped to one side. The money wasn't even hidden. A box sat open on top of the nun's paperwork. What was probably over a couple thousand dollars in cash lay within Dita's reach. She wasn't surprised: she knew from experience that people had become too relaxed about security, lulled by how little crime there was these days. She stared at the money and listened to every noise, the buzzing, clicking, breezing sounds of a large building at night. Minuscule sounds made large by fear and darkness.

The frantic rhythm of her heart was the loudest thing here: blood booming in her ears. She opened the top drawer and saw a familiar set of keys, and knew that her next decision was the most important of her life so far.

She looked again at the box of money: a messy pile of ashen bills in small denominations. Dita saw in that cash a whole year's worth of food for her family, or new clothes, or maybe even a car for Nada. It had been so easy before, when she'd stolen from charge stations or GovMed clinics or corner mini-marts. She wasn't taking much—their businesses wouldn't fall apart because of Dita's nimble fingers. But taking from the daycare, from the church's outreach programs and charities: that felt vastly different. People Dita liked had spent their own time and resources to help raise that money for the church.

“Lidia's right. Kos is a dick.”

Dita reached down and grabbed the keys, knowing they'd be faster than her lock-pick skills, then rushed to the men's restroom before she changed her mind. She wrinkled her nose at the thought of going into a space that was reserved exclusively for men, then barged in. Squinting her eyes in the bright, motion-activated light of the bathroom, she found the key to the supply closet and unlocked the door. At the back of the small room she pressed her ear against another door, this one leading to the restroom for the guests of the church, and listened.

Nothing but her galloping pulse. She put the key into the lock and turned it, dreading the inevitable click. Pushing the door open, she could see at once that the restroom was unlit. The motion detector must've been facing the other way. Enough light shone in from the staff restroom for her to spot the tall garbage can near the sinks.

Dita removed the lid from the trash can and reached into the mass of damp, crumpled paper. She had to tilt the plastic container to reach further down, then she felt it. The cold steel was unmistakable. She lifted the gun out of the rubbish and stared at it, spellbound by the instrument of death in her hand, speaking in hushed tones to Isabel, her constant friend.

“I wonder if this has ever killed anyone?”

“Dita! What the fuck are you doing?!”

The angry whisper startled Dita, but she didn't lose her grip on the gun. Instead, she swung around with her finger on the trigger and faced Kos, pointing the weapon at his heart.

“What the—you lied to me!” His voice was growing louder now, his anger overriding caution. “Gimme that thing—”

“Stop!” Dita nearly shouted. “Stop right there—I've got something to say to you!”

His face in shadows, Dita thought she saw a sparkle in Kos's eye as he laughed. “What's this? Is little Dita stomping her feet and demanding the world pay attention to her? Waaa, waaaa, listen to meeee! Ha! You better give that up right now, little girl, and get used to being a nothin! Cuz that's what you are, a nothin, just like the rest of us. Anything you get in life, you get because uh me, you hear that? Now, gimme that gun before I beat ya silly.”

“No!” She snarled as best as she could. She'd never stood up to Kos before, not like this, and she thought her heart might explode from all the blood pumping through it. But she didn't falter.

“You have to make a promise!” Dita looked as serious as she could, wanting to convey the importance of her words, but Kos only raised his eyebrows and grinned. “Listen to me!” Her voice was almost a screech, her pitch heightened by frustration and dread. “You have to stop hurting us—especially mom! No more playtime, okay. Now promise!”

Dita shook the handgun at her dad, stood straight and tried to appear as if she wouldn't back down this time.

But her dad came at her fast.

Kos hunched over and rushed Dita, snarling like an underfed junkyard dog. Fumbling to gain control of the gun, he knocked it out of her hand and shoved her hard. She landed on the plastic garbage can, causing it to tip over as she slid to the ground.

Kos was hovering over her before she could scramble away. He first grabbed her by the hair and broke her nose with a quick punch: bones fracturing bones, then an immediate flow of blood.

Dita's memory of the next few seconds were of bright fairies and drowning.

Barely able to determine which direction to flee, she attempted to stumble out of the men's restroom, but Kos yanked her by the hood of her sweatshirt and swung her back toward the supply closet door. She slid across the bathroom floor and struck her left shoulder and head on the wall, pain shooting down her neck, blood everywhere.

Kos was saying something to her, but she couldn't really hear his words. She was too distracted by screaming pain and the familiar black object that lay right in front of her. As she lifted the gun and pointed it for a second time that night at her dad, Kos was unbuckling and removing his leather belt, fire burning at the bottom of the black pits where his eyes should've been.

Dita sat on the bathroom floor with her back to the wall and braced herself for the recoil. Isabel's peal of condemnation rang in her ears, but she ignored it.

“You think by killing me you can change the world?” Kos punctuated his question with a snap of his belt across his hand. “Wake up, stupid girl! Nothing's gonna change! We're already in hell—haven't ya figured it out yet?”

“You're wrong, Kos, it doesn't have to be that way!”

“Stupid bitch—you're just like your mom used to be, you know that? You think there's room in this world for good things, for a better world. A better world—ha! There's only this one, ya idiot, controlled by the almighty Swarm, and there's not a fucking thing you can do—”

Isabel screamed louder than she ever had before, but it wasn't enough.

Sunday, December 2

Tomorrow is my birthday. I'm afraid. I think Isabel is my pilot.

“Missus Mazurek, hello. My name is Doctor Diaz. I wanted to first tell you how sorry I am for your loss, I can't imagine what you must be going through right now.”

Silence prompted the doctor to continue speaking.

“I know this must be a hard time, and if there was any way to delay this visit, I would. But as part of the Swarm Act signed by President Parimoo, it's required by law that all US citizens must receive at least one pre-10 counseling session before their tenth birthday.”

The doctor had a soft voice, with a lilt at the ends of words that sounded foreign. She was a pretty woman with dark hair and eyes, her eyes unadorned and her hair pulled back tight.

“A house call is required if the scheduled appointments are not met—it should only take twenty or thirty minutes at most, and you may be present for the entire interview.”

Dita's eyebrows rose at that last word, yet her focus didn't stray from the blank piece of paper on the kitchen table. Her pencil stood erect in her right hand, the tip touching the white surface. She hadn't been able to draw a thing. The small fracture in her nose was throbbing with pain, dulled by the medicine she'd been given. She had hoped for a cast or a patch to cover her black eye at least, but she'd been disappointed.

“She's been poked and prodded by doctors and detectives all night long—she only just woke up from a nap, and she's probably still in shock. Can't this wait until tomorrow?” Nada's voice was weak. Dita was surprised she spoke at all, considering how widthdrawn she'd been for the past fifteen hours.

“I'm afraid not, Missus Mazurek. I am sorry, but I'll try to be quick. May I?”

Nada reluctantly stepped aside and allowed Dr. Diaz to enter her home. Baka Jo, sitting nearby on the couch, frowned at the woman, then took Lidia and Leshek with her into the kids' bedroom.

The attractive woman stepped up to the kitchen table and set her briefcase down. Pulling a chair out, she smiled at Dita and said, “Hi—it's Edyta, right? I'm Doctor Diaz. May I sit with you for a moment or two?”

The doctor didn't wait for Dita's permission.

“I know you must be exhausted. I'll keep this as simple as I can. I don't know how much you've been told about the Swarm, but it's my job to make sure you're prepared for what's about to happen to you.”

Dita put the pencil down on the blank paper and glanced over at Dr. Diaz. The pain medicine made her mind fuzzy, and when her heart raced, it felt like it was sliding on slick ice.

“Can I ask you to tell me your full name, please?”

Dita blinked. “Edyta Aniela Mazurek. But everyone calls me Dita.”

“Good, okay, Dita. Now tell me your date of birth?”

Dita told her, then added, “Lidia says I'm a Sagittarius.”

“Good—that's right, you are. I'm a Sagittarius too. Now, I just need to do a short examination—listen to your heart, and such.”

Dr. Diaz pressed her stethoscope to various places on Dita's body, inspected her eyes, ears, and mouth, and wrote notes on her pad of paper. When she was done with her exam, the doctor put her pad back into her briefcase and folded her hands on her lap.

“Well, as I said, I don't know how much you may've been told about the Swarm, but there are things you'll need to know as you start the next year of your life. You'll learn more about the origins of the Swarm in school, as you grow older, if you haven't already from your friends or family. But here's what I can tell you.

“The Swarm is a network of self-sufficient, aerial nanobots—I know that's quite a mouthful, Dita, but what that means is they're a bunch of tiny computers, so tiny they could be flying all around us right now and we'd never see them. And like all computers, they have a program, a purpose. Do you know the purpose of the Swarm?”

Dita heard the question, but it prompted no reaction from her. She knew the Swarm was responsible for shocking people when they lied, but when she was younger she'd been told they were angels. More recently she'd begun to question the idea of angry cherubs and wonder if they were bugs after all, more akin to tiny, vengeful insects. Like electrified fireflies.

A hive of micro-robots was a concept that made Dita's mind explode with questions and implications. Who made them? And why?

“They impose morals. What those morals are, exactly, is determined by a person's chosen belief system. I'm sorry if this is all a little confusing right now, but it will make sense, I promise.”

Dita had learned about morals at Sunday school. She wasn't confused; things were beginning to make more sense than the doctor understood.

“Each one of us, starting at the age of ten, is assigned one bot from the Swarm cloud—we call it the pilot. It stays with us for the rest of our lives, and for the first seven weeks it guides us with a gentle ringing in our ears as we navigate our new relationship.”

“Ten? Do kids who're younger than ten ever get a pilot?” Dita asked, unsure which response she wanted.

“No, I haven't read of any cases where a pilot was assigned before age ten—they are quite precise. Why do you ask, Dita—have you been hearing a chiming noise?”

“No, I was just wondering,” Dita answered reflexively, then realized her lie a split second before she heard the familiar ringing.

It was in her nature to lie. How in God's brown earth am I going to survive without lying?

Isabel?

Dr. Diaz nodded, and seemed to accept Dita's response. “So the pilot guides us, helps us to understand the rules. For everyone, religious and non-religious people alike, there are four general laws that are imposed upon us. These are laws that are basic to all of humanity—do not lie, do not cheat, do not steal, and do not kill. We all agree that those four things are bad, right?”

Dita turned away at the word kill, and for a moment she thought her vision might go black, but the pain meds had slowed her heart enough. She breathed deeply and focused her attention on the softly lilting tone of Dr. Diaz.

“Plus, if you believe in God, as millions of Americans do, and adhere to a recognized church's beliefs and codes of conduct, those codes will also be imposed upon you by the Swarm. For instance in the Catholic tradition, divorce is a sin, and will get you punished. And that's what they do, Dita—they punish. The Swarm monitors our behavior, and punishes us when we're bad. The punishment is light at first—loud ringing bells, then small electric shocks. But it will get worse, and the more often you're punished, no matter how small the crime, the greater the punishments will be. On your fifteenth birthday, if you haven't yet publicly declared your religious status, the Swarm will assume that you are agnostic, and continue judging you solely against the Four Laws. But if you've chosen to follow a set of religious beliefs, you'll be bound to obey them. Countless thousands of people have lost their lives testing the limits of the Swarm. And this is the important thing, Dita: the Swarm will not hesitate to kill, especially those who break the fourth law—those who murder.”

Dita's eyes burned. Anger and resentment that had built up over the past five or six years of her small life overflowed from her heart and into her bloodstream. She trembled as Kos's face flashed before her eyes with the crack of gunshot. His death gaze was as vivid and tangible as the air in her lungs.

“Fortunately, these laws do have some leeway. You'll learn more as you grow older, but here's one example to get you thinking. The fourth law, do not kill, is more precisely stated do no harm. If one of your friends punches you in the arm, he or she will be punished. But if a surgeon has to cut you open in order to save your life, or a dentist has to drill into your teeth, they won't be punished for that. Not if they're doing their job in a professional setting. And there are countless other exceptions and special situations that you'll learn as you experience them. But don't worry, it's all commonsense stuff, and for the first fifty days, you don't have to think about getting shocked—you'll just hear a faint ringing noise when you've broken one of the rules.

“Do you understand, Dita?”

A nauseating river of thoughts and emotions flowed through her foggy head. Fear of the future, of the following day. Horror at the idea of having her every action scrutinized by a robot. Unquenched rage at her father for using her to commit sins, for making her a murderer. Spite against the doctor for pointing it out.

And gall, coating everything else like a bitter syrup.

She began to wonder if she was wrong to believe that death is death. Maybe what kind of cross propped you up as you died was important after all. Dita knew she didn't want to die like Kos had.

But the Swarm? She would figure it out. Maybe even figure out a way to stop it. No one should have to go through what I've been through.

“What does it matter?” She spoke softly, so only the doctor could hear. “We all die. You just gotta make sure you go the way you want to.”

She picked up her pencil and began a drawing of Captain O's rocketship.

By Christopher Charles.

#The Swarm #writing

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