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ShilohPR
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Re: The 409; ch. 4 added 1/20/07
Nope, definitely not a sue. I'll get into it better with the next chapter and you'll see why not 
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26/Jan/2007, 1:39
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FaithVampireSlayer
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Re: The 409; ch. 4 added 1/20/07
Oh thank the Valar...*phew...well then continue on...*grins
Namárië
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30/Jan/2007, 12:56
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OrlandosPixieDust
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Re: The 409; ch. 4 added 1/20/07
AH! You have to update!!!! I really like that, and I didn't even think about the pages and so i click on chapter 4, thinking I've got AT least two more chapters....lol.
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25/Feb/2007, 11:43
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ShilohPR
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Re: The 409; ch. 4 added 1/20/07
The 409; Chapter 5
“You’re sure you want to do this?”
Joslyn gave Orlando an unamused roll of her eyes and yanked her purse up from the counter. Dora was already standing by the door, her stomach knotted up in anticipation. She bounced on her feet and crossed her arms in front of her chest, unsure how Joslyn was so calm about it all when she was about ready to puke.
“Of course I’m sure,” Joslyn insisted. Giordi stood outside the door and yelled at her as she hollered over her shoulder at Grant in the living room, “Are you sure you don’t want to come?”
“Joslyn, I was there when you pierced your nose and when you pierced your bellybutton and when you let Orlando dye your hair and when you made Dora dye it back,” Grant returned, stumbling into the kitchen with an empty glass.
Orlando laughed and insisted, “I thought it looked great!”
“I made a terrible blond,” Joslyn insisted, rolling her eyes. “That was just your little fetish.”
“I do not have a blond fetish,” Orlando insisted.
“It doesn’t matter because I wasn’t attracted to you anyways,” she laughed, giving him a firm shove. “Not as a blond or natural. Good bye, Grant. When you see me next, I’ll be a marked woman.” He rolled his eyes at her dramatics, then warned Dora to take care of her.
From outside, Giordi yelled again, “Let’s go!” Orlando grabbed Joslyn’s arm to pull her outside while Dora closed the door behind them. Though their initial plan had been to take the Tube all the way into the city, it was such a beautiful night –in the opinions of three/fourths of the party– that they wound up making the walk. Freezing December rains had them staying mostly in doors, particularly because Joslyn simply was not made for the cold weather. For Christmas, Orlando (with a bit of help both in finances and fashion from Sam) had gotten Joslyn a scarf, a pair of mittens, a hat, and the warmest coat to be found in the country. Maybe then she would venture from the house a bit more. As it was, there was always a fire in Joslyn’s fireplace, their pantry was stocked with an unending supply of hot chocolate, and the race from Joslyn’s back door to Orlando’s was made at the quickest sprint.
“Are you still cold, Jos? It’s beautiful out here,” Giordi insisted, giving her a nudge in the side.
“No, it’s freezing,” she argued, pulling a scarf borrowed from Orlando up over her nose. She hated the condensation that gathered on her lips when she did so, and Orlando teased her that she was getting her bogeys all over his clothes. “You love it,” she returned.
He laughed, “Man, do you ever have me figured out. Nothing turns me on more than a girl getting her snot all over my clothing. Sexy!”
“What ass decided we should be walking in this, anyways?”
“I believe that was the boys,” Dora laughed. “Penny pinchers.”
“How much longer?”
“A lot longer,” Orlando answered with a shake of his head. He wondered if it would mean anything if they all celebrated Christmas early so Joslyn could go ahead and have her coat. But then she would probably stop borrowing his scarves and hats, and he wasn’t so sure he wanted that. Maybe he could give the scarves and hat –and the gloves– to Dora. Then he could continue to be Joslyn’s official handwarmer and she would continue to stomp into his room early in the mornings to borrow his scarves.
Joslyn groaned and wrapped her arm around Orlando’s waist, muttering something about why in the world boys were so much warmer than girls.
“It’s because–“
”I know, Izzy. Girls are baby-making machines so all our warmth is in the uteral region,” Joslyn interrupted, rolling her eyes.
Giordi groaned, “Ugh! Don’t ever say that word around me!”
“Baby? Or uterus?”
“Either!” he laughed, throwing his arm around Dora’s shoulder so that Orlando wasn’t the only one getting some action.
True to Orlando’s words, it was a much longer walk to get to the parlor where Joslyn had gotten both her piercings and Giordi had gotten the giant tribal cross on his left arm. On a Thursday night, business was slow, but still the neon signs cluttering the window beamed out a sleazy welcome to them.
“Jos, aren’t you nervous?”
“Of course not. What’s there to be nervous about? If these two wimps can do it, there shouldn’t be any problem for me,” she insisted, stepping away from Orlando before he could tickle her through the thin material of her coat. There just weren’t winters like this where she came from in Southern California. She hadn’t known what she was getting into, and it was only going to get worse after Christmas. She stepped first through the door and felt the rush of adrenaline that was quickly becoming familiar to her with each trip to this place.
The man behind the counter let out a loud bellow, “Hey, it’s the Yank again! What are you up to, California?”
“Hey, TJ, my man,” she returned slapping him on the shoulder as he came around the counter. He had done both her piercings and Joslyn really felt they were developing a bond through body art, or so she joked with him.
“So which of you wankers is it tonight?” TJ asked, not taking his arm from Joslyn’s shoulder. There was something entirely amusing about the little American chit, and TJ could see with absolute amusement that both Orlando and Giordi recognized it too. “You?” he asked Orlando.
Dora shook her head, “Believe it or not, it’s Jos. You’d never guess by how calm she is, though, huh? I’m the nervous wreck!”
“Oh, it’s you! Well what are we doing tonight? Piercing–“
”No, no, I think I’m all set with the eight holes in my body,” Joslyn laughed. “I’m here to get some ink.”
All three boys laughed at the way she said it, laughed at her, but she didn’t care. She was used to it. The boys were always laughing at her but she had learned to use it to her advantage. Orlando had a good Christmas present for her, she knew from Sam’s hints, and she also knew Giordi would do everything he could to outdo Orlando. Boys were so silly. It hadn’t taken her almost seven months to figure that out.
“All right, what’s it going to be?” TJ asked, stepping behind the counter to accept whatever she tossed his way.
Joslyn gave Dora a smirk; Dora still really believed she was going to back out. But she had gotten the money as a birthday present from her oldest brother specifically for a tattoo –he seemed keen on her doing as much as she could to make herself the black sheep of the family if only to take the attention off of his own recent drug bust and too-short stint in rehab.
“Well I was thinking a frog–“
”A frog!” Orlando interrupted with a groan. “What is it with you and frogs?”
“I like frogs!”
“But they’re so . . . you’re a girl, you need something girly.” Joslyn crossed her arms to listen as he suggested, “You know, a fairy or a butterfly or a flower.”
“I’ve really put thought into this. I don’t want it to be something I’m going to get sick of in two years.”
“But a frog? You’re going to get sick of that.”
“Oh, you know me so well, huh?”
“I am your best friend of all time,” Orlando insisted, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “I do know all of your deepest, darkest secrets–“
”I don’t have any secrets,” she laughed.
“I know the secrets you don’t even know you have.”
With a roll of her eyes, Joslyn insisted, “You are utterly ridiculous, Landy-O.”
“See, only best friends can say that sort of thing.”
“This is making me sick,” Giordi interrupted with a fake gag. “Why don’t you just get a heart with Orlando’s name in it, all right?”
“God, no. I’d be sick of seeing that name in a week!”
Dora hated tattoo parlors. Everything about them made her nervous. Beefy men donning nude ladies etched onto their skin; total sterilization; and the worst part: all the needles! There was nothing appealing. She should have stayed home with Grant. They could have discussed art history or watched a movie or something. Anything would be better than standing here, listening to the odd couple and Giordi bicker.
“Oh, will you just decide on something already, Jos?” she finally demanded, uncrossing her arms only for a second.
Orlando opened his mouth to start suggesting things he knew had personal value to Joslyn, but she interrupted him with a wave of her hand.
“You know what, Orlando? If you think you know me so well, you pick my tattoo.”
“Yeah?” his eyes widened.
As did Dora’s, who shrieked, “Joslyn!”
“What?”
Giordi started laughing and slamming his hand on the counter as Dora demanded, “You can’t be serious. What are you thinking? You just said it has to be something you aren’t going to get sick of in a few years. You just said you put a lot of thought into this!”
“Well by a lot of thought I meant I finally decided on a frog today, but why not something else?”
“This is a terrible idea!”
“You’re really going to let Orlando decide what’s going to be stamped into your skin for the rest of your life?” Giordi insisted, amused as hell but also positive Joslyn was kidding.
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19/Jun/2007, 9:03
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ShilohPR
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Re: The 409; ch. 4 added 1/20/07
Chapter 5 Continued
“Of course,” she nodded. Taking Orlando’s hands and holding them in front of her comically, she reminded, “We are best friends forever, right? So you can choose what tattoo I get now and then next time you get a tattoo, I’ll choose it.”
Dora shook her head, “That’s stupid. He could choose something horrible and then just not let you choose his tattoo.”
“Orlando?” Joslyn asked. Orlando had been laughing, shaking his head, because surely Joslyn wasn’t going to really go through with that. This was just another of her jokes; they were always joking about something. And though he might not be the brightest bulb in the chandelier when it came to women, he knew a thing or two, and about Joslyn in particular. He knew when she was joking, when she was serious, and when she joking to cover up her seriousness –even if he didn’t always act accordingly. But about getting a tattoo, he knew she was entirely serious about not getting something she would regret. She had been fascinated by his sun tattoo, by the simplicity of it, and wanted to know what had made him choose it. When he admitted it had been for no other reason than that he was suddenly without adult supervision and thought the design was cool, she had bemoaned the fact that in an opportunity to be truly symbolic or sentimental, he had gone for shallow.
“So . . . I choose your tattoo now and then next time I get a tattoo –which may be a while, because, you know, actors aren’t supposed to–“
”It doesn’t have to be tomorrow. You just have to get one eventually to keep up your end of the deal, yeah.”
“And you’ll choose it then. You’re really going to trust me to pick what’s eternally etched on your body, and then to hold up my end of the promise?” he clarified, raising his eyebrow. If so, it was more faith than Orlando had realized she had in him. She was constantly teasing him about his immaturity and naivety. They joked about being best friends, and in some ways they were, but in most ways it was a very shallow friendship. They joked far more than they were serious with each other.
She nodded, “I won’t even check. You can tell TJ and he’ll put it right on my body before I see it. All I ask is that . . . well, no, you pick. It’s just going to go on my neck, though, right here,” she explained, lifting her ponytail and pointing to the back of her neck.
“You’re serious.”
She nodded, then laughed, “Don’t give me that look, Orlando. Really. Tell TJ right now and I’ll go get seated.”
“You–“
”Yes, believe it or not, I do trust you,” she teased. “But choose carefully or you’ll regret it when I choose your tattoo,” she warned. Turning to TJ, she asked, “Where do you want me?”
“You’re crazy, do you know that?” TJ teased, shaking his head. “I see some crazy **** in this place, but never anything as crazy as you, American.”
“Yeah, I get that all the time. Now where?”
While TJ showed Joslyn and Dora over to the table, Orlando thought. Here was his chance to really show Joslyn that he could be a grown up, too. She was putting a lot of faith in him, and he was determined not to let her down. Yes, he was the jokester nextdoor always pranking the girls or taking them out to the coolest clubs or whatever. But he had a serious side, too. He could be considerate and sentimental and all those things girls liked but boys detested to admit they possessed. So what would be the perfect tattoo for her?
Well, she had said she liked the simplicity of his sun tattoo. So only maybe one or two colors. No more than three. And something that would mean something to her . . . something that had to do with the two of them! He wracked his brain, wishing he had more time to plan this out. There had to be something . . . He chewed his thumbnail in thought and paced a small square on the floor.
And then he had it. Just as TJ returned and opened his mouth to ask, Orlando grinned, “I’ve got it, man. See–“ He pulled the pad of paper up from the desk and quickly sketched it out, then explained, “Can you do this, right, and all this is black, except then yellow and orange accents, right? All here and–“
”Yeah, yeah, man, I got it,” TJ nodded, studying the paper. “And this sketch is actually about perfect. You an artist, mate?”
Orlando shrugged, “I dabble. I dabble, mate. Acting, but I thought about going into all that once upon a time, y’know?”
“Right, right. Well let’s make a copy and get this chit inked. Can’t believe she’s trusting you. Christ, if a girl ever trusted me that much– I can’t even get my wife to do that!” While he wandered off to make the copy, Orlando pulled a stool up to sit beside the table Joslyn was stretched out on, Dora and Giordi standing on either side of the table.
“You figure out what I’m getting?” Joslyn asked, and for the first time she had begun to look a bit nervous.
Orlando nodded, “Yeah. Want me to tell you?”
“No, I trust you.”
“I’ll only cry a little bit if you want to back out.”
“I never back out,” she argued, giving him a pointed look. “But you’d better not, either.”
“Of course I won’t.”
TJ came back and asked, “All right, you kids ready?”
“Yes,” Joslyn nodded, making an anxious face. Dora looked about ready to pass out and didn’t object when Giordi pulled a stool over for her to sit on.
“All right, California. Let’s get your hair out of the way,” TJ began. He always narrated everything he did, which Joslyn supposed was his method of keeping his patients or customers or victims or whatever they were calm. He pushed her hair up, but there were still small curly tendrils that wanted to get in the way.
“****, I should have brought a little clip,” she muttered, but Orlando reached out and pushed them up, keeping his hand there.
“Good, mate. Hold them back,” TJ nodded.
Orlando laughed, “Just don’t get my hand while you’re at it, huh?”
“S’long as you don’t move her head. Ready, lovey?”
“Yes,” Joslyn insisted. All this build up was making her more nervous than any of the planning had. Not so much about Orlando’s choice for what belonged on her body, and not even about whether or not it would hurt. She just was nervous. Whether he could tell or not, Orlando moved only to put his other hand on hers, and she quickly linked their fingers.
“Oh, God, Jos. I need to hold your hand, too!” Dora insisted, diving to Joslyn’s other side and grabbing her arm. Joslyn couldn’t see her that way, but perhaps that was for the better. Dora was making her nerves worse.
The tattoo itself was an odd experience. As soon as TJ touched the needle to her skin, goosebumps sprang up all along Joslyn’s arm and a chill went down her spine.
“You okay, love?” Orlando asked almost immediately.
“Yeah. . .”
“You just got this look on your face,” he laughed.
“How can you tell? Her face is so scrunched up,” Giordi teased, alluding to the odd head position TJ had her resting in. She wasn’t quite face down, but pretty close.
“It’s not that bad,” Joslyn answered, ignoring Giordi’s teasing. “It just kind of feels like– ooh, I felt that in my skull.”
“Well this is a fast one,” TJ told her. “Shouldn’t take but maybe twenty minutes.”
“What does it feel like?” Dora asked, wanting to hear the rest of her answer.
“Like a pencil is scraping the back of my neck, I guess. Ooh, yeah, that was my bone,” she inhaled sharply.
Orlando knew she was going to joke it off, and he sure didn’t want to seem like the biggest wimp watching her get a tattoo. Giordi’s had been nothing to him, or any of his guy friends’ for that matter. But as much as they joked about it, Joslyn wasn’t one of his guy friends. He actually cared if she was in pain, even if it was optional and would lead to a cool tattoo.
So he started talking to distract her, asking, “Have we decided when we’re going to do our little Christmas party? You leave for America in two weeks?”
“Two and a half.”
“You going home for Christmas?” TJ asked, and Joslyn caught herself just before she nodded. It helped having Orlando’s warm hand on the back of her head.
“Yeah. For a couple weeks. Just long enough to get feeling back in my fingers and toes,” she laughed.
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19/Jun/2007, 9:05
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ShilohPR
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Re: The 409; ch. 4 added 1/20/07
Last bit of chapter 5
“****, I still have to figure out what I’m getting everyone,” Giord joked, though everyone he already had everything planned out. He had been bragging for three weeks now about not waiting until the last minute.
“Oh my gosh, is that blood?” Dora suddenly cried.
Giordi snorted while Orlando suggested, “So, Dora, how about you don’t talk for a while? See, Joslyn, when I got my sun tattoo . . .”
Orlando was only halfway through a very drawn-out recounting of his experience with tattooing when TJ finally sat back and announced, “Done. Let’s get you wiped down and you can see what monstrosity your chum here picked out for you.” Joslyn laughed and waited impatiently as TJ wiped the area clean, then handed her a mirror to use in conjunction with the wall mirror to her left. She practically leapt up, stumbling a bit on her feet from the exhilaration until Orlando steadied her. She gingerly pulled her ponytail up and twisted her head to see.
“It’s a . . .Orlando!” Joslyn gasped. “It’s beautiful.” She grinned, her smile taking on an almost wistful appearance. The design of the butterfly was simple enough, made of whimsically disconnected black lines. Bright yellow and orange shadows and highlighting had been added along the curls in the wings and along the antennae, so that in color it was actually quite similar to Orlando’s sun tattoo.
“Do you like it?” he asked hesitantly, anxious lest he misread her facial expressions. She had taken on a pensive look, more serious than he had expected.
She suddenly smiled again, though, and assured him, “I love it. It looks just like the– I mean, it’s perfect. I can’t believe I hadn’t thought of it on my own.”
“I told you! I know you better than you know yourself,” he reminded, smirking and playfully kissing his fingers. His touchy-feely personality was something Joslyn had gradually gotten used to, but it still made her smile when he did small gestures like that. They were so contradicting of his normally over-the-top, insanely exuberant antics.
“Let me see!” Dora insisted, craning her neck until Joslyn turned around to let her and Giordi admire it. It meant nothing to them, though, except that it was a pretty design. It was just something between Joslyn and Orlando, and she liked it that way. It had been her hope that he would choose something special to them, special to their odd friendship. He could tell by her smile as she thanked and paid TJ that she loved it. After it was all taped up, they slipped their coats back on, Joslyn wound Orlando’s scarf back around her neck, and they set out into the night.
“So, now that you’re wearing my scarf and bear my mark on your neck, does that mean I own you?” Orlando inquired casually as they strolled along, Joslyn’s arms wrapped around her body against the cold.
She rolled her eyes, “No, I’d say it means I own you. I still get to mark you, which means you’re going to have to be very nice to me for quite some time. . .”
“****!” he sighed, throwing his hands up in the air. “I knew there was fine print I forgot to read!”
* * *
Hey guys, sorry I didn't update this for so long. Honestly, I sort of forgot about it until I had someone e-mail me about it. :x My apologies. But here's the newest chapter for your reading pleasure! :-)
Last edited by ShilohPR, 19/Jun/2007, 9:08
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19/Jun/2007, 9:06
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runawayangel04
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Re: The 409; ch. 5 added 6/19/07
quote:
Joslyn groaned and wrapped her arm around Orlando’s waist, muttering something about why in the world boys were so much warmer than girls.
Oh dear...that sounds like me and Brandon! He loves when it's cold (the AC is set to 60 degrees), I prefer it warm: 90 degrees outside, optional AC.
quote:
“So, now that you’re wearing my scarf and bear my mark on your neck, does that mean I own you?” Orlando inquired casually as they strolled along, Joslyn’s arms wrapped around her body against the cold.
She rolled her eyes, “No, I’d say it means I own you. I still get to mark you, which means you’re going to have to be very nice to me for quite some time. . .”
“****!” he sighed, throwing his hands up in the air. “I knew there was fine print I forgot to read!”
Granted I have no idea where you're going for sure, but this, well...hehehehe. If I were writing this, THAT would've been a red flag that something special is going to happen eventually.
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21/Jun/2007, 1:13
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ShilohPR
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Re: The 409; ch. 5 added 6/19/07
The 409; Chapter 6
“Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a–“
”F*cking shut up with that sh*t,” Giordi grunted from the living room. Maude had knocked the tree over again, and Dora had left Giordi to upright it again while she “dealt with the dog.” She didn’t have the heart to throw the pooch outside, though, and so just spoke rather sternly to her and then pointed her to the kitchen where Joslyn and Samantha were beginning the cooking preparations. Orlando had already been sent to the store twice and this time, stomping out in mock-anger, had insisted it was the last time. Though Christmas itself was still two weeks away, the stores were mobbed with overzealous shoppers clawing their way to coveted items: Nintendo game systems, red ribboned boxes of chocolate, the last tub of cocoa butter at the Body Shop. Despite the cheerful carols streaming from the speakers of every department store, this was a vicious time of year.
“Fine. Which carol do you want us to sing?” Joslyn huffed, sticking her head in the doorway just in time to witness Giordi almost toss the tree over in the other direction.
“None.”
“Well we’re going to sing something, so you’d better–“
”Oh the weather outside is frightful, but the fire is so delightful . . .” Samantha had started the song this time, and for some unfathomable reason, she had always intimidated Giordi. He couldn’t snap at her – which was lucky for her, because she was maybe the only person not getting snapped at lately. Joslyn’s impending departure for home had her in a terrible mood; she was not looking forward to another uncomfortable holiday with a family that all hated each other anyways. Giordi had been put on academic probation, which his parents were not happy about. Dora was under the weather and dreading driving home for Christmas, and upset that Grant refused to go home with her, preferring to stay in their empty house for the two weeks because his only family wasn’t celebrating together this year, spread around the globe as they were. She put on a brave face, but what did he have against her family? And Orlando . . . he was generally rather moody, and both Joslyn’s trip home and his own holiday stresses, plus yet another unsuccessful audition, had him on edge.
Joslyn sent Maude a sympathetic frown and insisted to no one in particular, “I just don’t know how anyone can be so opposed to Christmas carols. I mean, maybe you don’t love them, but to hate them?”
“They represent all the love I didn’t receive as a child.”
“Please. Your parents adore you. Don’t try to play the victim.”
“That’s right, you’re the victim,” Giordi rolled his eyes. He didn’t know the whole story, but he’d heard vague explanations of her family, and had summed her worries up in a few short epithets: estranged father, neurotic mother, one perfect brother, one drug-addicted brother, one dead brother. “Like we don’t all have dysfunctional families . .. “
”Hey, lay off, Giordi,” Dora scolded, swatting him in the arm with a rag. She detested the bully in him that peeked out during his moodiness.
Fortunately, Joslyn hadn’t heard what he had said, only that he had said something, and shot back, “What was that? Enunciate, Giordi. I don’t understand gibberish.”
“You wanna go, little girl? Come on, man up, show me what you’re made of.” He was teasing, smiling now, but Joslyn wasn’t ready for the sudden mood change. She was annoyed with him and his pompous bandana headbands and his buggy eyes and his toothy grin that always preceded a barking laugh. She needed a holiday from him. “Your brother was a boxer, wasn’t he? Surely he thought you something.”
“Shut up, Giordi. Just bug off and let us sing our Christmas carols.”
Her clear annoyance with him gave Giordi a small thrill, though; he liked the way her cheeks flushed when she got riled up, so he kept pushing, “Come on, Joslyn. Let’s–“
”Giordi, not right–“ Joslyn began, spinning with the pot of oil in her hands. Unfortunately, all the bickering had agitated Maude, who now paced the kitchen with an unhappy limpness in her tail. It just happened – pure accident, of course – that she was perfectly in the way when Joslyn spun around.
Orlando walked through the door just in time to see Joslyn spill a pot of boiling oil all over herself, then crack her head against the countertop on her way to the floor.
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29/Dec/2007, 12:26
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ShilohPR
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Re: The 409; ch. 5 added 6/19/07
Chapter 6 continued . . .
The blinking tree in the corner, and the holly garlands taped around the counters and window sills made the hospital waiting room look even drearier than usual, as though reminding all those poor unfortunate soles perched in abrasive blue chairs that, not only were they in for a long wait, but they or someone they loved was hurting at Christmastime.
Fortunately, Joslyn was not kept waiting. Orlando liked to think it was simply because the hospital staff were quite familiar with him by this point; even within the past six months, he had broken a finger back in July playing football (very poorly) with some friends, and then cracked his skull back in October, tripping on a damn chord some bastard left lying across the sidewalk. Neither were good stories to brag about later, but both had landed him at the Royal London Hospital. It wasn’t his familiarity that had earned Joslyn top priority at the hospital, though; it was the seriousness of her injury. In the face of emergency, level-headed Samantha had calmly explained they shouldn’t wait for an ambulance, and so while Orlando sprinted into the car and then the hospital with Joslyn alternately hanging limp or screaming in his arms, Dora had chewed her lip bloody.
He twitched in the chair, not looking at Samantha. Joslyn and Dora had been in with the doctors for quite some time. He wasn’t sure how serious Joslyn was hurt. They hadn’t waited to check where or how badly she was burned; only at the last moment, Grant had tossed Samantha a towel for the blood dripping from the back of Joslyn’s head.
Merry f*cking Christmas.
“Should we call Giordi and Grant?” Orlando started to ask, but the doors on the far side swung open and both girls came stumbling out, Joslyn with most of her weight on Dora, whose face almost triumphed the ghastly white of Joslyn’s.
Orlando and Samantha both leapt up to meet the two halfway, but to Orlando’s sigh, Joslyn asked curiously, “Have you been here the whole time? You aren’t supposed to be here!”
“What?”
“She’s loopy, Orlando,” Dora warned, twisting as Joslyn nearly slipped from her hold. It appeared Joslyn was leaning entirely on Dora; fortunately, she was quite a bit smaller. “Concussed, and they have her on so much pain medication . . .”
“I’m not . . . wait, what?” There were small water droplet burns on her left cheek, small but shiny in their rawness. A large white gauze bandage had been loosely wrapped around her neck and shoulder where the oil had contacted much more of her skin, though fortunately, none of it had been as bad as it could have been; her sweater had done a job of protecting her chest, and Joslyn’s reaction to jerk her shoulders up in fright had saved her neck much more serious burns. The doctor had lamented that there would of course be scarring, though with the proper skin treatments, it would hardly be noticeable to anyone not looking for it. As for the back of her head, the ex-rays hadn’t shown any fracture, though the brain was definitely swollen, and the gash had taken four staples to close up. Dora had passed out twice in the room, was finally kicked out into the hall, and now felt like at any moment all the food she had nibbled on all day would come roaring up from her stomach.
Orlando caught himself before the frown totally seized his face, and instead offered, “Want me to carry you to the car, Joz?”
“Why would you do that?”
“So you don’t fall,” he returned, mimicking her pitch change. It was habit to make jokes, even in serious times; it didn’t mean he didn’t want to hold Joslyn and squeeze her until the pain she must be in stopped. For better or worse, though, she seemed to be flying far too high to even realize her own pain. Her eyes narrowed and widened almost rhythmically as she stared at the fairy lights around the lobby.
“Is it someone’s birth– oh! Jesus!”
“Come on, sweetie. Let’s get you back to the house so you can lay down,” Samantha suggested, stepping forward to slip between Joslyn and Dora. “Orlando, take Joslyn’s other side . . .” The four of them made quite a chain as they wound their way to the doors. Orlando ran to retrieve the car, then had to stop twice on the drive home for Joslyn to puke out the window.
“I never understood why people do drugs because they don’t make you feel good. My brother said that they– geez, it feels like someone’s blowing into my ears,” Joslyn sighed, pressing her fingers so roughly into her ears that Orlando feared she would poke out her own eardrums. Her pulled her hands away, then almost smiled when Joslyn smoothly let her unburned cheek fall against his shoulder. She tucked perfectly into the crook of his neck and made some small comment at the vibration in her jaw when he spoke. It hurt her head, though, making her eyes water, and so Dora spoke nonsense to her, keeping a close watch on her eyes to make sure she stayed awake.
“It’s just that if she falls asleep and slipped into a coma, we wouldn’t know for some time,” Samantha explained to Dora’s questioning of not just letting her sleep. “We’ll keep her awake for an hour or so and then see. That’s what we always did with Orlando.”
“Orlando? My Orlando?”
“Your Orlando,” he quickly assured her before either of the girls could say differently. D*mn straight he was her Orlando.
Grant and Giordi were both waiting in the front windows, and had the door open before the car was even to a stop. Dora had called during the drive, and so even as Orlando and Samantha helped Joslyn into the house, Grant was showing them where he had set up a small nest in the living room for the wounded one: pillows and blankets on the couch, a trash can if she needed to throw up, several glasses of water, a packet of crackers, and the stuffed tiger that usually perched on the foot of her bed. He could be awfully thoughtful when he made the effort.
Joslyn stumbled as they took the step down into the living room, and Giordi dove forward to catch her, but Orlando physically put his arm in the way.
“I–“
”Watch out,” Orlando commanded shortly, shoving past and lowering Joslyn to the couch.
Giordi stood to the side, red-faced and sheepish as the others fluttered around Joslyn, tucking her into the couch, forcing water and crackers on her, feeling her forehead, staring into her eyes as though the dilation of her pupils meant anything to them. She, meanwhile, babbled on like a loon, making remarks about the darkness of Dora’s hair – “Didn’t you used to be blond, Isadora?” – or the crooked Christmas tree – “Did it grow like that?” He wondered what had been said about him; that he had caused the whole thing? He had only been teasing her! It had been Orlando’s dumbass dog that tripped her.
“I feel like I’m dying,” Joslyn sighed dramatically, flopping onto her back. She groaned, pushed herself up, and puked into the trash can, then limply accepted when Dora returned with a new shirt for her to slip on. “I need rum!”
“You don’t even like rum,” Grant snorted, handing her a glass of water instead. He gingerly pushed her hair back to inspect the small burns on her face. “You lucked out, girl,” he sighed. “Think how much worse this could have been.”
“I could have poked my eye out!”
“You . . . uh, well, I don’t know that you could have –“ he stammered, but Joslyn was already giggling again, rubbing the stuffed tiger against her right cheek.
“God, what do they have her on?”
Dora shrugged, “I don’t remember. I was . . . it was rough, I mean. I can’t remember what actually happened in there and what’s just a bad episode of Casualty.”
No one spoke for a few minutes. What was there to say? Joslyn had been reduced to a vocal preschooler; Giordi felt guilty and yet wrongly accused; Dora still felt a bit woozy; Orlando just wanted everyone to leave so he and Joslyn could curl up and watch a movie or something.
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29/Dec/2007, 12:29
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ShilohPR
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Re: The 409; ch. 5 added 6/19/07
Chapter 6 continued
“Well, we might as well keep going with the day,” Samantha finally suggested. “I mean–“
”Hey, let’s open presents!” Joslyn suddenly suggested in a loud, cheerful voice. “Oh, my head.” Watching her was like watching a schizophrenic, or a one-woman show at best. She would make a cheerful declaration, then instantly retreat as her exuberance allowed the immense pain skimming below to surface momentarily. It was going to be a disaster when her pain meds wore off; already the bottle of pills the hospital had given them was at the ready on the kitchen counter.
“Perhaps we should wait until you’re actually going to remember–“
”Ugggggh, I just want to go to sleep, if we’re all going to be honest with each other,” Joslyn suddenly groaned, again burying her face in the Tiger’s back. The waves of pain were getting more intense now that she was sitting still on the couch and away from the lethargic drain of the hospital.
Giordi sat on the chair across the coffee table and agreed, “Let’s open presents. It’ll keep her distracted for a while, right?”
“When can we let her go to sleep?”
“Yay, presents!” Joslyn clapped groggily, pulling her legs up onto the couch with some difficulty due to stiff muscles. Doing so sent a spike of pain up her spine and she visibly cringed. Instantly Orlando and Dora were on either side of her, more than happy to open presents.
Grant pulled the camera up from the mantle and insisted, “Okay, smile Joslyn!” The flash made her wince; in the photo, her smile was overly cheerful, and her eyes showed the effect of the drugs. He bit his lip to keep from laughing, “God, she’s going to kill me for photographing this, isn’t she?”
“Someday we’ll laugh,” Samantha muttered, taking it upon herself to divvy out presents since no one else seemed in the mood.
* * * * *
When Joslyn awoke, the house was dark and silent. It took her longer than she was comfortable with to piece together where she was: on the couch in the living room with Maude curled up on her numb legs. She could hear at least two other people breathing heavily, and after her eyes had adjusted a bit more, used the light from the Christmas tree to make out Orlando and Dora curled up together on a pad of blankets on the floor and Giordi in the comfy chair. A light was blinking in the kitchen, and Joslyn’s face, neck, and chest felt like they were on fire. Too roughly, she put her fingers to her face, then winced. Faintly, events came back to her. Boiling oil making contact with her skin. Things didn’t feel too bad from the touch of things, though, all things considered. But God, her head hurt. She gave a small yelp when her nails found the staples piercing her skin at the back of her head; crusted flakes of black blood fell onto her butterfly tattoo. She felt sticky and sore, and her head throbbed deep into her spine.
It wasn’t easy to move Maude, who took on the characteristics of a bag of bricks when asleep. Joslyn rubbed her arms, which hurt from even just wrestling with the dog. Careful not to stub anything on the coffee table, nor knock over the trash can, Joslyn stumbled in a thick haze to the kitchen and turned on the small light above the stove. It cast just enough light by which to see the pile of dirty dishes in the sink, the bottle of pills on the counter, the cold coffee still sitting in the carafe. A sudden wave of nausea rolled over her head, which Joslyn braved by bending over and resting her forehead against the cool counter. The living room was suffocatingly hot, but the tiled kitchen felt a bit better.
The window over the sink glowed dimly from the street lights outside. Joslyn stumbled over to look out at the quiet night and couldn’t help but grin faintly at the small globs of fluffy snow drifting down, occasionally sticking to the glass. It hadn’t snowed much since she had been here, despite the cold, but she had still experienced her first snowball fight. Hopefully after Christmas, there would be more snow to accompany the cold; Orlando assured her she would get to build snowmen and make snow angels before the flowers began to bloom. Perhaps no one else felt “glob” an appropriate description of snow, but Joslyn’s expectations of perfect little flakes falling from the sky had been dashed by the realization that the flakes, in fact, bunched together and formed globs of snow. It had been a rude awakening to a desert dweller.
Outside looked freezing, but her skin was on fire, so Joslyn stumbled to the entry way, bothering only to slip her feet into a pair of Dora’s shoes left carelessly by the door. It swung open with surprising force, pushed by the wind, and her hair instantly whipped around behind her as she stepped out. Once in the winter wonderland outside, though, the wind died down, and Joslyn felt she truly had stepped into another world. The narrow street was silent; the cars on the curb, the mailboxes, the fences, the garbage cans, and the rooftops had all accumulated a thick white coating. The sidewalks glistened beneath the lamplight, and the city lights reflected on the grey clouds overhead, giving them an eery yellow glow.
“Here, lovey.” Joslyn turned her head sharply, then gasped at the pain in the base of her skull from the rapid action. This quickly dissolved, though, as Orlando slipped a blanket around her shoulders and rubbed his hands up and down her arms. “All right?”
“No,” she sighed, leaning back so that her head tucked under his chin again. The cool air pressing against the exposed staples numbed the pain.
“I’m sorry. Are your feet on the ground, at least?”
“Kind of. I still feel pretty fuzzy.”
“How are your burns?”
“You tell me. I’m scared to look in the mirror.”
“Really, they don’t look that bad. I mean, I haven’t seen the ones on your neck, but no one’s going to look at your face in a month and know you were burned,” he assured her loquaciously. When he wanted to emphasize a point, he talked too much, but it meant he was sincere at least. “Do you remember anything at all?”
“Yeah, I actually think I remember everything, just very . . .distantly, as though I watched it all in a movie.”
There was nothing else to be said, or asked, and Orlando didn’t want her dwelling on her burns. Something happier to talk about, perhaps, that would distract her from the itching sensation crawling up her neck.
“So home . . . where exactly are you headed home to this Christmas?” Orlando asked, pulling the blanket tighter around her when she involuntarily shivered. The cold felt good, but her nose was turning pink.
With a sigh, Joslyn answered, “My mom’s in Vegas, so I’ll spend the first week with her, and then maybe go see my dad in New Mexico for the second week. It sucks that they live so far away from each other now, you know? Makes seeing both on holidays a lot more complicated. It’s one of the reasons I didn’t bother going home for Thanksgiving this year.”
“Two weeks . . . and then you’ll be back here?”
“Yep. And you’re headed back to Canterbury?”
“Yeah. Mum, Dad, and Gram are all excited. I feel bad sometimes, not getting down to see them as much as I should. It’s only a couple hours away, but . . .” he trailed off.
She nodded, “I know. At this point in our lives, we’re trying to forge our own path. Family can kinda hold you back, even if they don’t mean to.” She paused, then added, “But as much as I would love to continue this–“ Before she could finish, she ran to the bushes and threw up again, nothing but stomach acid.
“Poor little Joz,” he offered with genuine concern, rubbing her back until she’d stopped dry-heaving. “Come on, this cold can’t be good for you.”
“It’s too hot in the living room. It makes my head hurt worse,” she explained, accepting when he steered her back through the front door and locked it behind them. “I just want to lay out on the kitchen floor with the cool tile.”
“Well come on, I’ll camp out in there with you.”
“Yeah?”
He motioned for her to go on, and gathered a few blankets and pillows from the campsite in the living room before meeting her there. She had stretched out her stomach, resting her right cheek on her arms. Her eyes were closed, her dark lashes brushing against her pink cheeks, but her fluttering lids assured him she hadn’t fallen asleep yet.
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29/Dec/2007, 12:31
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