Okay, nobody is reading this but I'm still going to update.
A Thousand years Ch2
The next day, my cuts mainly burn from using a razor rather than just the blade. I slide into the seat of the old truck my daddy bought the day him and Paulette- er.. My mother- found out they were going to have me. They were going to give me life.
I wish they wouldn't have.
My dad piles my stuff in the back of the truck and jumps in beside me in the one door truck. "Ready to go, kiddo?"
"Yep," I say, popping the 'P'. "What are you and Tara gonna do while I'm gone?" I asked him as the truck roared into life. Tara was my dads- I couldn't bare the thought to call her by what she really was- special lady friend. "Mourn me?" I asked, a slight smile playing across my face. "Worry?"
He eyebrows pulled to the middle and he frowned. "Your not really going to worry about me are you?" I asked. I was starting to sound hysterical. "Your kidding?"
I sit back in to the seat and lay my head on the head rest. "O. M. G. Daddy, I'm going off to help the kids, not be one of them. It was Laura's idea. She said that I could come pretend to be a kid even though I'm not all suicidal now. She thinks I'm gonna be a good example, that's all. I'm not gonna be anorexic because you don't think I'm perfect anymore. I'm not gonna cut. Okay?"
He jut nodded but I don't think he got the jeft of the speech.
"One step closer." I say to him. "One step closer to winning the war. The war that's inside of me. It's like the American Revolution. We kept losing little battles but in the end we won the big battle."
Once more, he nodded.
"Brooke," He whispered. "Brooke, I don't think your perfect. Far from."
I winced. I lied. There goes my lunch.
"I think your the most perfect imperfect person I have ever met. And I'm sorry for what I did to you before. But I like imperfect people better than 'perfect' ones."
"One step closer." I say mainly to myself. "One step closer." I whisper as I drift into sleep.
When I woke my back was killing me from sleeping in the truck. I should have laid down and put my head in my dad's lap.
I look around at the woods that traile all the way down the road.
"We're still in Mississippi?"I ask
him, my voice sounded anxious.
"No. Calm down. We're out of Mississippi. Far from. We're about to be there. We're just getting into Texas," he assures me.
"Oh, yay! How much longer?" I ask with a little bit to much enthusiasm. You would expect someone going to a rehabilitation summer camp wouldn't be very excited; I wasn't the first couple of summers. But now I'm better and I get to go and help others.
He ignored me.
"Daddy! Don't start that again! How much longer?" I hedge.
"Jeez, Brooke. Calm yourself.about ten more minutes."
"Ahh!! Yay, yay, yay!" I squeal.
"Are you fan-girling over a rehab?"he asks me.
"So, it is a rehab?" I say to him as the smile creeps onto my face again.
I throw my stuff onto my bed in the same cabin I have had for the last three summers I have spent here.
"All good, kiddo?" I turn around to see my dad. I jump up to hug him. I don't remember the last day I told him I loved him. How old was I? Nine? Even then I knew my mom was on drugs.
"Bye, daddy. I love you, " I say the last words hesitantly. I don't even know what I mean by it. "I know you will win. It's okay."
He nods and releases me from his bear hug. He smiles at me. "I love you, too."
"You should feel lucky. There are not many people left I love. It takes a lot to lose my trust. But it takes much longer to gain it back."
"I feel loved. It's nice to here those words again."
"Oh daddy, I have loved you for a thousand years."
"And I will love you for a thousand more."
I kissed him on both cheeks and sent him on his way.
"One step closer!" I yell to him as he steps into his truck.
I walk out of my cabin and down to the dining hall where everyone-almost everyone- is eating. I go and sit beside an anorexic girl who is staring down at her sandwich.
"Hey." I take a seat at the table. Everyone there just stares at me. "Sup, kiddo? Do you not like mayonnaise or something?" I ask innocently.
"I don't. I absolutely hate mustard and mayonnaise. So gross. Want me to get you something else?" I continue.
"No. No, I'm good. Thanks." She says to me.
"You know, being anorexic doesn't exactly help anything," I was being serious now. "Like, I'm not telling you what to do, but-" I cut off thinking of what to say. "I happen to like perfectly imperfect people." I nod and get up to head for the lines. Out of the corner of my eyes, I watch as the girl takes a bite out of her sandwich.
I smiled vibrantly. It had actually worked. I was sure I was sounding retarded.
I look around and notice the empty table I used to sit at with my friends from the camp. They were gone. They either survived and got over it or there parents didn't think the camp was helping.
I walk over to the table and smile to myself. I eat silently for a while. I notice that a few people are staring at me and giving me death glares. Other than one person. He is staring at me but I see no death glare. But when I make eye contact with him he immediately turns away.
I stand up, shove the sleeves of my jacket up,- so they can see the scars. They obviously are mad because I seem fine.- and stalk out of the dining hall. I walk towards the picnic table that my friends- I know to many Alana's. My friend Alana from home; Alanna and Allayna from this camp.- and I would come to talk and relax. I remember looking up at the sky and picturing bunnies out of the clouds that, to be honest, looked like globs of nothing.
I walk over to the picnic table and lay on the top of it. I close my eyes and let the sound of the lake and wind rustling the trees drown out my problems. I can still hear the others around me groaning and laughing at me.
I just smile.
I start to humm A thousand years and begin to relax.
"Hi," I flinch at the sound. It sounded so much like my dad before he got help for that horrible anger problem.
"Hello," I say, skeptical.
"Sorry if I scared you," I lookup to see the same boy from the dining hall, the one who hadn't looked at me like he wanted me dead for being- looking- happy.
"Reflex,"I whisper as I start to sit up. I sit on the top of the table Indian-style.
"I see," he says to me. I can't help but smile at that. "What?" He asks suddenly sounding a bit panicked.
"One: you don't. Two: we never give our minds enough credit. You don't 'see', you understand. I know it's just a figure-of-speech, but-" I break off. "Inside joke." I finally say
He just nods at me.
"Sorry. I'm annoying,"I state it as fact.
He walks over to me, but keeps his distance. About 5 feet away, he stands with his hands in his jacket pockets. "May I?" He asks politely.
"Umm. . .," I think about it. This was always my place to relax; always my- and the Alana's -place to look at the clouds, listen to the lake, relax and forget our worries.
"Never mind. I'm sorry if I intruded," he turns on his heels just as I realize how much I don't want him to leave. I hadn't noticed until now how much I have been craving a different persons contact. Not even that really; just a new conversation.
"No!" I practically screech the word. I don't have much time left to make friends. If I'm going to Paulette. "Here," I said as I scooted over and laid back down. I pated the spot beside me. "You can stay."
I watch him as he came and laid beside me. I sat there stealing side glances at him like an idiot as he looked up at the sky. His dirty-blonde hair flowed over his forehead. It was almost the same color as mine. His is well blended while mine is a light-light-light- brown and has random natural blonde streaks and pigments in it. I wish mine was as elegant and mixed as his. I hate my hair color, even if everyone else likes it.
His body is lean and muscular but I notice how skinny he is. Well he wasn't at this camp for no reason; I was still trying to gain all my weight back. I shiver at the thought of all the fat and how imperfect I would look to my parents. I push that thought aside.
His eyes was exquisite! Gold eyes. Who has gold eyes! I had bright- and I mean BRIGHT -green eyes.
"Why are you staring at me?" He says just as I -my eyes- was moving down to study his lower body. Not in anyway particular; anorexic people tend to have much-to-small-legs.
"Satisfied?" I ask him.
"I wish," he says innocently.
"Darling, don't be afraid. I'm not going to cut off your balls," I say to him, giggling a bit.
"I have pepper spray, though. Just in case."
"In case what?"
"I don't know if you plan to rape me or not. I just met you and where already lying beside each other."
"Like five year olds at a summer camp on a picnic table. When I was five I used to steal extra ketchup packets during lunch. I'm warning you."
"Woah, guys, you'd better watch out, we got a badass over here."
He laughed, a husky laugh. It occurres to me that I have never heard anyone laugh at camp, besides from me.
I turn serious. "I hope your making an effort. I did."
"Why are you here?" The question startles me a bit. Why wouldn't I be here?
"When I was about 6-" I begin but he cut me off.
"No,no,no. I mean, like, why are you here again? Here now? You look completely fine."
"I am," I said. "I don't see anything wrong with me. Anymore." I tag on the last word. "Like, I just, I'm here as an example. I don't think I'm perfect now. Well, I mean, I'm not healed. I have my problems."
"Your a great person," he says, again, surprising me.
"I wouldn't think so. I'm sure I'm already hated here. But-"
"No. I mean your such a good hearted person. Coming to a crappy camp you don't even need to help others."
"I'm telling you more than I should already and I don't even know your name," I say to him as I roll onto my side, tucking my feet up under me, on the table. I look at him.
He continued looking at the sky and I put my hands under my head like a small child- and, I'll admit to it, I still do- when they are falling asleep.
"Chris," he says.
"Chris," I try it out. I never have liked the name Chris. I hate it almost as much as I hate my first name, Cassidy. It tied me to my mother to much.
"You say it like you hate it," he states matter-of-factly.
"Honesty?" I question him and he nods once. "I do. Always have."
"How about Christopher?" He asks me.
"It's my real name. My mom calls me Chris for short."
I cringe at the word 'mom'.
"Yea. I'm fine."
"Okay. What about you stranger?"
"Call me Brooke."
"Call you? What's your real name?" He asks the horrid question.
"Brooke. Brooke is what everyone calls me. It's my middle name."
"What's your full name?"
I sigh. "I can not believe I'm telling you this," I huff out. "Cassidy Brooke Parker."
"Interesting. Okay, Cass-"
"Do. Not. Call. Me. That." I pronounce.
"Umm okay. I'm sorry."
"It's just.. It binds me with Paulette."
"Binds you with who?"
"My, er," I could feel my chest tighten and I gasp the word, "mother."
"Oh," is all he says.
"Can we not talk about it. . .," I more demand it than ask him.
"Sure, sure," he says. I giggled.
"What?" He asked.
"I read this book, twilight-" I begin, staring at his beautiful face. He is quite gorgeous.
"Ahh, your a Twiheart. 'Lemme guess. Your team Jacob 'cause he's hot."
"Actually, I'm team Edward 'cause he, just, I don't know, has a better conection with Bella. And-" I stop thinking for a bit. "Society has plummeted down the toilet. All girls won't these days it a hot boyfriend, sex, and money. Same for guys except that they want a sexy ass girlfriend that will suck his-"
"Calm. Calm yourself, Brookie Brooke," I wince at the old nickname my mother gave me. "Err. . . Your very confident about yourself."
"I don't have a problem with telling people what I believe in. Falling in love isn't just about how hot or cute the boy is. I don't honestly care- as long as I'm in love with that person. And I want people to see the correctness of that," I say to him.
"Tell me what other stuff you say you stand up for," he demanded.
"Society deserves the punch in the face I give them when I say it. Don't doubt me, Christopher. I'm bound to do it here,"
"Jinx," he says to me suddenly.
"Jinx? I'll have you know I'm quite superstitious. And we didn't even say the same thing-"
"I'm saying that I think that it's a good thing. People should copy what you say about that," he states.
"That's your new nickname, crazy," I say to him hiding a smile.
"Still staring at me?" He asked as a wide smile spread across his face, blazing his perfect teeth.
"Oh my gosh! Shut. Up," I laughed again.
"Okay. Where talking random, Hyena, where off track," he said finally opening his eyes again. He turned to look at me nod. We were going from one random subject to another. I push my glasses up. "Please do continue your rant about the rest of the world abominations."
"Okay," I sprawl back out on the table and looked at the sky as I told him all the wrong-doings an right-doing. All the things we should do. All the things people won't do. I told him of my agreement with abortion during certain circumstances. My opinion on birth control. We switch the subject over to my hatred of Mississippi. I told him I loved the beauty, but the people there had downgraded.
We spent an hour sitting there talking about food. The foods we still ate and the foods we hadn't. He somehow managed to get me to spill the beans of my plans of not eating lunch.
We changed the subject to personality traits. Apparently I wasn't the only fangirl here. He was a fanboy of a story about demons and vampires. He enjoys making others happy and he couldn't stand telling people 'no' when they ask for things.
"I'm was the same way," I say to him during the conversation. "I still am. I wish I wasn't. It's why I get pushed around so much. People expect you to do everything they want you to, but you can't ask any of them."
He just nods.
It was just becoming twilight and the sun was half way over the long stretch of lake that was beside our picnic table. I love how it is so easy for me to say that this was OUR picnic table now. Some where during the last hours we spent on the table we had begun holding hands. It was in no way in particular, more as in a friendship.
"Does this make us friends?" I ask as we got called to dinner. We had skipped lunch talking at the table and I was giddy that my plan wasn't ruined. I'm sure he is hungry though. Sitting here with him talking about stupid stuff, I felt like I didn't need food. He was all I need.
I can't eat him of course.
And I would die without food.
"Sure, sure," his voice rang through my ears. It was husky but soft. The sweetest sound I have ever heard. "What kind of music do you like?"
"I like pop music; The dub-step that comes on it."
"Okay. Okay, yea," he put his other hand- the one that wasn't linked to mine- under he chin, pretending to think. "Hmm. Okay. What's your favorite song?"
The highest smile crossed my face, but then it fell.
I stop in middle step. I had to think about this one. A thousand years was always my most IMPORTANT song, but was it my FAVORITE song.
He clears his throat. "Is that it?" He asks me. I hadn't noticed I was humming A Thousand Years.
"Ummm. . . I don't know," I shrug.
"What song were you humming?" He asks me, a confused look on his face.
"A Thousand Years. . . ," I whisper.
"You are SUCH a Twiheart," he muttered. "Sing it for me."
"No way. Absolutely not. I didn't even get it from Twilight by the way."
"Aww. . . C'mon, Hyena," looks like we both had nicknames.
So I end up mumbling the words to A Thousand Years while holding hands with Jinx all the way to the dining hall.