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 Posted: Fri Oct 06, 2006 8:17 am
 After ten minutes, Genevieve realized what she had done, and, though she wasn't exactly sure her actions had been wrong, she regretted them.
A glance at her watch told her that her mum might be out of surgery. With that hope in mind, she doused the fire with some wet leaves from the river bank and set off for the hospital.
Half an hour later, she arrived at the hospital. The aides pointed her to the room where her mother lay resting.
"I'm sorry, Mum. I didn't mean to be late."
"Sweets, you've never missed before. Don't worry about it. Your friend, Andrew, kept me company. He just left a few minutes ago."
"I'm still sorry, Mum. I fell asleep. When I woke up...Oh. It's silly. How are you feeling?"
Her mother smiled. Her smile had once been a lovely thing, the talk of the town, but now that she was so sick, her smile was like a grotesque parody of her former smile. It still warmed Genevieve's heart to see her mother smile, but it hurt, too, to see her mother diminished so.
"Hon, I'm on so many anesthetics, I wouldn't notice if you cut off my leg. Maybe I should have some cosmetic surgery done while I'm drugged up. What do you think? A nose job?" She laughed, and it shook her frail body in a worrisome way.
"No. You're perfect the way you are, Mum," Genevieve answered, pained. It was so difficult for her to see her mother like this.
"Go on home, hon. I'm going to fall asleep soon, and I don't need you to watch me sleep. If you see Andrew, tell him thank you for talking to an old woman, when he could be out doing things."
Genevieve nodded, biting her lip into whiteness.
"Okay, Mum. Feel better. I'll be in to visit later today."
"Okay. I'll see you then, if I'm awake. If I'm not, you don't have to stay."
"But, Mum - "
"Get home, hon."
Genevieve left the room and sank into a similar chair to the one she had occupied earlier that morning to have a quick cry. This chair had a suspicious brown stain over the arm and back which distinguished it from the one she'd sat in before.
"Tissue, Genevieve?" It was Andrew. It had to be. He was one of the only people who ever pronounced her name correctly: Zhan-vee-ehv.
She took the tissue, recognizing it as one of the kind that receptionists at the hospital kept on their desks. There was a distinctive feel to them that resembled sand paper. She didn't use it to blow her nose for that reason, though she did dab at her eyes.
"Thanks," she gasped between sobs.
"Hey, V, I'm sorry for upsetting you earlier. I've no sense of timing."
"Nope. None. Don't worry about it," she answered, trying to talk between sobs. It wasn't easy. She just couldn't stop crying though.
Andrew put one arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him, tucking her under his arm easily. He rested his cheek on the top of her head and offered another tissue, which she took and balled in her hand.
"Let's go eat lunch. Mum's left some decent left-overs in the fridge, and I'm great with a microwave. Then, after we eat, you can tell me what's been going on in your life."
"My mum - "
"Is sleeping, and will stay asleep for several hours, at least. Come on. You need to talk."
He helped her to her feet and, arm still around her shoulders, steered her out of the hospital and to his house.
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Posted: Fri Oct 06, 2006 8:18 am
Genevieve allowed herself to be led, but she tried not to lean on Andrew any more than his grip on her forced her.
Vestiges of high-school self-confidence issues: the fear that by placing any weight on a person of the opposite sex, they will believe you're a hippo, she thought to herself amusedly. But she didn't put any weight on her companion that she could prevent.
Andrew took a keep from under the welcome mat and unlocked his door. His mother was vacuuming in the living room.
"Oh, Andrew. You're home." It wasn't exactly a warm welcome.
Genevieve cast a curious glance up at Andrew.
"Later," he whispered. Then he said, more loudly, "Hi, Mum. I brought Genevieve over for lunch."
"Genevieve. Oh." She turned off the vacuum and came over to greet Genevieve. "It's been a while, hasn't it. Since Andrew was a...freshman in high school, right?"
"That's right, Mrs. Gaines."
"And how's your mother?"
"She's just undergone surgery for her cancer, Mum. Can we do the inquisition thing later?" Andrew interrupted, grasping Genevieve's elbow and leading her away from his mother.
In the kitchen he sat her down at the table and started piling an array of Tupperware in front of her, each neatly labeled in his mother's precise handwriting.
"We have everything. What do you want?"
Genevieve forced a smile.
"I have a difficult time eating on days when Mum has surgery. I'm sorry," she explained, shrugging.
He looked vaguely disappointed as he started returning the plastic boxes to the refridgerator, but he shrugged, too, and said, "Okay. But will you at least have something to drink?"
"Water?"
He nodded and fetched her a glass of filtered water from the refridgerator door. Then, finished playing waiter, he sat down opposite her.
"Tell me," he said, without prelude.
"Andrew, you don't have to - "
"Tell me," he repeated.
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Posted: Fri Oct 06, 2006 8:22 am
Tell you? she thought. What can I tell you? You don't need to hear this.
And yet, when she opened her mouth, everything came out.
"My mum's dying of cancer. Everyone knows it, and it's impossible to deny it, but she's living in some strange stage of acceptance which makes it seem like she doesn't even realize she has cancer sometimes, and it's exhausting to be around her, and it hurts, but I love her so much, and I want to spend as much time with her as I can, but I can't. I have to work. I hate my job, because the people are horrible, and the hours are worse, but if I don't work, there's no way we can afford the medical bills. I got accepted to University, and I couldn't attend because of that. I'm never going to go anywhere in my life, or do anything. I'm never going to go to college. Everything I've done in my life has been useless, because it's all been devoted to getting into college and then getting the hells out of here and never looking back. I wanted to travel, and learn, and...I can't! I'm stuck here. The only way I'll ever get out is if my mum dies. Do you know how horrible it is, to need your mother to die to be able to live? And people come home and they look at me with pity and scorn. I was saludatorian for the damn school, and I'm working at a truck stop. I just...hate my life, but if I die, or stop earning money, it's the same thing as my mum dying, because there's no way she'll be able to afford her fees without any income. And then I look at you. You have everything, and you screw it up because you're - what? - too lazy to do a paper because you're out partying?"
After this flood of words ended, Genevieve realized what she had said.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean - "
"Forget it. You're justified. I'm sorry. I wish I could help you somehow. But I can't even get you to drink a glass of water." He looked fixedly at her untouched glass.
Automatically, Genevieve lifted the glass to her lips and took an obligatory sip. Andrew smiled and shook his head.
"You're far too obliging, and you try way too hard not to offend people," he said good-naturedly.
"I know. I'm sorry about what I said about you. I know nothing about it."
"I said forget it. My problems shouldn't be yours. You've got more than enough."
Genevieve flushed scarlet and lowered her eyes to her glass. She felt so horrible. She shouldn't have told him anything. She should have left. She could still do that, with some shred of dignity.
"Thanks for listening to me, Andrew. I have to get home. I've got another shift in a few hours, and I still have to get some sleep. Thanks for the water."
She stood up and he did the same.
"I'll walk you home," he offered.
"You don't have to do that. I don't live where I did before."
"Great. I never did get to see your new house."
She was half-way to the front door before he caught up with her. His mother was vacuuming the patio out back now, and so not around to witness when Genevieve ran across the front room to the door. His legs were longer, though, and he caught up quickly. Plus, the door was locked, and she had to fumble with the mechanism.
"V, what's wrong now? What've I done?"
"I don't need your sympathy, and I don't want you to see my house. Just...let me go."
Her expression begged him to release her wrist. He either didn't get the message or ignored it.
"Are you embarrassed to show me where you live? V, that's ridiculous."
"Ridiculous or not, I don't want you to see my house."
He sighed impatiently and looked away for a moment with pursed lips, and then released her, reached past her, and unlocked the door.
"Then go. But remember something, will you?"
"What?" Genevieve asked warily.
"I still think of you as my best friend, and I'll be here if you need me."
Genevieve nodded, bit her lower lip to hold back tears, and left.
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Posted: Fri Oct 06, 2006 8:23 am
At home, Genevieve, her resentments having been spent by venting to Andrew, found her orb where she had thrown it. She examined its surface very closely, for the first time, actually. It was still smooth and unmarred, despite the rough treatment it had received at her hands recently.
"I'm sorry," she said, now repentant for her earlier actions. "I didn't really mean it."
The orb, paradoxically, shone darkly and its surface became very cold to the touch, like a marble left in a freezer overnight. It was very different from earlier in the day, when it had pulsed and glowed
"What are you doing now?" she murmured to it, caressing the glasine sphere's curves.
As if in answer, the orb cracked in her hands and smoke poured forth.
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Posted: Wed Nov 22, 2006 7:25 am
When the smoke cleared Genevieve found herself staring at a humanoid being roughly the size of a small cat or a doll. The creature had dark skin of a blue-green color like that she had seen swirling around inside the orb. The little thing had a definitely grey cast to its flesh though, vaguely reminiscent of something dwelling in a swamp. The finned ears and webbing from the shoulders clinched it. The thing was definitely a swamp creature.
"What do I call you?" she wondered aloud.
To herself, she thought, What do I know about taking care of...goblins? I have no idea what to do with this thing. I don't even know how to tell if it's male or female.
"Well, Dragul is a nice, androgynous name, since I have no idea what gender you are. And it seems well-suited to you."
The newly-named Dragul looked up at Genevieve through through muddy green eyes and made a sound deep in its throat which reminded Genevieve of the sound people make when they swallow too much liquid at once, sort of a "glug"-ing sound.
"Of course, I could call you Gollum," she remarked drily, cupping the young goblin (?) in her hands and cradling it as she might a very young child. "But that's fairly thoroughly copyrighted."
Dragul blew a raspberry and shook its almost flourescent-green hair - the same color as the webbing which appeared periodically on its small body.
"And you don't seem to like it. Oh boy."
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Posted: Sat Nov 25, 2006 7:06 am
Over the course of the next few days, Genevieve became more accustomed to Dragul. The Undera would follow her pretty much everywhere, disregarding all her attempts to prevent it. Locks had no effect on the thing. Likewise, any other form of confinement.
And yet, somehow, it seemed that no one ever seemed to notice the creature which had become her constant companion. Perhaps because everyone was too preoccupied with the other creature which seemed to have become her constant companion.
Andrew had started to turn up everywhere. At first it was incredibly awkward for her to be around him after her outburst at his home that first day she had seen him - the day Dragul had emerged from her orb - but Andrew had been so determinedly cheerful that Genevieve was soon as comfortable around him as she had been when they were best friends all those years ago.
The other waitresses at the truck stop, ranging in age from sixteen to fifty eight, delighted in ribbing her about his constant presence, asking prying questions with a sort of good-natured curiousity that Andrew either answered or deflected with ease.
Somehow, Andrew's charisma was wearing off on her. Well. Not exactly. More like, everyone liked him, and remembered it now that he was actually present, and everyone came to like Genevieve because Andrew spent most of his time with her. Oddly, no one asked what Andrew was doing home, or why he had so much free time.
Naturally, Dragul was not forgotten. Once she had discovered that the Undera had a penchant for objects humans considered generally inedible (buttons, bottle caps, corks, and pony beads being preferred), Genevieve had done her best to keep these things in constant supply. Some were easier than others to procure. Bottle caps, for example, she merely took home from work, saying that she was starting a collection. The rest she was forced to buy from the craft store, which gouged her already tight wallet, but she wanted to be sure Dragul remained healthy and happy. For the most part, it seemed to work.
The only people who really took much notice of the Undera were her mother, who noticed her right away, and Andrew, who really couldn't help it.
Her mother was charmed by the small creature and asked no uncomfortable questions. She didn't ask from whence Dragul had come, nor what, exactly, an Undera was, though Genevieve did say that she was a goblin Undera. Andrew, on the other hand, was full of such questions, which Genevieve did her best to answer or evade, depending on what he asked.
The most difficult was, of course, "Who is the Goblin King, and why would he give you a goblin orb?"
She couldn't answer because she had no idea.
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Posted: Thu Dec 28, 2006 4:35 am
On one of the rare days when Genevieve was home without Andrew hanging around, for he had made her home a frequently frequented place on his daily itinerary, Genevieve had found herself out of every imaginable food, save a box of lime Jello. Much as she despised the stuff, she mixed it anyway, rather than endure the cold and the cashier's derision by going to the grocery.
She had just set the Jello in the refriderator to set when she noticed through the window a young man in a fur-rimmed jacket standing uncomfortably by a motorcycle. Before she could stop herself, she went to the door and invited him inside. It was, after all, weather so foul that she herself wouldn't even brave it for food.
Jay was the young man's name. He had received a note from the Goblin King indicating that he ought to come here to meet him. This struck Genevieve as completely ridiculous, as she had never seen the Goblin King, and doubted that he would be at all interested in coming to the armpit of the universe in which she lived, not even to meet with a boy who had one of his orbs, as Jay did.
Jay's orb was called Merethist, and displayed far more personality than Dragul had displayed as an orb. Contrary to the orb's decidedly feminine coloration, Jay referred to Merethist as a male entity. Genevieve envied him, for he lived in a household which was full of people and excitement, from what she could tell, and his lover (or so she got the impression that was what Asher was) also had an orb, which had reached an Undera form. That point fascinated her, and Jay had offered to try to arrange a meeting between some of the other orb and Undera owners he knew, which was very generous of him.
During his visit, Genevieve also discovered how very withdrawn Dragul had been as an orb. Dragul had been more like a paperweight with smoke swirling inside. Merethist had personality, and clearly didn't care for Dragul who was, Genevieve had to admit, a little hellion.
She served Jay hot Jello. It was the only thing in the house, hot or otherwise, and she felt that she ought to at least be hospitable to the blond with the orb. She assumed, incorrectly, that she would not see him again, but she did not see him for nearly two weeks, during which other events occurred to distract her.
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Posted: Mon Jun 11, 2007 11:33 am
The next time Genevieve saw Jay and Merethist it was at a diner. She didn't particularly care for diners as a rule because she worked in one, but at the same time it was nice not to have to cook for herself and clean up after her meal and so on. Of course, one had to pay for the privilege, and money was always tight, but she figured she had enough spare change from tips that she could afford to splurge.
So she and Dragul had gone out and run into what seemed to be a convention of orb owners, which was something just short of shocking. Genevieve had not imagined that there were so many, and that they all lived near enough to eat in the same diners was amazing to her.
They invited her to join them in their meal, and though she had only a cup of coffee - all she could afford - she was more than happy to do so. It was nice to feel like she belonged to something other than Kids of Cancer Patients groups, even if it was Strange People With Orbs Anonymous.
The only mishap was a loss of her purse which resulted in upsetting poor Merethist badly. She felt guilty about that, since there was absolutely nothing of value in her purse. As a sort of peace offering she had offered Mere the rabbit's foot she carried around with her.
That was the day before things got much worse.
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Posted: Tue Jun 12, 2007 6:19 am
Andrew had been applying for jobs around the area and spent less time with her, and she felt his absence acutely. His aimiability and casually charming nature had been like a bolster to her flagging strength and hope, and with him no longer around constantly to keep her in a good mood, she felt the full strength of her fatigue.
Dragul tried to be helpful, in her way. She would smile her buck-toothed, mischievious grin and then do some new trick she had learned. So far she had added to her repetoire unlocking locked doors, standing on her hands, and eating dirty coins to be vomited up all shiny and new-looking. None of these were particularly useful traits to Genevieve unless she decided to go into a life of crime and bank robbery, but she could see that Dragul was trying to cheer her and she played along, but the little undera's personality was not effervescent enough, really.
But as for Andrew's absence, that actually turned out to be the worst problem. Usually he would accompany her everywhere, like a squire or a chaffeur or some such thing, but for his job hunt he had been doing less of that so that he could fill out applications and attend interviews.
Genevieve hadn't realized how dependent she had become on his more or less constant company until, after a late shift at the diner which had her getting off work at one thirty in the morning, she was asked to make the diner's deposit for the week at the bank. On one hand, it meant that they trusted her with their money. On the other hand, it meant that she was carrying a huge amount of money and she was totally alone but for Dragul and unarmed.
She walked through the poorly lit streets and tried not to look like the victim she knew she resembled. As she walked, she fumed inwardly at Bill for sending her, a relatively young female, to the bank alone and so late at night. He had said that the deposit needed to be made by two in the morning, so she had to hurry. Hurrying, however, tends to make a person look like a victim, she learned.
Two men stepped out of the shadows by the ATM and Genevieve felt a chill run down her spine. They smelled of strong whiskey, which meant, presumably, that they were drunk. If they were drunk, their judgment was bound to be impaired and they might try things they wouldn't in a sober state. Her heart rate accelerated and her hands began to tremble. On her shoulder, Dragul burbled softly, like the last of the shower water going down the drain. Genevieve had never heard her make that sound before.
"Vey ba'," Dragul mutter. "Vey, vey ba'."
Genevieve wasn't about to disagree with the goblin. She, too, felt the situation was very, very bad. And it went from very, very bad to worse once one of the men started talking. He told her to give him the money, and then maybe what was coming wouldn't hurt so much. She could think of two options for what might be coming, and neither of them appealed to her at all. Everything she'd ever been told urged her to just give him the money and run, but she couldn't do that because it wasn't her money to lose.
When she didn't immediately acquiesce, the silent man stepped forward. It was only then that she noticed that he carried a piece of wood about two feet long. At that point, she knew that the money wasn't worth it, but it was already too late. She knew it was too late, too. These men wanted the money, true, but they were going to hurt her whether she gave it to them or not, and what difference did it make if they hurt her a little or a lot. It would feel like a lot no matter what. She had a low threshold for pain.
While she reasoned with herself, whether it was better just to hand over the money and hope for clemency or to fight back, her fight or flight gland took over and she heard her feet pounding the pavement. Unfortunately, she heard four more feet doing the same with heavier, faster footfalls. Dragul clung to her collar and gurgled incomprehensible declarations of her unhappiness.
Roger that, Genevieve agreed privately, taking note of the goblin's gurglings.
The inevitable caught up with her when she made a wrong turn and proceeded to make the evening the worst of her life. She was beaten, robbed, and left to whimper in a rubbish-strewn alley. Dragul had been magnificent. She had fought ferociously, and being largely unseen quite effectively, but it meant that Genevieve's attackers blamed Genevieve for their unseen assailant and took it out on her.
It was hours and hours until sunrise.
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Posted: Wed Jun 13, 2007 9:01 am
Genevieve did not lie in the alley for hours and hours though. She lay still for a period of time between ten and twenty minutes, and then she climbed stiffly to her feet, brushed herself off, and headed for home and a shower. Dragul clung to her hair and growled angry gibberish which Silence assumed were threats toward their assailants, who were long gone.
She was not doing this because she was strong or brave. She was doing it because she was practical. She had to go to work in the morning, and she and her clothes smelled of refuse. She had to wash them and herself before she went in to work. Really, she wanted nothing more than to simply lie there and whimper some more, but she simply couldn't. She had to be practical.
At home Genevieve stripped and tossed her soiled work clothes into the washing machine and then stepped into the shower. Dragul joined her shortly to engage in her favorite bathtime activity: bubble burping. To do this, she used her long fingernails to scrape soap off of the bar of lavender soap stuck to the tub wall and then she ate the soap. In a manner of minutes she would begin to belch bubbles.
Genevieve scrubbed furiously at herself to eradicate all traces of the alley from her body. The hot water stung her open abrasions and the scrubbing made her bruises ache, but she kept at it. Had she been less intent, she might have noticed that her scalp was still bleeding into the water swirling over her feet, but she didn't. Dragul might have noticed it, too, but she was too engaged in belching bigger and bigger soap bubbles. So Genevieve finished showering and dried off, none the wiser as to the cut on the back of her head.
There was still some time for her to sleep before she had to go back to work, and Genevieve took advantage of it. When she woke in the morning to her hateful alarm clock she went downstairs and realized that she hadn't moved her uniform from the washer to the dryer. She would just have to wear it damp. There was no time to dry it now.
Dragul jumped into her apron pocket as usual and they went to the diner. Jim was waiting for her. He greeted her with a less-than-friendly "You look a mess."
"And, by the way, where's the money I gave you last night?"
Genevieve took a deep breath and told him about the robbery. His arms remained crossed over his chest the entire time and he shifted his weight from foot to foot, clearly bored with her narrative.
"You expect me to believe you? Everyone knows you and your mom are strapped for cash. I shouldn't be surprised that the money vanished when I entrusted it to you."
Incensed, Genevieve snapped, "You think I'm lying? You think I did this to myself?"
She gestured to the bruises which mottled her arms and face.
"How am I to know? You might have. All you teenagers cut yourselves and whatnot. Why wouldn't you be willing to beat yourself up a bit to keep some free cash?"
"I...I would never -"
"Don't worry about it. The owner won't press charges if you'll leave quietly, eh? So, how about it? Will you quit, or do we have to fire you and press charges?"
Genevieve's vision began to blur and everything around her seemed to spin. She vaguely remembered crying out, though not what she said, before she hit the floor. Dragul hovered protectively around her head, spitting and snarling at anyone who tried to come near her, visible to all for the first time since she emerged from her orb.
An ambulance was called and Genevieve was taken to the hospital, where she woke and found that her situation had not improved.
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Posted: Thu Jun 14, 2007 11:57 am
The problem was, as Genevieve kept explaining to the medical personnel, most of whom recognized her anyway, she simply couldn't afford to be in the hospital. As they ought to know by now, it was all her family could to pay even a small portion of her mother's bills. She, Genevieve, certainly couldn't afford to be in the hospital for something as minor as being in a disagreement.
"You were attacked in an alley, beaten, and you blacked out at work," said her mother's oncologist, who happened to be passing by her room and had bullied an orderly into telling him what had happened. "That's not a disagreement. That's a problem. You need to tell the police."
Genevieve kept shaking her head. She couldn't tell the police, there was no point. They wouldn't find the guys, and even if they did, the money was long-gone by now, and it was the money which she really needed to produce. Her job, and her mother's life by association, depended on that. It was far more important than a few scrapes and bruises. The doctors just wouldn't be reasonable.
"V, we're not the ones being unreasonable. At the very least, let us do a CAT scan or an MRI. You fainted. That's usually a bad sign."
"Maybe I have a tumor in my brain," she muttered.
"That's not funny, V."
"No, I suppose it isn't. Look, I'm over eighteen. Aren't I legally entitled to leave if I want to?"
The oncologist sighed. Technically, he said, yes, she was legally entitled to leave if she wanted to, but he didn't recommend it at all. Genevieve shook her head again.
"I'm out of here, then. I'm sure I can't afford even the time I've already spent here and in the ambulance. You understand." She was pleading just a little with the oncologist. She was accustomed to obeying medical staff without question, and to defy one was difficult. She wanted to be told that it was okay to leave.
"I do understand. How are you going to get home?"
"The same as always. I'll walk."
The oncologist, Husayn Marubai, looked horrified in that polite way wealthy professionals must be taught to when pursuing advanced degrees. Certainly, the only other person Genevieve had ever seen look like Doctor Marubai was Andrew's mother, and she was one of those scary ex-CEO turned housewife types.
"Surely there is someone you can call? The young man who was in with your mother the other day?"
"I can't call Andrew," she said flatly.
There was no question about it. She simply couldn't get Andrew involved He would ask too many questions and be too concerned and too chivalrous. She didn't need chivalry. She just needed to get home and see how much damage had been done financially by this unexpected hospital visit.
Doctor Marubai fixed her with a stern look. "You are not leaving this hospital until I know you have a way to get home which involves you riding in a motorized vehicle. And if you persist in being difficult, I'll tell your mother."
Genevieve looked at him, panic clear on her face.
"You can't do that. It'll be so bad for her health."
"Then you must look after yourself and do what's good for your health. Now that I finally have you in the position of being a patient, I can do something about that."
Exasperated, Genevieve replied, "Whatever are you talking about? Aside from the obvious - I was beat up - I'm perfectly healthy."
"You are not. You obviously don't sleep or eat nearly enough and you work too hard."
Genevieve couldn't keep a surly expression off her face. "You know, it's none of your business. I do what I have to do to help my mum. I'm young and I'm stronger than her, and so I take care of her. Asking me to do anything other than what I'm already doing is like asking me to abandon her. Unless you think it likely everyone involved with her treatment will agree to work pro bono?"
Doctor Marubai looked away.
"I didn't think so. Just tell me where my clothing is and let me go home, okay? I don't need this."
"Very well."
Doctor Marubai stood and made it halfway to the door before Genevieve called after him, "Please don't tell Mum. She doesn't need to know about this. It'll only make things worse for her."
He nodded sadly and left her to change. He hated the situation that she and her mother were in, and he hated knowing that thousands of other people were in similar situations, but he could only do so much to help. He wished he could do more though.
Genevieve changed back into her work uniform and scowled. She was probably still fired. She'd have to return the uniform, and to do that she'd have to get it dry-cleaned - company policy - which would probably cost more than she usually allotted for petty expenses. She wasn't sure, though, as she hadn't had to have anything dry-cleaned since she went to her interview for Yale.
"Good God, V. Why didn't you call me?"
Oh, good. Andrew. Now her day was complete.
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Posted: Fri Jun 15, 2007 8:33 am
Genevieve sat back down on the hospital bed and passed a hand over her eyes and forehead. Her head didn't even hurt. How could they think she might need a CAT scan or an MRI? And how had Andrew known to come? Or had he been here for another reason and just happened down this hallway? Unlikely. He had, undoubtedly, been summoned.
"Why should I have called you, Andrew?"
"Because you look like someone used you for a punching bag? Because you're in the hospital? Because I'm supposed to be your friend, damn it. Or is this another thing like your house? Is it too demeaning, too embarrassing for you to call a friend for help? For all that you pride yourself on being practical, what I mostly see is too much pride and no practicality at all."
"Are you done?"
He was breathing hard and his cheeks were flushed. So were his ears, now that she noticed it. His ears only changed color when he was running particularly high on emotion. He swallowed and exhaled a sharp, obviously dissatisfied sigh.
"Yes. I'm done. Let's get you home. I have my car parked near the main entrance."
Genevieve followed him, taking care that she remain behind him, rather than beside him. He couldn't easily talk to her that way. She didn't want to talk to him at the moment. He was right. It was embarrassing to need help. She had been self-sufficient for a long time. Now everything seemed to be coming apart at the seams, and there was nothing she could do about it. She hated it.
As they passed the maternity unit an overbearing nurse stopped them.
"Is that a patient being discharged?"
Andrew nodded.
"She needs to leave in a wheelchair. Hospital policy. Stay right there."
At this Genevieve couldn't help exchanging a look of disbelief with Andrew as soon as the nurse's back was turned. He smiled and her eyes darted toward the end of the hallway. She raised her eyebrows. Race you.
Andrew shook his head. "Some other time," he said aloud. "You're hardly in any condition to race. It would be no competition. Not that you ever were."
Genevieve smiled. She couldn't help smiling when he teased her. He was charming and charismatic and good-looking, and she had absolutely no idea why he spent time with her, except that she was an excellent foil to him. Where he was out-going and gregarious she was withdrawn and even a little unfriendly. Where he was easy-going and casual, she was uptight and worrywart-ish. He enjoyed being irresponsible and lazy, and she was studious and hard-working and hated it, but couldn't conceive of being any other way.
"We could still escape," she offered, glancing back after the nurse.
"Nah. I think I'll enjoy pushing you around in a wheelchair. I can take you wherever I want, and you won't be able to do a thing to stop me. I like that a lot."
"I'm not an invalid. I could stand up or grab the wheel and stop the chair, or -"
"But you won't. Because if you do, I won't tell you how I knew to come here, and you'll want to know that."
He was right. Again. She did want to know that, now that he mentioned it. He wasn't clairvoyant, as far as she knew, and no one would have called him. His number wasn't in any of her family's files. She couldn't imagine what he was doing here, though, if she was being honest with herself, which she rarely was if she could help it, she was glad he was with her. She had missed him the last week or so.
"Very well."
The nurse returned with a wheelchair. It was one of those convenient types which can be folded to being very flat indeed, or wide enough for someone going in for gastric bypass surgery or stomach stapling. Opened up, it was wide enough for three Genevieves, though it might be a bit snug.
Andrew took one look at it and caught the inside of his cheek with his teeth, trying desperately not to laugh. He wasn't doing to well. Genevieve was succeeding marginally better: her lips were pressed firmly together and she looked as though she had swallowed something she had not meant to. As opposed to Andrew's ill-concealed mirth.
"Have a sit," he said to Genevieve while the nurse was still watching them suspiciously.
Genevieve obeyed and the wheelchair folded up around her. Her weight was not sufficient to keep it open unless otherwise distributed, and to distribute it otherwise she would have to tuck her feet under her behind and lean to one side or the other. It would look ridiculous. Not that she didn't already, with a wheelchair folded up around her. It was only Andrew's firm grip on the handles which kept the chair from collapsing completely.
"Stay. I'll be back." The nurse vanished again.
"I'll be back," Andrew repeated, doing a decent impression of the Governator which had both of them snickering.
"What idiot decided a person was legally an adult at eighteen?" Genevieve wondered aloud.
"Maybe it comes later in the year?" Andrew suggested cheerfully.
They were both a relatively young eighteen.
"Or maybe it was a typo and they meant eighty one?" he added. "You never can tell, with founding fathers and politicians and the like, what they mean, can you?"
"No. Never," Genevieve agreed. "She's coming back."
Andrew followed her gaze and took note of the returning nurse. Immediately his expression sobered. Genevieve struggled to do the same, but now it was she who was having a difficult time mastering her expression.
"Sorry about that. Don't know what I was thinking. There you are, dearies. I hope your mother feels better soon, Jenny."
"Thank you," Genevieve said stiffly. She hated being called Jenny. At least the irrepressible laughter was gone.
She climbed out of the large wheelchair with Andrew's help and relocated to the more normal-sized one. This one was burgundy, rather than blue. The oversized one had been very blue.
Andrew took hold of the grips for her wheelchair and began pushing her away at a sedate pace. This lasted until they rounded the corner, and then he sped up to a jog, and then he was running full-out and Genevieve was clinging to the arms of the wheelchair with her feet lifted well off the floor to avoid becoming a hospital version of a cow-catcher.
Eventually (thankfully) Andrew tired of racing up and down hospital corridors, stopping only to get on elevators. He shot out of elevators as though fired from a twelve-guage. When he slowed to a walk and took her outside to his car Genevieve was relieved to be free of the wheelchair. Though it had been exhilerating, it had also been terrifying to entrust someone else with her safety. She didn't even like roller coasters, or those pony rides at the fair where the horse walks in a circle because she couldn't control anything about it.
"So," she asked in the car, "how did you know to come get me?"
"I'll tell you when we get there."
"Get where?"
"To where we're going. I told you I was going to take you wherever I wanted to. Surely you didn't think I was done when you got out of the wheelchair?"
"I had hoped, but clearly in vain."
Andrew glanced over at her and grinned. He was usually grinning, and he had a way of doing it so anyone who saw it thought he was grinning especially at them. Few people could resist his grin, and Genevieve was not among them. She still remembered when he had worn braces, and so his perfect smile always caught her by surprise and with the full force of his charm.
"Trust me."
"Do I have a choice?"
She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the headrest. It was apparent that she did not have a choice, and so she might as well sit back and enjoy the ride. She did not want to open her eyes and watch the deft way Andrew handled his father's classic T-bird. Watching the wheel slide through his fingers and the casual way he shifted gears, knowing exactly what to do with the clutch and when, was, for whatever reason, ridiculously sexy to Genevieve. Yes, she was aware that she was pathetic.
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Posted: Fri Jun 15, 2007 8:35 am
"We're here. You fell asleep."
She opened her eyes and looked around her and realized she had absolutely no idea where in the hells she was. She panicked briefly but fought it down. It would do her no good, and Andrew wouldn't bring her to a place where anything bad would happen to her. Of course, they had different definitions of bad. To him, surprises were wonderful, splendid fun. To Genevieve, they were, to put it in Dragul's terms, Vey Ba'. She didn't like being surprised. It went back to the control freak issue, she supposed.
"I didn't fall asleep," she protested. She hadn't, actually. Her thoughts had just been miles away.
"Have it your way."
They walked down a path, Andrew leading the way, but keeping Genevieve's hand in his. She wasn't entirely sure how her hand had gotten to be there in the first place, but she couldn't find a decent excuse to remedy the situation. She wasn't sure she wanted to remedy the situation. Andrew had a way of making a person feel cared-for and looked-after and safe. Even when careening down hospital halls pushing a wheelchair. Even to the person in the wheelchair.
At the end of the path, which had turned into boards across swamp land, they came to a dock with two boats tied to it jutting out into a green lake. One of the boats looked almost sea-worthy. The other looked like young children had built it to play pirates. Genevieve privately hoped that they would be getting into neither. That hope proved in vain, but fortunately Andrew untied the safer-looking craft.
"Come on," he said, standing in the boat.
"I don't swim."
"So don't fall in."
He held out his hands and when she came close enough he grabbed her by the waist and lifted her into the boat, which rocked unnervingly beneath their feet. The boat had oars, and once they were both seated Andrew began to use them. He looked like he knew what he was doing with them, too, which was impressive. Genevieve couldn't even begin to guess where he had learned to propel a rowboat.
"Is this your boat?"
"No." Genevieve looked horrified and he grinned. "It's my dad's. He's off on business again, and what he doesn't know won't hurt him."
"How did I not know your dad owned a rowboat?"
"Because I was kind enough not to drag you along on any of his father-son bonding experiences where we drowned worms and tried to have serious conversations which would always turn into fights. You should thank me, by the way, for sparing you that."
"Why? I was never invited."
"In an oblique way you were. My dad always said I could bring a friend if I wanted to. You were the only person I ever considered bringing. For all that my dad and I can't get along worth crap, I do like the place, and I didn't want to bring just anyone out here."
Genevieve, who had been dangling her fingers in the water withdrew her hand and changed the subject, asking, "Are there fish in here? Do they bite?"
"In theory, yes, but neither my dad nor I have ever caught a single one, so I'm given to wonder about that myself. Perhaps sometime you could try your hand at it? Maybe the fish only like pretty girls."
"Maybe you're full of it," she said. fixing him with a hard stare. Whenever he said things like that to her it felt like a vise was being tightened around her chest. She knew that she was average-looking, neither unattractive nor particularly attractive, and she wished fervently that he would not joke about it. She was not to practical not to care about her looks.
"How about you tell me how you knew to come to the hospital? You don't have ESP do you?"
Andrew looked a little disappointed, but he shrugged it off, physically it seemed, for he shrugged his shoulders.
"Nah. Your goblin-thing, Dragul. She came to find me and said you were hurt and that they took you in a 'noisy-bright car-thing.' Or something like that. She doesn't enunciate very well. I did figure out that she meant an ambulance. The security at that hospital sucks, by the way. I asked the receptionist where I could find you, and he didn't even ask how I knew you."
"You worry about the strangest things. Where's Dragul now?"
"She's back at my house, sleeping, I think. I wasn't in town when she found me. It probably wore her out. We can swing by and pick her up later."
Genevieve nodded. Whatever he said. It was difficult to argue when the other person was the only one who knew how to handle the boat. And she was enjoying being out on the lake, even if she did have a few lingering concerns as to how watertight the craft was. Surely, if was going to spring a leak, it would have done so by now.
"V?"
"Yeah?"
"Are you hungry?"
He rowed back to a different dock and took her up the bank to a meadow where a water-proof tablecloth with lobsters on it was spread beneath a tree. Sitting on the tablecloth was a medium-sized cooler and a pair of water guns. Geneveive looked at him in askance and he shrugged and smiled.
Genevieve enjoyed the surprise picnic, though the food itself was definitely college-boy fare. No one else would ever have put pretzel sticks, marshmallow fluff, and strawberries inside a hotdog roll and called it a sandwich, nor would anyone else have considered Boone's apple wine an acceptable soft drink substitute. But the combination worked out well, which surprised both of them.
After lunch they had a water gun fight which left them drenched and winded, but in a good way. Andrew pulled out a pair of towels from the cooler and handed one to Genevieve, who did her best to towel off with her clothes on. It's truly difficult to dry oneself while wearing wet clothes, as Genevieve discovered. They sat down beneath the tree again and chatted, or sat in silence.
Genevieve opened her eyes and noticed right off that two towels were draped over her. One over her upper body and the other over her legs, bent into a fetal position. It was only after Andrew spoke that she noticed she had been lying on her side.
"You fell asleep," Andrew said, his lips curved in one of his omnipresent smiles.
"I did not," she protested, though it seemed that she had this time.
"You did. And you snored."
"Now I know you're lying. I don't snore."
"You're right. You don't. You just look adorable."
"You and your silver tongue. Don't you get tired of giving out compliments like they're candy?"
Andrew appeared to think about this for a moment. "No. Not when I mean what I'm saying."
"Andrew..."
He caught her completely by surprise and kissed her, and then whatever she was going to say completely left her mind.
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Posted: Tue Jun 19, 2007 6:59 am
He kissed her, and then whatever she was going to say completely left her mind.
When their lips parted, Andrew remained close to her, sitting beside her on the tablecloth, his mouth less than two inches from hers. Geneveive could feel his warm, slightly wine-scented breath on her face and wondered if he was going to kiss her again.
She didn't think she'd mind if he did. She'd never been kissed like that before. It was as if Andrew had stepped out of a romance novel, or had been the protege of a romance novel's male lead. His kiss had truly left her breathless and incapable of coherent thought. It took a lot to leave Geneveieve incapable of coherent thought.
He began to draw away from her and Genevieve realized belatedly that he had been waiting for her to take the initiative and kiss him, to show that she was on the same page. How stupid could she be? Perhaps still a little buzzed from the apple wine, Genevieve was willing to make a fool of herself to find out.
She stayed Andrew's movement, holding his cheek awkwardly with one hand, and touched her lips to his. The motion, not executed gracefully at all, sent her off balance and he ended up having to catch her and support her. She liked the feeling of his hands at her waist and holding her. She also liked wine, she decided. It was the great uninhibitor. Rationally, she knew she would never have pursued Andrew sober, but with just over half a bottle of wine in her, even cheap Boone's, she was was just brave enough to do so.
Andrew, for his part, seemed to welcome her second kiss, even if it was awkward, and when it became apparent that Genevieve was too inexperienced to take the lead did so once more. Part of the reason his grades had suffered at Yale, and that he had been forced to resort to plaguarism to finish papers in a timely fashion was that he had been too busy with all the beautiful, rich Yale girls. He had learned a great deal from those girls, whose daddies though them pure little princesses and who were really no better than they had to be.
They separated again and Andrew continued to hold Genevieve. His fingers found the bruises on her face, easily discerning the puffy, sore places from her otherwise smooth skin, and he kissed lightly each one.
"There," he said, breaking the silence, "all better. And no doctors."
Genevieve smiled at him and then, to her chagrin, she yawned. Andrew didn't seem offended, though she feared he might be. He simply re-wrapped the towel around her shoulders and said, "I'd better get you home, V. You've had a bad day."
"Not all of it was bad," she protested, the wine helping her to say what she meant. She really had no tolerance for alcohol at all.
"I'm glad you feel that way. Now, come on. Let's go home."
He packed up the picnic gear and bundled everything into his father's boat. Then he rowed across the lake as the sun set and led her back to the car. Genevieve was content to be led, still floating on a somewhat euphoric cloud made up of cheap apple wine and Andrew's kisses. She wondered if she was drunk.
At her house, Andrew walked her to the door.
"I'll call you tomorrow," he told her.
"You say that to all the girls."
"I do, but I always call, too." He kissed her one last time and walked back to his car, where he sat until he had seen her safely inside before driving off.
It was only later, when she discovered Dragul sleeping in her sneakers as she tripped over them on the way to the bathroom to throw up, that Genevieve thought to wonder how Andrew had known where she lived, as she had not once taken him to her new house.
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