Categories > Original > Drama > Beat of Their Own Drums
Better Luck Next Time
0 reviewsOllie remembers back her younger days; the ones spent taking care of her little brother. Because her dad left. Song used: Lifehouse's "Better Luck Next Time"
0Unrated
A/N: Okay, so. I promise you that Kevin has absolutely nothing to do with this one. Doesn't that make you all happy? XD Naw...this one gives a peek into the softer, younger side of our redhead.
Disclaimer: I do not own the lyrics to "Better Luck Next Time"
Song Used: Lifehouse's "Better Luck Next Time"
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Fifty-Three: Better Luck Next Time
Puppet: Olivia Rokit
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sometimes we fall,
Ain't nothing new to me,
Don't get me wrong,
I'm a kid you gave up,
For this child now...
When I was a kid, I didn't like it when my parents fought.
And yet, there was just something about it that made me want to listen. It was like a bad car wreck, in a way; I wanted to look away before I saw something that would traumatize me, but there was such a morbid curiosity that I had to see the damage.
So I listened. My mom would kill me if she caught me, so naturally I found a place where they couldn't see me while I eavesdropped. They were always in the kitchen, talking to each other in angry whispers that sounded ridiculous. Sure, I knew they were trying to be quiet so they wouldn't wake me or my younger brother up, but I would've thought that if they were that angry, they'd just let it rip.
Like the dumb kid I was, I always sat right by the doorway into the kitchen with my back up against the wall. I could see their shadows faintly out of the corner of my eye, but otherwise, my ears were the only reason I knew of their presence at all.
Truth be told, I wasn't exactly listening. They'd been fighting for quite some time at that point and I had heard all of the arguments before; he was too focused on his career to notice her or his kids, she was being too needy. I didn't understand it then, but I remember thinking that there was no way that that stuff could be so important.
Charlie was always worried that our parents were going to split up, while I, stubborn as I always was, refused to believe that either mom or dad would ever leave us for the longest time. We were their kids, after all; Charlie was their son and I was their daughter. Unless they were literally cold-blooded reptiles of some sort, parents didn't leave their kids.
Mom and dad were just angry, that was all. Charlie and I got angry at each other all the time, but we always ended up forgiving the other and going back to normal. Surely our parents, who were much older and wiser, could learn to do the same?
But it was only after the fighting continued that I realized that I'd been stupid. Innocently stupid. Naïve.
Mom and dad were not going to forgive each other for whatever hurt one had caused the other. Never in a million years. I wouldn't know it then, but later I would realize that it was only a simple mistake that us silly, silly humans made, not learning to forgive and forget.
But now I knew, and I wasn't as angry at them as I had been when I was younger. They had made a mistake, just like everyone else did. They were normal human beings.
But that didn't change the fact that my dad, my father, my favorite person, the person I felt I could run to when the girls teased me about acting like a boy, left.
Stop!
Tell me, where you going?
Maybe the one you love isn't there,
You're going under,
But you're over it all,
So you don't care,
About all that I had to see,
I'd watch you wait until you come around,
Around...
I remember the night he left all too well.
I was listening again when I sensed a change in the usual routine. My mom's voice quivered and shook as if she were about to cry, and my dad's voice raised into a half-yell. I drank it all in with twisted eagerness, thanking God that Charlie was a light sleeper. He would've given us away had he been there, and then we would both be crispy pieces of toast.
I cocked my head to one side and listened, that being one of the few times in my life that I'd wished for someone else to be there to hold me close and reassure me everything would be all right. The arguing seemed normal, save for the different tones, but I had a sense of foreboding that wouldn't go away.
With good reason. Just when I was beginning to think they would just go back to bed, my dad slammed his heavy hands on the table, causing both my mom and I to jump. “That's it, then!” he barked, “I'll just leave!”
His heavy footsteps moved swiftly toward the doorway and my first instinct was to cringe back. He would catch me! Then he would be even angrier, and I'd never see him again...
But when he bustled right past and went toward the door, I managed to fight down the natural inclination and jumped after him. “Dad!” I cried, running over to him and clutching tightly at his clothes as if that would stop him.
“Ollie?” my father blinked down at me with dark surprise in those glass-green eyes I'd gotten from him, “What're you doing down here?”
“Stopping you!” I replied, my stupid ten-year-old mind unable to realize that there was nothing I could do to keep a full grown man from doing anything. I had felt tears then, both because I was afraid of what was going to happen to me after this was over and because I didn't want my dad to leave.
“Olivia!” my mother hissed my loathed real name from behind me as she tried to pry my hands from his shirt, “Why aren't you in bed?”
What's wrong with mom? I remember thinking, Dad's about to leave and she's mad at me for not being in bed?!
I cried harder than I ever had or would that night, but not even the pleas of his ten-year-old daughter could make Andrew Rokit think about what he was doing. He hardly said a word, not even a goodbye before he walked out the front door.
Don't close your eyes,
You need to see it all,
It's no surprise,
That they break you down,
At least they won't give you up...
Although I guess I couldn't complain too much, because father and daughter saw one another again after that. It wasn't as if he disappeared off to Tahiti or something crazy like that, and I was just some poor girl who lost her father.
Oh no, it wasn't like that at all. He and my mom still had to have custody battles.
I didn't understand it then, the concept of 'custody,' because as far as I still knew I was theirs, not one or the others'. Couldn't my parents just share? But now I realize that that was just my foolish kid mind, the one that wanted to believe in the best of everyone, talking. I understood now, and I always felt burning resentment toward my father when I thought about it.
He had abandoned Charlie and I, after all. He didn't deserve to see us!
I remember the look on his face when a bit of sense broke through and I said so. Charlie, a newly turned eight-year-old who couldn't quite understand the way I did, had asked me (for our mom hadn't wanted to deal with that and he was afraid of what our dad would say) why it was dad was leaving.
“Ollie?” my little brother asked, tugging at my hand (for he was still rather short then), “Why is dad going to leave?”
Our father was there (but I don't remember why), sitting right across the room from us. I glanced at him and bit my lip, not wanting to make something up for Charlie (he deserved to know) but not wanting to make my dad angry, either.
Then, I blurted out an answer and it wasn't the right one. “Because he doesn't want us!”
I hadn't meant to sound so cruel about it, but it made sense to me and was the only thing I could think of at the time. He didn't want us if he was going to leave, right? It was the truth, or at least in the way I saw it.
But he didn't like it.
“Ollie!” he said my name sharply, the way he did whenever I did something I wasn't supposed to, “That's not true!”
Then, I'd believed him.
Now, I knew better. He was lying to himself if he truly thought he wanted us. When he lost the 'battle' and my mom ended up getting complete custody of Charlie and I, he'd given up. He had looked ragged and tired, but he'd left.
It was the last time I'd see him for eight years.
Stop!
Tell me, where you going?
Maybe the one you love isn't there,
You're going under,
But you're over it all,
So you don't care,
About all that I had to see,
I'd watch you wait until you come around...
I'd been heartbroken. Charlie wouldn't stop crying. Our mom retreated into her room and didn't come out, except when she made her kids some meals.
I'd been forced to keep an eye on Charlie, and took care of him more than my mom did in the year or so after my dad left. I watched out for him at school; took on bullies (which I'd done, to a smaller extent, even before the whole mess), helped him with his homework, and my mom just made our lunches. I watched out for him at home, too; kept him entertained and out of trouble, kept him from crying so much...that was a lot for a ten-year-old to take on, but I didn't feel any hostility toward my mom. It really wasn't her fault, after all.
It was his.
When my twelfth birthday came along, I'd lost faith in my father completely. There had been a period of time where I thought that maybe, just maybe he would come to visit us. Every Thanksgiving, every Christmas, Charlie's birthday, my birthday for crying out loud, I waited for my dad to come through the door, but it didn't happen.
He didn't care. Not anymore.
It's all wonderful,
Living happily,
To lose it all,
And think you have everything...
When I got to be around thirteen, my mom felt comfortable talking to me about dad again.
Of course, by that time, Andrew Rokit had moved on and found another pretty little wife and 'had' some kids of his own (meaning they were already there and he took them in as his own). His life hadn't stopped, hadn't been put on hold by the incident like ours had.
His new kids hadn't watched “Finding Nemo” so many times that they knew it line by line; they didn't need to find something to do while their mom holed herself up, or because the idea of having a father who would cross the ocean for them was comforting. His new wife hadn't almost missed her son's birthday; she knew what day it was, for she'd been outside in the real world.
And the most sickening part of it all? Andrew (for I no longer referred to him as 'dad' at that point) thought he was happy.
Well, he may have his new daughters' love, but not mine.
Stop!
Tell me, where you going?
Maybe the one you love isn't there,
You're going under,
But you're over it all,
So you don't care,
About all that I had to see,
I'd watch you wait until you come around...
It was ironic, actually, I'd ended up running into the man I'd come to hate doing something that I loved. I was just manning the counter up at the shop, waiting for someone to come in and bitch about how bad their car was, when a man eerily familiar came through the door. He was tall, well-built for an old guy, and had thinning, graying dark hair peeking out from underneath his fedora. His green eyes met mine and I felt a chill, but I didn't recognize him at first. It was only when he told me his name so I could put it into our database that I realized who it was.
It was odd, being away from him for that long and then suddenly seeing him again. He looked different; frazzled, but happier than I'd seen him last. He was old, whereas I'd always imagined him as being forever young, laughing and smiling with his happy little family.
I got some sort of sick satisfaction when I saw that the years had taken a toll on him; wrinkled his skin, grayed his hair, softened his eyes...
I didn't say anything. There was no happy reunion, no bubbling laughter, no hugging, no exclamations of “you've grown up so much!”
In fact, he didn't even recognize me. To him, I was just another mechanic who was trying to gyp him. The only thing that was out of the ordinary for me was that I was a girl, whereas all of the others were men, young and old. He explained to me what the problem was; I remember it like it was yesterday.
“I've got an old Civic,” he said, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder, “and the dashboard squeaks whenever I speed up. I'm not sure why, and was hoping you could take a look at it.”
I nodded. “We'll figure it out by tomorrow,” I assured him, smiling politely, “see you then, Mr. Rokit.”
I nearly choked, calling him that. I watched him walk out the door, unsure if I was hurt or angry. I pressed my lips together. No doubt he would recognize his other daughters.
“Better luck next time.”
Stop!
Tell me, where you going?
Maybe the one you love isn't there,
You're going under,
But you're over it all,
So you don't care,
About all that I had to see,
I'd watch you wait until you come around.
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A/N: Yeah, I realize that I changed the lyrics around a little. Like...one word. That was only because the singer is a guy and Ollie's a girl; usually, if I have the change the lyrics to make it fit, I won't do it 'cause it seems weird. This time was different though, I think.
Disclaimer: I do not own the lyrics to "Better Luck Next Time"
Song Used: Lifehouse's "Better Luck Next Time"
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Fifty-Three: Better Luck Next Time
Puppet: Olivia Rokit
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sometimes we fall,
Ain't nothing new to me,
Don't get me wrong,
I'm a kid you gave up,
For this child now...
When I was a kid, I didn't like it when my parents fought.
And yet, there was just something about it that made me want to listen. It was like a bad car wreck, in a way; I wanted to look away before I saw something that would traumatize me, but there was such a morbid curiosity that I had to see the damage.
So I listened. My mom would kill me if she caught me, so naturally I found a place where they couldn't see me while I eavesdropped. They were always in the kitchen, talking to each other in angry whispers that sounded ridiculous. Sure, I knew they were trying to be quiet so they wouldn't wake me or my younger brother up, but I would've thought that if they were that angry, they'd just let it rip.
Like the dumb kid I was, I always sat right by the doorway into the kitchen with my back up against the wall. I could see their shadows faintly out of the corner of my eye, but otherwise, my ears were the only reason I knew of their presence at all.
Truth be told, I wasn't exactly listening. They'd been fighting for quite some time at that point and I had heard all of the arguments before; he was too focused on his career to notice her or his kids, she was being too needy. I didn't understand it then, but I remember thinking that there was no way that that stuff could be so important.
Charlie was always worried that our parents were going to split up, while I, stubborn as I always was, refused to believe that either mom or dad would ever leave us for the longest time. We were their kids, after all; Charlie was their son and I was their daughter. Unless they were literally cold-blooded reptiles of some sort, parents didn't leave their kids.
Mom and dad were just angry, that was all. Charlie and I got angry at each other all the time, but we always ended up forgiving the other and going back to normal. Surely our parents, who were much older and wiser, could learn to do the same?
But it was only after the fighting continued that I realized that I'd been stupid. Innocently stupid. Naïve.
Mom and dad were not going to forgive each other for whatever hurt one had caused the other. Never in a million years. I wouldn't know it then, but later I would realize that it was only a simple mistake that us silly, silly humans made, not learning to forgive and forget.
But now I knew, and I wasn't as angry at them as I had been when I was younger. They had made a mistake, just like everyone else did. They were normal human beings.
But that didn't change the fact that my dad, my father, my favorite person, the person I felt I could run to when the girls teased me about acting like a boy, left.
Stop!
Tell me, where you going?
Maybe the one you love isn't there,
You're going under,
But you're over it all,
So you don't care,
About all that I had to see,
I'd watch you wait until you come around,
Around...
I remember the night he left all too well.
I was listening again when I sensed a change in the usual routine. My mom's voice quivered and shook as if she were about to cry, and my dad's voice raised into a half-yell. I drank it all in with twisted eagerness, thanking God that Charlie was a light sleeper. He would've given us away had he been there, and then we would both be crispy pieces of toast.
I cocked my head to one side and listened, that being one of the few times in my life that I'd wished for someone else to be there to hold me close and reassure me everything would be all right. The arguing seemed normal, save for the different tones, but I had a sense of foreboding that wouldn't go away.
With good reason. Just when I was beginning to think they would just go back to bed, my dad slammed his heavy hands on the table, causing both my mom and I to jump. “That's it, then!” he barked, “I'll just leave!”
His heavy footsteps moved swiftly toward the doorway and my first instinct was to cringe back. He would catch me! Then he would be even angrier, and I'd never see him again...
But when he bustled right past and went toward the door, I managed to fight down the natural inclination and jumped after him. “Dad!” I cried, running over to him and clutching tightly at his clothes as if that would stop him.
“Ollie?” my father blinked down at me with dark surprise in those glass-green eyes I'd gotten from him, “What're you doing down here?”
“Stopping you!” I replied, my stupid ten-year-old mind unable to realize that there was nothing I could do to keep a full grown man from doing anything. I had felt tears then, both because I was afraid of what was going to happen to me after this was over and because I didn't want my dad to leave.
“Olivia!” my mother hissed my loathed real name from behind me as she tried to pry my hands from his shirt, “Why aren't you in bed?”
What's wrong with mom? I remember thinking, Dad's about to leave and she's mad at me for not being in bed?!
I cried harder than I ever had or would that night, but not even the pleas of his ten-year-old daughter could make Andrew Rokit think about what he was doing. He hardly said a word, not even a goodbye before he walked out the front door.
Don't close your eyes,
You need to see it all,
It's no surprise,
That they break you down,
At least they won't give you up...
Although I guess I couldn't complain too much, because father and daughter saw one another again after that. It wasn't as if he disappeared off to Tahiti or something crazy like that, and I was just some poor girl who lost her father.
Oh no, it wasn't like that at all. He and my mom still had to have custody battles.
I didn't understand it then, the concept of 'custody,' because as far as I still knew I was theirs, not one or the others'. Couldn't my parents just share? But now I realize that that was just my foolish kid mind, the one that wanted to believe in the best of everyone, talking. I understood now, and I always felt burning resentment toward my father when I thought about it.
He had abandoned Charlie and I, after all. He didn't deserve to see us!
I remember the look on his face when a bit of sense broke through and I said so. Charlie, a newly turned eight-year-old who couldn't quite understand the way I did, had asked me (for our mom hadn't wanted to deal with that and he was afraid of what our dad would say) why it was dad was leaving.
“Ollie?” my little brother asked, tugging at my hand (for he was still rather short then), “Why is dad going to leave?”
Our father was there (but I don't remember why), sitting right across the room from us. I glanced at him and bit my lip, not wanting to make something up for Charlie (he deserved to know) but not wanting to make my dad angry, either.
Then, I blurted out an answer and it wasn't the right one. “Because he doesn't want us!”
I hadn't meant to sound so cruel about it, but it made sense to me and was the only thing I could think of at the time. He didn't want us if he was going to leave, right? It was the truth, or at least in the way I saw it.
But he didn't like it.
“Ollie!” he said my name sharply, the way he did whenever I did something I wasn't supposed to, “That's not true!”
Then, I'd believed him.
Now, I knew better. He was lying to himself if he truly thought he wanted us. When he lost the 'battle' and my mom ended up getting complete custody of Charlie and I, he'd given up. He had looked ragged and tired, but he'd left.
It was the last time I'd see him for eight years.
Stop!
Tell me, where you going?
Maybe the one you love isn't there,
You're going under,
But you're over it all,
So you don't care,
About all that I had to see,
I'd watch you wait until you come around...
I'd been heartbroken. Charlie wouldn't stop crying. Our mom retreated into her room and didn't come out, except when she made her kids some meals.
I'd been forced to keep an eye on Charlie, and took care of him more than my mom did in the year or so after my dad left. I watched out for him at school; took on bullies (which I'd done, to a smaller extent, even before the whole mess), helped him with his homework, and my mom just made our lunches. I watched out for him at home, too; kept him entertained and out of trouble, kept him from crying so much...that was a lot for a ten-year-old to take on, but I didn't feel any hostility toward my mom. It really wasn't her fault, after all.
It was his.
When my twelfth birthday came along, I'd lost faith in my father completely. There had been a period of time where I thought that maybe, just maybe he would come to visit us. Every Thanksgiving, every Christmas, Charlie's birthday, my birthday for crying out loud, I waited for my dad to come through the door, but it didn't happen.
He didn't care. Not anymore.
It's all wonderful,
Living happily,
To lose it all,
And think you have everything...
When I got to be around thirteen, my mom felt comfortable talking to me about dad again.
Of course, by that time, Andrew Rokit had moved on and found another pretty little wife and 'had' some kids of his own (meaning they were already there and he took them in as his own). His life hadn't stopped, hadn't been put on hold by the incident like ours had.
His new kids hadn't watched “Finding Nemo” so many times that they knew it line by line; they didn't need to find something to do while their mom holed herself up, or because the idea of having a father who would cross the ocean for them was comforting. His new wife hadn't almost missed her son's birthday; she knew what day it was, for she'd been outside in the real world.
And the most sickening part of it all? Andrew (for I no longer referred to him as 'dad' at that point) thought he was happy.
Well, he may have his new daughters' love, but not mine.
Stop!
Tell me, where you going?
Maybe the one you love isn't there,
You're going under,
But you're over it all,
So you don't care,
About all that I had to see,
I'd watch you wait until you come around...
It was ironic, actually, I'd ended up running into the man I'd come to hate doing something that I loved. I was just manning the counter up at the shop, waiting for someone to come in and bitch about how bad their car was, when a man eerily familiar came through the door. He was tall, well-built for an old guy, and had thinning, graying dark hair peeking out from underneath his fedora. His green eyes met mine and I felt a chill, but I didn't recognize him at first. It was only when he told me his name so I could put it into our database that I realized who it was.
It was odd, being away from him for that long and then suddenly seeing him again. He looked different; frazzled, but happier than I'd seen him last. He was old, whereas I'd always imagined him as being forever young, laughing and smiling with his happy little family.
I got some sort of sick satisfaction when I saw that the years had taken a toll on him; wrinkled his skin, grayed his hair, softened his eyes...
I didn't say anything. There was no happy reunion, no bubbling laughter, no hugging, no exclamations of “you've grown up so much!”
In fact, he didn't even recognize me. To him, I was just another mechanic who was trying to gyp him. The only thing that was out of the ordinary for me was that I was a girl, whereas all of the others were men, young and old. He explained to me what the problem was; I remember it like it was yesterday.
“I've got an old Civic,” he said, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder, “and the dashboard squeaks whenever I speed up. I'm not sure why, and was hoping you could take a look at it.”
I nodded. “We'll figure it out by tomorrow,” I assured him, smiling politely, “see you then, Mr. Rokit.”
I nearly choked, calling him that. I watched him walk out the door, unsure if I was hurt or angry. I pressed my lips together. No doubt he would recognize his other daughters.
“Better luck next time.”
Stop!
Tell me, where you going?
Maybe the one you love isn't there,
You're going under,
But you're over it all,
So you don't care,
About all that I had to see,
I'd watch you wait until you come around.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A/N: Yeah, I realize that I changed the lyrics around a little. Like...one word. That was only because the singer is a guy and Ollie's a girl; usually, if I have the change the lyrics to make it fit, I won't do it 'cause it seems weird. This time was different though, I think.
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