FicWad

The Poison
Chapter Six
I can be pensive
You can be so sure
In the days leading up to Mikey and Alicia’s arrival, Gerard and I had managed to get the front yard in order- it was still dry and brown, but at the very least it was properly cut and no longer infested with dandelions. We were also talking more, about five sentences exchanged between us a day, and believe me, this was far better than before. Like territorial housecats, we slowly, slowly warmed up to one another. We were still doing so, and as far as I was concerned, far from thawing. But it was a start, and good thing, too- I couldn’t possibly live with the ‘him’ that I had known from the first time my olive green Converse had stumbled blindly into his abode. Now I could look him in the eyes, and that was strange in itself. I had many issues with eye contact regardless of who the person was, but with him, it was almost a normal thing.
He had deep eyes- I had finally found a way to look at his conscience. They were more than windows to his soul, they were doors. The revolving ones, so easily accessible it was almost ridiculous. What he wouldn’t show in his expressions became apparent in his eyes- that was probably why I could look him in the eyes. It was a step towards understanding him, figuring him out. A piece to this supernatural puzzle I had gotten myself tangled in.
The days very nearly flew by, one blurring into the next without anything interesting happening (and by interesting, I mean sexual). In fact, Gerard almost seemed to avoid me, closing himself off in his room for the duration of the day, only coming out to quickly devour the meals I had cooked out of boredom. I had once invaded his privacy out of curiosity, only to have an art palette chucked in my direction. Obviously, he didn’t want any interruptions with whatever he was doing.
This left me in much-appreciated solitude, with more than enough thoughts to keep me company. I spent the majority of my time sitting in the yard just behind the wrought-iron gate, watching cars roll by and making up stupid stories about the passengers. It was like being nine again, where the abuse from my father was little more than cold negligence, and I lived in my head all the time. Of course, my fantasies then were much brighter by comparison- now, the pretty young redhead in the yellow Bug was a prostitute instead of a teacher, the middle-aged man in the black Jeep was a drug dealer rather than an artist, and the husband and wife in the light blue minivan were two steps away from divorce. Along with my growing maturity, I was becoming more sour than I thought possible.
The day a rusting, sputtering Chevy pulled into the drive, I had long since given up on fabricated life stories. I was still sitting behind the gate, so I had seen it coming long before it reached the house. Normally, I would get up quickly and retreat through the front door out of shyness, but something kept me on the lawn- curiosity, perhaps? No car that I had seen had even slowed down as it drove by our house, let alone stop. The smart part of my brain instantly assumed it was Mikey and Alicia (who else could it be?), and I stood to open the gate as the engine cut out noisily.
The gate groaned open as it had the first time, with my tentative hands just barely tapping it. No sooner had I done so when one Rocketdog boot stuck itself out of the Chevy, followed by a pale, thin hand, not unlike my own. Soon after, the person (who turned out to be a woman) followed suit, standing up straight and taking a short drag from her cigarette before closing the car door behind her.
So this was Alicia.
Funny, I had expected her to be more... Jersey. It was strange- her dark, straight mane looked out of place in smoggy Belleville, against all the peroxide blonde, and let’s not forget the wardrobe, which was simple and black, non-revealing and unassuming. I decided I liked her, and waited quietly by the gate until she noticed me. She spared me a passing glance while waiting for the driver, instead focusing her attention on the house.
The driver soon stepped out, looking not a day older than her had eight years ago. He, like Alicia, casually surveyed the degrading street, but this time saw me almost immediately. He trod over to the gate, stopping to stand directly across from me.
“Atropine?” he asked docilely, brushing his sandy hair out of his eyes.
“That would be me.” I answered, pursing my lips.
“Atropine- a poisonous crystalline alkaloid, obtained from belladonna and other plants of the nightshade family.” He continued, describing the poison for which I was named.
“Some would say.” I grinned sourly. “I hate it.”
Alicia made her way over to us, peering around the frigid black bars to get a better look at me, and to join the conversation.
“At least your name isn’t Arsenic or something,” she joked. “Be glad it at least sounds like a name.”
“I am.” I responded, undoing the latch to let them in.
The remaining leaves swirled around my ankles, caught up in an invisible breeze as the two leisurely strolled up to the front door, where no one would be waiting for them (Gerard had sought refuge in his room for the day yet again). I hesitantly followed, hands clasped behind my back, thinking about what I could whip up in under twenty minutes.
As they opened the door, the all-too-familiar curl of wind wrapped around my shoulders like a frozen scarf, just like it had in late January. But this time, a tiny, rotund child’s face peeked around the door, looking me straight in the eyes. Its flesh held the same ghostly pallor as the lady’s had, which brought forth another memory that had been floating in the back of my mind. Was this-
“Looks like he fixed the place up a bit,” Mikey observed, surveying the sponge-scrubbed foyer. He turned back to me in an almost accusatory manner. “You helped?”
“Yes.”
He smiled a little, breathing in the lemony scent of the cleaner. Alicia had already gone ahead of us, stripping off her coat and hat and shaking of the white flakes of snow that had stuck to her hair. She stopped for a moment, turned and looked at me, acknowledging me fully.
“You’re kinda skinny.” She remarked. “Is he feeding you anything?”
I flinched, nodding vulnerably. “I cook for myself. He’s been… reclusive, lately.”
She grimaced. “I expected that. You cook?”
“A little. Er, do you need anything?”
Alicia glanced over my head at Mikey, as if silently asking him if I had a needle full of the recently joked-about arsenic behind my back.
“Sure.” She said.
“I’ll have something, too.” Mikey began walking over to the great room, shrugging off his brown windbreaker. “Alicia burns everything, anyway.”
“Hey!” she said indignantly. “That was a bet!”
“A bet that you lost your cooking skills to.” He mumbled. “Your chicken tastes like garbage.”
They continued bickering as I made my way to the kitchen, grabbing a chair along the way. It scooted noisily along behind me, leaving thin black lines embedded in the tile.
“That scratches the floor, you know.”
I stiffened, whirling around to see none other than Gerard, leaning against the counter with a lackadaisical expression. I stiffened, biting down on my lip to keep from yelping in surprise. His ebony hair is mussed carelessly as if he had just woken up, and despite our relationship history, I can’t help but think how attractive it looks. He brushes my hand away from the chair and returns it to its original spot by the table.
“If you’re going to get something from one of the higher cabinets, just ask for help.” he grunted, annoyed. He reached above my head, opening the spice cabinet, and for a fleeting moment, he was pressed flush against me, his warmth radiating through me like a hurricane.
And then all the warmth, the monsoon storm dissipated as quickly as it had come as he pulled away, skulking away like the creature of the night that he was. I bit my lip, reaching for the parsley and ginger.
-.-.-
As the whole kitchen slowly became saturated with the smell of spaghetti, I began to feel more in my element, more comfortable with stirring a pot of flexible wheat than to be left alone with my thoughts- surely, with so many, I’d be eaten alive. For the most part, Mikey, Alicia and Gerard left me alone, with the former of the two only saying such banal phrases as ‘That smells good’, and so on. When I finished with the spaghetti, I wondered if a side dish would be necessary. A salad or soup or something. Not because I felt it would be rude to serve a half-completed meal, but because I wanted to spend more time immersed in a culinary trance, where I felt a whole lot better, hidden away from all the complicated things in the world.
I had been absently stirring the marinara sauce for nearly five minutes when Alicia ducked into the kitchen, shielding her eyes from the steam that plumed from the pot of boiling pasta.
“Need any help with anything?” she asked hesitantly, edging behind me to look over my shoulder.
I thought for a minute, hoping that she could at least cut lettuce without amputating her finger.
“Well,” I began. “You can use a knife, right?”
She shrugged. “Sort of.”
“Good enough,” I sighed. “Take this and cut up a head of lettuce, three carrots and two tomatoes, okay?”
“Uh...”
“I’m almost finished with the spaghetti, so I can help with slicing the onions, so don’t worry about them. Make sure the slices are equal and don’t cut ‘em too thick, either.” I continued barking orders like a regular army general, with Alicia standing off to the side, looking dubious.
“Um...” she started. “What?”
I paused, realizing that the flurry of instructions was probably going a little too fast, especially for a girl who could hardly tell a bread knife from a spoon. Sighing, I pried open her fingers and shoved the knife in between them, folding my own hands over hers like one would with a kindergartener learning how to write.
“Like this, okay?” I grunted and pressed down, successfully cutting the green lettuce in two.
Eventually, we were able to get the lettuce cut down without any significant blood loss, and soon Alicia could manage using the knife herself, falling into a steady rhythm of chopping. Strangely enough, I was enjoying myself. We made small talk and laughed a little as we worked, just like in those stupid movies, where everyone was happy all the time for no good reason. It was nice, although I could feel something of more substance that idle chat creeping up.
“So.” Alicia dropped a few round cucumbers into the bowl. “You and Gee. He didn’t-“
“He did.” I interrupted quietly. “Just once, though.”
She fell silent, staring down at the half-finished salad with pity in her eyes. I did the same, the quiet only interrupted by the hiss of steam that emitted from the pot of spaghetti. Finally, we implicitly agreed to finish the salad without any further conversation. The salad was doused in a gratuitous amount of ranch dressing, the spaghetti arranged artfully on a large china plate, and the four of us sat in the dining room, drowning in awkward silence.
I picked at my food, head cradled in one hand uninterestedly. Mikey coughed awkwardly and shifted in his seat every so often, and Alicia stared at the pasta as if it had done her a personal wrong. And Gerard- well, he was just Gerard. Silent, brooding and glaring. All this could make for a less than enjoyable evening, on top of the fact that the thick tension was nearly palpable.
“I’m done.” Gerard and I both said in unison, our chairs scraping noisily against the wood floor. For a moment, we stood, staring each other down. Then both of us turned simultaneously, each returning to their respective rooms.
“They’re a moody pair,” Mikey muttered.
I bit my lip so nothing unseemly would slip out, and quickened my pace.
-.-.-
Sitting cross-legged on my bed, back in the same position as I was before, something vile came to me.
I had seen what happened when two opposing forces were virtually incarcerated inside one house- what would happen if the bad chemistry between us doubled? Either I got along with them or I didn’t, and so far, my outlook was bleak. I had never thought it mandatory to make friends, as I was a loner in my days at school, but now it was, apparently. I liked Alicia well enough, but did I come off as too standoffish? I was too quiet then- I had to go talk to her.
I had just stood up when she herself timidly opened the door, gray eyes widening slightly when they landed on me.
“Oh hi,” she said. “I was just looking for you.”
I tried to smile, granting her entry. She sat down carefully at the foot of the bed, as if it were an exhibit in a museum. From her pocket, she produced a set of playing cards, anxiously fiddling with the flap.
“Do you play cards?” she asked.
“Mm-hm. Mostly just Euchre, but yeah.” I answered- this was true, as I could play a pretty good game. Some would call it luck.
She smiled tightly and laid the cards on the bedspread. I grabbed two, placing one face-down on the other, which was right side up.
Of course I was going to lose- I could tell from the competitive spark in her eyes. Somehow, though, I found myself not really minding. I wasn’t competitive by nature, but I did have the ability to get at least a little riled up at the prospect of a loss. But now, I just had fun, clean and simple. We talked more, laughed more than in the kitchen, and by the end of the second round I felt I could call her my friend, with only a touch of hesitance.
When we were too fatigued to continue any longer, Alicia yawned and cleaned up the cards.
“You can come talk to me any time you need, okay?” she said, mussing my hair in a sisterly way.
I nodded, smiling for real this time.
I had a feeling I’d be smiling more now.
::
For such a monster update, this was surprisingly short lived.
Good thing, though. My mom's supposed to be home any minute.