Freaking Why?

There he goes. Right on cue and like clockwork. 8.56 AM, never early and never late, Jeremy Perfect Hair Anderson always walks through the double automatic door of the building and by the time it's 8.57 AM, he's always finished greeting all the people he passes down the hallway and flashes me a smile as he walks up to the reception desk — which is where I am right now.

"Hey, Anna," Jeremy Owner of My Heart Anderson greets me."How was your weekend?"

"Hi, Jeremy," I give him my sweetest smile — I hope it's enough to mask my wildly beating drum of a heart. "It was okay. I had the day off and I got to hang out with my friends."

Okay, that was a lie. But like, I wasn't going to tell him that I only hung out with my dog because... Well, because I don't actually have friends to hang out with.

I like to think myself as a lone wolf.

Except, I'm actually not. I'm just a super awkward turtle. I'm that person who would snort loudly when they're laughing at a joke at their 10th high school reunion — and then run away to the restroom just to come back with toilet paper sticking out of their pants.

"Sounds fun," he smiles. His eyes sparkle like sugar poured into a cup of coffee. So pretty.

I give him a casual shrug (as casual as I can get) and a tight lipped smile because if I open my mouth I'm pretty sure I would tell him that I like my coffee sweet.

"Oh, okay," he suddenly said. "I like mine black, actually."

What?

"What?"

He eyes me suspiciously. "Coffee?"

Crap.

"Crap."

"You didn't mean to say that out loud, did you?" He chuckles and I can feel some heat creeping up my face. God, I must look like an idiot.

He chuckles again. "No, you don't."

"Oh my God!" I gasped and covered my mouth. Apparently, I saidthat out loud again. "What is wrong with me?"

This time he can't even stop himself from laughing. "You're so funny!"

I grumble and hide my face with one of my hands as the other one slides him a clipboard. "Just... Just sign your name there as usual."

He was still holding back his laughter when he walks away, but not before he promised to bring me a cup of hot, steaming cup of coffee, with sugar, on his way out later.

Of course that means I'm going to have to stay here longer than my shift, and I would have to put up with lousy coffee from the vending machine but pfft... Who cares? Jeremy Ruler of My Universe Anderson is buying me coffee!

--o--o--o--

"Sorry," he pushes a coffee cup on the counter towards me. "I know it's past your shift."

I shrug, trying to hide my pathetic excitement over a cup of bad coffee. "It's no problem," I tell him. I would gladly stay forever for you, Jeremy I Could Get Lost In Your Eyes Anderson.

We both take a sip from our respective cups and look at each other. He's the first one to make a face.

"Oh my God! What the hell is this?"

"Yeah," I grimaced. "I should have told you the coffee here sucks."

"It doesn't just suck. It tastes like pee," he deadpans. Then after a beat, "not that I've tasted pee before."

I sigh inwardly and take another sip just to keep my mouth from sayinganything out loud again. Jeremy Why Are You So Beautiful Anderson is spending time with me well after working hours. This must be what heaven feels like.

Actually, this must be what heaven looks like because I can totally watch his lips move all day. Every day.

"Anna?" His voice yanked me from the trance. "Anna!"

"Uh," my eyes widened because I just realized I must've looked like a crazy person, staring at his face glossy-eyed. "Yeah, sorry! What was the question?"

"I asked you if you're taking off soon. It's about to rain, so if you need it I can give you a ride somewhere?"

Jeremy the Heart Melter Anderson, ladies and gents. So very kind. But I really don't think I would be able to be in the same car bubble with him even if it's only for 5 minutes. I'd probably pounce him.

"No!" I said a little too loud and Jeremy's face falls a little bit. "I mean... No, thank you. I'm actually gonna stay here a while longer. See if I'm needed or something."

His face lights up again. "Wow," he says with some type of awe that I definitely don't deserve. "You're super dedicated. Alright then, I'll let you go back to your noble task."

I smile at him. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to ask because the smile that was gracing his face just disappeared. I should've known better.

"Of course," he tries to smile back. Then his lips open and close, like he's trying hard to say something else. After clearing his throat, and taking out his business card, he finally comes out with it. "Could you, uh, maybe call me —"

Oh my God! The day has finally arrived! Jeremy Your Voice Is My Drug Anderson is finally asking me out! I've only been waiting for this moment since the day he walked through those double doors 4 months ago! Hell yeah, I'm excited!

"— could you let me know if anything changes?"

"Uh..?"

Excuse me?

"She's gonna wake up soon. I just know it. But visiting hours are over and..." he trails off and looks up to the ceiling. I watch him blink his eyes.. 1, 2, 7 times and I can tell he's trying to hide the tears.

I sigh inwardly. Who am I kidding? Jeremy Sweet Sweet Jeremy Anderson isn't ever going to ask me on a date because, let's face it, the reason he keeps coming back is not standing at the reception desk. In fact, she hasn't been standing at all since she was pushed in a gurney through the corridor. The doctors did everything they could, but a person's brain could only last so long without oxygen. And... well, let's just say that car accident kept her underwater for more than a splish-splash in the pool. By the time she was saved, she was already unconscious.

Since then, her fiancé, Jeremy Why Won't You Love Me Anderson, has been coming to the hospital almost everyday just to hold her hand. On weekdays, he's restrained by his office hours. But on weekends like this, he'd stay for as long as the visiting hours lets him.

Jeremy looks at me again and apologizes for being emotional. I sigh inwardly again. How can I refuse that request when he looks like his knees are about to give out on him?

"Sure," I take his business card and offer him the best encouraging smile that I can muster. "Get some rest, Jeremy. We'll be here tomorrow. I'll call you if anything changes."

Jeremy wiped his face with both his hands and takes a deep, long breath. "Thanks, Anna," he says. Then, Jeremy Everything That's Right In This World Anderson proceeds to break my heart. "She's the love of my life."

"I know," I mumble bitterly when he turns around towards the exit. Oh, do I know.

I look at his business card and crumple it.

Then I toss it into the trashcan.

Then I feel bad and pick it up again. I smooth it right back with the heel of my right hand and for the umpteenth time today, I sigh.

Jeremy Life Ruiner Anderson.

Why can't I be the one lying in a comatose like a vegetable in that hospital bed?





(Written on my phone. Excuse the typos. Edited. Yay!)

Chain

When I was little, I used to have this dream. I used to have this dream about my parents, leaving me behind on the side of the road as they waved goodbye from inside a bus that was taking them God knows where. And in that dream, I didn't cry. I would just stare at them as they were being driven away. I'd stare and stare until the bus turned on a corner and out of sight.

Then the me in my dream would tell myself to wake up.

When my eyes were finally open, I'd be thinking how it was funny that in movies people always wake up from a nightmare all sweating and panting as if their lives were being taken away from them – and they were fighting for it – and yet, I barely broke a sweat at all. Just surrounded by this haze of... I didn't even know what. I want to say confusion, but it seemed like the word is just a cop out for something more permanent and stronger.

I was a little bit older when my dad passed away in an accident. Okay, that was a lie. Yes, I was a little bit older, but my dad didn't die. Like in that dream, I stared at his back through the car window until the car turned to a corner and out of sight. His accident was just some story my mom wanted me to tell people so they would take pity on us. So they wouldn't ask questions. So they wouldn't find out that my dad actually left us for some secretary that he decided to fuck during some company retreat. But most importantly, so they wouldn't bother my mom when she spent all her money on booze at the only bar in town. And men and weed, too. But mostly booze.

She's grieving, they'd say.

Let her be, they'd walk away.

Ultimately, though, months became years and years became suspiciously looking like our neighbors were planning an intervention. So my mom got smart and got her alcohol by paying some local kids – illegal kids with fake IDs, that is – to get her fix from the liquor store. Then, at night, she'd lock her bedroom and drank until she had to come out and puke in the bathroom. I don't think any other 12-year-old knew as much as bathroom cleaning products as I did.

I was 14 when my mom first started dating again. Her first boyfriend's name was Michael, and he hated it when people call him Mike. He had this stuck up aura about himself and he was always dressed nicely. Like, buttoned up shirts and dress pants every day, even on the weekends. He drove a nice shiny car that I wasn't allowed to touch – or sit in. So I got used to being left alone since they'd go out all the time, leaving me behind to fend the house. My mom always told me I just had to be patient because Mike was "good for us, honey. He has money. We need it for rent."

She was right. He had money and we didn't. My mom got laid off from her old job just before she met Michael. I knew we didn't have much money left. How could we, when all she did with her paycheck was cashing it in with expensive bottles of vodka.

And cereal, I guess. We had to eat something.

When Michael finally left her, it was because he couldn't stand the empty bottles he had found everywhere in the house. The fridge, the cabinet, under the sofa cushions, and even behind the washing machine. Of course, my mom got mad at me for not having her back. For not throwing those bottles out whenever Michael came to visit.

I had to remind her that she was the one who told me not to throw out the many, many bottles because she didn't want the neighbors to find out. She thanked me for the reminder by slapping me across the face and sending me up to my room.

She didn't let me out for 3 days.

I had a bruise and though I couldn't ice my cheek, I was lucky I had some snack stashed in the back of one of my drawers. So I was alive when she hastily unlocked my door on Monday morning and apologized profusely, saying that she made a mistake by hitting me. That she was drunk and upset because of the break up, and she was going to stop drinking. That she was going to find work, exercise more to get back in shape, take care of me and all that good stuff she was supposed to be doing.

It's you and me always, honey, she said. And I believe I smiled my biggest smile in years.

First two weeks? Awesome. She read the newspaper, circled job openings with the typical red pen and went to interviews. At night she'd cook for us and even helped me with my homework if I needed help (I usually didn't, but I figured being needed was a good feeling for her to have).

One day, though, I came home to find her looking far too relaxed on the couch, sipping on a bottle of water. She watched me as I came in through the door and I watched her watching me. I sat on the other side of the couch, facing her, and that was when I knew I had lost her again. Or rather, she had left me again.

At least she still asked me how school was that day, though. Which I answered with a simple fine because I knew she wouldn't have understood if I had said anything longer than that. I then asked her how was job hunting. She answered in silence, emptying the water bottle that she had in her hand.

The next day, the same thing happened. I came home from school, she was on the couch, I sat facing her on the same couch and she asked me how school was. Only this time, I told her it sucked (a teacher gave me a D for a test, but I didn't tell my mom this, cause I knew she and her glossy eyes wouldn't have understood). So she leaned forward and wordlessly told me to drink from her water bottle.

Sure enough, it wasn't water.

The next day, and the day after that, then the next day after that, and all the days after that, she'd offer me a sip, a chug, of her "water".

And I'd always take it. I needed it.

I needed it to keep her happy, away from feeling rejected, in the hopes that she'd keep me.

Since then, a lot of Michaels came and went. Though not every one of them was as dandy as he was. Most of them actually looked like they either just got out of prison, or they were about to spend some time in it. I didn't – don't, actually – even know where she found them. It was like there was a warehouse full of these men that lonely, fucked up women could just pick and choose from.

This last one, his name was Alexander, specifically told me to never call him Alex, but Xander instead , and was even better in spending money on useless but very expensive things than my mom. Like more booze. Pills. Rock. Hookahs. Tribal tattoos that weren't even pretty. You name it, I've probably seen it on the coffee table of our living room, one way or another.

Oh yeah. He was bad news, alright. Enough bad news for me to start carrying my own water bottles everywhere I go. I needed it. I needed to wash down the taste of his mouth on mine. I needed it to float away when he was doing things to my body. And I needed it to trick myself into thinking that my mother still knew what was best for me and that was why she didn't want to believe me when I told her about the things she couldn't witness while she was out cold.

Like before, I was thanked with a slap across my face and got sent into my bedroom. She didn't lock me in for three days this time, though. Xander didn't let her do it, saying that she was being too rough on me and I was just looking for attention.

I didn't know whether I should thank him or not, but when he came through the door and unzipped his pants, I figured I shouldn't.

I was 17 when I came home to a completely silent house one day. I was hungover, too. Then again, armed everyday with 1, sometimes 2 bottles of "water" in my system, much like how I woke up from the nightmare, I was always in a state of confusion (not to mention a possible failing kidney or two). But this time I know the word is just a cop out for something more permanent and stronger. I know it was because the (empty) refrigerator stopped humming. There was no static from the TV, and there was no TV in its usual place. In fact, most of our everything was gone. Even the sofa cushions slashed open like something was hidden inside them, and when I got to our rooms, I found out that our mattresses were too.

Of course I panicked. I was a mere high school student in the middle of a chaotic house and what could've been a crime scene. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't think... I was rendered speechless. Should I call 911? Should I call my mo– SHIT! MY MOM! WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO MY MOM!?

But then the door to the basement bursted open and out came my mom with a bag that was way too big to just be an overnight bag, Xander following behind her with another one. They walked right past me like I didn't exist, giggling, laughing all the way to what apparently was his shiny new pickup truck that was parked right out front.

Where are you going, I asked her. A few times I asked her.

She turned her head around, and for the first time she didn't have those glossy eyes I was used to seeing.

We're taking a little vacation, she told me. But by "we", she didn't mean us.

She didn't answer me when I asked her when she was coming back. Instead, I just need a little break, honey, she told me again with a smile and a look on her face that my neighbors had given me when they learned about my dad's "passing".

Okay, I said, because she looked... happy? And just like that, my mom and her precious drug dealer boyfriend were off.

Just like in the dream, all I could do was stare until that truck turned to a corner and out of sight. Just like in the dream, I didn't cry. And just like in the dream, I told myself to wake up.

A few months later, right now, shivering from the cold in my cardboard house tucked in a shady alley behind, ironically, a liquor store, I'm still sleeping.

Hey, at least I can always get (steal) refills for my water bottle.

A Preview :P

Sindrow's Note: So I got this super long, super slow story written and I miiiight be posting it somewhere else just cause it's too long to post up here. Maybe. It has about 35 chapters, so... you tell me if you still want to read it after reading this one.

P.S. By the way, this comes from an old project so I'm sorry that it sounds like something for remaja tanggungs :))

Chapter 16: Numbers

April 8th 2010

It had been 6 months since Marita was chosen to be Number Two to Emily Hines’ Captain position for the cheerleading squad, securing her position on top of the food chain of the Belleville High School. Students parted like the red sea whenever they pass by, giving room for superiority.

She liked it. She liked it a lot.

She liked that it gave her an excuse to be a bitch without holding the responsibilities of a Captain. Bossing people around was just one of her callings. So were giving death glares, pointing out mistakes and coming up with lines to build and tear people down at the same time ("It's called tough love, America's Next Top Skank. You better take off that nose ring before Coach Kirkham gets here. And for God's sake take a shower. You smell like Pepe Le Pew in heat.”).

In all honesty, though, she liked that she gets to just dance around to music during practices. She liked that it made her spend less time talking to a tree and she liked that she gets to spend a lot of time with a good friend. The bottom line was, she liked that it made her think less of… other things.

prompt: "kebyar"

Author's note: I forgot how to write in Indonesian and Nilam's helping me find my way back. That is all.

Pembicaraan di telepon tadi memang terputus tiba-tiba (aku harus cari provider baru yang handal), tapi tugas yang diserahkan Bos kepadaku sangat jelas.

"Bakar," katanya, maka kubakar.

PCTR: Pieces

On your first day of kindergarten, the teacher made you sit next to a pretty girl in a pretty dress.

“Hello,“ she said, and she told you her name. Pretty girl, pretty dress, and a pretty name. You wondered to yourself if you could convince your mom to change your name into a flower’s too (of course, she shot down the idea that afternoon).

Your new friend introduced you to another friend who was sitting on your other side. She was tall. Way taller than you that you had to slightly tilt your head up when you talked to her. You didn’t like it at first, but then you realized there’s nothing you could do about it. But you gave your parents an earful about your height during dinner anyway.

PCTR: Lost And Found

(i'm gonna try and make this into a series. each girl gets a story.. that is if i can make up different stories for all of them :P)

At first, I didn’t know what she meant when she said that she doesn’t like the name Steve. The four of us were in the living room, catching up while tuning in to MTV when Sheryl Crow’s Steve McQueen video came on. After she said it, we all stayed quiet in case she’s going to talk about it more. But no. She reached for the popcorn and didn’t say anything else. So we went back to watching the TV.

How Important Is Getting There? (Epilogue)

[One]  [Two]  [Three]  [Four]  [Five]  [Six]  [Seven]  [Eight]  [Nine]  [Ten]  [Epilogue]


Epilogue

There's a feeling that waits in a pit resting somewhere at the bottom of your heart. It never tells you what it is, or when it's going to surface, but when it does, it does, and you'll know what it is. There isn't a name for it, and no amount of words can ever describe it. At best, you can probably say it's a peaceful, magical feeling, but even that severely demotes it.

How Important Is Getting There? (10/10+1)

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Chapter 10

The bell above the diner door rings.

“Finally,” Rose throws her hands up. She gets up and walks towards the door where Chiquita and Penny are standing. “Give me back my cigs,” she says as she snatches a pack of smokes from Penny's hand.

It's a bit disorienting when everything you thought you knew gets yanked away from you and replaced by another perspective. Penny feels like she's floating now, but drowning at the same time. All those things that Chiquita just told her swirl around in her mind like cream, poured onto a cup of coffee. Like clouds, she thinks. Clouds in my coffee, just like the song.

How Important Is Getting There? (9/10+1)

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Chapter 9


“So you ship your books all the way from New York. Big deal. What does that have to do with anything?”

“You know,” Chiquita yanks a cigarette out of Penny's lips and toss it to the ground. She kicks around dirt to put it out. “For an extremely successful bookstore owner, and by successful I mean being half of the latest duo to be featured in Wall Street Journal Report, you're really dim about other stuff.”

How Important Is Getting There? (8/10+1)

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Chapter 8


“Rose? Hello? you there? Listen cause I can't talk for too long. Tara just got a call. One of the dancers fell through and they want her. Like, right now. We're packing as we speak. There's a car service waiting for us to leave in an hour.”

“But—“

“Shush. Just listen to me. I'm so, SO sorry I can't be there for you tonight, and for P. I know this whole bookstore thing is your dream. Tara does too. She's been going back and forth about it, but I told her she should go because this is hers.” Chiquita takes a pause to make sure Rose is following her. “Do you... understand what I'm saying?

How Important Is Getting There? (7/10+1)

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Chapter 7

Rose and Chiquita wake up at the same time around 3 AM. Chiquita mutters something about how her neck is sore while Rose complements her as the best pillow ever for a road trip.

It doesn't take long before one of them notices that someone doesn't originally belong in the backseat. The other one senses the tension that's currently slicing the air like cucumbers and sends a text message to the person sitting on the front passenger seat.

Text Message
From: Rose (work)
U ok?

She gets a reply and it just says, “peachy.”

How Important Is Getting There? (6/10+1)

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Chapter 6

“Penny. Penny, you're swerving,” Tara whispers from behind the driver's headrest. She has been clutching tightly to whatever she can grab a hold on. And even though there is no rule about wearing the safety belt when you're sitting in the backseat, she's already strapped on since more than an hour ago— when she saw Rose finally fell asleep.

Penny snaps out of her drowsiness and regains control of the wheel. She shakes her head to shake the sleep out of her system. Looking to her right, Rose is already asleep, clutching her still playing iPod— she's done good today by bringing back the best of the nineties.

From her rearview mirror Penny can spot a sleeping Chiquita. She's resting her right side against the door. Ouch, Penny thinks. Cee's bound to get a sore neck in the morning.

How Important Is Getting There? (5/10+1)

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Chapter 5

It's a good thing Penny always sets her alarm to go off an hour before she's supposed to wake up. After slipping in and out of consciousness for a good 45 minutes of snooze-and-slapthealarm, she finally managed to drag herself into the shower. By 5.30 she's fully awake, dressed, and in desperate need of some caffeine. She was about to walk out her the bedroom door when she realized that she didn't set the coffee maker the night before. She groans before she turns the knob, then frowns in confusion when the smell of coffee hugs her from the kitchen.

“Morning.” Tara says, putting down her cup of coffee to the kitchen counter. “I figured you'd need coffee to drive.”

How Important Is Getting There? (4/10+1)

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Chapter 4

For some reason, sleep doesn't come easy for Penny tonight. She has been tossing and turning for hours now and she blames everything from her lumpy mattress (which is not lumpy at all), her stupid pillows (which don't even have brains to begin with), and even the walls (she thinks she can hear the paint cracking).

She starts to wonder if admitting herself to an asylum is a good idea. She wants to see if the padded walls are quieter than the ones in her bedroom. And besides, it's not like she can't rock a straight jacket.

She reaches for her phone and looks at the screen. 1.41 AM. She huffs. Looking at the ceiling, she silently thanks God that she still has another night before the trip. She then spends her restless minutes calming herself down, counting sheep and whatever woolly animals going through her mind.

Wait, elephants don't ha—

How Important Is Getting There? (3/10+1)

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Chapter 3

“I'm surprised everything is still intact,” Rose says, emerging from her bedroom an hour after the first cupboard slam. “No broken frames, no torn upholstery? I gotta say, I expected so much more of you.”

Penny's sitting on the kitchen counter with a defeated look on her face and her legs dangling over the edge. Rose looks at a full glass of orange juice in Penny's hands and thinks it's the weirdest thing she has ever encountered. “In your moment of weakness, or shall I say 'savage', did you bump your head and forget that you hate OJ?”

How Important Is Getting There? (2/10+1)

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Chapter 2

Once again sat at a booth by the window in the diner that's between their office and the apartment, they plan out their entire trip. Which car to take (Penny's, because Rose's eats up too much gas), what to bring their parents (food and wine, because there can never be too much food, or wine, at reunions like these), where to stay (they considered hotel, but Rose's mom had called them earlier and insisted that they all stay at their house— “there are just too many rooms in this house and I wanna be close to my girls,” she said), and lastly, how they're going to spend 25 hours on the road without killing each other.

“I'll drive, you take care of everything else,” is Penny's answer.

How Important Is Getting There? (1/10+1)

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Chapter 1

They're both sat at a booth by the window in a diner conveniently located smack dab between the office and their apartment on an uneventful Thursday afternoon. Neither are on their lunch break but God knows both needed the time off.

Whenever the bell above the diner door rings they glance towards the entrance. If a familiar face from the office walks in and dare to look at them curiously, Penny and Rose just shoot them a glare that would make them cower. They've always been good at those glares. Practice makes perfect, and they had all the practice they needed during their foolish, reckless college years. Besides, they're the bosses now. They make the rules. They can take their lunch breaks anytime they want. Especially when the whole company shoves them nothing new but useless, unproductive interns to take care of and endless piles of papers to approve and sign.

Rain

excuse the typos. i uploaded this from my phone. :)

The first time Kayla experienced a real rain, not just the kind her mom created with a shower head in the bathtub, she was two. “Rain,” she called, excitedly, to her mom from the restrictions of her car seat. They took a detour from driving to the supermarket and ended up at a nearby park because, “every little girl should dance in the rain at least once,” her mom said. Granted, they were in their raincoats and boots, but Kayla remembered the contentment brought by the occasional raindrops on their faces. Kayla and her mother laughed, danced, not get the groceries, and loved.

Almost

listen & write! yay! ;)

Song: Heartbeats – The Knife

Huh.

11.57.37 PM.

Not bad, self. You've outdone your productivity record today. You jogged, cleaned the whole house AND the basement— God knows those old vacuums needed to go. You went out to a lunch meeting that lasted for 6 hours— a record in itself, given that by the time it was over, it was practically dinner. You went to get groceries, alphabetically rearranged the pantry (but then decided to color-code all the canned foods and now you have the most awesome cupboard ever), and you just finished redecorating the mantelpiece. That picture you took of the sunset sure looks glorious there. Matt would love it. He loves sunsets.

…

Great. That's just great. You almost made it through the day without thinking about him, dammit.

If She's Gone I Can't Go On

listen & write time :)

song: The Beatles — You've Got To Hide Your Love Away

The grandkids wanted me to tell them a story. So I told them a story about the most beautiful princess in the whole world—

who ended up saving a prince and became their grandmother.









I really, really miss you, you know.