Chapter Three - Welcome to the Family

Background color
Font
Font size
Line height

There isn't much that terrifies me, but everyone has their fears. Deep water, that's enough to send me into a panic attack frenzy. Yacht cruises are completely, unequivocally, out of the question. Trypophobia – I hate clusters of holes. Those flowers with the weird holes in them? The image of my nightmares. Just imagine what lives inside them.

But as it turns out, I'm absolutely petrified of one other thing. Being tied to Elijah Hendrix for the next twelve weeks under the pretence of a baby project.

"I'm sorry, I'm confused. I thought abuse in the place of education was a crime." I splutter out in confusion, already feeling a nervous sweat burn through me.

Mrs Ford smiles at me, thrusting the USB into my hand. Who knew such a small thing could be capable of such torture? "This morning, class picked their pairs. Obviously, you two were engaged elsewhere, so as luck so happens, you were the last two without a partner.

"I did have my own reservations – it's fairly common knowledge that the two of you have a long list of problems with one another." I scoff at the understatement of the century. "But, after a rather lengthy conversation with the principle, and your guidance counsellor, we decided that it's in the best interests of you both to give you an ultimatum. Put your issues aside to complete the project and pass the class - which you deserve - or continuing acting like a set of children without social etiquette, fail, and face expulsion."

Evil reincarnated. St Bardo's is hell.

"As much as I commend you for your wicked thinking," Elijah begins, as flustered as me. "There is no way that either of us will last twelve weeks. And I mean that, sincerely. One of us will be dead."

I nod emphatically, extending the USB stick to hand her it back. "He's completely right." I tell her with every ounce of seriousness.

"Look at you both! Progress already – unanimous agreement. I think you'll both be just fine." I'm very rarely stunned to silence, but I suppose there is a first for everything. "I've requested that you have a laptop in detention. I suggest that you read through the criteria. Deadline is in twelve week. Good luck, now run along."

The pair of us shuffle towards our detention completely silent. In fact, I think it's the only time either of us have been in one another's company without trying to tear the other a new one. We're clearly just too gobsmacked to utter even a single word, let alone an insult.

In detention, a simple classroom with rows of tables, on one of which sits a laptop, Mr Succett leans against the windowsill with a smug expression of victory. "Welcome. Detention begins once you're logged in. Mrs Ford and I thought that it would be particularly useful that you use this time to get started on your project. Enjoy."

He leaves us then, just Hendrix and I in this room. Has he learned nothing?

Much to my surprise, Elijah takes a seat, powering on the laptop and signing in, uploading the USB contents. "Sit then." He instructs snappily. I scrunch up my face and stick out my tongue but comply, shuffling my chair so their is enough distance between us. He opens a slide show, on which breaks down how the next twelve weeks will fall.

Before I can begin reading, my phone buzzes from my bag. I groan at the caller ID, knowing that I'm about to get a storm of abuse shouted into my ear.

"Hi Ezzy." I say softly, bracing myself for the scolding of whatever it is I've done now. My brother Ezra only recently moved back home following a breakup from his girlfriend. Since, he's had an incredibly short fuse and snaps at almost everything. Only yesterday, I suffered a twenty minute lecture about leaving the toothpaste cap off, for it to come to our attention that it was actually our dad that was the culprit. I didn't get an apology.

"Where are you?" He asks in a surprisingly calm tone.

"Detention – long story – why?"

"Adam came by. Dropped off loads of your stuff." I freeze up at the mention. My boyfriend – or ex as he so happens to be now – and I broke up mere months ago. I asked for space, resulting in most of my belongings remaining at his house. It seems he's decided to take matters into his own hands now. Frankly, I'm glad I wasn't there, I'm confident a month of crying would've followed otherwise.

It's quite plain – Adam was my first love and, in some ways, despite the horrendous breakup and the discovery of his infidelity, I still harbour some of that love. Hell, who am I kidding; there's no denying I'm still completely and utterly infatuated. Or, at the very least, obsessed with all the questions that remain unanswered. Of course, I have more resolve than to rekindle my romance with a cheat – not that it's exactly on the cards, considering the rather annoying obstacle of his new, blonde, Victoria Secret runway model of a girlfriend – but I'm still yet to move on. Believe me, it's not for lack of opportunity; Nat and Lena have both pestered me incessantly, setting me up on blind dates, starting an online dating profile, it's a nightmare.

Honestly, I think it's all because the pair desire to live vicariously through me. What with Alena being completely besotted, she has no time for dating. On the other hand, Nat is still endeavouring in her self-proclaimed 'experimental stage' in which she's still trying to decide whether she's straight, gay, or bats both ways. Three years down the line, she maintains that she's still unsure, despite her recent aversion to men, but I think it's more because she enjoys embracing her sexuality – more power to her. If I was a hot leggy blonde, I'd certainly do the same – but she's never much experienced the dating life.

"Charlie, you alright?" I nod, despite him being unable to see me.

"Yeah, great!" I lie in a falsetto, cringing at how completely unconvincing it is. "Did he say anything?"

"Well he was pretty surprised to see me – ran back to his car with his tail between his legs. But no, he just put the box on the step and that was it." He explains. I can't help but smile. It's no secret that my brothers, even my pregnant sister, were ready to beat on Adam after what happened.

"Okay – well I'll see you later. Thanks, Ezzy." I respond.

"Bye Charlie. Text me if you want a lift." I match his goodbye and hang up, releasing a particularly staggered breath. I put my phone away and turn to see Elijah looking at me with a raised brow.

I frown at him, folding my arms. "What?" I snap at him.

He shrugs and tilts the screen towards me, inviting me to read. "Who was that?" He asks.

"My brother," I respond in a mumble, cupping my head in my hand as I lean on the table.

"Ezzy? I thought his name was Oli?" I roll my eyes at his attempt at idle chitchatter.

"That was my other one." I explain lamely, moving on to the next slide.

Elijah edges closer and peers over the laptop to see what part I'm reading. "You have two brothers?" He queries.

"Three. And Ferne." I respond. As the youngest, I try not to discuss my siblings much. I hate feeling overshadowed, what with them all being so exceptionally fantastic. Well, apart from Oli maybe, but golden boy could never do much wrong.

Ferne, the eldest and my only sister is the first that married and the first that plans to give my parents the grandchild they've nagged for. Her husband Roman is lovely, which is something my parents never fail to mention every time they hang up from being on the phone with the pair. Workaholic Benjamin, the next born, comes with the slogan 'do as Ben does'. He's currently abroad, volunteering at struggling schools across the globe, which is just – ugh, vom. How dare he be so lovely and generous when I struggle to share my chocolate. Ezra, despite him being rather testy thanks to heartbreak – I know the feeling – is so unbelievably intelligent. He's currently training in forensics, following in our dads footsteps of being a forensic investigator for the police.

Then Oliver. He's only two years my senior and I couldn't be more thankful for his inability to commit. He makes me look ever so slightly less terrible. He dropped out of school, got married last year on a holiday in Vegas (which he was forced to have annulled despite me finding Anfisa rather charming, even with the language barrier), and is currently sofa surfing in Spain, working in bars across party central Ibiza.

As I say, golden boy can do no wrong, and his antics only earn a head shake and a tut from our parents. Still, he makes me look a little less like a complete failure, so for that he will forever be my favourite. Of course, I love him for more reasons that that – the pair of us bounce off of one another, wreaking havoc across every inch of our land. He's the one sibling I can rely on to have me crying with laughter too – I've always encouraged him to pursue a career in comedy.

Despite me being completely jealous of everything they've achieved and the fact that I'll only ever match their success, that doesn't mean I hate them. In fact, quite the contrary. I love having older siblings – they don't mind getting me out of trouble.

"I didn't realise you had four siblings." Elijah says, pulling me from my reverie.

"Why are you asking about my family?" I inquire suspiciously.

He grins at me, pointing to the screen. "Well, what with them being my child's aunt and uncles, I think it's important that I get to know them." I could sob, really, I could.

The project is split. The first two weeks, they encourage us to begin on our essay – the development of children from infant to four. Then, unless my eyes deceive me, we embark on the challenge of parenthood. Between us, for six weeks, we must care for the stupid robot baby. Six weeks. Three weeks each. Torture.

The last four weeks we are supposed to document our findings. The effects of a new arrival on parents and the needs of the child.

Lord, offer me a merciful death. Save me from this eternal torture.

With my head in my hands, I groan. It quick develops into a scream, muffled by the sleeves of a strangers jumper. "I can't deal with this!" I cry out.

"Stop sulking." Elijah says. I lift my head slowly, sporting nothing more than a glare of death.

"Easy for you to say; I'm going to have to mother two children to pass this assignment." I spit out, in a tone doused with venom.

"Drop the 'woe is me' act, it's extremely unattractive on you." He sighs, causing me to mimic him incoherently. He scowls and I force a fake grin on my face. Perhaps we're equally as childish, not that I'd ever admit it. "Besides, you're standing on a common misconception; I actually want to pass this class." He tells me.

I scoff and lean back on my chair, a dubious brow raised. "Just because you want to pass doesn't mean you're not a child."

He matches my stance with a dead-pan expression. "Pot kettle black – I don't know anyone over the age of five who bites." He declares, shoving his forearm in my face, displaying the fainting indentations of my incisors and canines.

"What can I say," I begin, pushing his arm out of the way. "You bring out the worst in me."

He tuts and takes to the laptop again, shuffling away. "You already are the worst."

~

Ezra has put the box full of my belongings on the end of my bed.

In it, there is a note which has been scrunched up, then flattened out in a poor attempt at erasing the evidence of its destruction. I doubt it to be Adam - he's have rewritten it. So, it can only be Ezra. He either doesn't want me to read it, or at the very least thinks it best that I don't.

Of course, temptation conquers, and I hold it harshly in both hands as I perch on my bed.

Hey Charlie. Thought I'd bring your stuff. If I find anything else, I'll give you a call. Hope you're doing okay, Adam x

I discard the note and begin rifling through everything in the box. Bits of makeup, some underwear, socks. Body washes, candles. A couple of tops that I've been missing for far too long and then at the very bottom, a jumper, which I know is not mine.

It's a simple grey jumper, thick and warm, with a single pocket sat right on the front. No one else would think much of this, but I do. I know this jumper. It's Adam's, one I used to wear.

Without even thinking, like a typical, completely obsessed ex-girlfriend, I bring the cotton to my face and inhale, my breath hitching when I catch scent of his cologne that's deep set in the fibres. It smells so much like him that it pulls a lump to my throat. Why has he given me this? It was no accident, not by the way it was folded, right at the bottom of the box.

My eyes well up, forcing me to gulp back a few heavy breaths, desperate to not cry. I can't understand. It makes no sense why he would put this in here. Is he expecting me to return this? I can't exactly keep it. They're empty thoughts though, because without even realising, I'm cuddled up in a foetal position, face buried into the jumper that's bundled in my arms.

You are reading the story above: TeenFic.Net