Hawthorne Heights [Editing]

twenty-three

   His mother swirled the wine glass slowly while attempting to break the rigid silence between them. Warren slowly puckered his lips out before reverting them back to normal, a habit that he often did out of nervousness.

   Isabell caught him watching her leave her job that day. She was well aware that Warren was suspicious of her actions, yet she would never have imagined that he'd follow her throughout the city.

      "Why were you following me, Warren?" Isabell swallowed a mouthful of wine. "Are you feeling well?"

   Warren blinked at her with a blank expression before saying, "I was following you because you've been acting shady. After the divorce, you've been sneaking off and you've been on the phone late at night. What's going on?"

      "You need to stay in a child's place," she snapped, "what I do is my business. I am the parent and you are the child. Know your role and play it accordingly."

   He retorted, "I'm going to college in a few months, I deserve to know what you're doing. Believe it or not, I still respect you."

   Isabell scowled at the glass full of wine while suppressing a rude comment. After living under her husband's shadow for so long, Isabell didn't know how to handle situations in a way differently than her husband would. She grew up in a household that preached submissiveness into the ears of women. She was told that she'd never get a husband if she couldn't cook, clean, or even if she had large feet. Isabell was groomed and bred to be a wife.

      "I don't need to explain myself to you because I am your mother! But since you're giving me a migraine, I'll tell you."

   She continued, "Your father's mother, Verona, is dying and she doesn't want to tell your dad. He was extremely close to her as a child and she's afraid that if he finds out that she's ill, then he'll do something reckless."

"You're both acting as if he's not a grown man. What could he do that's so bad?" Warren asked, full of naivety.

"Well, there's drugs, alcohol, over-working himself, prostitutes, gambling, overspending, and more. Your grandmother doesn't think that he can control his impulses."

Warren snorted, "Why are you looking out for him, mom? He cheated on you."

"I still love him, Warren. He was my husband."

   My dreams spilled over with images of her. She dominated my every waking thought and I clumsily stumbled for her. Milo became that beacon of salvation in a world that made it seem like I was sinning for simply being alive. She made me happy.
-Khari

☽

   "Give me a run for my money, there is nobody, no one to outrun me. So give me a run for my money, sippin' bubbly, feelin' lovely, livin' lovely. Just love me," the speaker crooned in Khari's dimly lit bedroom.

   Milo's eyes drifted closed as Khari played with the elastic on her purple bonnet. Her parents were entertaining their guests that night and Milo refused to be scorned once again in front of pale faces.
   Her parents had an odd obsession with needing to be validated by white men. They took their compliments and injected them into their veins with bloodshot eyes. Everything needed to be perfect; Milo was not an exception.

   Khari continued to play with her bonnet as she prodded at the air bubbles in the wall. The building appeared decrepit, yet it managed to house dozens of people for years. Crayon Picassos decorated the halls of Hawthorne, black scrapes left behind from furniture being moved in and out, eviction notices crumpled up into balls, and the suffocating aroma of cabbage made the building into a home for its residents.

      "I wanna be with you, ayy, I wanna be with,"

   Khari lazily smiled at the girl resting in his arms before poking her cheek with the intent to wake her up. The clock read two in the morning yet the boy remained wide awake. He had been feeling this for a while now. Excited for nothing in particular. His anger left a scalding kiss upon his cheek before disappearing away. He had a lot to be mad about; the heavens understood.

      "Can you just go to sleep, Khari?" She laughed, "I know you're tired."

   He kissed her forehead briefly before murmuring, "But I like you. Let's just talk for a while and then I'll go to sleep."

      "No," she refused, "we've tried this before and I ended up going home later than I expected. My parents don't even want me over here."

   Khari shrugged his shoulders while removing his hand from the bonnet. Milo often brought up the disliking her parents had for Khari and his aunt, yet it went unfazed by him. Several people did not like Khari and that wasn't his business. He'd continue reading and writing like he always did.

   The room carried the aroma of lavender and sandalwood, courtesy of the incense that Khari stole from his aunt. She had a thing with a man downstairs that sold jewelry, incense, and fake bags.

   Khari grumbled, "I don't care about them, Milo. They can't tell you what to do, you're almost eighteen."

      "You forget that my parents are black? They know I'm here but they figured that we won't be together for long."

   Instead of responding to Milo, Khari turned the radio up louder so that they wouldn't hear the laughter coming from her apartment. Glass clinked loudly on the other side of the wall whereas Khari's apartment held the sounds of police sirens racing down the street outside and a gunshot firing on the other side of the block.

   Milo relented, "Fine. Tell me one thing that you've always wanted to do and why."

      "I've always wanted to die just for a day and see what happens. I'm pretty sure nothing will happen, but I've always been fascinated with the juxtaposition between life and death," He murmured.

☽

«fireside chat: a cute filler chapter to set the mooood.»

side note: some people fail to realize that writing isn't simple when you want to give your readers quality. I could update everyday with mediocre writing opposed to taking my time to make sure that each chapter is made with a purpose.

I aim for close to 1,000 words if not more per chapter and I believe that I've met that goal quite often. I'm taking my time with this book so that it won't end up crashing and burning. I'm an artist and I'm sensitive about my books, so remain respectful.