These Paths We Tread (Autobot x OC)

III. Rage Against the Machine

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Waking was difficult and tiring. Her eyes protested letting the beams of sunlight coming through her window blinds, and her forehead felt heavy and drowsy. Her nose hurt from being rubbed raw, and her throat felt congested. Her limbs didn't want to work right, either, but she still forced herself up to stare blankly at the blue walls of her room. She registered thoughts moving in and out of her mind, but  emotions couldn't follow them; she was empty. There were no more tears, but her stomach was still tied in a painful, tight knot.

A door slammed downstairs and the familiar chorus of barking dogs reached her ears. She looked blankly at the digital clock on her nightstand. It was nine in the morning, meaning her parents had just gotten back from their walk. She looked to her door and realized it was partially open—her parents had come to check up on her during the night. She couldn't know how late, but she'd have to think up something to say. The notion was enough to spur some strength into her.

With a sigh she stood up at last, her body moving like a machine to the bathroom. She went through her normal morning routine, though with a droll that she'd never had before. She almost stopped halfway through dressing and contemplated just going to bed again, but something—she thought maybe pride, but she couldn't be sure—kept her going through the process. That something also made her consider her appearance and try to rid herself of the evidence of the previous night's events. When that was satisfactory, she forced a bleak smile onto her face before daring the trip downstairs.

She paused, however, when she nearly tripped over her camouflage bag. She stared at it for a few seconds before picking it up and emptying the contents onto her bed. Her eye locked onto the pair of glasses with strange markings etched into them, and so did her hands. Her fingers tightened slowly, pressing up against the glass and sides. She raised her arm to throw them at the wall, but instead of following through the motion her arm remained in the air, shaking. With another sigh moments later, she slowly lowered her arm and opened her fingers to look at the eyeware in them. She couldn't do it.

Putting the glasses down she left the room. She descended down the stairs and came into the kitchen just as her parents had finished their outdoor morning outdoor activities, making sure the plants were water and pool clean. They were cheerful as usual in the morning and it was Sunday, so they were off work. The dogs were busy either drinking from the toilet or lying on the tiles to cool down, so she was left to the attentions of her parents as she sat on the wooden highchairs of their granite counter.

"So how was the party last night?" her mother inquired as she wiped sweat from her blonde locks.

"It was fun," she managed, and then continued when her Mom gave her an expectant look, "We just kind of rolled up, lounged and talked with some other kids, played in the lake, and all the good stuff."

"We noticed you came home early—we found you asleep upstairs around eleven," her father added, his brow rising with inquiry.

"Oh. Yeah," she began, her mind whirring quickly for the words. They came easier than she thought. "I, uh, ate something and it came back to bite me in the butt. Sam was nice enough to bring me home real quick and I slept it off."

"Oh, well sorry to hear that, but at least you had fun, right?" the blonde-haired woman smiled brightly, and Catherine nodded back.

"So what's the plan for today? You going to hang out with Sam again?" her father asked.

She turned towards him, setting her cheek into her hand. The resemblance between her and her father was all too obvious. Every gene in her body except for the double x's no doubt came from him. The red hair, the puffy cheeks, the hazel eyes, and broad shoulders. She'd even gotten his tendency for a mass number of freckles. Thankfully, she hadn't gotten his laziness, which had led to his overweight condition. The same could be said for her mother, but none of them really minded with their good lifestyle, and since her father was over fifty and her mother getting close, they didn't have much obligation to loosen their waist belts.