Motive: Chapter 1

Hello Everybody! I'm new here, so please be kind to me! Haha, I am an aspiring writer and it took me a lot of courage to post the first chapter of the project I'm working on here ><;;

If you can, please give me some constructive critism and feedback! I am really determined on this project and need all the help I can get. That's why I love the internet, because anonymous readers like you really help me out!

This story is about 5 young people who are all goinbg through difficult times in their life. It's not a sappy corny teenage novel (I hope not) but it is somewhat steered in the romance direction. I'm hoping I can turn this into a more deeper story than those teen fiction out there, but that's a little hard considering I am pretty young.

Well without further adieu, here it is! Enjoy

{H a p p yBerry:]



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He always stood out. Whether it was for good or bad reasons, I never could grasp any understanding. He was the person whom everybody hated.  The person everybody wanted to be. He had an air of confidence and dignity, pride and honor. He stood straight and self righteous with no defiance, but could still easily blend himself into the world and be the main centre piece of any place. He was and always is the main concept of a portrait, making everything else pale in comparison; turning anybody near him into mere background. Cruel he is, taking all attention; stealing all affection and never once stopping to acknowledge the impact he had on people. So much impact in fact, that his words would drive themselves into the minds of anyone who had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting him. Both making them feel alive and the most blessed person on earth or driving them to the verge of insanity. I knew of him, and I feared the power that he held. I feared the day that I would chance to cross lives with him and I found myself hating him for that fear.



              My friend started to mention this boy on just the second day of our second year. She had met him on the bus ride home that yesterday afteroon, just while the sun began to drown and stain the sky with its uncertainty of red and orange. The love that supposedly sprouted was undeniable.

             

“He’s so gorgeous, Mi, you don’t realize the extent of his beauty until you actually see him face to face.” She excitedly spoke to me, recalling events. “I didn’t even know it was possible to meet somebody like that! He’s like a model, no, even more than a model.”



            The pavement had only begun to dry earlier today but the gods of the sky changed their mind yet again and a drizzle slowly dampens the cement road we walk upon. I turn over to look at my friend whose face begins to flush under the cold of the rain and the memory of this boy. I can’t help but giggle under these circumstances, seeing how it was only last week that she had been busily telling me a fantastic love encounter with some other.

               

“Mi, what are you laughing at? I’m really serious! Are you judging me?” She pushes me lightly against the shoulder and trips along to match my quick steps. Her face takes on the expression of a reprimanded child. Her pout is adorable and with the contrast between her thick dark brown hair frizzing in the rain and her bright red cheeks, she reminded me of my kitten.


“I’m not laughing at you,” I tell her sincerely, “It’s just you’re so cute.”



“I am?” Her excitement is back and I smile again, pleased that she’s pleased. “Thanks, but really Mi, have you been listening to what I was saying at all?”



“Yes, I am. You met a boy, who is apparently impressively beautiful although I’ve never heard or seen of him. You’re suggesting he goes to our school, basing the conclusion from where you met him-a bus stop in front of the main music building of our school,” I sum up her half an hour speech with a few quick sentences. Yes, I understand completely, perfectly in fact. A pretty boy with a good build. Attractive in the eyes of the girl majority and probably a complete jack-ass -as guys tend to be here at Renovo High. I’m grouping him stereotypically, how hypocritical I am. I have yet to meet this man and I’m already judging him based on a person’s opinion and my past irrelevant personal experiences. I give an involuntary sigh and can't help but think that Mr. Gordon would probably take back his high assessment of me. Philosophy class teaches you the very morals of life, making you realize things you've never realized before. Teaching you to look in new perspectives, and always efficiently giving me a headache.



We walk along Parabella Avenue in quick steps to avoid the oncoming downpour. This particular road always intrigued me, and not just because it’s spelling very much reminded me of parabolas. Math had always been a sincere part of my enjoyment. It was the only thing that made perfect sense in a critically logical and sometimes unbearable way. No matter how distorted an equation or complex the formula, there’s always a sensible solution; even if you have to resort to the imaginary sometimes. We enter into a small café & bakery that was situated on the junction of Parabella and Benson Street. It was a small but lovely place with olive green walls and soothing jazz that played moderately forte. When I first came to Bakersfield, ironically enough this was the first place I visited. What beckoned me forward however weren’t the beautiful displays of cream puffs and éclairs that lined themselves perfectly in sync behind the glass. It wasn’t the bright beige sign inscribed with bold, black, curly letters high above the bay window of the old antique-liked wooden shop. And it was definitely not the type or group of people that went in and out, all clad in the same petticoats and black jackets. It was the soft music that emitted itself from the inside. The mellow song and voice that punctured my heart, and tear out a thread; reeling me in and binding me with my own sentiments. I had followed in a trance, unaware of my surroundings and of the people that I occasionally ran into. All I was concerned about at the time was who or what could make such beautiful music that ripped at my soul. I admit I was curious, angry and curious.







Negativity followed me around and surrounded me, even as a young child. I had the nicknames clung to the tails of my clothes and could never wash them off. Grumpy, mad, angry, mean, weird, cold, distant, strange, unresponsive, and the most recently, distasteful, were all words used to describe me. It wasn’t like I was pessimistic; I just viewed things in a more sensible light, and had a good grasp of reality. I was born in Los, grew up in Los and lived in Los until I was age 15. The experiences of the child growing up in a relatively large city had some great impacts on me. I was often bullied or picked on because of my sullen attitude. My father had a job that required him to move around a lot in the city, so I was put into various schools. As a result, I never had a friend. It’s the typical story of the new kid being bullied and than finally making a friend after so many years only to be moved again. The same stories you see on almost every kid’s channel, and every kids show. I remember watching them and always eagerly rewinding to the parts where the main character finally finds her perfect friend in the end of her never perfect life.  It soothed me, giving me comfort and some hope that somewhere along my childhood life; I’d fine a person who’d not dislike everything about me.







“Enough,” objected Kylee suddenly, “You really need to expand your talks, Mia. It seems that most of the time, whenever we’re together, I’m mostly the one spouting nonsense. You however, have a hot older man who you never seem to be interested in.” She leans in closer to my, and the strands of her hair tickle my cheek as they lightly brush past. I turn away from her eyes and focus over to the counter where the Barista made his drinks. He moved quickly and eloquently, spinning the cream in one hand, the cup in the other. He grinds beans as if each one were the perfect little paints that would create a masterpiece. Pouring the hot drinks into Parisian styled cups and saucers, and adding his own little detail that marked his work, he spun and spun and spun, never once falling from exhaustion.

My hand comes up to call the waiter over, indicating the dessert I want on the stylish menu. I point to the Tiramisu flavored pudding. He gives a quick nod and moves away to take new orders. I relax to the music and lean against the back of the tall chair I’m sitting in. I gaze out onto the streets at the passerby’s that hurry on through the thick curtain of rain. Kylee retells my lifes love story in deep interest as if to reassure herself of the facts. I am at peace, undisturbed be her rendition of my story, and unperplexed at her narrating. I reach for my soy hazelnut cappuccino.





Faye- the first stranger to properly introduce himself to me I think back-, although I’ve already wandered around in the new town for three days. He looked me straight in the eye, and spoke with an authority that neither highly respected you nor underestimated you. He was honest, blunt and right to the point. He was firm and gentle, stern and reassuring. The one friend I’ve ever wanted. I went into a kind pf obsessive phase over him after that one encounter. I didn’t realize at the moment I was attracted to him in that sense. He was just overwhelmingly fascinating and I found myself lost in the various ways he would carry out everyday tasks. It made it easier for me to follow him once I realized that he was the counselor hired to help me find a proper high school. And so it started; my little quest to make him my friend. Creepy it was, but at the time I wasn’t thinking too clearly, and all aspects of reality vanished when my childhood imaginary friend turned into a tangible and real person.





“Oh my god! I never knew you could pull something like that,” she exclaimed after finishing my story, as if the whole idea seemed ludicrous to her.

“Pull something like what?” I ask her feeling a little sting at her surprised tone.

“Wrapping on older man around your finger like that! How did you get him to like you?” Her eyes go incredibly wide for a second, and I feel like I’m being demeaned.

“I didn’t wrap anybody around my finger,” I retort, shaking my long bangs out of my eyes so they join the rest of my shoulder length hair. “It just sort of happened,”

“Tell me again, Mia,” she asks, “Please?”

“I don’t really want to talk about it right now,” I answer, and as if to prove the point, I pick up my cup again and hide my mouth with a swallow of coffee.

She pouts and tugs the cup away. Her hands take my face and turn it so her eyes hold my eyes. Kylee loves physical touch; she says it’s the only sure way to express something. I pull her hands away.

“You know already, I told you last week.”

“Yes but, you never told me the details! And you never tell me how you’re doing,” she exclaims with mocking anger.

I pick my cup up again, “Why do you want to know anyway? It’s not like it’s your business,” I say, fumbling desperately for an excuse. My words hurt her and she drops her gaze.

“Kylee, I didn’t mean that.” I suddenly spoke, realizing what I said. I quickly apologize and she shrugs it off.

“Nah, it’s alright. It’s fine if you don’t want to tell me, I understand,” she says

I hate it when they do that, and than you feel guilty. But I’m not falling for the bait so I change the subject.

“Mr. Anderson says that mock exams are next Wednesday. Do you think you’ll do well?”

“No,”

“Why not?”

“Because I suck at school, and I suck at copying and right now all my attention is focused on finding him.” She explains, annunciating the word with special intent. The rest of our evening plays at in that manner. As an apology for my harsh comment, I ended up entertaining her with various ideas for capturing the heart of her new boy crush. It was exhausting keeping up with her sense of humor and animated personality, but we ended the day on good terms again and I say good bye to her on the corner of Benson and John Street. She waves through the rain, and turns abruptly to hurry home. I stand and watch until she disappears from my sight before I move on.




Faye changed my life by bringing joy into even the simplest things. He would laugh when there was nothing obviously funny, completely convinced that my sarcastic remarks were all part of some major attempt to be humorous and entertaining. He truly believes that those were my goals and that I had ultimately failed. He laughs, saying they were cute and I was truly humorous and entertaining, at least to him anyway. I smile at his complete idiocy but let him believe whatever he wants. Sometimes, I see him somewhat like my savior, or angel descended from heaven to save me from the darkness. He’s like the elder brother I longed to have, showing me the way and lighting up new opportunities I never saw by myself.

He hosted a welcome party for my family, a week after our first session together, and invited about 30 strangers that didn’t even bother to get to know me. I was standing awkwardly at the poolside, admiring the way the fluorescent lights that hung from the deck shimmered on the surface of the water in the dark of the night. People chatted at ease all around me, sometimes including me in their small talk but for the most part I stayed by myself. My parents were across the yard still trying to impress their new co-workers and the CEO of the company my dad just got accepted into. My mother stood there accompanying him and looking pretty. She points towards my direction, telling them that I was their daughter. Somebody compliments, and she laughs out of embarrassment and pride, instantly denying it but gloating all the same. I turn away from them and walk to edge of the pool, letting myself fall to the cool marble. My feet dangle in and out of the water and I lean my head back to look at the sky. It glimmers with stars that instantly drown out the rest of the lights in the party and I’m consumed. The music floods my ears and I close my eyes. I want to sleep.



“Enjoying the party?” a low voice speaks into my ear. I jerk upright and lose my balance, falling into the pool and its reflection of lights. He grabs my arm and yanks me hard and I tumble back into the grass. I’m sprawled across the lawn, and my knees and elbows are covered in mud and dirt. My dress is ruined I quietly complained. He stands there stifling a laugh and I have a sudden urge to kick the guy. The figure walks over to me and holds out a hand offering help. The light moves and hits his face full on and I stare in awe. Faye smiles gently and grasps my hand without my permission, pulling me back up to my feet. He attempts to brush the dirt from my arms and legs but stops when he realizes how indecent it would look if he were to brush my legs.

“Thanks,” I awkwardly say, “But not thanks for ruining my dress.”

“Your welcome,” he smiles and I’m captured. He moves out from under the spotlight but I can still see the dominant outline of his suit and tie. It hugs his body comfortably, fashionably and perfect in every way.

We stand there awkwardly for a few more seconds until he suddenly turns towards me and start at the same time I do. I stop.

“You first,” he offers,


“No, its fine, I had nothing to say anyway,” I shrug, “I’m only trying to break the silence.”

“You’re blunt,” he remarks, nodding at my casual tone.

“I get that a lot,” I acknowledge. I prepare to turn away but he surprises me with another laugh and I am wonder if it’s forced.

“So, do you like the party?” He repeats his previous question.

“It’s ‘ight,” I reply, “I mean alright,” I quickly correct myself.


His smile broadens into a grin, and he ducks down to give a small deep chuckle. I'm entranced, and I feel a sudden tight pull coming from my chest. What is this?

"You have characteristics of a young boy."

“Good or bad?” I ask him. His mouth lifts in the corner into a mysterious smile.


“Who knows, let’s see how far you can manage with it helping you.” And he pulls me hard again, only this time we’re flying across the lawn behind trees so fast that nobody notices we’re gone. The rest of the night is a blur of laughs, inappropriate jokes, drinks and people. He introduces me to his friends who all seem to exude an air of intelligence and maturity. They eventually become dull as I cannot relate to them. Somehow he doesn’t find it offensive that I don’t get along with his friends, and continues to try and amuse me. It works and I’m having the greatest time in a long while.

It’s during these ‘topic- brought-up-without-your- wanting’ moments where certain memories resurface, and you think yourself fortunate while questioning why you forgot in the first place. I attempt to wipe the pounding rain from my eyes while I walk home, turning at various corners and cursing myself for not taking the umbrella left by the doorsteps at home. It’s cold and I shiver uncontrollably as a passing wind or breeze teases me. I brace myself against any others wanting to join their friend in play but the wind still knocks the breath after breath from my lungs. I decide to hurry on, and seek a faster, different route than from my usual path. Down Crawford rd, turn left on Lefarge and go behind the building of Samuel & Glen Co.  Climb over the metal wired fence and hop down onto the wooden stock box that I moved into position a month ago. Unexpectedly, the pocket of my shorts get caught on a loose wire that sprang awkwardly out of the fence. I pull and it comes free, only to scrape along the side of my thigh. 


“Shit,” I swear while looking down at the scrape. The pain that came seconds later causes me to hiss and wipe at it with the back of my hand. I lose my balance on top of the fence and reach out for support. I fall quickly, with one leg hitting the wooden box and the other the wet cement, so that my weight lied on the leg now bent backwards. My arms had stretched out to catch myself before my head would also hit, but I only manage to twist them. I let out a cry of frustration and anger and push myself back up. The effort is useless I’m realizing as I crumble back down, and I lay there with my limbs in different directions while contemplating the best solution. A few minutes pass by before I try to sit up again. I move slowly and cautiously and I’m aware of my sore joints and the throbbing of my head. The rain continues to pound down on top of me mercilessly, as if eager to continue my torment. I slide my bum forward and lift my torso. My arms are my supporters and they push me upright into a sitting position. I look around for any help, but the dark alley between the back of the buildings, was deserted. Or course any other person would be indoors drinking hot cocoa and watching the rain while I’m out. I grunt and stagger upon my two feet towards the nearest wall. The bricks are used as my next support and I begin to drag myself through the short cut, eager to get out on the road and call a cab. Unfortunately, my wishes were denied yet again and I find that I’m stumbling into a private, unwelcoming, heated discussion.



His back was towards me so all I could make of him was the drenched white collared shirt he wore and the contrast between it and the black of his hair. He was speaking furiously at another person who I could not see as his broad shoulders obstructed my view and I squinted through the thick rain for a better look. Before I knew what I was doing, I had already pulled myself into their frame of view, happy that somebody was still hanging around despite the downpour. They were taller than I thought, and definitely more menacing than I’d have imagined. I stopped in my tracks when I overheard their conversation and began to retreat.



“Fuck,” the man I spotted first finally shouted, “I said I’d have the fucking money by tomorrow night.” His hand combed through the raven hair in a furious motion of exasperation. He was clearly finished with the discussion.

“And I will remind you, that you have already extended the due date twice,” his opponent coldly replied. A silent moment passes between the two of them and he must have seemed a big threat, probably stepping forward and into the others face because the raven haired instantaneously skidded back. Both hands were out in front of him, palms forward and he took on a more cautious tone.

“That’s because your dates are ridiculously unrealistic,” he countered, still unnerved by whatever threat the other possessed. As I backed out from their sight, I caught a glimpse of the opponent. He was shorter than the first man I saw, but I could instantly tell that he held more authority. His eyes were dead cold and fear gripped hold of me, causing an uncontrollable spasm up my spine. The metallic glint was swift but I caught on. He pointed the gun right at the others head.

“Fear, he says. He even came up with that nonsensical nickname.” The man holding the gun scoffs.

“Oh?” The other replies, taking a daring step forward, “and what part about it don’t you believe?” Quick as light, he wraps his hand around the mouth of the gun and pulls himself close. “I’m not frightened by mere shows of metal scraps if a coward is the one wielding it.” He takes the mouth and moves it to the middle of his forehead, taunting.  “Kill me then, and see what your boss would do after you’ve taken away his best source of profit.”

His rival scowls at the insult and sudden course of actions. He’s unsure what to do now, and shakes the gun from the others hand. “Don’t fuck around with me.”

I’m near the corner of where I first emerged from now, and a sense of security washes over me. A few more feet, and I’ll run. I reassure myself over and over that they weren’t going to notice me, and I’ll pretend that I never saw anything.


“Trafficking isn’t the fucking laid back job that your cracked up immature brain thinks, and neither is this. Your business is inter-related with mine and if you screw up one bitch the whole thing is fucked up.”

“Than doesn’t that make me the one in charge?”

A scowl spreads across the authority figure and his grip on the gun tightens. His finger moves to the trigger. “You better fucking shut your mouth.”

The raven smiles when he realizes he’s hit a mark, “Don’t throw a fit now.” He pulls down the gun so it points to the ground and his other hand pats him on the head. “Three more days, and I promise I’ll have it by than. You can tell him that, and you’re welcome to blow my head splendid pieces if I don’t keep my promise. But only 72 hours from now.” The man is speechless and watches the other turn without so much as a retort.

The raven faces my direction, and walks to the shadows where I cower. The light shifts as the distance between us closes and his eyes stare into mine. He wasn’t a man, he’s a boy, and not much older than I was give or take a few years. I felt the rush of power that emanated from him, purely from his eyes. His pale blue eyes that held soft green and gold flecks was so controversial to the golden tan of his skin and the deep night black of his hair that for a foolish moment I assumed he wore contacts. What an irrelevant thing to be distracted by, I’m foolishly thinking again. He continues walking towards me without acknowledgement of my presence and I wonder if I was still hidden. But that couldn’t be possible since his eyes were so synced to my own that I felt the whole world drop around me. He stood a foot from me and I’m suddenly distracted by a movement behind him which forces me to tear away from his eyes. The other man has finally seen me. For the most painful and excruciating five seconds of my life, we stare at each other in silence, all three of us. A man in a drenched black suit holding a gun that could kill me at any moment. A dazed girl, half awake and numb from injury soaked to the bone. And the most beautiful corrupted boy I have ever seen in the span of the 16 years.

My name is Mia, and I just met Fear.