Hello my name is: a PruCan fanfic

Chapter 11

Previously:

Dialing Gilbert's number I took a deep breath as I listened to the rings. Soon I heard a click. Taking another breath I paused before softly asking;

"Hello.....?"

Now:

Voicemail. All I had received was voicemail.

A loud whale-like noise escaped me as I dropped the phone down and sighed, turning away. All that tension for stupid voice mail.

Flopping back on my bed I sighed and closed my eyes, relaxing against the worn down comfortable mattress. It kinda stunk.... maybe I should wash it. Spray it with Febreeze? That's off topic. I should just go to bed. No wait. I have work.

Fuck.

Jumping so high I fell off of my bed when the phone rang I lay on the floor a few minutes disoriented before realizing; hey stupid, the phone's ringing. Scrambling I clumsily grabbed the phone and clicked 'End'.

.....

Why did I click 'End'?

Je cliqué «Fin»!

Staring at the phone in my hand for a few moments I felt like screaming. Sighing softy I set it down and put my head in my hands. Do I wait for him to call back? Do I call back myself?

Oh maple.

Closing my eyes and grabbing the phone I ponder my options. Staring at it for probably an insane amount of time I had nothing. Well I had the picture of me staring at a phone and looking like I'm about to cry for anyone who dared to enter my room. Finally setting it down, a light bulb pops into my head.

Fifteen minutes.

That's how long I wait before calling back. Finally dialing the number I wait tensely.

'Click'

"Hello?"

A groggy voice floated from the phone laced with a German accent. I freeze as my mouth goes dry and I have trouble on figuring what to say. I guess I paused too long because; "Is anyone there?" came from my hand held piece of crap. Quickly I scrimmaged up my very small amount of courage and whispered

"Y-Yeah. Hey."

Wincing at the way it sounded, and trying to refrain from hyperventilating, I wiped one of my sweaty palms on my jeans.

"Oh! Shorty! What the Hell do you want? You realize how late it is?"

I blink in confusion and glance at the clock at my bedside. It clearly read it was about nine thirty, but that's not that late is it? Sighing I remember the soul purpose to call someone like this and mutter, "I found out where Francis is...."

"Oh."

'Click'

What the Hell?
______________________

I now understand the urgent hang up with no goodbye. I understand it very well in fact. You see nothing bad happened, nothing weird but a too fast hang up. Oh, and did I mention that Gilbert is standing in my living room having the most lovely chat with my father at the moment.

He hung up so he could use his nose of a blood hound to track down my house and probably force me to take him to wherever Francis was.

What am I going to do? 

Nothing good probably, but I can't help but freak out as my father gets more and more comfortable with the albino that in my opinion invaded my freaking house.

My eye twitches everytime I hear them laugh and my shoulders are tense as my father gestures for me to come over.

'If you were drunk he'd been thrown against the wall and choked. A fist to his stomach. You would have kicked him to the ground and stomped a foot to his chest. I would be on my fast track to seeing if God really exists or not.'

Pausing I stared at them and looked away muttering something about being thirsty. My stomach churned as I walked past the entry way and spot a bag. It's like he knew I was about to reject him. I'm not sure what exactly was bugging me about this whole thing.

'It's probably the fact you've been hit and slapped around by your Dad most of your life, and someone walks in getting treated better than you have in most instances instantly.'

The hairs on the back of my neck bristle as I hear my name. They're talking about me. Like I was a friend of Gilbert's. Like my own father never laid a hand on me.

The two people who harmed me are now best friends. Except their taking a break right now. One wants something, the other is preoccupied by what they think is love.

Grabbing a glass from my cupboard I clutched it before turning away and setting it carefully on the counter. Shouldn't I be happy? Shouldn't I indulge on this temporary kindness to it's fullest?

Glancing at them I watch the two interact. They don't look alike, but if you didn't know better they could be father and son.

My strong mentality slips, my stomach flips, and my eyes search for something that would work on making me forget. If only for a moment, forget.

Nothing stops me when my eyes land on a bottle of vodka on the counter. Clear like water... it always made him forget. Slip. No harm, no foul. No, nothing stops when I grab the glass listening to dull chatting in the background, and you're sure as hell nothing stops me when I pour that clear liquid in a glass.

"Matthew's always been a good kid, maybe struggles with grades a bit, but I doubt he's had a drop of alcohol in his life."

Bottoms up.

By the end of the night, the bottle was gone.