Wind Whisperer

Cold Draft

"Aren't you afraid?" Braen's voice sounding like a small thunder in Lyaen's ear snapped her from her present examination of the constellations strewn across the deep black sky. It again didn't seem right for such a beauty to be standing amongst such a horrific land, but the familiar patterns were almost as comforting as the strong warmth that engulfed her.

"Of course...don't I look it?" Lyaen twisted back to look Braen in his tan face, resisting the urge to brush his chocolaty hair from his forehead, for that would mean her arm leaving the delicious comfort of Braen.

"You seem so...calm. You always seem as though nothing bothers you" Braen looked almost wistful as he said this, and Lyaen's heart ached for his pain.

"I just...what happens happens right? That's just how I always look at things"

Braen chuckled, a bit of bitterness tainting his voice, "If only I could be that accepting of fate" Now it felt like someone had reached into Lyaen's chest and squeezed. She couldn't bear to see him so distressed. Decidedly, she wiggled in Braen's arms to face him, and started to massage his nape comfortingly. For a moment he simply trained his warm, hazel eyes on her, his expression unreadable. Then, in an abrupt motion, Braen buried his face in Lyaen neck. She smiled sadly and continued to run her fingers through his wild, curly hair.

He needed this.

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 Eyes that reminded me of the glacial waters found in Antarctica trained their focus on me. I saw the pure shock in those handsome eyes, and suddenly my chest was unusually tight. I broke my gaze from his, hot tears threatening. Of course he's shocked. I'm Andrea Lauss's daughter, so obviously I'm just like her. He seemed so down to earth when I met him, and his mother even looked embarrased by the other women at dinner. He probably hates me now.

"God Aimee, why did you bring that bitch here?"

"She is not a bitch! You've never even talked to her before. How could you say that?"

"Dude she lives in a freaking mansion. Her mom drives a damn Porshe to her fancy little job, and have you heard what that woman says about  our part of town? She's a snob Aimee, just like all the rest of them"

"Resa, come meet Mrs. Tuloid's son" my mother's voice snapped me from my paralysis. I walked down the stairs with as much pride as I could muster. He probably thinks I'm a snob. Fine. He probably never would want to date me in a million years. Fine. He probably just jugded me on the spot. Fine. I don't need him. He can think I'm a rich bitch. They all can. I don't give a crap for what they think of me. I know I'm not a snob. I know I'm not my mother.

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I picked absent-mindedly at the leather seats in my dad's car, waiting for him to haul his butt out there so he could take me to school. I winced as I thought about the mood he'd be in. Doing things for me was probably his least favorite job, second only to when Mom brought him to social functions. Of course when I brought up the fact that my bike was broken, and Mom asked him to drive me to school he was all sugary sweet with 'oh of course my darling'. He had no such affection for me.

The sound of the car door opening sang out like the Grimm reaper's melody and I tried to arrange my face into a blank expression. Then came the devil himself with graying blond hair and a beer bottle in hand. His gray eyes were sober however, and for that I was relieved.

"Dad it's 7:30am!" I scolded.

"So?" he answered in a 'why should I care what you think' kind of way as he backed out of the garage, and sped out on the street. I had given up on trying to stop his drinking and driving a long time ago. I didn't want to go to foster care, so I didn't tell the cops, and my mom kind of just blew it off and kept sending him to AA meetings. I was her puppet, but he was her dog. She played with him when she felt like it and he doted on her night and day, doing whatever 'his queen' asked. Then he yells at me when she cheats. Because that's just fair.