Swept Away

Chapter 9

It had been a few days since Zion gave me his number. I had studiously ignored the way my phone called my name, whispering to me to pick it up and call him. I wasn't going to break, I was going to break him. That was the plan. I was in the my room surfing through Nextflix, feet propped up on my bed railing, when I heard the door click open, then shut.

I froze.

Now I was no horror movie damsel in distress, actually I was quite the opposite, I did well under pressure-- no matter what kind, it just made me better. So as I swung my feet to my carpetted floor without a sound, I listened intently as the soft patter of footsteps made it's way through the hall and into the living room. Quickly I considered my options and what the best thing to do would be. I could sneak down the stairs to the kitchen and grab a knife then call the cops, hide out up here, or I could teleport away.

The later seemed like a last resort kinda thing though, so I went with plan A.

The way my house was set up when you first walked in all you saw was a stair case, the one that led upstairs. If you looked to your right there would be the doorway to the kitchen and to the left would be the huge double-doorway to the living room and dining room.

So if I had heard correctly ad this little intruder had gone to the livingroom, I could make it to the kitchen and grab a weapon, I'd brandish it with a lot of bravado, hopefully scaring them off and if not I'd haul ass to the phone-- scratch that I'd flip out my cell and call the cops.

Or maybe I should call them first.

I slid the knife out of its holder and trapezed on cautious feet in the direction of the den.

Imagine my surprise when I saw the face of my mother. It was like there was a disapproving frown eternally etched into her face, but when the silver knife in my hand caught her eye she flushed an angry red and screwed her face up like she was about to yell at me.

She should save her breath.

"Huh, felt like dropping in?" I deliberately let my arms swing lazily, the knife in dangerously loose clutches just to bother her. If there was one thing I was good at, it was pressing my mother's buttons.

"Where's Kevin?"

Of course, no greeting for me just inquire about her golden boy.

"He's not here. Hasn't been here in a while. Now I know you haven't been here either, but I find it hard to believe you could forget your golden boy's departure to college."

She gave me a flat, bored look, "Where is he?"

"If he was here, I'd gladly inform you, but he hasn't been here since Christmas," now I had graduated to tossing the knife from hand to hand behind my back.

My mother looked flustered as she shook her head, "I told that boy. I told him to come check on you weeks ago?"

I quirked my eyebrows, cocking my head to the side and spoke in a sickly sweet mock innocent voice, "You mean to do your job?"

Ignoring my quip she continues, "He told me just last week he was here."

"FYI, maybe he skipped out because he has his own job now-- his own life, which doesn't include babysitting me," as an after-though I muttered, "Not like I'm unaccustomed to being alone."

Never less than eloquent she squelched her anger before she spoke evenly, "I don't appreciate your tone."

I ambled to the doorway, ready to slip out of sight and away from her. The woman that was huffily clutching her bag to her side, like a guest in the house that used to be hers.

"Well I don't appreciate you sneaking in here and nearly giving me a heart-attack so we're even," I threw my palms up with a shrug the knife gleaming in the grip of my left one.

She gasped, "Put-- put that down. Sneaking? This is my home."

"No it's not. Or you wouldn't be tip-toeing around on baited breath like you were scarred. You are sneaking. You're sneaking because you're scared that you're no longer welcomed in your own home. Or," I chuckled but it held no humor, "sorry-- maybe I don't give you enough credit. Maybe you know you're not getting a great reception. Maybe you're just scarred of me."

With this I turned, knowing I had once stumped her. She in all her eloquence and articulateness was lost for what to say. Mouth set into a grim line, I returned the knife and jogged up the stairs to hole up in my room for the next few hours.

Mom and I had never really been close. I was always more of a Daddy's girl, and when the started fracturing our family with their tense martial issues it seemed as if sides were made and chosen. And I guess if I had to say there were sides and that I picked one-- I would say that I picked my Dad's.

Unlike dad mom wasn't laid back and full of humor. She was courteously kind ever so uptight. I guess she never really liked me to begin with seeing as I wasn't the poster child for charm school. I was a rowdy kid that liked to play outside, and climb trees with my brother or go fishing with my dad. I wasn't the girl she was expecting, neither the girl she wanted. So you could say we were never tight. But then dad left and she was always throwing him under the bus. She would tell me stupid, malicious things, like, "You know he never loved you."

She fed me lies for so long that now I was stuck in limbo and I didn't know what to believe. Was he the father I always knew him as, or was there a darker hidden side to him that I never new, and never wanted to know about.

Now as I sat up in my room I wanted to do something reckless. Yes, I had grown out of my rebelious, troublesome, and chilish ways long ago but I wanted to be a regular teen for once. I was screaming for trouble right then. Screaming with all my might till I was blue in the face.

And it wasn't the kind of trouble I could handle either. It wasn't ringing Char, and going to the local club. No.

I knew where to find trouble, and knew who dealt it like it was a street drug.

His name was Zion-- and he was a phonecall away.

A/N: Okay weelll this took me longer than usual but once I finally came up with my idea it basically flowed out of me. I think I want this to be a series. I was thinking today and yes. I know I'm barely beggining right now, but there's gonna be a sequal as far as I know right now. Ahhh I'm like bursting at the seems with ideas!

This is undeited cause when is it not. lol So expect mistakes and stuff.

Dedicated to the lovely northbynorth cause no matter what account I have I must always follow her. Her writing is pure poetry and I'm pretty sure she's British. How can you not be in love with anything British?

So comment vote and add this to a reading list. Tell me what you think of this new moody, rebelious Kennedy hmm?

~luckyone aka Sarah (:

xx