Louisiana 7 - Origins

The Girl Who Claimed Lightning - Alicia Summers [part 2]

([9_9 ] - sorry for the delay...have a few issues at home, lol. )

[IN THE SHOWER-HOME]

            The water tingled across my shins as I tried to keep my distance from the falling drops.  It was actually painful.  What did this mean?  I sped up my breathing in short bursts thinking the opposite would happen if slowing my breathing triggered my lightning.  It worked.  I was able to survive the shower and wash my hair before making myself nauseous.  After I dried off I made sure to fill the tub with water in case I go live like last time.  So far it hasn’t happened again but I couldn’t fight the fear of the thought.  Every night this tub is filled.  I can’t wait till it doesn’t need to be filled.      

[LIVING ROOM-HOME]

            I wrapped my hair in a towel after washing the color completely out or so I thought.  Afterwards, I grabbed my Vicky Secrets sleeping pants and a long t-shirt and headed down stairs.  The house was eerily quiet.  I should have known better than to expect Juan to be home at this hour [12:30am].  He usually comes stumbling in around 2:30-3 o’clock in the morning.  Juan-my brash older brother-usually passes the time during the day drinking but since his friend Greg got out of jail he’s been like this around the clock.

            After our parents died we were both adopted into a fairly decent home.  This wasn’t much of a reason for him to stop rebelling knowing that our parents left us fat insurance policies.  He knew we’d be taken care of once he hit eighteen.  Two days after his 18th birthday he moved out, emancipated me and we’ve been on our own ever since.  For the most part he’s managed our money pretty well.  So much so that when my half of the settlement became available we were already living off his interest.  One nice house and a decent car later we were dead smack in the middle of modern suburbia.  It’s just that lately he’s been drinking a lot more than normal and I’m afraid his lecherous buddy going to crash here longer than I’d like.

            I ended up watching reruns of Whose Line Is It Anyway, before I saw headlights beaming through the curtains.

            Just when I was getting inta my happy place-they pull up.

            The door swung open abruptly, “Hey!  Nice to see you’re home for a change.”

            “I called the police Greg-they’re keeping your cell warm.”

            “Ouch.  Waz wrong with you-why you always gotta put me down like that?” He staggered over to the sofa where I was sitting as my brother came dragging in after him.

            “Yo that club was horrible man.  Where the hell did you say you heard about it?” Juan asked.

            Drooling mouth Greg plopped down next to me on the sofa and placed his hand on my knee, “Man, some dudes in jail put me on to it.  I didn’t think it was that bad.”

            “That’s probably because you have low standards and no taste.” I rebutted.

            I jumped off the sofa as his eyes followed my ass into the kitchen, “My standards can’t be that bad if I’m feeling you chica.  And as far as my taste goes…”

            I exited the kitchen as he rounded the sofa, “…it’s about ta be slapped outcha mouth if you think of finishing that sentence.” 

            He walked up to me boldly, “Why you gotta play hard ta get all the time?” 

            He tried to wrap his arms around me as I winched.  I tried desperately not to inhale the stench of warm beer nuts and failure.  Just in time Juan walked over and put Greg in a headlock-taking him instantly to the floor.  I wisely used the opportunity to vacate the room.