Restless

2: The Endless Aching Drops

AN: Welcome back! I hope you're still here after that rather dull beginning-- i promise it will get better!

"I am the leaky, dripping pipes, the endless aching drops of light,"

I was running through my house, the lights flickering and smashing. I could hear fuse boxes popping as the house burst into flames. The air became thick with smoke and my body couldn't handle the heat... I fell down, coughing, choking... Praying that the flames would just kill me now to end this unendurable pain... I heard someone call my name... "Alice! Alice! Are you okay?"

I woke up, out of breath and sweating. "Alice! Alice? Honey, you look positively terrible!"

I exhaled. "Thanks, mom. Every girl wants to hear that. And yeah, I'm fine." She patted me on the knee. I didn't tell her that I had the same dream again. She'd worry her brains out. I stretched and yawned, and ninja-rolled out of bed. The cold hardwood floor woke up my toes, and soothed my sore feet. "Want me to make you your coffee?"

She looked at me, and seemed to be analyzing my every move, every thought. "Hmm, I guess so. Hazelnut would be fine... Are you really sure you're all right?" She glanced down and saw my foot tapping on the ground. Of course I'm all right. Stop asking me already. I grew irritable when people questioned me. If I say I'm alright, I'm alright. That's how it's always been, as far as I can remember, at least. Apparently I couldn't avoid the "worry her brains out" part. I guess that just comes with the deal.

My cell phone vibrated on my bedside table, and I glanced over at the caller ID. Call from: Unknown Number. I didn't pick up. I've come to learn that unknowns lead to wish-I'd-never-have-knowns. I grabbed a pair of socks from my dresser and scurried down the wooden, squeaky, staircase. 

Our old coffee machine was beat-up and rusty, but it made great coffee if taken care of the right way. I guess that was kind of like me. Rough around the edges, but sweet on the inside. Jeremy (that's what I nicknamed the coffee machine) seemed to be in a good mood today, and actually made a full pot. I poured it into a mug, and reached for a second mug out of habit. He's gone, A. Stop reminding yourself. My dad hadn't had a cup of coffee in months. Or a breath of oxygen, for that matter. My father took his last breath in August, when our barn caught on fire, and he fell off the hayloft. Broken legs and fire don't really go well together. Neither do quiet August mornings and a call from the emergency room. I wasn't home that day. The unknown caller on my phone that day had been the hospital.

 I wiped my eyes, smudging my cheap eyeliner. I wasn't surprised to find that I didn't care about my artificial dark circles. 

"Ooh, honey, raccoon eyes aren't really your look. Facecloth?" I stifled a giggle. My mom was silly and seemed to be handling herself really well. I wished I could be like her, all blonde and gorgeous. Confident. Even though she didn't have designer-brand anything, she looked like a million bucks in a t-shirt and jeans. She stood tall and proud. At the very least, happy.

I was tall, too, but I had mousy brown hair and a dusting of freckles along the bridge of my nose. I really liked my eyes, though. My mom's eyes were a pale blue, but mine were an electrifying green. They reminded me of the trees outside our old farmhouse that I loved so much. Our small apartment in the city didn't compare. Although it did have "rustic, country charm," it was nothing like the real thing. It was an old building, with leaks in the roof and the aforementioned squeaky stairs. 

I slung my messenger bag over my shoulder, tucked in a book I got at the library, and shuffled out the door to catch the public bus. 

-

"Honey, I've been thinking, maybe it's time we take a vacation. You've been holed up at home ever since, well you know..." I cut her off to avoid the awkward silence.

"--Sure thing, ma. I'd love to. Where?" What is she thinking, having us leave at a time like this.

"I was thinking the coast."

"Mom, we live on the coast. We do now, at least. I liked the land-locked farm states myself, but it was your decision to move..."

"The other coast." The east? I'd never thought about that. I hear it's beautiful... I let my mind wander. I hear they've got some farms there too... Farms and beaches, sans palm trees. I'd love to...

"Mom, you've gotta be kidding me.  Cross-country? With what money exactly?"

 "Your grandparents chipped in, and I've been saving... I don't know. Maybe next year. Sorry I asked." She sighed and trotted out of my room. I felt guilty instantly, but I decided to channel my feelings into a painting. I decided to paint a West Coast Sunset, so that if I ever found myself on the East Coast, I'd have a room with a view. Even if it's my least favorite view in the world. 

I lost myself in my work, the reds and yellows flowing together. My brushstrokes got more random and sparatic until I realized that I hadn't painted a sunset. I'd painted fire.

I slammed my brush down on the palette and shedded my apron. I collapsed onto my bed and cried myself to sleep.

-

I was coughing and hacking like a cat, trying to rid my body of the deathly smoke I was inhaling by the second. I shivered, despite the heat, and somehow gained enough strength to stand up. Wobbly, but it was a start. I tried to make my way to a door, but it was blocked by a wall of fire. I felt myself being swept up in strong arms just before I felt myself letting go...

I was awake. I took a deep breath. That one wasn't too bad, minus the coughing. But who carried me to safety? Why was he able to save me? The fire was all I could think about... The fire, and the burning... and the boy.