I Try

Chapter 1 - Time Will Tell

Lauren's Point of View

“So, remind me again why we’re doing this?” Fern’s soft voice questions as we move together to pull the long-armed couch into the living room. It was the early morning of another August day and since realizing Nash lacked a couch, had brought one over and had Fern assist me. 

“Because,” I paused to grunt, pulling sharply at the corner. “Nash is a strange creature, one without a couch in his living room. So I wanted to put one here.”

“But Lauren,” she interrupts, casting her glowing eyes on me. “He’s filthy stinking rich. Isn’t he?” she hesitates, biting her lip. “Why would he need you to get him a couch?”

I didn’t want to tell Fern the real reason I’d done it. Well, reasons. The first one was that despite the fact that Nash attacked Zack, I felt wholly responsible for his injuries and consequently, his father’s wrath. He got an earful as I was informed. 

“Jeffrey is stinking rich. Oliver is...just plain stinking.” I joke, smiling toward Fern. It was the first time I had ever called Jeffrey, Nash’s father, by his name and it felt heavy and foreign on my tongue. To me, his soon-to-be wife, he would always be just: Nash’s father. 

The other reason I brought this couch over was because when Nash woke and found it there, he was bound to be surprised, and maybe even tell me why the original had disappeared from its place. I remember very clearly him nearly screaming for me not to sit on it. 

“Yes, Mr. Nash is very rich.” she commends, perching on the arm of the couch at her end. Her long skirt touches her ankle, strapped in low kitten heels. I’ve learned that is her normal work attire. 

“What’s it like working for him?” I ask, sitting as well. Fern is young, like me, around twenty two or twenty three. In all honesty, I have no idea why someone as sweet and lovely as she would choose to make a career out of being Jeffrey’s servant.

She has a pale complexion, flowered with freckles across her nose and upper cheek bones. Her hair is pale too, an almost washed out shade of red, like someone began to paint a picture and gave up halfway, leaving the colors to streak and fade. It suits her though, she has the presence of someone not quite there, someone up in the clouds. Her body is curvy but small; her curves are well disguised by her unassuming clothing. 

“Um, well, my father worked under Jeffrey until he was drafted. When I came of age, he hired me on because that was my father’s request, and I’ve been here ever since.” she pauses, running a small hand through her waves. “Jeffrey is loud, and he’s a drunk, and he berates me, but he’s also like my dad. So I tolerate it.” Her copper eyes bore right into me, and for someone seemingly so fragile she looks so powerful and strong to me. She has the strength to go forward because that’s the only thing to do. I admire that. 

“Where is your father?” I ask outright. 

She shrugs, “Military, still. He always said that it was important to protect our country. So he’s fulfilling that, I suppose.”

“Oh.” I say. 

“Where’s your family?” she asks innocently, adjusting the cushion on the couch. Her question doesn’t hold the weight it deserves; the truth behind it is far harder to explain than she would expect. 

I smile wryly at her. “You don’t want to hear about them, trust me.” I tell her. She doesn’t. Fern seems too kindhearted to learn about all our history. No one knows all our history. Except Zack. 

She lifts her eyes to me. “Then can you tell me what happened in the conference room? All I heard was screaming and Jeffrey left his office fuming, and came back with a bloody Nash.” The copper spheres dart to the door, ensuring we are still alone.