The Search For Shattered Pieces *Complete*

Chapter Nine: Sliding into a Salchow

Trenton:

I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing. And seriously, this is a new experience for me.  Hey, yeah I know I probably get wasted way more often then I should, but even then I KNOW what I'm getting into, what I'm doing—what to expect.  Now...right at this moment...I can honestly say I have absolutely no idea what the fuck I'm doing.  I feel as if I have been in a state of perpetual hangover disbelief since mom introduced Lyra as my new stepsister.
My angel...that perfect girl who had for a moment lived in my dreams and made me wonder if only for a second if I could actually do better...be better...than the drunken, slutty guy that I currently am...is my fucking stepsister—worse still, she's the evil tyrants daughter.  I'm not even waxing fucking poetic here.  There was a moment there, when I looked into her eyes, right before I passed out, that I swear I saw a light, a connection that hit me, pressed right into my chest and made it hard to breathe. And I know I sound like a total pussy here, the thing is, I don't fucking care. And that is the most disturbing thing about all this crazy shit. I'm fucking feeling things about this girl I only just met...like real things...stuff that goes beyond the physical fuck em' and flick them off shit. Lyra...God, even her name is sexy, beautiful...Lyra is special. I knew it, even in my drunken stupor I knew it...and hell, that's saying something. She. Is. Special. There is something just...something that shines out of her. You can't help but see it...feel it.
    I run a hand through my hair and bite back a curse. I sound ridiculous, hell my inner cool is telling me I sound like a fucking love sick jackass. But again, I can't seem to push that voice all the way back...I can't get rid of it. And no, I know I'm not in love — not that I'd know what the fuck love felt like. But fuck, you can't fall in love with a girl in two days...right? That love at first sight shit is the stuff girls read of in their porn books, oops sorry, their romance novels. It doesn't really happen. It's not real. Hell I should know. Look at my mom and Stefan. I snort. That's the model I've had for a committed relationship...my mom and Stefan aka Hitler. Fuck, is it a wonder that I'm fucked up—that we're, my brothers and I, all fucked in the head. 
I won't lie.  From the moment I realized that my face and body were something that girls "reacted" to...wanted, I took advantage.  I mean, come on, I'm a healthy 18 year old, with uh, urges.  Girls started throwing themselves at me when I was fourteen, hell, thirteen if I'm being honest.  Tal and I, fuck, all of us developed quickly.  We were always the tallest in our class when we were younger, and the introduction of hardcore sports, ice hockey in particular only added to our physique.  We never looked our age.  At eight we looked like we were twelve, at thirteen we looked like we sixteen or seventeen.  So, when I lost my virginity at fifteen, well, suffice to say, I wasn't like some stumbling, insecure idiot—more like, Hell yeah, glad to get to the good stuff already.  From that moment on I took advantage of my position, both as a star athlete, popular student, and let's face it, fucking filthy rich.  But I've never had to convince a girl to sleep with me.  In fact, I can't remember the last time I actually asked...fuck, they just throw themselves at me.  Hell, I sound like an arrogant ass, but it's the truth, I've never had to go looking for pussy...it comes to me, in droves. 
I take that moment to look over at Lyra, she's sitting next to me, in the back of my brother's BMW, looking out the window, eyes wide, mouth slightly open, she's clearly taking in everything.  She's so beautiful it physically hurts to look at her.  She's, God, there isn't a way to accurately describe all that she is.  She just, fuck, she just glows!  There is this goodness...this innocence about her that just makes you want to...makes you want to—
Fuck.  Fuck.  Fuck.  What the fucking Hell am I doing? I mean, let's just put aside the fact that I just met her...she's my fucking stepsister.  Okay...so we don't share any blood...I mean...well, come on, we don't have the same father or mother, thank GOD for small blessings...sooooo....how wrong is it that I'm thinking about her like this?  Because I can try to ignore it, hell I've been trying to ignore it since the second I learned that she was my stepsister, but who the hell are we kidding? Everywhere I turn...She. Is. There.  When I close my eyes, I see her, God, I smell her—a garden, a fucking blooming garden, she smells like a rich perfumed English garden.  And when I let myself really sink into my thoughts I find myself pondering the years of wasted time on girls whose names I don't remember, whose faces and forms all blend into each other.  Because in those moments I can accept, even acknowledge that losing myself in a girl was, hell, is, the easiest way to mask the fucking comedy of errors and tragedy that is my life.  When I'm wrapped up in the soft, warm flesh of a nameless girl, for the time in which we share the pleasure of each other's bodies, I can almost forget that I've never known anything deeper, that I won't ever know anything deeper...I cant...
Shit, what is it that Stefan always says; We deal in realities.  Don't waste time on the what ifs, and the why nots, what you see, what you know is what you go for.  If you see it, and you want it, then accept no surrender.  There is only one truth in life—position is everything—and your goal will be to be in a position to command everyone else.  That is what it means to be a Crawford.
    But I am not a Crawford. I am Trenton Solomon Elijah Parrish, son of Bethany Elizabeth Anne McGain and Weston Xavier Oliver Alexander Parrish, a titan of epic proportions.  I don't remember much about  my dad, my real dad—hell, I don't remember anything.  But Xav and Zach have told Tal and myself that he was amazing—strict and stern, but kind and generous.  He was important and always seemed to be busy, but that never stopped him from giving time to mom or my brothers.  He was respected and loved, and Xav has said that he returned that love ten fold, to his employees, but most importantly to mom and us.  Xav and Zach have never missed an opportunity to tell Tal and myself that dad loved us, loved us more than anything.
    God. I wished I remembered him...it...anything. I wished I remembered a dad who loved. I don't even have a memory of what that love was like—instead...instead I had, have, Stefan, Stefan who instead of a heart has a lump of twisted metal in his chest cavity.  I don't think Stefan knows how to love, Hell, I don't even think he knows what love is.  Even as children we were never shown kindness, empathy (Fuck we had lost our father) or love. Instead Stefan showed us his expectations, his rules, his icy cold indifference and his ever so present disappointment.  Mom tried to tell us that this was how Stefan demonstrated his love—he wasn't an expressive man, nor was he a man of blatant "out there" emotions, but that he loved her, and he loved us.
Can I call bullshit right now? To show love you have to first be able to know what love is, and there is no way in Hell that Stefan knows what love is. And I get it, everything I know about love could probably fit into a shot glass—but if we're comparing Stefan and myself, fuck, I win hands down. I love my mom, I love my brothers, I'd fucking lay down in traffic for them or take a fucking bullet for them if I had to. Stefan, Stefan would probably pencil in our time of death and end up saying our dying inconvenienced his schedule.
Lyra takes that moment to turn to me, flashing me a brilliant, beautiful smile.  I am momentarily struck dumb, literally floored.  Her eyes are sparkling with happiness, they are so incredible, like lightning shot amethysts (fuck now I really AM waxing fucking poetic).  Her hair in the sunlight is so black it appears almost blue, and her lips...God, her perfect mouth is pink, plump...
I shake my head a bit to try to clear it of the sexual haze I'm in.  I drop my eyes from her face, I need to stop looking at her beautiful face...I need to stop looking into those twin purple eyes of her...those magnetic orbs.
I find my gaze settled on her feet, clad in a pair of ugly ass TOMS that have clearly seen better days. I make my way up her form, she's wearing a pair of super distressed jeans that are distressed by age and wear and NOT intentionally by machine—these are not designer $300 jeans made to look worn—no, these are just worn. Finally I find myself looking at her chest...SHIT. I'm looking at her chest. I start to look away and then stop. I mean, FUCK, her chest is amazing, and she's wearing a tight, fitted t-shirt that shows off EVERYTHING while revealing nothing.  I take a few deep breaths and try to see beyond her gorgeous breasts showcased in her tight shirt. It looks vintage, although after a minute I realize that her shirt is probably the only "newish" item of clothing that she's wearing, and that it has been made to appear vintage. It's a faded black ladies cut crew neck t-shirt bearing the words: Real Women Do It In Skates.
    I bite back a laugh.  Yeah, this wasn't a shirt she bought off the shelf at a store.  I'm still grinning like a loon when Lyra's voice cuts through my merriment.
"Thank you Trent," she says softly, and then a little louder, "...for saving me from the Wicked Witch of The South and her evil flying monkey."
My smile widens.  Wicked Witch of The South...flying monkey...God she's just so fucking perfect. I clear my throat.  "It was my sincere pleasure milady." And I can't help but feel elated when I see the beautiful blush that takes over her face.
I catch Zach's gaze in the rearview mirror and am surprised and a little taken aback by what I see reflected in his eyes...his gaze appears...murderous, thunderous?  I have never seen my brother look like this, and certainly not at me.  Before I can ponder what his look means Lyra interrupts my musings.
    "So, uh," she bites her lower lip before continuing and I have to hold back an audible groan at the sight, "...now that you've saved me, where are you taking me? Are we really going someplace? Or was that just an excuse to get us away from the evil witch bitch?"
    I choke back laugher. "Well yes, I definitely wanted to get away from Becca and her mom, but I wasn't kidding when I told my mom that I feel kind of awful about the fact that you haven't seen anything since you got here but the airport, our house and the freaking club."
    "Don't forget the boutique," Lyra quips, cheekily.
    I laugh then. "And of course the boutique, where I'm certain, knowing mom, you acquired a shit ton of clothes, probably enough to last you a few lifetimes." I'm startled by the instant cloud that seems to pass over her face. "What? What did I say, Lyra?"
She plasters a big, obviously fake, smile onto her face and says, "Oh, uhm, it's nothing.  Yes.  I got a ton of new clothing, and uh, accessories and even shoes.  Your mom does like to uh, shop.  And she has very good, in fact, excellent taste."
I noticed the slight frown at the last of her words and immediately narrow my eyes.  "Why do I get the feeling you're lying to me."
Lyra seems to draw back at my words.  "What? No, I'm not lying.  She does have excellent taste."
I feel as if I'm missing something and I kind of want to grab her by her shoulders and shake her...shake her until she tells me the truth, tells me what is bothering her, because something is obviously bothering her.
"But it's not your taste, is it, Dove," Zach says, from the drivers seat, his voice is husky, gentle and something else I cant quite place, but I'm pretty certain I don't like.  And wait...Dove? What. The. Freaking Fuck?!
    "Oh...I...uhhh would never want to say..." Lyra trails off.
    "Always say what you want with us, always. There is no judgment," Zach says, "...we will always want to know what you're thinking...and don't worry," I can hear the smirk in his voice, "...our feelings aren't easily hurt."
    "Uhmmm...okay. Well," Lyra lets out a deep beleaguered sigh, "...God...you're absolutely 100% right, Zach. Your mom has excellent taste. She dresses beautifully, for her. But for the most part she chose a wardrobe styled for herself, but in my size." Lyra blushes and just like her, its beautiful. "Most of the clothes aren't, well...me. Does that make sense?" She finishes, timidly.
"Yes, it does." Zach says.
I feel a fission of anger streak through me, and I clench and unclench my hands.  What the hell is wrong with me?  Why, at this moment do I kinda want to lean forward and punch my brother?  Hell, I should be happy that he was able to make her feel at ease and erase that frown from her face.  But instead of feeling happy at his observant nature and the ease in which he spoke to Lyra, I wished I had some sort of button that would eject him from the fucking car.
    Get a fucking grip on yourself, Trent. You are not a pre-pubescent hormonal moronic teen. And this is your brother for God's sake. He's just being nice. Hell, I should be happy that Lyra feels comfortable with us enough to share her thoughts and feelings with Zach. And remember, when Zach offered to let Lyra sit in the passenger seat next to him, she had declined, stating that she didn't want me to feel "lonely" in the back all by myself.
    I can't help but smirk at the memory. Zach had looked as if he had just swallowed the bitterest of lemons after she had made that statement. And I knew I probably had looked like the cat that ate the proverbial canary. But, come on, she had chosen to sit by me to keep me company.
    "Well, I am," I catch Zach's glower and clear my throat before continuing, "—We are at your disposal, milady. Was there anything you particularly wanted to see?"
    Lyra begins to nibble on her lower lip again, and I hold back a moan. Fucking A, just that one small thing has me getting hard. Fuck. No. No...think about dead eviscerated pets...decaying and rotting food, think...think....think about, fuck think about anything other than Lyra and her lips...and tongue, and those small straight white teeth nibbling at said lips...
    "Uhm, well I've never been here before, and, gah..." she frowns, "...I feel stupid now."
    "No, never, Lyra. There is nothing you could say or do, that would be stupid. You can talk to us." This from Zach, and I want to throw something at the back of his head. I probably would too, except the likelihood of us getting into an accident due to his reaction gives me pause. Okay. I'll just have to wait until we've stopped to hit him.
    "Okay...well then, honestly, I guess I'm at your disposal," she smiles then, and it's like the sun on its brightest day. "I leave my person in your capable hands. Take me where you will. I am all yours."
    Well fuck me. Dead pets. Dead pets. Dead pets. I keep chanting hoping to erase the image of a naked Lyra spread out on my bed, or against the wall, legs wrapped around...
"Hell, did you hear a word I just said?" Zach shouts.
Huh? "What?"
"Seriously, Trent, you could try paying attention every once in a while...hell maybe stop pranking Tal and listen to us." Zach finishes gruffy, his tone is that of an exasperated parent and instantly raises my hackles.  God, fuck you bro! You're my brother, not my dad. I'm about to say just that when a small hand rests itself lightly on my forearm stopping any words I would have said. 
I look down at the small, dainty hand, and follow the path up the arm to that incredible face—her incredible face.  Lyra is staring at me, a serene expression on her face.  Her eyes seem to be twinkling like violet stars, and there is a small smile curving her plump pink lips.
She graces me with another smile before winking at me cheekily.  Holy shit.  Did the minx just wink at me?
    "Trent was just so overwhelmed with the magnitude of your words that he was rendered temporarily speechless, Zach," Lyra says with an entirely straight face. But the small smile that still lingers on her lips and the mischievous look in her eyes lightens the clear mockery of what she just said.
    Zach snorts, but it's followed by a deep chuckle. "Okay, Dove, you got me," there is a pregnant pause before he goes on, "...I apologize Trent, if what I said came out as a reprimand."
    Holy shit balls! Zach had just apologized to me...to me!! Zach almost never apologized...and certainly not to me, the prankster fuck-up brother.
    I turn wide, disbelieving eyes onto Lyra, she is still wearing that tiny smile. She knows what she has done...how she diffused a potential blow up without even raising her voice.
    Fuck me. I'm sunk. I'm. Just. Sunk. For the first time ever I feel the walls I've built around my heart begin to crack and fall. This girl, this perfect girl has just managed to do what no one, not even my brothers or mom could do—break the smiling Harlequin mask and see behind the facade. And just like that...the fragile tethers which had begun to form between Lyra and myself snap into place, grow, and twist into a solid, unbreakable knot.