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rainbowfic2014-10-08 09:59 pm
kay_brooke) wrote in rainbowfic2014-10-08 09:59 pm
Or #25, Pineapple Yellow #21
Name: kay_brooke
Story: Unusual Florida
Colors: Or #25 (Peace), Pineapple Yellow #21 (Kudos on the childrearing. Let me know how the therapy goes)
Styles/Supplies: Canvas, Oils (dailyprompt "what are you not telling me?"), Pastels (origfic_bingo prompt “swearing/cursing”)
Word Count: 561
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; talk of bullying and physical assault.
Summary: James's aunt doesn't know how to get through to him.
Note: Constructive criticism is welcome, either through comments or PM.
“James, can we talk?”
In response, James turned up the volume on the TV. His aunt sighed, grabbed the remote from the arm of the sofa, and turned the set off.
“Hey!”
“James.” Aunt Megan sat down in the armchair across from him, perching in the very edge, her leg already jittering up and down. James had learned very early on this was what she did when she was nervous. She was nervous around him and his sisters a lot, like she was always terrified to talk to them. As James had gotten older, he'd realized that was probably exactly what she was. She hadn't asked to suddenly become mother to three traumatized kids.
But that didn't mean he needed to feel any sympathy for her. He eyed the remote, but his aunt had learned her lesson from last time and the remote was safely ensconced in her lap, out of this reach.
“We really need to talk.”
She was resolute; James could see that clearly. She wasn't going to go away easily this time. James slouched low on the couch and rolled his eyes. “Fine. What?”
“The vice principal called,” said his aunt. “She told me you got into another fight.”
“No,” said James, because this was getting old. “I was attacked. Just like every other time. I've never hit back.”
His aunt frowned. She didn't believe him.
Like he cared. He moved to get up.
“No,” said his aunt. “We need to talk about this. You've been getting into fights for years, and I just don't understand. So many injuries, for no reason. Do you remember that time the police came?”
“They thought you were beating me,” James muttered, slouching even lower. And she had gotten mad at him for it. She hadn't said it, but he had heard it anyway. “I told them it wasn't you!”
“But it was a problem,” said his aunt. “It still is. We had hoped when you started high school it would stop.”
“Why would it stop?” James cried. “It's all the same people. I've gone to school with the same thirty kids since third grade, because of this stupid, tiny town.”
“Maybe it would be better,” said his aunt, “if you tried harder to make friends, instead of acting like you're better than everyone else. Maybe then the other kids would like you better.”
“This is bullshit,” said James, and this time he did get up. “I'm going to my room. I have homework.”
“Language!” said his aunt. “And I'm not done talking to you.”
“Well, I'm done talking to you.”
Now his aunt stood up, too. “You will not use that kind of disrespectful language toward me, do you understand?”
“You're not my mom,” said James. “Stop pretending to be.”
That shut her up, just like he knew it would. Mentioning his mom was the fastest way to get anyone in his family to stop talking to him. It also made them hate him a little bit, but he could live with that.
But it wasn't quite enough this time. As he turned to go, his aunt said, “I just want to understand why. Why do the kids pick on you? Why don't you want our help?”
“I don't need your help,” James snapped. “I don't need anyone's help. I just want to be left alone.” He grabbed his bookbag and left the room.
kay_brookeStory: Unusual Florida
Colors: Or #25 (Peace), Pineapple Yellow #21 (Kudos on the childrearing. Let me know how the therapy goes)
Styles/Supplies: Canvas, Oils (
dailyprompt "what are you not telling me?"), Pastels (origfic_bingo prompt “swearing/cursing”)Word Count: 561
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; talk of bullying and physical assault.
Summary: James's aunt doesn't know how to get through to him.
Note: Constructive criticism is welcome, either through comments or PM.
“James, can we talk?”
In response, James turned up the volume on the TV. His aunt sighed, grabbed the remote from the arm of the sofa, and turned the set off.
“Hey!”
“James.” Aunt Megan sat down in the armchair across from him, perching in the very edge, her leg already jittering up and down. James had learned very early on this was what she did when she was nervous. She was nervous around him and his sisters a lot, like she was always terrified to talk to them. As James had gotten older, he'd realized that was probably exactly what she was. She hadn't asked to suddenly become mother to three traumatized kids.
But that didn't mean he needed to feel any sympathy for her. He eyed the remote, but his aunt had learned her lesson from last time and the remote was safely ensconced in her lap, out of this reach.
“We really need to talk.”
She was resolute; James could see that clearly. She wasn't going to go away easily this time. James slouched low on the couch and rolled his eyes. “Fine. What?”
“The vice principal called,” said his aunt. “She told me you got into another fight.”
“No,” said James, because this was getting old. “I was attacked. Just like every other time. I've never hit back.”
His aunt frowned. She didn't believe him.
Like he cared. He moved to get up.
“No,” said his aunt. “We need to talk about this. You've been getting into fights for years, and I just don't understand. So many injuries, for no reason. Do you remember that time the police came?”
“They thought you were beating me,” James muttered, slouching even lower. And she had gotten mad at him for it. She hadn't said it, but he had heard it anyway. “I told them it wasn't you!”
“But it was a problem,” said his aunt. “It still is. We had hoped when you started high school it would stop.”
“Why would it stop?” James cried. “It's all the same people. I've gone to school with the same thirty kids since third grade, because of this stupid, tiny town.”
“Maybe it would be better,” said his aunt, “if you tried harder to make friends, instead of acting like you're better than everyone else. Maybe then the other kids would like you better.”
“This is bullshit,” said James, and this time he did get up. “I'm going to my room. I have homework.”
“Language!” said his aunt. “And I'm not done talking to you.”
“Well, I'm done talking to you.”
Now his aunt stood up, too. “You will not use that kind of disrespectful language toward me, do you understand?”
“You're not my mom,” said James. “Stop pretending to be.”
That shut her up, just like he knew it would. Mentioning his mom was the fastest way to get anyone in his family to stop talking to him. It also made them hate him a little bit, but he could live with that.
But it wasn't quite enough this time. As he turned to go, his aunt said, “I just want to understand why. Why do the kids pick on you? Why don't you want our help?”
“I don't need your help,” James snapped. “I don't need anyone's help. I just want to be left alone.” He grabbed his bookbag and left the room.