A/N: First Chapter of a new idea. Tell me what you think? Oh and, the boys aren't famous in this one. :)
I measure every grief I meet
With analytic eyes;
--Emily Dickinson
I came into this world the same day my mother was taken out of it. Irony at its finest. Life and death in the same moment, in the same second. Of course I do not remember any of this, nor the mother I lost. My father did his best to hide her existence. Rarely would he utter her name in my presence, and the few times he did I could taste the cold and bitter anger in his voice. I had taken away his wife, his love, his world. I have not looked my father in the eye for years now, I am too scared to see the anger hidden beneath them. Instead I sit patiently as I talk in his direction. He grumbles his replies and swats me off like an insect-I annoy him.
Once when I was eleven, I snuck into my father's room. He was out for the night, leaving me to fend for myself. As I walked up the staircase I couldn't help but notice his door was open. It was peculiar because my father never left his door open. So I crept in slowly, fearing he'd arrive home the moment I stepped foot in the room. Tip toeing, I reached the bed and bent down to reach for the frame. It was my mother, I knew it in an instant. Those chocolate brown eyes were the same that stared me down from beyond my mirror. Her eyes seemed telling, all knowing. Eyes that had seen so much, even me. I lay on my dad's bed, clutching the frame to my chest and allowed myself to dream. I saw swing sets and slides, summer air and her smile. Holding me softly, caressing my cheek asking me not to cry. Her arms warm and inviting, I let myself feel them. She was a mystery that I could never solve. A dream that I would never see. The tears came down in neat little lines and I brushed them aside setting her image down on the bed leaving as cautiously as I had answered.
I never went looking for her after that, I kept the dreams I dreamt that day locked away. If he knew I had seen her face and had thought those things, he wouldn't have been happy. So I kept my distance but my heart longed to be closer to her. I wanted to feel her, see her, smell her. Touch her, so I would know she was real all this time. But my mind kept me grounded and focused on school. Still, each night the silent tears were my lullaby. Filling in for the one she could never give to me.
The sun awoke me from my deep slumber as my alarm clock buzzed softly. Rubbing my eyes I blinked in the new day. The first day of my final year in high school. A day I had dreaded all summer long. The light streamed through my curtains illuminating my room in pale yellow light. I sat upright and got up shortly after. Downstairs my father's remnants remained, a half finished cup of coffee and one piece of toast with a bite missing. I gathered his plates and cleaned them in the sink. Pouring myself a cup of coffee I sat down at the table. The newspaper before me had been marked on one page, the obituaries. In red ink a circle was drawn around a name. Joan Larter. Who Joan was, I did not know. But whoever she was, my father was either saddened or ecstatic by her death. I believed the latter, my father is not the type to feel anguish for any other soul. Except for his own and my mother's.
After changing and examining my reflection in the mirror, I grabbed my things and headed down the stairs. My car keys were in bag, where I had placed them the night before. Leaving the house, I locked the door behind me. My car sat on the driveway where I had parked it the night before. I set my things on the passenger seat and turned the engine on. The lull of the engine kept me awake, bringing me to my school. I parked and left my car. Other seniors parked their cars and called loudly in my direction. I continued walking because I knew they weren't calling to me. My locker was in the same place as every year before, right by the back door to the parking lot, beside the gym. It was an easy spot to keep, no one wanted to be by the door, especially in the winter time. As the bell rang, my classmates swarmed to their lockers to grab their things.
Something was different this year however, the locker beside mine was always vacant, but it had been taken this year. I watched as a boy walked towards it turning the lock and opening it carefully. He turned to look at me and smile softly. It was a subtle smile, so close to being a scowl. Studying him carefully, I realized now who he was. Nick Jonas. Younger brother of Joe Jonas, who had quite a reputation at our school. Joe had all the teachers wrapped around his finger, made all the varsity teams and of course was a ladies' man. Still stories of his "conquests" could be heard in our halls. But Nick seemed to be the opposite of his older brother, he was a musician from what Brittany McLeod had said as she walked by with her friends. I turned to my locker and grabbed my books before closing it and walking away. I wasn't sure what it was, but I had a feeling Nick Jonas was a lot more than what people saw. And something inside of me wanted to know what.
