Brighter
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆
Note: I lowkey have no idea what possessed me to write this, but oh well! Next chapter prolly coming soon, also i’m exhausted so sorry for bad grammar
TW: Mentions of starving, fetus Vincent Whittman
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆
Chapter 1 >>
Noises blared on the small television in your living room, the pictures black and white, yet it was still immersive.
Your mother, Celine, was applying her makeup in the other room while your papa read the daily newspaper. It was almost confusing, given the fact that news was a channel on the TV, but he was traditional like that.
You finished your little coloring page, the picture a cartoony man with a small, tv for a head. A smile crept onto your face—other than the few marks past the lines, it was perfect. “Papa, can I put this on the fridge? Can I, can I?” you squealed in delight.
Papa sighed, sipping his morning coffee. “Sure, sweetheart…aren’t you gettin’ a little too old to be actin’ out like that?” he gently scolded.
“Oh.” you replied, putting the paper on a magnet. “I guess I am a big girl. I’m gonna be eight soon!”
Papa’s eyes squinted with a happy gleam. His mustache covered most of his mouth, but you could tell he was amused. You wobbled back to the carpeted floor in the living room before plopping down onto the ground. “Papa?” your small voice called out.
“Yes, sweetheart?” he was half paying attention, half reading a news column as his coffee mug hit the table with a quiet thump. He held a cigarette in his fingers as he took a long drag, waiting for you to speak.
“Papa, where’s your coaster?!” you shrieked, but that only amused him. “Mama’s gonna be mad at you, and I’m gonna tell her—!”
“Okay, okay, enough! I’ll get the damn—darn coaster.” he rose to his feet with a quiet grunt, his age becoming clear. As he walked to the cabinet, he continued the conversation. “Anyway, what were you going to say?”
“I think I’m getting taller!” you chirped with delight. You stood up quickly, black spots clouding your vision as you felt lightheaded from standing too quickly, but you didn’t care. “Measure me!”
“Please?” he added, grabbing the measuring stick as well before he finally grabbed the damn coaster, lazily placing it on the edge of the ottoman. “Okay, heels against the walls, and no tip toes!”
You giggled, the back of your feet pressed against the wooden wall trim, next to the small pillar. As papa measured your height meticulously, your eyes scanned the kitchen. The sink was still attached to the wall in the counter, the silver fridge a few feet away on the wall, and the island in the middle, cleaned off from when mama rearranged the clutter.
The small window above the sink no longer had curtains that spilled down and bunched up on the counter, and most of the towels were stored away. Interesting. They were almost never stored away, always displayed with pride in case visitors stopped by unannounced. Mama and papa sometimes fought over the curtains, which should be set up, but they were gorgeous, so you thought it was normal. Though it must’ve been fully unanimous to keep them in the drawers by the sink pipes.
It was bittersweet, seeing the curtains and towels away. They were beautiful, but they had to be changed every so often anyway. The island was shinier than usual, still polished from cleaner. No more plates were cluttered on top, and only candles remained on top.
Your eyes wandered over to the living room, in front of the kitchen. It was the opposite of the kitchen; the carpet was worn and a greyish-brown, and kind of stunk, but replacing it wasn’t an option. The small TV sat on the coffee table, and three brown couches crowded around it, each with an old stain on the seat from sitting. Next to the biggest couch—papas couch—was another coffee table, only his coffee mug and ash tray atop the wood. His coaster was still discarded on the matching ottoman in front.
Papa shifted, and you broke out of the trance. “144.80 centimeters,” he announced, cigarette between his teeth as he spun on his heel to store away the stick. You felt a sense of pride—nobody in your class was taller than you. The second tallest kid, Robert, was 135 centimeters, he told the class. Oh, you were so going to rub this in his face on Monday.
“Papa?” you asked as he plopped back onto the couch, eyes glued to the screen. He shifted in his seat slightly, getting comfortable, as he looked over his shoulder at you, still standing with feet pressed against the wood. He was listening, his body told you. “Where’s mama?” Of course you knew where she was, but you wanted papa to acknowledge that she was still in the bedroom, getting ready.
Papa smushed his cigarette in the ash tray before slowly standing to his feet. “Guess I better go check on her, huh, petite fille?” he didn’t wait for your answer, just trudged down the hallway. Why did he look so exhausted…?
You stood there, their voiced muffled by distance and the thin walls. Mama’s voice was always soft and smooth, so it was extra difficult to hear hers. You didn’t want to eavesdrop on their conversation, but only one question clouded your mind: what was taking so long to check on mama?
You took three, creaky steps closer, ear pressed against the thin, creamy colored wall. “I’m almost done, I just had a tiny…inconvenience.” your mother sighed. You didn’t have to be in the room to tell her hands were covering her face, as she always did when stressed.
“Inconvenience? Amour, I heard you throwing up. That’s not an inconvenience, that’s serious.” he gently scolded, a sigh of his own leaving his lips. The bed creaked, likely from papa’s weight, as he sat on the edge of the bed. “I had to distract our daughter by cranking up the television, because I didn’t want her to worry.”
Your eyes widened. Mama was throwing up? And papa turned up the volume to distract you. Wasn’t this your business to? That’s your mother! “Thank you, Jean.” her voice was feeble. “It was just bile, I think.”
“Celine, you can’t keep starving yourself.”
What?
“I’m not trying to, Jean! You know we’re in debt, and I can barely keep feeding our baby!” she shouted in frustration, which was still border on silent. “Look, I wrote a letter to Marisa. I asked for a small donation to help us get back on our feet a little bit.”
“A letter to the Whittman’s? That’s bold.” His tone was disapproving. “They’re rich, snobby, and greedy! They’ll never give us a cent without a condition.”
“You do not know that,” she responded, her voice steady, though a note of warmth lingered beneath the firmness. “Marisa is my closest friend, and she has never once failed me.”
Mama released another sigh, one so heavy and familiar it felt like the thousandth she’d given that week alone. “She replied to my letter,” Mama continued, her expression softening, “and she sent us two hundred dollars. She even offered to let us move in with them if things became too difficult here.”
Papa’s breath hitched, the sound sharp in the quiet room. You instinctively drifted a few steps closer, drawn in by the sudden change in his tone. “They sent us two hundred dollars,” he repeated, barely above a whisper, as though afraid the words would crumble if spoken too loudly. “And they offered us a place to stay?” His brow furrowed. “Are they truly serious? Are you absolutely certain this is not some cruel joke?”
Mama shook her head with a faint smile, part exasperated, part relieved. “I am sure. Marisa would never toy with us like that. And besides—” she lifted her chin a bit, pride flickering through her voice— “I have already begun packing our things quietly. Just a few boxes here and there.”
Before anyone could respond, a loud, drawn-out creak cut through the house, freezing the air. The conversation halted immediately. Papa’s footsteps echoed a moment later, growing louder, more pointed, as he made his way toward the doorway.
“Darling,” he called out, his tone a blend of suspicion and amusement, “are you eavesdropping?”
Mama turned fully toward you then, setting her hands on her hips with practiced authority. Her expression held both reprimand and affection, as though she expected nothing less from you—even if she certainly didn’t approve of it.
You nervously let out a laugh. “I…I didn’t mean to…” The words died on your lips, your bottom lip sticking out and trembling. Your gaze met there again: Mama gave you a skeptical look, brow arched, and papa’s eyes were soft like he’d been caught as well.
“You know how I feel about eavesdropping,” mama let out a slow breath, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I’m disappointed, honey.” The words were sharp, the room somehow more silent than ever.
Ouch.
You hated disappointing your parents, and to actually hear it from mama’s lips…well, that made you feel even worse. “I’m guessing you…heard everything then?” Papa’s soft voice carried through the hallway. Mama only exhaled loudly through her nose, face looking away in…embarrassment?
“Yes, papa. I-I heard everything…” You admitted, foot dragging in circles nervously, carpet strands bending with each motion. “…and are we really moving, mama?”
Something in her expression shifted. “I’m not sure, sweetie. Me and Papa are going to have a chat later, but we certainly will be stopping by very soon to visit.” she clarified, voice smooth with ease. “We will depart in an hour or so, and please be decent.”
Papa nodded, agreeing. “I believe they have a boy around your age too, correct?” His gaze flickered from you to mama. “What’s his name again..?” He murmured sheepishly.
“I believe his name is Vincent, and he is ten-years-old.” Mama smiled softly, lost in thought, picturing the wealthy family. “Just turned ten, if I’m correct. Two years older than you.”
“So be on your best behaviour.” Papa gave his signature grin. “And try to act like a lady, okay? Make him question how old you really are.” He left his spot next to Mama to take a seat on an old stool by the island, retrieving his newspaper, flipping to where he left off. “Physically seven-going-on-eight, mentally eighteen.”
Mama slipped past you, her dress subtly caught on a nail. With practiced ease, you gracefully unhooked it before she noticed. Maybe you loved her dresses more than she did.
Her dress was a pretty pale yellow that fit like second skin, the fabric pooling down at her feet and dragging behind her. Papa was entranced, looking at her like he just fell in love all over again. There was an underlying glint in his eyes though—the more practical one. They were in debt, yet she still wore expensive dresses.
“Get dressed, ma chérie.” Papa dismissed as his trance broke.
You skipped down the hallway into your room, which was beside your parents, but still somewhat far. You opened the wooden door slowly, taking in the sight of your clean room. That’s how you always kept it— meticulous. Perfect.
Your walls were painted a baby blue colour, a soft contrast to your beautiful, white blankets and covers on your double sized bed. Aside from the kitchen, your room was the only space in the house without carpet. On the east wall, was your dresser that was attached to the wall. It was a shade brighter than your bed, and made of marble. You turned your head to the left, where your closet was. You had dresses for every occasion stored there—funerals, parties, get togethers, and outings.
Your closet let out a strangled noise as it opened. Your eyes skimmed the colours, until they landed on a beautiful, blue and white dress. It just felt right, especially since it was your favourite colour. You slipped on the fabric, tying the laces on the back meticulously. You glanced in the mirror—you were beautiful, and looked older than you were. It was your most prized dress, because it was the only one with straps instead of sleeves. None of the older girls wore sleeves anymore.
The fabric sparkled under the light, drawing a smile from your lips. You turned off the light with a gentle click before strolling back into the living room. Papa’s face brightened, and he grinned. “Chérie, you are a sight!” he playfully hoisted you up in his arms spun your around, causing you to giggle.
Mama didn’t say anything.
“Shall we get going?” Papa set you down, facing your mother. She blinked, snapping out of her daydreams. She cleared her throat before nodding. “Yes. I suppose we should get going.”
***
The car ride was a blur, even though it was shorter than you thought it would be. The loud engine roaring as you made the trip to their house. The smell of exhaust was very strong it slowed down. Mama perked up, glancing out the window, before a fond smile crept on her lips. “I believe we are here.”
You looked up, and… “Oh wow!”
Mama smiled at your reaction, squeezing your shoulder. She helped you out of the black car. Papa followed closely behind, as Mama pointed out every little detail.
The house was huge—the exterior walls were white, with windows placed perfectly, light filtering out. The driveway was made of bricks, and about a hundred feet long. On the side was a pavement trail that led to the front porch. As you walked up the steps, you touched the wood—freshly painted. Flowers hung from a hook, as well as a lantern. Looking down was a mat that said, ‘Welcome!’
Your mother knocked three times sharply. Time seemed to stop for ten seconds, until a man in a black suit opened the door. His hair was grey, and his mustache covered his mouth, like papas. Was this Mr. Whittman?
“Hello, Mr and Mrs. Reynolds,” the man gave a curt nod, opening the door wider and stepping aside. Your parents put their coats on the rack, papa removing his hat. “The Whittman’s are in the dining room. Little Vincent is in his room.” Your eyes scanned the room, and you found a small, family portrait on a table.
Mama gave a nod in thanks, before encouraging you to go upstairs and find the boy. “Go on, his room is the first door on the right!” Mama gave you that persuasive smile, before you found yourself walking up the right side of the marble stairs. You ran your hand up the golden railing.
Soon, you were only inches away from his door. You cleared your throat shyly before knocking.
Something on the other side of the door shuffled, like he was startled. “C-come in.” he murmured, the sound clear but muffled from the door. Your hand rested on the handle, jiggling it slightly, before he spoke again. “Wait!”
He opened the door for you, a fake smile plastered on his face. He had messy black hair, and wore a fancy blue suit—he must’ve been forced to. His right eye was green, the left blue, drawing a gasp from your lips. He only groaned. “Heterochromia, they say.” he muttered under his breath. He was only a few inches taller than you, but he was hunched slightly.
“Oh. Your eyes are pretty.” You smiled genuinely. He slowly looked up at you, brows furrowed. He didn’t move or say anything, though. Just stared at you with that skeptical look.
“You’re bluffing,” he finally replied, and it was clear he was self-conscious about his eyes. “I’m a freak. An experiment gone wrong, even.” he sighed, plopping onto his bed.
“What? No, I’m being serious,” you took a step inside his room, taking another when he stayed silent. “I don’t lie, and if I say they’re pretty, they’re pretty.” you folded your arms across your chest, feigning authority, and he laughed.
“You really think so?” he whispered as his laughter diminished. Your eyes softened as you watched the boy lying on his bed. Messy hair fanned out slightly on his pillow.
“I don’t just think so,” you smiled slowly sitting down on his bed, eyes asking for permission. He gave a short nod, and the bed dipped slightly from the added weight. “I know so.”
He only sighed, cheeks turning a lovely pink before he hid his face. He licked his lips before responding, “You’re the first one I’ve met to think so.”
It broke your heart. “Well, they’re just jealous!” You put your hands on your hips, the same way your mama always did. “you’re unique, and they wish they weren’t boring!”
It was like he finally let himself go. “You’re right,” he sat up, brushing off his suit. “They wish they were like me!” he suddenly stood up, taking your hands in his as he hauled you up. You couldn’t stop giggling as he twirled you around like a practiced dance. “I know already, that we’re going to be friends.”
“Best friends,” you corrected, more laughter spewing from your lips as he twirled you around once more. “We’ll be unstoppable!”
You both fell back on his bed, catching your breaths as you laughed together. It felt nice to finally have someone to laugh with! Most of your friends at school were snobs, always too uptight to let themselves go. “You know, I love to dance. You probably figured that out already, though.”
“You’re a great dancer! You’ll shine brighter than the other dancers when we’re famous!” he gushed adoringly. He trailed off again.
“Once I own my own television network, I’ll make you famous too!” he declared suddenly. “I’ll work really hard for the job, they’ll have to give it to me! They’ll have to!” he pictured it in his mind, eyes wide in excitement, a big boyish grin on his face.
“You want to work in the television industry?” You confronted, but it wasn’t accusing. Just trying to confirm his dream.
“Yeah, I’ve always wanted to be a part of it. To be in charge, shape the future of technology!” his right hand came up in a fist. “I’ll work in an aquarium with sharks! Sharks!” he exclaimed giddily. “I’ve always loved sharks.”
“Hey, we’re matching!” you pointed out, changing the subject without realising. He looked at your dress, then down at his own suit. Both were electric blue. He laughed, hand resting on his forehead.
“We both look good in blue, you know. It’s our color!” he gasped, a huge grin plastered on his face. “The best friends in blue.” he decided.
He suddenly stood up, picking up a portable radio. “We won’t need this piece of trash one day.” he murmured, twisting his wrist as he examined the piece of junk. “Everyone will move onto TV’s, onto my station!” he paused for a minute. “Our station.”
“Our station?” you repeated smoothly, a soft arch in your brow. Really? He was already making plans after you first met? This boy was certainly interesting.
“I know we just met,” he admitted, a soft laugh escaping his lips. “But…you’re inspiring, really!” a soft smile of adoration was painted on his face.
“Me, inspiring?” you chuckled softly. “How so?”
“You’re the best dancer who’s ever lived, trust me!” he kept going on. “Really, you entrance everyone! I know you have a bright future. You’re…you’re amazing!”
You chuckled lightly, sitting up.
“What, am I boring you with my compliments?” he asked, brow playfully arched as he sat next to you again, portable radio still gripped in his hands.
“Perhaps,” you playfully replied, though he wasn’t. You loved the compliments secretly, but you didn’t want to seem too excited about it.
“Look, I’ll just get to the point,” he breathed in, small smile still plastered on his face. He fell back again, staring at the ceiling. “See, I can feel that we’re going to be close friends. People will know us, they’ll love us, and with new stars popping up everyday—and before you hit me with a, ‘Well, you’ll be pretty new yourself!’ I know, okay?” he smirked, fingers fidgeting nervously, before his hand rested on your shoulder. “But I’m much more forward thinking, okay? So it’s in your best interest to just…hear me out.”
You listened closely. “Go on, I’m listening, pal.” you said, intrigued about what he was about to say or offer you.
“So, I’ve been thinking these last thirty minutes…with your incredible dancing, and my future massive influence, we would be unstoppable! Dancing and video! We could film your dancing! Me and you, we could rule the world! Together. As partners!” He sat up again, hand outstretched to you, waiting for your answer.
You began to laugh.
His brows furrowed in confusion, his posture sinking slightly. He laughed softly with you. “Aha…haha…what…?” he said gently, a little hurt.
“Your plan,” laughter continued to escape your lips before you could catch it “it’s…amazing! You’re right!”
His eyes lit up again, his shoulders straightening. “You mean it? You’ll actually team up with me, shape the future of the world?” He stood up, dropping the portable radio back onto the shelf carelessly. “Wow…that’s…surprising!”
“I mean it though, Vince!” you folded your arms playfully, the nickname rolling easily off your tongue. “Your plan is genius! We can rule the world!”
He smiled warmly, the gap in his teeth more visible. He must’ve lost one of his front teeth! “Nobody has ever wanted to rule the world with me before.” He admitted softly. “You’re the first person to actually want to.”
“I can’t believe nobody has wanted to? Who doesn’t want to rule the world?!” You were surprised, most kids dreamt of ruling the world or being a king and queen.
“This kid, his name is Alastor.” he pouted slightly. “You know, he’s some freak obsessed with radio, he spends all his time acting like he’s a host of a radio show.” he paused for a minute. “Bloodied up this girls stuffed animal deer, now they’re super close, like we were never best friends.”
“Does he go to your school?” you find yourself asking. You didn’t know why you were so curious about this kid. You thought he was crazy for rejecting Vincent.
“No, he didn’t. Our parents were kind of freinds. But think of it—we could’ve been radio and video! But he had to just…laugh and make a mockery out of me…” he trailed off, staring at his hands in his lap.
You felt a pang of guilt—you had burst into laughter when he proposed the idea, but it wasn’t because you were rejecting him! You just thought it was a brilliant plan!
“You didn’t deserve that. He should’ve let you down softer, not laugh at you like that.” you placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “And frankly, I think he’s dumb for rejecting your offer like that.”
He didn’t let himself cry. Only sniffled. “You actually think so? You think my idea is that bright?”
You nodded. “Yes, it’s a brilliant plan, really. Being powerful on your own is one thing, but having a team is even more powerful. It brings different qualities from different people.”
“You are nice.” he decided, a happy smile still etched onto his face. “And, I don’t go around telling that to people.”
You laughed. When you arrived at their mansion, you assumed this boy would be full of himself and spoiled rotten, treating you like a wad of gum on the bottom of his shoe, like most rich kids would. But he was like any other kid—smart and kind. “I think you’re nice too.” you admitted back, and it was his turn to laugh.
A sharp knock interrupted the moment, and you both turned towards the door. Vincent’s mother, Marisa stood, hand resting on the doorknob. “Dinner is ready, kids.”
Once Marisa was out of sight, you both turned towards each other with mischievous grins. “Last one there is a rotten apple!” you shouted.
“Excuse me—?” he furrowed his brow, but you were already racing down the hallway and to the stairs. “Oh, I’m gonna catch up, just you wait!” his footsteps followed behind yours, and you let out a squeal. The race was on.
You were running down the stairs as fast as you could, your new friend, Vincent, close on your tail. He was pretending to reach out, like he was going to grab your shoulder and yank you back behind him, just to scare you even more. He was cruel when he wanted to be.
“Hey, stop that!” you scolded, looking over your shoulder. Oh, he was closer than you thought he was! Finally, you were towards the bottom of the long staircase. You decided you were going to jump down the last few steps, but oh was that the most stupidest decision you have ever made in your life.
Both feet left the ground, and you instantly regretted it. You had miscalculated, you were going to have to jump down six whole steps. You couldn’t land down that far! Either try to land from a six foot drop in your dress, or land on the stairs and break your ankles.
Your blood went cold as you began to let out a shriek of fear. Your life was flashing before your eyes, and if you broke something, your parents would be so mad, so disappointed…
A pair of strong arms (for a ten year old boy, at least.) caught you, and he held you against his thin chest (he’s got no muscles…yet.) until you reached the bottom of the stairs. There you were, being carried bridal style down three steps. As soon as his feet hit the ground, he placed you behind him as he continued his sprint.
You wanted to call out, ‘Hey!’ but decided against it. He had basically saved your life, and you didn’t want to be rude and yell at him after that. Your hands grabbed the dress, pulling it up past your ankles as you increased your speed. You ran to the right, now side by side. He whipped his head in your direction, caught off guard by the fact you managed to catch up to him. You only threw a smug smirk in his direction, before you were cutting him off.
You were smug, but there was one problem—where were you even going?!
You didn’t know the way to the dining room!
Think!
When you first walked in, the floor was marble, and two stairs across from each other led to a balcony, and if you walked left on the balcony, was a door to the right that led to Vincent’s room, but you already ran down the stairs…
When you first walked in, your parents were led to the right, where the dining room was.
Vincent was leading you in circles like a lion stalking his prey!
Paintings were a blur, and you finally found a small table with a family portrait…
Wait…
You passed the dining room already!
You came to a halt, spinning quickly to find Vincent leaning against the frame of the door that led to the dining room, with a smug smile and folded arms. Catching your breath, you trudged forward.
“Thank you, thank you—” he said to an imaginary audience. You just folded your arms. “I won, I won! I know, I won!” he threw his arms up into the air in triumph. “I like winning!” How was he not breaking a sweat?!
You wiped a layer of sweat from your forehead. “How are you not… out…of breath?!”
“I got here a longggg, long time ago.”
You just stared at him, jaw to the floor. But…he wasn’t even there?!
“You and I… are going to rematch soon!” you declared, and he chuckled. “Okay, well I’m starving, and I don’t want to wait anymore to eat.” you announced, passing him.
Your parents were already seated, Marisa hiding a knowing smile behind her hand. The other three just looked…skeptical? Confused? Wasn’t very clear.
Vincent cleared his throat, and when you looked behind at him, his face was serious. Presentable. Like you had never raced in the first place.
You took your seat, next to your parents, and Vincent was across from you.
He flashed you another smug smirk.
Oh, life would certainly be interesting with your new friend!
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆
