#i do think. nicola would have an inferiority complex

[fourleafclovxr]

1: heartbreaker

Sophie broke up with Nicholas last week, and with Tarquin the week before that, and so on, and so forth: an endless stream of boys. There’ve been more notable ones, Nicola supposes. Tedros, early on, who had never much liked Sophie anyway. Rhian, who had actually seemed quite serious about it until he ran back to Kei. Hort, who had definitely been serious about it, poor thing.

There was Rafal, but no one really likes to talk about Rafal, least of all Sophie. Nicola hadn’t known her, then; she only knows about Rafal through Agatha, and even then only through fragmented pieces of the story, Agatha’s hesitance to reveal anything of Sophie’s that she didn’t already flaunt.

She knows that Rafal turned Sophie against everyone else she’d ever loved. She knows that Rafal had made Sophie feel special.

And, from being Sophie’s proclaimed best friend, she knows this, too: that Rafal was the one who started Sophie down her path. Sophie speaks of it lightly, like it’s all one big joke, but sometimes her eyes grow distant when she says: I’m grateful for him, really, darling. He made me more me.

Nicola still doesn’t know what that ‘me’ is, to Sophie. She doesn’t quite get how Sophie sees herself, or wants to see herself. Untouchable. That’s her best guess.

Nicola has never known her to be anything else.

It still surprises her, to this day, when Sophie takes her hand. It surprises her that Sophie, with her alabaster skin and glittering emerald eyes and golden hair, with her smile that’s never left a line on her face, is real. Is a tangible thing. A person who would hold Nicola’s hand as they traipse through the empty streets, stars twinkling above them. The world is so empty sometimes.

It doesn’t matter, because Sophie fills the space.

Her fingers slip through and out of Nicola’s, and she twirls as they make their way down the street, laughing brightly at the vast, dark sky. Her voice echoes. There’s lipstick smeared down her mouth. Today Nicola picked her up from a bar, found her halfway in some random boy’s lap, dragged her out. For a second she had a handle of it. But Sophie is fleeting, free, always just out of reach.

Well. Nicola has put up with it for this long. Longer than anyone, really, except Agatha, and Sophie is practically her sister. She doesn’t mind going on.

God, she really is doomed, isn’t she?

“This is how to be a heartbreaker,” Sophie sings, “boys they like a little danger…” She doesn’t finish the lyric, doesn’t follow through, just throws her head back and laughs, and for all that it’s worth Nicola knows she’s going to be the next one. If not the next, then it’ll still be her eventually, after however long it takes Sophie to get bored of her, too. It’s been a good run. It’s been longer than she expected.

But Sophie is so beautiful, has never been more beautiful, Nicola thinks that every time she sees her. No wonder the world falls at her feet. No wonder she gets away with it.

She’s never going to notice Nicola, waiting patiently for her to stay still. She’s never going to notice how it’s always Nicola picking her up, dragging her out, getting her through the messes she makes. Maybe it’s a good thing. Can’t get her heart broken if Sophie never gets her hands on it in the first place.

Still, she thinks wistfully, as Sophie whirls in the midst of her laughter— it would be nice to be seen.

“We’ll get him falling for a stranger, a player,” Sophie goes on, with all too much conviction. “Singing I lo-lo-love you—”

She turns back to Nicola, then, and there’s something strange and sad in her eyes. It’s at odds with the sickeningly upbeat way she cheers the last line. “At least I think I do!”

With Sophie, there is always a way out. That is, for her. Not for anyone who might believe her. And certainly not for Nicola, who knows her well enough to not believe her— and wants this, wants her, anyway.

//

hopefully writing one SGE drabble a day for november, using nosebleedclub's november prompts!

[12-3amproductions]

Cat Mother

Admins: This story is one of the strangest that we have ever collected.

Nicola, 19, student

I was very alienated as a child. My father left my family when i was very young, leaving my mother to struggle on, holding down two jobs to put my younger brother and myself through school. As a result, i was very insecure and neurotic. I could not get along with my classmate due to my inferiority complex. My schoolwork suffered and i became a loner.

The neighbourhood i grew up in, did not help much. It was quite a tough area. At 14, i took to the streets, for staying at home depressed me. The neighbourhood kids hated me because i was quite a tomboy, with my baseball cap, short hair and tough bad-boy manner. They ganged up on me when they could and shunned me when they couldn’t.

The worst thing about it all was that the frustration was feeding upon itself and eating me up inside. One day, i took my anger out on one of the neighbourhood cats. I tied a string of firecrackers to its tail and set them alight, delighting in the cat’s squalling panic as it tried to run away from the deafening explosions.

However this exploit of mine did not go unnoticed. In our neighbourhood was a strange old lady they called the Cat Mother. She kept a lot of cats and used to feed all the stray cats around. As i stood back to admire my handiwork, laughing as the poor dumb animal ran around in circles, the Cat Mother went up to the cat and picked it up, cradling it protectively in her arms. She then gave me a look which filled me with remorse. It wasn’t harsh, but it made me feel guilty and confused. I did not understand it then, but what i was feeling was actually shame for my own cruelty. But being the kind of person i was then, i was determined to get even with her.

That night, i climbed into the backyard of her old terrace house, thinking I’d “fix” her cats. But it was not to be as simple as that. They were swift and agile, fleet-footed in the dark yard. They circled me, hissing and snarling. I could see their feline eyes shining in the darkness all around me, they seemed to fill up the night. I was lost in fear and panic, panting with exertion, my heart thumping wildly. Then, i caught a strong whiff of soap and powder, and felt a firm, dry hand clasp me by the scruff of my neck. It was Cat Mother!

She was a dark Portuguese woman with an immense head of silver hair. Her wrinkled face was hard and her eyes glittered in the darkness. I was frightened and confused. She seemed like the biggest cat in the yard.

“What are you doing here, young lady?” she asked. But as she spoke, i felt a calming effect, for her deep mellow voice had notes of kindness and peace ringing in it. I felt ashamed and i broke down sobbing, blurting out my wicked plans. Her expression softened to a smile. I had expected anger and hatred. Instead, i received forgiveness. I ran home all the way from the Cat mother’s house that night. I felt light_headed and dreamy, filled by a strange new exhilaration. I knew that at last, i had found a friend.

The next day, i went over to the Cat Mother’s house to apologize. She invited me in for tea. Her dusty old house was dim and stuffy in the daytime. There was cat fur everywhere and the place was filled with pictures of Jesus Christ. I enjoyed her company very much. She was the first person i could talk to. And it seemed that she enjoyed my company too, for she invited me to visit her as often as i liked. Over the next few weeks, i got to know Mrs Marcia De Silva very well. She had been a schoolteacher and was now retired. She was almost 80 years old but was still very healthy and active. I started hanging around at her place. She helped me with her schoolwork and my results were improving tremendously. At the end of that year, i topped my class. She was so happy for me her eyes were shining with tears. Even my own mother couldn’t believe how well i did, but Mrs De Silva did not seem too surprised. Mrs De Silva and i got to be very close. She gave me a new direction in life. Away from the path of self destruction and onto something more worthwhile and meaningful. Even my mother was very grateful to this mysterious new “Aunt” i had.

However, age was catching up with the Cat Mother. It really disturbed me when she placed an ad in the newspapers requesting for adoption of her cats. The ones that were not adopted were placed in an animal shelter. She sighed wearily when the last of her cats were gone.

“l’II miss them all terribly. But i must do this. After all who is going to take care of them when i am gone?” she said. I dare not question her about this, the implication of it all was too terrible for me to face.

I went to her house even more often from that day on. I knew she’d be lonely now that all her cats were gone. I did not want her to feel as lonely as i had been. No one should ever be as lonely as i had been. But one day, when i went to her place after school, there was an eerie silence in the air. The dim, dusty old house was now strangely filled with a radiant glow. My heart seemed caught in my throat as i rushed about the place, calling out to her, “Mrs De Silva... Mrs De Silva....”

But there was no reply. Running down the stairs into the hall, i was startled by the presence of a strange man. The sunlight streaming in through the windows caused his hair to shine. I could not see his face properly. He looked at me and smiled. And although i did not know this man or what he was doing there, i felt no fear.

“Are you looking for Mrs De Silva?” he asked. His voice had the same gentle quality as Mrs De Silva’s.

I nodded and said, “Yes, where is she?”

Again he smiled, and my heart was touched by an inexplicable feeling of tenderness. He then said, “Mrs De Silva won’t be staying here any more.”

“Where’s she gone? Who ARE you?” i asked, struggling with the sobs building in my throat. I knew then i would never see the Cat Mother again. 

“I am... a friend,” he said, and seeing the state i was in, he continued, “Don’t worry about Mrs De Silva. For you see, all along, i’ve lived in her house. But now, it’s time for her to come to my house and live with me.” He began to walk out the door. But before he left, he shook my hand saying, “Goodbye little girl, don’t be sad.”

And when he shook my hand, i saw that there were holes in his hands, as if nails had been driven through them. After he left, the house grew dark and cold. I knew that Mrs De Silva was dead. I shall never forget the Cat Mother, Mrs Marcia De Silva, and all she had done for me.

Admins: Lovely story! Well it is supernatural, so we would take this in!

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