Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ Lost Control ❯ Chapter 1 ( Chapter 1 )

Chapter 1

“New York City, center of the universe”, or at least said in the movie Rent. For me it wasn't anything special. People everywhere love the city, but I didn't like it. I moved there when I was eighteen. I moved into a tiny, two roomed apartment overlooking some dreary street.

I've always dreamed of living somewhere warm and tropical, like Miami. I'd sit around in a little shack by the sea sipping fruity-beverages. Watching the sunset in only a bikini, and taking long midnight strolls with sexy prince Baywatch. Aww, paradise.

He wanted to live there though. So I dropped out of school, and moved across the country with him. I was young and supposedly in love so I didn't care. I even paid for the apartment. Then he dumped me, typical.

At least I got to go see Broadway productions whenever I wanted (though I had no courage to actually try out for one). I hated waiting for everything to get to Washington. No tours started in Washington, no plays started in Washington, everything was boring and it was always raining. I hate rain, absolutely hate it. It's too cold and too dreary.

There were some perks to living in such a boring state: you hear about everything because even the tiny, itty-bitty things were big news. Yet I moved away. I finally got out and everyone came to see me off. I hadn't even told anyone about it, not even my mother. He probably told them about it: he being the egotistical punk who was damn fine but had a horrible attitude.

Wait, did I forget to mention I've forgotten what his name is? The only reason I remember what he looks like was because of an old photo I found under my bed when packing. (He did look good with his short hair spiked up and his lip pieced. I loved that piercing. I always fell for guys with their lip pierced.)

There have been so many men in my life I've lost track of them. They started showing up when I was a little fristie, and after that they came and went like pop idols.

I got my first kiss in second, and I got a Frenching session in fourth. By sixteen I had fucked at least five guys, maybe more. Nominated as easy, I lived by life from boyfriend to boyfriend. What was a girl to do? Say no to hot guys when they came knocking? I don't think so.

Of course, you'd think that dear, old mommy would put a stop to it. You'd think she'd give me a spanking and tell me boys were evil creatures. Oh hell no, she was jealous. She'd glare when they'd come over and she ignored me most of the time. I was in my own little utopia surrounded by a bunch of hot men while she sipped vodka in the kitchen. I'd take them into my bedroom and we'd have sex. We'd be as loud as we could just to piss her off. Sometimes she'd stagger in to yell at us to be quiet. Then she'd stumble out again and into the bathroom where she'd puke up her vodka. In the morning she wouldn't even remember. And I'd laugh with them about it when I saw them the next day. And then we'd do it all over again.

The only man that had never been in my life was my dear, old daddy. He ditched when I was a babe, leaving Mom to take care of Michel, Susie, and me.

We weren't the type of family you'd get Christmas cards from every year or the type of family you'd see on Sunday mornings at church. Few people really ever talked to us. It seemed that since Dad left us we weren't worth the trouble. If we hadn't been good enough to take care of then we couldn't have been too important.

I hate to admit it, but they were kind of right.

Michel always got in fights, and it turned out he got out of the hell hole of our family by joining the army. Not much better, if anything he's worse off then when he was with us.

Susie left too, but she went to Harvard. She was always the goody-goody of the family. It was forever being held over my head too. Suzie was Top Girl in the house, while I was the little girly who didn't care.

Mom would often say, “Lucy, why can't you get good grades like Susie?” or “Why don't you act more grown-up, like Susie.” Susie was the perfect kid, Michel was a trouble maker, and I was a good-for-nothing.

I remember Mom drinking one night; she sat at the little table in our little dinning room looking at old photo albums as she sipped at a glass of vodka. I was real young; I don't remember exactly how young, but I was young enough to think that I could help her just by holding her hand. So I went up to her and reached out to her, but she pushed me away.

“It's your fault that he left!” She screamed at me. I could smell the vodka on her breath and it made me queasy.

I remember crying, and her taking pitty on me. She scooped me up into her arms and she rocked me. As she cooed softly to comfort me she commenced showing me pictures of the family before my dad left. The time before I was born.

There were no pictures of him and me together. There would never be any pictures of me and him together. Only because the day I was born was the day he skipped out. He vanished from their lives, but he was never apart of mine. I had never met him, not once.

As my mother sat in the hospital room drenched in sweat during labor, my father was packing his bags. He left Michel and Susie at their daycare, and then he drove away.

I remember her setting me back on the floor. That was when I noticed she was crying. She wiped the tears from her eyes, and then she told me, “At least you won't have to worry about getting laid.”

Back then I didn't understand what she meant. I wondered why I would need to worry about lying down or being laid down. As I grew older I realized that she was right. Love wasn't a problem for me. I always was hanging off of some boy's arm. And it didn't even matter if I knew that boy; if he was good looking I was willing to fall in love with him.

As I look back on that now, I realize that I was stupid. What I was doing got me in a mess of trouble. When my most current boyfriend dumped me was when I finally realized I was leading a shitty life.

Austin was his name, Austin O'Shea. He was Irish with a thick head of livid red hair that I adored. He fucked me so good I saw stars. But he met some blonde off of Broadway and I never saw him again. Yet it was the events that followed my horrible breakup that changed my life.

He walked into my apartment with a drunken swagger that had a hint of Jack Sparrow in it. I loved it when he was drunk, because he was never really that drunk. He sort of pretended to be drunk. I know that because every morning after drinking he wouldn't have a hangover. And I know he didn't take pills.

I had always had a soft spot for Irish men, especially ones who could hold their drink. I could drink with them having fun, and then have sex afterwards without them throwing up on me.

On that day in November I had just gotten off work and had sat on the sofa to watch the news (I remember that nothing important was happening other than some celebrity had gotten knocked up). I was wearing nothing but an old flannel shirt and a frilly thong: I felt hot.

In wondered Austin: drunk and with his boxers hanging out of his pants. “Hey,” I said as I stood up. He glanced at me, and I came forward expecting sex. He grabbed my shoulders before I could wrap my body around him. He held me away from him and gazed at me with contempt. But he never looked me in the eye. I knew I had a confused look on my face, but he was too drunk to notice.

I tried to kiss him, but he pushed me away. And I fell over the end of the sofa. I flipped myself around so I could lay with my legs perched onto and over the back of the sofa. As I watched him go to the bed room my heart grew heavy with foreboding. He came out again ten minutes later with his stuff packed away into bags.

I managed to tumble onto the floor and stand up. I smoothed down the t-shirt to cover as much of my bare legs as possible. I felt that if I looked like I was trying he'd stay at least a little while.

“Baby what's wrong?” That was when he finally turned to look me in the eye, suddenly sober.

“I met someone,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“I'm leaving Lucy.”

“But I did everything you ever asked of me.”

He shook his curly red mane and looked at me with contempt. “She has goals in life,” he told me, and I didn't understand.

“I have goals,” I mumbled as the tears poured. I did have goals. I wanted to become an actress, and get married. But I guess my goals weren't the ones he wanted.

“No you don't Lucy,” he told me as if he knew, but he didn't know. I had only been dating him for a month, so how much could he know?

“What would you know?” I screamed, and I could hear doors opening in the hall. Then someone screeched, “Who the fuck is yelling?”

“I know enough,” he told me, and then he was gone. He had simply walked out the door, while I just stood there watching. It turned out that his blondie was waiting outside for him. As soon as he got out my door they started to fuck, but the land lady came out. I could hear her yelling at them to go home, but I hadn't paid much attention. I was too shocked.

The land lady was a middle aged woman in her forties or fifties by the name of Ashley Rose. She had this thick head of curly brown hair that never seemed to change. She was always dolled up as if she was going to a party, but the makeup only made her look older.

She told me afterwards, that the blonde was a skinny little prick. Little blondie had been completely smashed too. Ashley Rose told me that she heard blondie mention something about cocktails and martinis. Blondie had said that she would never have them again, no matter how good they were. I thought that was pathetic, but then again I always start out with a glass of vodka with coke on the rocks.

After that I sat down and watched my box set of Jackass. I managed some laughs while I cried. That night I went through maybe twenty therapy sessions: This, if you haven't already guessed, involves watching Jackass and crying into ice cream.

I decided in the morning that I had had enough. I was going to get out of New York and move to California. No more working two jobs, no more running around with a different boyfriend every month. That morning I woke up and stepped away from the cliff of failure. That morning I called up my mom.

It was good and horrible to talk to her after two years of not speaking. I had wanted to leave her behind when I left, but I guess I couldn't manage. I was weak and pathetic, and in the end I went crying back to Mommy.

I spoke timidly to her at first, but then I got comfortable. She was nice to me, not harsh or criticizing at all. She didn't patronize me about not talking to her, and she didn't ask about my life.

She answered the phone like we always have. “Hello? This is the Daven residence, Abigail speaking.” Her voice was so clear, it chilled me. My vision was sharp with nervousness, and I could hear everything that was going on in the background. The T.V. was on (probably on some medical show because I could hear ambulance sirens).

“Hi, Mom,” I said timidly.

“Lucy? Lucy is that you?”

“Yeah, it's me,” I couldn't help but smile. She sounded so enthusiastic.

“Oh, my little baby, you've finally called.”

“Yeah, I just needed to talk to you,” I started to chew on my finger nail but stopped myself, fearing that she could hear my teeth cracking down on the keratin of my nails. “Things aren't going that well.”

“Well everything is alright now, Mommy's here.” I thought I heard a slur in her words like she was drunk, but I pretended there wasn't.

“I'm going to move to Hollywood,” I said, feeling stupid.

There was silence on the other end, I cringed. “That's wonderful,” she said happily. I exhaled a breath I hadn't known I was holding.

“I'm going to become an actress. That way I'll make a lot of money. I'm going to get an agent and everything. Maybe start out auditioning for some movies, and then I'll go visit you,” I said unable to stop. “Maybe I'll meet the members of Jackass. I hope I could get a part in a Tim Burton movie. Maybe I could do a movie with Johnny Depp?”

“Wonderful, I'm glade you're going for your dreams.” I noticed a distracted sound to her voice. “You always were a good actress.”

“How is Michael? And is Susie a famous attorney yet?”

Silence again on the other end. “Susie is doing fine, working hard on all of her cases. She hasn't lost one yet.”

“What about Michael?” I felt dread twist painfully in my stomach.

“He's going to Iraq soon.” I dropped the phone. I almost decided not to pick it up again. But my body acted out of habit and I picked it up. I hesitantly pressed it to my ear.

“Lucy what happened?”

“Mom? Sorry, I was being clumsy again.”

“That's alright. You probably get that from your father, because you couldn't have gotten it from me,” she laughed. I cringed at the mention of my father, but I couldn't help but laugh at the joke.

Abigail Rachel Daven was the most graceful person I know. She was going to be a famous ballerina. She was good enough, too. She even got accepted to Julliard, but she met Dad.

They did it in a cheap hotel after a party and the next thing she knew she was pregnant. A lovely life, I'm sure.

“Tell Michael that I wish him good luck. I hope he kicks some terrorist but,” I laughed dryly. I almost felt like crying (I did cry later on).

“Yeah I'll be sure to tell him.” The conversation went to an awkward silence then. God, I hate those. I felt crushed, smothered under the weight of the awkwardness.

“I'll be sure to send you a postcard when I get to Hollywood,” I mumbled.

“Yeah, and get me Venn Diesel's autograph for me, won't you?”

“Oh, Mom, get over him. He's definitely not your type.”

“Really and what would you know about my type?” She laughed, and I felt the pressure drain from me. I felt reassured and almost happy. But how could I be? I had just gone through a horrible break-up, and then I found out that my brother was going to Iraq. So I ask you, should I have been happy then or should I have been dreadfully miserable? Wait, don't answer that.

It never really truly mattered because all my feelings of self pity would come rushing back as soon as I hung up that phone. I didn't want to hang up the phone, but I did.

I cried again that night. I cried for my brother, my mother, my sister, and my father where ever and who ever he may be. And I cried for myself too. I can't leave that out, since this whole story is about me and my life.

I would've liked to say that I wished Austin a good, happy life, but I can't. I cursed that bastard to the fiery pits of hell, and little blondie with him.