| Rescue Me | |
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| Topic Started: Feb 18 2010, 09:52 AM (9,676 Views) | |
| Metalicious | Feb 18 2010, 09:52 AM Post #1 |
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Overkill
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James leaned against the marble pillar, sighing heavily before downing the last of his drink. He'd never been comfortable at these kinds of events. While he was pleased that the band was being honoured for being one of the biggest donors to the charity over the last decade, he didn't understand why they had to show up in person to receive the award. Couldn't they have just sent the damn thing via FedEx? His eyes searched the room for Lars, who'd volunteered to represent the whole band so nobody else would have to sit through the three hour gala. "Gala" was code for bad food and boring speeches, of this James was certain. But management had been adamant that everyone make an appearance. They'd put more pressure on the guys to attend this than anything else in their career, and so James had found himself following Kirk around a men's shop the week prior, vetoing every tuxedo his guitarist had held up. "It's for charity," Kirk had insisted. James stubbornly shook his head. "There'll be hot chicks," Kirk added. James crossed his arms over his chest, resolute in his defiance. No tux, no way. Kirk sighed, rolling his eyes. "Two words, Hetfield. Open. Bar." Glaring with a fierceness Kirk hadn't seen in quite some time, James yanked the Armani suit out of Kirk's hands. "Fine. But no tie." Lifting another glass of champagne from a tray that drifted past him, James sipped slowly, his right hand in his pocket, well aware of how unapproachable he looked. That was the point. He'd already had to excuse himself from several dull conversations this evening about the stock market, hedge funds and the Middle East. It wasn't that he didn't have the knowledge to participate - he considered himself as well educated as most of his peers about current affairs and finances - but these people were so boring. And snobby. Exchanging pleasantries with them became painful once they realized he was in a rock band. Ninety-nine percent of the people he'd met so far tonight had barely concealed their distaste at his chosen career, while the remaining few had asked for his autograph, which he was pretty sure they were only getting to sell on e-bay or give to their kids. "You look ready to bolt," Lars murmured, appearing suddenly at his left shoulder. "Did we really promise to stay for the whole thing?" James groaned, wincing when the mic on stage crackled with feedback. Looking up to the podium, he watched as a portly, balding man cleared his throat and spoke too close to the microphone. "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I do hope you're all enjoying your evening so far." James shot Lars a look, tipping back the rest of his champagne as the man continued. "It is with great pleasure that I introduce our host for the evening. The new junior director of the CSA’s Foundations Program, she brings with her a wealth of both personal and professional experience, and we are truly blessed to have her on board as we ring in what we hope will be another successful decade of service to this worthy cause. Please join me in welcoming Miss Olivia Grant." James felt as if the world slowed to a halt. He watched, transfixed, as a brunette in a strapless navy gown glided across the stage. Kissing the cheek of the man who'd introduced her, she turned to face the crowd, giving them a smile that James would have recognized anywhere. Her dark hair was pinned up in a style that framed her heart-shaped face, and while he was at least a good fifteen yards away from her, he knew her eyes were the same warm shade of chocolate brown. She was taller, although not by much, and he watched as she gripped the podium, knowing that she'd tilt her head ever so slightly to the left before speaking. She waited for the crowd to settle, adjusting the microphone so it better suited her height. Smiling broadly, she tilted her head, just as James had known she would, and lifted a small piece of paper. "I have two figures on here that I'd like to share with you," she said, her voice strong and steady. "Three million, eight hundred thousand, four hundred and ten," she continued, "and twenty-three." Folding the paper, she rested her hands on the podium. "Some of you probably think that's the score from last night's Washington/Pittsburgh game." She paused while the guests erupted in laughter. "The first is the amount of money you have all donated or helped raise over the past twelve months. It's a record for the foundation, and one I hope to beat for next year's gala," she raised an eyebrow, shooting the crowd a teasing grin. "The second is the number of children who are awaiting foster care placements through our organization. Both of these numbers, considering the context, may seem rather low. I assure you they are not." James listened, still in shock, as she continued on about where the charity's money went, and how every dollar raised helped fund not only foster care but various children's programs in the Bay area, educational and social groups to which these kids wouldn't otherwise have access. He felt Lars' hand on his arm and shook it off, unable to break his gaze away from the stage. "We've been so fortunate to have such generous donors over the years. This is an organization very close to my heart, and I've been greatly impressed by the generosity, and the spirit with which the funds are given. There are so many worthwhile charities that need assistance, and it's impossible to support all of them, so thank you for choosing us." She paused while the man who'd introduced her stepped forward again. "We also wanted to take the opportunity this evening to honour one of our contributors, who has given so selflessly and so generously over the past decade, they've earned their own wing at the foundation's house. The plaque goes up next week, although the name will be a surprise to almost all of us who work there, since they normally choose to remain anonymous. I'm told Barry managed to coerce them into finally going public." Applauding along with the crowd, she stepped back from the podium, while the man stepped forward, and looked directly over to where James was standing with Lars. Clearing his throat again, the man clasped his hands, obviously excited. "They've sold over ninety million albums, they're the most successful heavy metal band in the history of music, and they're our biggest supporter, donating over five million dollars in the past decade. We are honoured to have them here tonight, as they're extremely busy and about to launch what will no doubt be another multi-platinum album. Ladies and gentlemen, Metallica!" James had seen Olivia's face pale, her smile faltering as soon as the announcer had said 'ninety million'. She'd known it was them as soon as she'd heard that, but not a moment before, he was sure. Seemed it was an evening of surprises all around. "James, move it. They're expecting us to actually go on stage, you know." Lars tugged at his sleeve. "I can't," he whispered harshly. "I can't see her. Not like this. Not right now." "See who? What are-" Lars stopped, finally realizing why James had been so entranced. "Oh, holy fuck." "Guys, let's get a move on, shall we?" Kirk nudged them as he passed, Robert in tow. Lars shook his head. "Go outside or something. I'll give your regrets. Jesus, she looks good." Buttoning up his suit jacket, he bounded after Kirk and Rob, while James turned to head the other way. Shoving through the crowd, who was still applauding, he pushed open the doors to the ballroom, unable to watch his band mates accept their award. He couldn't stand to face her, not when he'd spent so long searching for her. Not after he'd failed... at everything. He'd waited so long to see her again and now that the opportunity had finally arrived, he wasn't ready. Not by a long shot. Taking a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue Label from one of the conference tables stationed outside the main doors, he headed for the exit, yanking at his collar in a struggle to breathe normally. "Same old Het," a soft voice said behind him. He stopped dead, feeling his breath rush from his body. "You got out here awfully quick." "There's a side exit. I cased the joint earlier," she replied, and he could hear the teasing tone in her voice. "Same old Olivia," he murmured, turning to face her. She was even more beautiful standing in front of him. Her fair skin stood out against the dark blue of her dress, and some of her hair had escaped from its pins, presumably when she'd bolted off stage to chase after him. "I didn't know..." he started, unable to continue. "Neither did I," she said quickly. "They kept it a secret until the last minute. I was fully expecting some old dudes with millions to burn." He felt the corners of his mouth turn up and he shrugged. "You're not that far off." She laughed. "James, you're not old. Older," she added, "but not old." He couldn't stop himself from reaching for her hand. Lifting it gently, he turned it over, tracing his thumb gently over her palm. He recognized the scar she'd received when she'd fallen from a tree in his backyard, having climbed it to rescue his Frisbee. Further up her wrist was a small pink line, a reminder of when she'd been pushed through a plate glass window - that was well before she'd met him. His gaze travelled up her to her shoulder, taking in the raised round mark from having her first tattoo erased with laser removal. He knew about every wound, every scar, every injury she'd ever sustained up until she'd turned seventeen, when she'd disappeared from his house. From his whole life. He opened his mouth to say something lame like, it's so good to see you, when Lars burst through the doors, pouncing on Olivia and enveloping her in a tight hug that lifted her off the ground and pulled her hand from James' grip. "Holy Christ, sweetheart. It's been a long time!" He put her down and studied her, narrowing his gaze as he took in her full appearance. "Good job growing up!" She laughed, hugging him again, and then took both his hands in her own. "You too," she grinned, sneaking a wink at James. "Do you have to get back in there? I'm of half a mind to kidnap you right now and bring you back to HQ so you can fill us in on the last ten years," Lars joked, running a hand up and down her arm in a gesture that made James grit his teeth. "I should probably stay for the rest of the evening," she smiled. "I'm supposed to be hosting the event, after all. I know you probably have a dozen other places you'd rather be," she suggested. "But if you don't mind waiting, maybe we could all go for a drink or something afterwards. Catch up a little? It's been far too long," she added softly. "We're not going anywhere," Lars promised, and James nodded. He hated for her to leave again, even if it was just to go into the next room. She seemed satisfied with Lars' answer, and quickly hugged him again, before standing on her tiptoes to kiss James' cheek. He stooped a little so she could reach him, putting a hand on her shoulder before she stepped back. "There's a bar across the street - Boomer's or Shooter's or something,” she said. “I'll meet you there in an hour." Glancing over her shoulder as she left, she smiled again, and James fought the urge to run after her. "Easy, Hetfield," Lars chuckled, putting a hand on James' shoulder. "We'll see her at the bar. Speaking of which, put that back," he scolded, tugging at the bottle in James' hand. "Can't have the agency’s biggest donors drinking all the booze. Besides, there's Dom on our table. C'mon." James followed silently, plunking the bottle back where he'd found it, and took a deep breath before he pushed open the door to the ballroom. Olivia was on stage again, a series of photos flashing up on the projector screen behind her. A short redhead kid in one, holding the hand of an older woman; twin boys grinning from ear to ear on a tire swing; a group of kids, mixed ages and races, all in soccer uniforms, arms raised in victory; and the last shot was one he knew by heart. A scrawny, scruffy girl with tangled hair and a skinned knee, holding a skateboard under one arm, her other hand wrapped tightly around that of the person next to her. James' face wasn't in the picture - Jason had been so focused on getting a good shot of Olivia after her first successful ramp jump, that he'd totally neglected to centre the camera properly. His eyes travelled the length of the stage to where Olivia was watching the slideshow intently, a small smile on her face. She turned her head, finding him easily in the crowd, her gaze meeting his. He glanced at the picture again, and then back at her. He really didn't want to watch any more, or stay any longer. Nodding his head towards the door, he raised an eyebrow, smiling when she nodded almost imperceptibly. "I'll meet you guys at the bar," he told Lars. Lars jerked his head up. "Aren't you gonna tell Olivia?" He swung open the door. "I just did." Wrapping his jacket tightly around him to ward off the chill in the February air, he waited for two taxis to pass in front of him before he jogged across the street. The bar was dimly lit and overheated. He shrugged off his tux jacket, immediately rolling up the sleeves of his white dress shirt. Dropping into a booth, he caught the eye of one of the waitresses and signaled for a beer. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * |
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| The Cosmic Gerbil | Feb 18 2010, 10:04 AM Post #2 |
Forbidden Forest Ranger
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Nice story so far  Lol, James was funny, not wanting to wear a suit 
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| elena | Feb 18 2010, 10:32 AM Post #3 |
??????????
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That is really nice story.  I wander why James knows so well Olivia.
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| metalgal4life | Feb 18 2010, 06:41 PM Post #4 |
For liberty ...and justice for all!!
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Oooh! Me likey so far!!  And I'm curious now as to James' & Olivia's connected pasts??!!!? 
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| Lifer | Feb 18 2010, 11:13 PM Post #5 |
Cowboys From Hell
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I like this story already. I thought it was funny with james not wanting a suite\tux |
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| Metalicious | Feb 21 2010, 05:54 PM Post #6 |
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Overkill
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Thanks for the kind replies Here comes the backstory... 1995 "You're crazy. You don't have to do this, you know. There are plenty of other places she could go." James stopped suddenly, causing Lars to slam into him, and turned to face the shorter man. "I'm not crazy. And I'm pretty sure she's been to all those places, and I'm all she's got left." "She isn't your responsibility, James. And honestly, you don't have time for this. We don't have time for this," Lars corrected, placing heavy emphasis on the 'we'. "It's not forever," James pointed out. "It's just until they find somewhere suitable and stable for her. She's been in and out of the system for years, Lars. The least I can do is give her somewhere decent to sleep for a few weeks." James shuddered as he thought of what he'd read in the girl's file. Holding up his hands in surrender, Lars backed off. "Fine. Do what you want. But if this interferes with our shit, I'm putting it to a vote, and she's gone." James barked out a laugh. "Since when is this a democracy?" Pulling on his jacket, he lifted his keys from the desk and headed out to his car. "I'll be back in an hour. See if you can manage to not fuck up the album while I’m gone, okay?" Not waiting for a response, he climbed into his car, revved the engine and shot out of the parking lot, heading for the address listed on the file. Pulling into the CSA lot ten minutes later, he sat in the car for a moment, trying to decide if this was really a good idea. The big, bold lettering declaring that the building was indeed the "Children's Services Agency", loomed down at him. Lars had argued that lately, he could barely take care of himself. What was he thinking trying to throw a fourteen year old kid into the mix? Fuck it. If it didn't work out, he'd make arrangements for something else. He owed it to this kid to at least try... Pushing open the car door, he hurried into the building before he could change his mind. "James Hetfield," he said quietly to the receptionist. She smiled, nodding, and handed him a form and a pen. "Please fill this out. Mr. Caines will be with you shortly." He took the form, retreating to a corner of the room to fill it out. He was able to list his name and address easily enough, but his hand wavered when he reached the personal background part. Was he really comfortable being honest with strangers? Did he really want to check the box that said he drank more than six times a week? Leaving that section blank, he filled out the rest and returned it to the receptionist, who guided him down the hall to a sparsely decorated office. "Two minutes," she promised. James looked around the room, taking in the drab furniture and paint flaking off the walls. The only shots of colour were from pictures and sketches that were clearly done by some of the agency's kids. "James," a voice boomed from the doorway. "So glad you could make it. I'm Jefferson Caines." A huge bear of a man stood behind James, his hand extended in greeting. James held out his own hand, clenching his teeth in an effort not to wince when the other man squeezed tightly. "Nice to meet you." "Sit, sit, please. Can I get you anything? Water? Coffee?" James shook his head, dropping down onto the hard chair again. "I'm fine, thanks." "So, you're here about Olivia. I must tell you, I'm pleased and surprised that you're volunteering to fill this role. We've tried several times to place her in different homes, and I'm sorry to say that our track record is..." he took a breath. "Appalling. I gather you've had an opportunity to peruse her file? It's confidential, I assumed you would understand that. Even if things don't work out, I'd appreciate you keeping any and all knowledge of Olivia to yourself." "I understand. I signed that form, the one I faxed back," James gestured to the thick file on the desk, assuming the privacy statement he'd signed was in there somewhere. "Excellent, excellent." Jefferson leaned forward, resting his huge forearms on the desk, staring levelly at James. "She's a teenager. They’re hard work. And your lifestyle is not, shall we say, ideal. But I think you may be exactly what she needs. She's been treated very poorly, and she's learned to expect absolutely nothing." "I don't know what you expect me to offer," James said carefully, "but it's definitely more than nothing." Jefferson nodded. "You knew her mother?" "A long time ago. When we - I'm in a band - when we were first starting out, she was really good to us. I knew she had a kid, but last I saw of her, the girl was just a toddler." "Well, she’s older now. Fourteen. She's been in foster care since she was six. She came to us two years ago, fresh out of Juvie." He politely ignored the way James' mouth dropped open. "And we've been playing a sort of catch and release game with her ever since." James said nothing, merely waiting for the man to continue. "She's either thrown out, or she runs away. We've only got two more years before she's legally able to be on her own, but we'd very much like to see her stable and on the right track before that happens." James let the unspoken question hang in the air for another moment before deciding he couldn't contain his curiosity. "Juvie? That wasn't in the file." Jefferson pulled out another, thicker file, and pushed it across the desk. "We sent you the abbreviated one. If you agree to take her under your care, you get the unabridged version." "Where's the form to sign for that?" Clasping his hands together again, Jefferson leaned back in his chair. "Are you sure? I'll be honest, James, this little girl can't handle much more disappointment in her life. There's a four week trial period, but if you think that this might be too much for you, I would urge you to speak now." "Why was she in juvenile detention?" James slid forward on his seat when Jefferson was silent. "That's the only question I’m gonna ask before I sign." He thought for a moment, wondering how to express how serious he was about this. "You have my word," he said quietly. "Just promise me she's not a murdering psychopath." Jefferson opened the file, sliding the top sheet off the stack of papers and handing it to James. The girl's full name, date of birth, and date of arrival were all stamped at the top. Directly below that were the words "assault with a deadly weapon". James slid the sheet back. "So you're saying I should take the rifles off my walls?" "Mr. Hetfield," Jefferson said slowly, closing the file. "If you ever repeat what I'm about to say, I will deny it and say you’re lying. But trust me when I tell you, the son of a bitch deserved to get shot. Olivia's always said that given the chance to do it over again, she wouldn't change a thing. I would," he said firmly, in a voice that gave James chills. "I would have made sure she killed him." Pushing off the desk so he was standing, Jefferson crossed his arms over his broad chest. "Are you in?" James stood, shoving his hands in his back pockets. "Lead the way." They walked down a narrow corridor to the back of the building, to a large room where a handful of kids were sitting on threadbare couches, reading or watching television, or doing homework. “Olivia,” Jefferson said quietly, and a pair of dark brown eyes lifted from the pages of “A Tale of Two Cities”. She wore a pair of jeans with holes in the knees and a thin grey t-shirt. The girl was tiny, looking even younger than her fourteen years, and James tried to recall what her mom had looked like. “C’mon over.” She stood, shoving the book in a backpack that looked like it’d seen better days, and held the bag in one hand, raking her hair out of her eyes with the other. Standing in front of them, she appraised James silently before turning to Jefferson. “Do I have to go?” She was quiet, and sounded a little sad, but she spoke without whining, simply voicing a genuine interest in whether or not she had a choice. “No,” Jefferson said slowly. “But I think you should at least give this arrangement a try.” He smiled. “I know you’ll tell us if it isn’t working out.” She turned to James. “You sure about this?” He took in her serious little face, the mistrust in her eyes evident as she waited for his response. “No,” he said honestly. “But that’s what the four week trial period is for. If it’s not working, we’ll figure out something else.” She shifted her weight from foot to foot. “I guess so.” “James will help you get settled,” Jefferson explained. “And we’ll be by later in the week to see how you’re getting on.” He dropped his head, holding out his hand. “What are the rules?” Olivia took his hand, and answered before they shook on it. “No lying, no stealing, no drugs.” Satisfied, Jefferson pulled her into a hug, grinning when she grumbled and pulled away. “I’ll see you in a few days, kiddo. Be good.” “Yeah,” she mumbled, slinging the backpack over one shoulder. “Yes,” Jefferson corrected, and she repeated it, rolling her eyes. James looked around. “Do you need any help with your stuff?” She looked at him for a moment, shaking her head. “This is my stuff,” she said, holding her backpack. “I think I can handle it.” “Why don’t you go wait out front with Marjorie, Liv. James will be out in a moment.” She nodded, glancing over her shoulder as she left. Jefferson led James back to his office and handed him a banker’s box. “Copies of her documentation. Her identification – birth certificate, passport, all that – and the banking details of her account. You’re in charge of it all. We deposit a sum every two weeks that should cover meals, clothing, school expenses and the like. Anything extra is her responsibility. She’s too young to get a real job but she’s got a lot of experience with little kids, I’m sure she could do some babysitting if the opportunity presents itself.” “She doesn’t need to work,” James said, flustered. “I can get her whatever she needs.” Jefferson sighed. “You’re welcome to try. But I think you’ll find that she’s too independent for that.” He stuck out his hand again. “Best of luck, James. If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to call. My home phone number is in there, and I’m accustomed to four a.m. phone calls.” Holding the box under one arm, James shook his hand and headed out to the parking lot where Olivia was leaning against his car. He popped the trunk and placed the box inside, holding out a hand for her backpack. She reluctantly handed it to him, and climbed into the passenger’s seat. He turned on the radio as he pulled out of the lot. “Got a favourite station?” He stole a glance at her, noting the way she was leaning against the door, as if she were trying to put as much space between them as possible. “Not really. This is fine,” she shrugged. “Really? Do you know who it is?” She looked at the radio and then at him, as if he might be trying to trick her. “Iron Maiden.” He grinned. “Yeah!” “Yes,” she said sternly, and then giggled when he laughed. She didn’t talk much for the rest of the drive, only answering in one or two word replies when he asked her questions, and he didn’t want to push it. He remembered being fourteen. He’d hardly been a chatty kid – hell, he was hardly a chatty adult – so he understood that she might not want to say a whole lot right away. “Here we are,” he announced when he turned the car into his drive. “You live here?” She didn’t move, just stared through the windshield at his house. “Yes,” he said emphatically, hoping to get her to laugh again. “Alone?” She sounded incredulous. “Yeah,” he replied, less sure of himself this time. “Wow.” She undid her seatbelt, stepping out of the car. “It’s really nice,” she added, looking apologetic. “I just…it’s huge.” He took the box and her backpack from the trunk. “It’s the first house I ever bought. I was so excited about being able to afford a house that I got the biggest one I could find, and made sure it was far away from all my neighbours.” She smiled, but looked slightly uneasy. “Cool.” He led her up the front path, opening the side door, and toed off his boots. “C’mon, I’ll give you the full, guided tour.” He led her through the lounge, into the kitchen, through the other living room that housed his enormous television, up two flights of stairs and into one of the spare bedrooms. She looked around, taking in the queen sized bed and its mountains of pillows. “Is this your room?” He shook his head. “This is your room.” She stared at him, clearly not believing what he’d said. “Mine?” “Yours. Mine’s the floor below this one.” She walked around the room, trailing her hand lightly over the mahogany desk he’d purchased earlier in the week, the double bookcase that held a set of encyclopedias, and an armchair that he’d had for years but only recently had recovered in a soft, cushy velvet. “Mine?” she said again, so softly that he wasn’t sure she’d meant to say it out loud. “Are you hungry? I gotta head back to the studio in a few minutes, but I can fix you something for dinner first if you want.” She shook her head, still looking around the room in awe. “No. I’m not hungry.” Catching herself, she made eye contact. “Thank you, though.” He nodded. “I’ll be back around nine. The television should be pretty self-explanatory but I think there’s a manual in one of the living room cabinets if you need it. If the phone rings, just let the machine pick up, and if you decide you’re hungry, there’s tons of stuff in the cupboard, and a stack of take out menus in the drawer by the fridge. Cash to pay for take out is in the same drawer,” he added. “Okay,” she nodded slowly. “Um…bathroom? If I wanna shower or something?” He mentally smacked himself for forgetting that part. “Yeah, of course. Down the hall. It’s all yours, too. Um, the towels should be clean. Listen, I’m gonna try to get home earlier than nine. Maybe we can watch a movie or something if you’re up for it.” She shrugged. “Yeah, sure.” Wait – was she supposed to be in bed by then? He should have asked what her bedtime was. And then he wondered if maybe that would be considered uncool, watching a moving with the guy who was supposed to be your legal guardian. “Or not, y’know, whatever.” He shrugged, trying to play it as if he didn’t care either way. “I’ll see you later, okay?” “Okay.” She sat on the edge of the bed, pulling her book from her backpack. Closing her door behind him, he jogged downstairs. He wondered as he slid into the car if he should have told her anything else. She seemed like a smart enough kid. Surely she could figure out where everything was that she might need. Now all he had to do was go back to the studio and endure the judgment of Lars. “Fuck,” he muttered, throwing the car in drive. * * * * * * * * * * * * * It was dark outside when he returned, and he tried to make a lot of noise coming up the walk and closing the door so he wouldn’t startle Olivia. It didn’t occur to him until he was inside the house that it was well after 10 p.m. and there was a decent chance she’d already be asleep, so he might have just succeeded in waking her up. “Idiot,” he chided himself, and then realized she couldn’t possibly be asleep. The lights were on in the house. All the lights. “Olivia?” he called, kicking off his boots and hanging up his jacket. There was no answer. He switched off the lights in each room one by one, and made his way upstairs. Pausing in his room to toss his sweatshirt on the bed, he continued upstairs, still turning off lights. He reached the landing on the third floor and stopped in the doorway of Olivia’s room. She was curled up on top of the covers, book in hand, fully dressed and fast asleep. He flicked off the overhead light, and moved to the side of the bed, leaning over the girl’s sleeping form to pull the blanket over her. Tucking the covers around her, he glanced at her face to see her eyes open, focusing on him. He still had a hand by her shoulder and he could actually feel her start to tremble, and he suddenly remembered the reason why she’d shot her last foster parent. In a heartbeat he backed away from the bed. “I didn’t want you to get cold,” he explained quietly. She lay perfectly still, watching him carefully. He had no idea what to say, but he knew if he left the room at that moment, there was an excellent chance she’d be gone by morning. “Olivia…” “It’s okay,” she whispered. “I won’t tell.” Her eyes swam with tears, and she lay motionless under the blanket. “If you want to-” “I don’t want to,” he said firmly, crouching beside the bed so his face was level with hers. “I like women. Not little girls. I didn’t come in here for that, I swear.” God, he could have kicked himself. He desperately wanted to bundle her into his arms and apologize, but he was terrified of touching her at all. “Look at me,” he said softly when she closed her eyes, her tears spilling over onto her cheeks. “Olivia, please look at me.” She opened her eyes, staring about two inches left of him, not meeting his gaze. He reached over and gently turned her face so she’d look at him. “That’s not why I’m here. That’s not why you’re here,” he added. “I don’t want that from you.” He swallowed hard. “What happened with the last guy… that man who was supposed to be taking care of you, that’s not fucking normal. That’s not what everybody’s like.” He saw she was still crying steadily, and he had no idea how to get her to stop. “Can I get you something? A glass of water?” “No thank you,” she whispered, polite even through her tears. He stood up, hands in his pockets. “I’m sorry,” he offered, shrugging helplessly. “I just… I saw you were sleeping and I didn’t want you to be cold. I’m supposed to be looking out for you.” He smiled a little. “Not doin’ a very good job so far, am I. We should get you, like, a guard dog or something.” He crossed his arms. “There’s a lock on your door. I lost the key for it about a week after I moved in. If you wanna sleep with your door locked, if that would make you feel safer…” She said nothing, and he decided he’d better cut his losses and deal with this in the morning. “Try to get some sleep. I’m sorry I woke you.” Backing out of her room slowly, he shut the door behind him, and paused in the hallway. A minute later, there was the soft click of the deadbolt sliding across to the doorframe. “Night, kid,” he whispered. |
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| olyamet | Feb 21 2010, 07:17 PM Post #7 |
Jäger.....
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I like it a lot! More please!!! 
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| Lifer | Feb 21 2010, 08:28 PM Post #8 |
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Cowboys From Hell
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OMG! I love it! That was kinda sad at like the end with her and james. But i still love it i want more! 
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| Rhia | Feb 22 2010, 01:31 AM Post #9 |
And you are all I see...
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This is really great! And James really is a sweetheart here!
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| elena | Feb 22 2010, 04:07 AM Post #10 |
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??????????
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This story is great!I like it a lot!
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| Taimi | Feb 22 2010, 11:57 AM Post #11 |
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Junior OSA Council member
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Love eeet!!!! More, more MORE!!!!
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| metalgal4life | Feb 22 2010, 08:24 PM Post #12 |
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For liberty ...and justice for all!!
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Oh my God!  That poor girl! That nearly made me cry as well.  This story is really amazing and I love the direction it's going in!
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| Metalicious | Feb 23 2010, 06:26 AM Post #13 |
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Overkill
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Thanks for the kind replies. Here's the next installment, and we're right where we left off... ******************************************************** He woke the next morning at nine, and stretched lazily, yawning into the pillow. Seeing the clock on his bedside table, he bolted upright. “Fuck!” He had no idea what time teenagers were supposed to get up, especially on Sunday mornings, but he didn’t like the idea of Olivia being on her own for too long. What if she was already awake? What if she’d left after last night’s disaster? He hustled out of bed, practically falling over his feet in a rush to find the jeans he’d worn the night before, and yanked a clean tee shirt out of the drawer, pulling it over his head as he jogged downstairs. The kitchen was empty, as was every other room downstairs. Slowly, he headed back upstairs, hoping she was still asleep. Or at the very least, still in her room. He knocked softly on her door. “Come in,” she called, and he pushed open the door. She was perched on the corner of her bed, reading, and judging by how much further along she was on the book, she’d been up for a while. “Hey. I was thinking about getting some breakfast going before we have to head over to your school. Interested? I make decent bacon and eggs,” he smiled. “Yes, please. What do you mean, head over to my school?” “Sacred Heart. The school where you’ll be starting tomorrow. I guess there’s a bunch of stuff we need to pick up, and I couldn’t do it before cause I didn’t know your sizes or anything. Uniform stuff. Probably should get you the rest of your school supplies, too. Pencils and paper and shit. I mean stuff,” he corrected himself quickly. She leaned back on her bed, looking thoughtful. “Oh. Okay. I didn’t know there was…stuff. To get, I mean. You don’t have to go with me, though. I can get the bus or something, I don’t mind.” He shrugged. “I don’t mind either. I have time.” They went downstairs together, James leading the way, and were out the door forty minutes later. He noted she was wearing what she’d had on the day before, and wondered how he could subtly broach the subject of new clothes that weren’t part of her uniform. Pulling into the school’s parking lot, he looked through the windshield at the enormous stone building. “I think I’m getting a taste of how you must have felt yesterday when we got to my place,” he joked. She sighed. “Completely overwhelmed and intimidated?” Catching the surprised look he gave her, she backtracked. “I’m kidding.” She pushed the car door open before he could comment. They were greeted as soon as they stepped onto the grounds. “Mr. Hetfield! We’ve been expecting you.” A tall, slim woman in a pencil skirt and school blazer moved swiftly towards them. James felt immediately at ease from her friendly greeting, and knew he’d picked the right school. The fact that the woman hadn’t faltered on the phone when he’d explained the situation the week before had been his first clue that he and Olivia were in good hands, and she was no less impressive in person. He’d purposely dressed down in beat up jeans and a Venom tee shirt, with the intention of hauling Olivia out of there at the first sign of somebody looking down on him for his attire. So far, so good. This chick didn’t even glance below his face. “And you must be Olivia. What a pleasure to meet you. I’m Headmistress Gray.” Shaking both their hands, she held out an arm gracefully. “Please come this way. We can fill out the paperwork in my office, and then get you outfitted for school. I’ve looked at your records, Olivia,” she mentioned casually as they walked down the cobblestone path. “You’ve got some excellent recommendations from previous teachers, and Mr. Caines tells me you’ve gotten through a large number of books on our grade nine reading list. We can discuss putting you in an advance placement class if you’re interested.” Olivia looked at James for guidance, and he raised an eyebrow, shrugging. Fuck if he knew. “Maybe start out in your class and see how it goes? Is that possible?” He directed his question to the headmistress. “Certainly. We have a very small student to teacher ratio, and we try to cater to each child individually.” They entered through imposing double doors, and walked down a wide hallway, the headmistress’s heels clicking on the marbled tile floors. Reaching her office, she directed them to sit in the wingback chairs on one side of her desk, while she pulled another over to join them. Handing James a stack of forms, she proceeded to go through them in detail. James held up a hand after a few minutes. “Maybe Olivia could go get her uniform while I’m doing this,” he suggested. “Is that around here somewhere?” “Of course. Good idea. Come with me, Olivia.” The headmistress held out her hand, and Olivia took it after a moment of hesitation. She looked over her shoulder at James as they left, confusion written on her face, he assumed at the hand-holding. He winked and shot her a grin, hoping she’d be okay on her own, and she smiled in return. Twenty minutes later, the headmistress came back alone. “Mr. Hetfield, if you’re through with the forms, Olivia is asking for you.” He left the stack of papers on the coffee table between their chairs and stood. “Which way?” She led him down the hallway and through a series of mazelike turns until they arrived at the school shop. Olivia was standing on a stool, apparently having her plaid skirt hemmed. James stopped in front of her, amused that they were almost the same height. “Hi,” he smiled. “What’s up?” She glanced at the headmistress and the seamstress, who subtly turned away. “I don’t think I can go to this school,” she told him. He leaned in, lowering his voice to match hers. “What? Why not? Did she- did one of them say something to you? Were they mean to you? Cause I’ll-” She shook her head quickly. “No.” She stared at the floor, biting her lip. Lifting her gaze to his again, she sighed. “It’s really expensive. I don’t think I can afford it. This skirt costs forty dollars. Do you know how many cheeseburgers you can get for forty dollars?” He bit the inside of his cheek so he wouldn’t laugh. “A lot. Olivia, this isn’t something you need to worry about. You don’t need to pay for school. It’s taken care of.” She looked confused. “Did I get a scholarship? Am I on financial aid cause I’m a foster kid?” She raised her voice, suddenly sounding horrified. “Am I a charity case?” Stepping down from her stool, she clenched her fists, looking simultaneously outraged and adorable, James thought. “Am I?” she hissed. “No,” he assured her. “I’m paying for school. It’s part of the deal.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “What deal?” Fuck. Not this again. He was quick to correct her line of thinking. “The deal where I pay for school, you go to school, get okay grades, graduate and become something amazing, and I get to feel like I had a part in it because I bought you a bunch of forty dollar skirts.” She opened her mouth to speak and then her eyes widened. “A bunch? I need more than one?” “We’ll leave you two to discuss this,” Headmistress Grey interjected. “Come to my office whenever you’re ready. Absolutely no rush,” she smiled demurely, closing the door behind her and taking the seamstress with her. “I can’t pay you back,” Olivia said, still looking furious. “I don’t have that kind of money. I mean, I have plans to be a doctor and make a lot of money but that’s gonna take a while. I’m only fourteen,” she said, as if he’d somehow forgotten. Rubbing a hand over his face, James sighed. “I’m not asking you to pay me back.” She pulled at her skirt in frustration. “This is expensive! And this is only the skirt! Apparently I need a blouse and a sweater and a jumper and tights and shoes and a blazer and gym clothes!” James leaned against one of the headless mannequins, tilting his head to the side. He was growing a little tired of the drama. “Do you know what I do for a living?” She looked at him, shrugging. “Yeah.” “Yes,” he shot her a wry look. “I’m in a band. And we don’t suck. So I have a lot of money. Like, a lot,” he said firmly. “This,” he waved a hand around the room, “is fuckin’ pocket change. I’m not trying to show off,” he said when she rolled her eyes. “I’m trying to explain that paying for your schooling isn’t something that’s gonna seriously detract from my retirement fund. It’s a minor expense that means you get the best education available to you. And before you start in on the whole paying me back thing again, I’m not expecting that.” She crossed her arms, looking every inch the stubborn fourteen year old she was. “But you do have expectations,” she said. “Yeah,” he nodded. “Of course I do. I expect you to go to school. I expect you to do your best. I expect you to bring home some As and some Bs and maybe some Cs if you occasionally fall asleep in class,” he kidded, and was rewarded with a little smile. “Look, maybe this isn’t ideal, but you’re fourteen. You gotta go to school. May as well go somewhere nice. If you hate it, well, fuck it, we’ll transfer you somewhere else.” “Really?” she said softly. “Yes, really. Now, c’mon. Pick out the rest of your stuff so we can go to the pet store.” He started rooting through sweaters in an attempt to find an extra small. She moved beside him, looking up at him with an expression that held a lot of suspicion and a tiny bit of hope. “The pet store?” “Yeah,” he nodded, trying not to smile. He’d been up half the night thinking about this. “We gotta get you a guard dog, remember?” Her face lit up, a huge smile gracing her features. “I can have a dog? A real dog?” He feigned confusion. “Of course a real dog. Did you want a fake dog? Does the pet store sell fake dogs? We should really report that. Come on, hurry up and find your stuff, we only have five hours to find you the perfect puppy.” She giggled, helping him sort through sizes until they’d piled together all the garments she’d need. Arriving at the headmistress’s office several wrong turns later, James craned his neck over the massive armful of clothes. “Send me the bill? And can you please have someone assemble all the other supplies she’ll need? Notebooks and binders and stuff? We have to get to our next appointment,” he said officiously, mock glaring at Olivia when she giggled beside him. They rushed back to the car, and James bundled the clothes into the trunk, hoping they wouldn’t smell like motor oil as a result. Waiting until Olivia had buckled her seatbelt, he peeled out of the lot, squealing the tires on purpose. They spent two hours in the pet store. James hadn’t realized he had that sort of patience, but there were seven puppies in that store alone, and Olivia couldn’t decide. “They’re all so cute. Like this guy,” she wrinkled her nose, rubbing her face against a black and white beagle’s paw. “He’s so little, though. Don’t you want a big dog?” He lifted a golden retriever/Rhodesian ridgeback mix from where it was sniffing the floor, and held the puppy out to Olivia. “See? This guy’ll grow into a big strong guard dog.” She shook her head. “You just like him cause he’s got a hair cut like yours.” James burst out laughing. He’d been considering chopping off his long hair for a while now, but he didn’t think the criticism of a fourteen year old would have such resonance. Although the dog’s Mohawk did bear a striking resemblance to his ultamullet. “Fine. Who’s your favourite so far?” She looked around the floor where they’d been sitting for the last half hour. “This one,” she hoisted a husky mix off the tiles and held him out to James. The puppy gazed adoringly at James, tongue hanging out, little paws flailing. James shrugged. “Okay.” *********************************** |
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| elena | Feb 23 2010, 06:37 AM Post #14 |
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??????????
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James is such a great father! 
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| Rhia | Feb 23 2010, 06:49 AM Post #15 |
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And you are all I see...
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Aww, that dog sounds cute! And Olivia is such a lovely kid - worrying that she won't be able to pay him back.... I wonder when she'll meet the rest of the band... |
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4:13 PM May 22