TH&TH Chapter 44 Teaser

Err...sorry I have been so fail lately...but been kind of blocked. But I offer penance!!! A chapter 44 (part 3) teaser from Ruhnezmay POV!!!

Love me again??? ;)



RPOV
The blues are because you're getting fat and maybe it's been raining too long, you're just sad that's all. The mean reds are horrible. Suddenly you're afraid and you don't know what you're afraid of. Do you ever get that feeling?- Breakfast at Tiffany’s


　

　

Bent or broken

It’s the family tree Bent or broken

It’s the family tree

Each branch a part of a part of me

This is my tree

And it’s a beautiful tree



Dwarf or giant

It’s the family tree

Dwarf or giant

It’s the family tree

Growing just as tall as it was meant to be

This is your tree

And it’s a beautiful tree



What a beautiful tree



Strong or fragile

It’s the family tree

Strong or fragile

It’s the family tree

See how the sun shines through the leaves

This is our tree

And it’s a beautiful tree

What a beautiful tree



Sure, it’s broken

But it’s the family tree

Sure, it’s broken

But it’s the family tree

I can feel the sap running through me

This is my tree

And it’s a beautiful tree

　

"Stop being greedy, bitch," giggles Spencer in her naturally raspy American accent as I take the second deep hit off of the small, but colorful bowl we have been passing back and forth between us for the past fifteen minutes.

"Jesus fuck man, it’s my shit!" I shout over the music that blares out of the speakers of her cheap CD player that resides in the corner of our very small room. The room, which of course smells like an ash tray, and also has such grand features cracked yellow wallpaper and uncomfortable bunk beds that can fuck up your back in one night. I pass her the bowl like the generous bitch I am, smirking as I watch her take her hit off of it reverently like the adorable-in a lost puppy kind of way- mooching whore she is.

"Happy now?" I ask as she hands the bowl over to me again, reaching for the little plastic baggie at my side and refilling it with more shit.

　

It is so strange how I still prefer to dwell in shit holes like this considering how much money I have come into these past few months. That I feel most comfortable in this rundown Youth Hostel close to Head Royce that costs twenty-one dollars per night in favor of something grander in some tight arse neighborhood filled to the brim with people with their heads stuck up those very arses.

I guess you can take the bitch out of the Orphanage, but can’t take the Orphan out of the bitch.

I enjoy the cloudiness of mind the pot provides as I take another hit and hand it back over to the blonde hair blue-eyed girl that looks like the picture of innocence, but is one of the wildest bitches I have ever crossed paths with.

But I know she has a good heart deep down.

I know this because I kind have had this weird arse sixth sense/semi psychic shit going on since I was a kid. It is like information about whatever or whoever surrounds me pours into my head in this really fucking aggravating rapid succession. It all comes in so fast, that it takes everything in you to not blurt it all out as it rudely invades your head space.

But smoking like his helps. Altering my mind and making me feel as if I’m stealing the wheel for awhile and calling the shots.

But when the information wants in, it gets in, and there is no stopping it.

Spencer is a perfect example. As soon as I laid my eyes on her I picked up that she is a runaway from California who has kicked around with various dickheads of the male population, and found herself in London after five months of this, completely unplanned. She went to mass once with she was a child, but hardly recalls it, although she thinks of-the pieces she remembers-as a fond childhood memory. Her dad is a drunk, her mum bailed, and she is going to have four kids and die at fifty-four.

Harsh, I know.

Then there is the way I can make people see things I want them to see by simply touching them. I could use that ability to make Spencer-or anyone if the mood strikes me- see rainbows and sunshine right now, but I don’t particularly enjoy tampering with peoples’ minds like that for my own amusement.

So I’ve learned to keep things like this to myself in favor of scenarios like being gawked at like the biggest fucking freak in all of the UK, or being hauled off to some lab and be experimented on by creepy Scientists.

　

　

To my own credit, I haven’t been wrong once in sixteen years. And it actually comes in handy once in awhile, weeding out the twats from the good people of the world with just once glance or touch. Although it kind of gives an air of snobbery when you blow off someone you were introduced two minutes ago.

But all of it is so hard to describe. . .some people just give off good energy and bad energy the first time you meet them, and I can pick up on it no matter how harmless or sweet their outward appearance perceives them to be more than others can.

And I can’t even describe my mind hijacking capabilities without internally cringing.

Needless to say, it is hard to put off pulling the people with the good vibes into a hug and telling them how great it is to meet them without looking like a complete nutter.

This is the very same energy that lead me to seeking out that Bella Swan bird-and led me to Head Royce from Ireland to London in the first place.

All it took was a good bribe from ‘parents’ to get the greedy bastards to grovel at my feet, thus giving me free reign.

The girl had that fantastic energy that the kindest people give off that lead me to want to share some ace things with her. So before I fully comprehend how much of a fucking limb I was putting myself on, I was showing her the arboretum I stumbled upon on my nosy late night exploration of that shithole.

Admittedly, it was all in a vain effort to make her comfortable by sharing something with her and hoping she would divulge whatever information she must have held in assisting me in return. Perhaps explain why that age old instinct was pulling me to her.


But the girl is like a fucking fortress of solitude, asking more questions than she gives answers. I thought I might have been onto something right away when like she looked at me like she had just had laid her eyes on a ghost of the present, but no such luck.

It led to nothing, didn’t help my search one bit. Maybe I am losing my fucking touch just when I fucking need the fucking fuckery.

　

I’ve feel bad for avoiding Bella Swan the last few days. . . but it’s for the best. She is a good, sweet person, whereas I am just a sad Orphan.

It’s just how the cards were dealt.

The way I hear it is that my Mother gave me up for adoption when I was only one years-old to keep some boy toy around who wasn’t my Father. My actual Father was some older rich man she had been wed to for ten years before she got pregnant and they both decided they hated each other and had no use for me as a blatant, bloody reminder of that fact.

　

I doubt anyone in society ever knew the she was with child-heartless bitch.

So, off to the shitty Orphanages and foster homes Nez went. Practically touring all of Ireland in the process, nobody wanting to adopt a little bastard with a smart mouth, bad attitude, and raging trust issues.

Then I soon as I turned sixteen I got the surprise of my young life