Dad speaks up while you’re still working on your first piece of toast. “I’ve got most of the materials for the window in your new bedroom,” he says casually. “It should be done by this evening. How are you coming along with getting what you want for it?”
You hurriedly choke down the last bite of this slice of toast. A crumb catches your throat wrong, and Madison pats you sympathetically on the back as you cough loudly, reaching for your coffee. You manage to catch your breath soon enough, but you still sound a little ragged when you reply, “Alright. Emma helped me to figure out what I need for it, so I’m going to go and look in some thrift stores for some furniture soon. I’m going to ask her to come with me, since she knows what stuff looks good better than I do.” And she does. There’s no use in pretending that you’re better at figuring that kind of thing out than she is.
Dad blinks, then nods with a wry smile. “I’m glad to hear you’ve got some plans,” he says congenially. “If you need any help, just ask, okay? It could be a bit hard to get some of the furniture without a car.” You get the feeling that that’s not what he had expected to have to say, but whatever he thought he’d have to say, he seems happy that he didn’t have to say it.
You still nod, giving him a pleased smile. “Thanks, Dad.”
It doesn’t take very long to finish breakfast. Beside you, Madison waits dutifully for you to finish before she collects your plate, placing it atop her own, and heads over to the sink to quickly wash the two of them, ignoring Dad’s protests as she walks. You quickly rise to your feet and follow her over, although she just brushes you aside when you attempt to help her. There isn’t much to do anyway, and by the pleased smile on her face every time she turns to glance at you, she isn’t upset at doing them alone.
You resist the temptation to go and hold her against you as she dries the dishes, acutely aware of Dad’s occasional glances towards the two of you as he continues eating his own breakfast, but you can’t resist the temptation to slip your arm around her waist and pull her against you as the two of you once she has finished drying up and putting the dishes away and the two of you are ascending the stairs. She settles against you with a happy sigh, more content to rest against you than to make a move towards the shower as you pass it.
Once you get back to your room, you settle on your bed for a few moments, pulling a satisfied Madison onto your lap as you do so. She happily burrows against you, soaking in your warmth. You slip your hands beneath her shirt—shirts; she is indeed wearing two of them—and rest your hands against her stomach. Silence settles between the two of you, a kind of warm silence that you’re happy to leave unbroken.
It can’t last forever, but you soak in Madison’s presence for a good fifteen minutes, enjoying the way her hands play with yours through her shirts, before you shift slightly and press a kiss to her neck to get her attention. “You should have a shower, Madison,” you whisper softly in her ear.
She wiggles in your lap a little, turning to give you a teasing grin. “You just want to see me naked again,” she accuses you playfully, poking her tongue out at you. You make sure to bite it gently—and, of course, give her a quick kiss to soothe the shock—before you respond.
“I don’t think I need an excuse to see you naked,” you murmur, giving her a teasing grin of your own. Her eyes widen slightly as you remove your hands from her stomach and quickly move them down, pulling her skirt up awkwardly as far as you can, revealing her bare mound to your hungry eyes again. Your grin grows wider as you take in her shocked expression, and the lust beginning to rise through her again, before you reach down and gently brush your thumb against her slit before pulling her skirt back down. “Do I?”
She shakes her head, still wide-eyed. “N—no,” she stammers. “Of course not.”
“Good,” you reply. You make no move to get her to stand, though; your hands immediately re-settle beneath her shirts, and this time, you lay down and pull her tight against you rather than encouraging her to sit on your lap again. A shower can wait a while.
Madison stays until almost eleven thirty. It’s over an hour earlier than she really needs to be home by, but as she points out, Rick could need her home earlier than that, just in case there’s an emergency over at his restaurant.
She’s still wearing your clothes when you pull her into one last hug for the day. Her arms slip around your waist, and she settles against you with a morose sigh. “I wish I didn’t have to leave,” she says, and you can almost hear the pout in her voice.
You press a kiss against the top of her head before replying. Her hair smells like apples now. She used your shampoo. “I know,” you say glumly. “Maybe you can stay the night again in a few days?” You do have a lot of things you need to do over the holidays, but you’ll be able to make time for her. She’s busy as well, but you won’t be seeing her almost daily now. A frown tugs at the corner of your lips at the thought, before you dismiss it.
“That’d be nice,” she says softly, leaning into you. You press another kiss against the top of her head, then just enjoy her warmth for a few seconds before you have to step away with a regretful sigh and gesture for her to follow you.
Dad looks up as the two of you come down the stairs. “Ready to go?” he calls out. Madison nods glumly, her hand seeking yours out for a moment so she can squeeze it. You do make sure to follow the both of them out, though, and you don’t let go of Madison’s hand until the two of you are standing outside of your house. You would hug her again, but you can hear Dad shuffling around inside, and you don’t much feel like being teased right now—there’s enough butterflies in your stomach already.
Finally, you stroke your thumb over the top of her hand before regretfully slipping her hand out of yours. “I’ll see you soon,” you murmur.
She nods, giving you a small smile. “Good,” she replies softly. She looks like she’s about to say something more, but before she can, Dad lets out a loud cough. You start a little, turning to look at him, and—yes, he’s standing there, raising his eyebrows at the two of you. You flush slightly, letting your hands fall completely away from Madison’s and to your sides.
Thankfully, he doesn’t comment. “Alright,” he says instead, stepping between the two of you and beginning to move towards your car. “If you’re ready, we can head off now.”
“Okay.” Madison gives you another smile, this one still a little sad but very warm besides, before finally moving to follow Dad into the car. When she gets there, she stops and turns again, giving you a little wave. “See you later!” she calls out.
You wave back, a smile tugging its way unbidden over your face. “See you,” you call back, causing another little smile to spread over her face. She stays there for a moment, just looking at you, before she opens the car door and slips inside. You have just enough time to see her place her bag by her feet before the door closes and Dad starts the car.
You don’t move until he’s driven the car out of the driveway and far enough down the street that you can’t see it any more. Only when that’s happened do you move back inside, closing the door behind you and giving the shoes stacked neatly beside it a disgruntled glare. Frustration and anger war in you for a few moments before you fight them down, letting out a tired groan.
It’s hard to let go of Madison, but she doesn’t live with you—can’t live with you, at least not for a few years yet. The both of you are only teenagers, and it wouldn’t be fair to her family anyway. It just… sucks to have to sleep alone, after getting to sleep beside her for a whole night.
Abruptly, you shake your head. It’s no use thinking about it, really. It’ll only make you feel worse.
You cast around for something else to think about. Several topics flash through your mind—the topics of Aisha and Charlotte, thoughts of your textbooks upstairs, half-thought plans for the books you might buy on your next date with Amy—before you recall the texts you received from Victoria earlier.
You think about it for a moment, then move back upstairs and quickly pull some more suitable clothing from your dresser and move to the bathroom. There, you spend a few minutes changing into clothing better suited to going outside and applying makeup.
Victoria indicated that she’d call you, but Dad is already driving Madison home. You’d feel guilty asking him to drive back out again just to drop you off at the library, and come to pick you up later. It’s easier for both of you if you just leave him a note and take the bus down.
The note is a simple, terse message; “Headed down to the library. I’ll be back before dinner.” You dither briefly, then sign the message with a small smiley face and the best approximation of a thumbs-up you can draw. Good enough.
The bus schedule is different on school holidays. You’ve never really been sure why, although you think it has something to do with an initiative directed through the council a few years back, aimed at encouraging school-aged children to visit some of Brockton Bay’s facilities while they weren’t at school. It hadn’t worked, of course—you don’t know anyone besides yourself who uses the public transit system to get around, let alone to get to places like the library or museum during school holidays—but evidently it wasn’t worth the effort of reverting, because the buses still trundle up to the bus stop in front of your house every hour and a half, almost to the second.
Thus, you find yourself standing in front of the library at twelve thirty, a good hour and a half before Victoria had indicated she would be here. You could have taken a later bus, if you’d wanted, but Dad would have been home by then, and you’d have to argue him out of just driving you here himself.
Besides, it’s a library. It’s not like it’s hard to occupy yourself here.
You trudge your way up to the library, reaching into your pocket to get your library card. You probably won’t need it, but it’s reassuring to feel it there, just in case you find something you might want to read. The library always gets some new materials during school holidays, anyway. You would prescribe that to the same failed cultural programs aimed at school-aged kids as the bus initiative, but you’re pretty sure it has more to do with quarterly reports and transportation times. Or something. You don’t exactly have a comprehensive education on this kind of thing yet.
The librarian on duty, a red-haired lady who looks to be in her thirties, greets you with a fake smile as you walk in. You return it in kind, then wander over to the main aisles of the library. After a moment’s thought, you also reach back into your pockets and pull out your phone so you can turn it onto vibrate. The quiet of a library is a sacred thing, after all.
You spend nearly forty-five minutes browsing through the library’s fantasy and crime fiction collections before your phone vibrates in your pocket. You hurriedly pull it out and begin walking briskly back to the front of the library, giving the librarian an apologetic grimace as you pass. She frowns severely at you as she sees your phone in your hand, causing you to flush faintly and quicken your pace.
Once you’re outside, you hurriedly press the green answer button before the call times out. Silence greets you for a moment, then; “Hello?” Victoria’s voice comes through, amused and a little concerned.
“Hi.” Your grimace fades at the sound of her voice. “Sorry, I was in the library when you called.”
She takes a moment to respond again, causing you to frown a little. “Oh, you’re there already? Cool. That works.” She sounds a little out of breath. Concern rises through you at that. She’s a member of New Wave, after all. If she’d had a family engagement—has she been out on patrol all morning, dealing with some rising issue? “We’re not quite done here, still packing up. I was just calling to see if you’d need a lift or anything.”
You shake your head before remembering that she can’t see it over the phone. Embarrassment tinges your voice as you reply, “No, I just caught the bus. Thank you, though.”
She sounds a little more cheerful when she responds, “Of course! I’m going to be a little longer here, but I should be there in about half an hour, okay?”
“Alright.” You shrug, even though you know she can’t see it. It just feels appropriate for the response. “I’ll be waiting inside, then. Come find me when you get here?”
Someone shouts something over the other end of the phone. It’s loud enough to make you wince, and even Victoria lets out a little hiss. “Yeah, okay. Uh, I have to go, Mom and Dad are having an argument.” She groans a little. “Sorry. I’ll see you in half an hour.”
You try to reply; “That’s—“ But before you can even get the words out, the harsh dialtone of your phone rings in your ear. Your frown grows a little more pronounced. That was very abrupt. Whatever her parents are having an argument about, it’s got to be important to make her hang up like that.
Feeling a little unsettled, you pocket your phone and turn to walk back into the library. She didn’t sound injured, but, well. You hope she’s alright anyway.
It takes a short while to fight back the frown that had grown on your face as you walk back into the library and move towards the crime fiction shelf once again. There’s not really much that interests you here, but Mom had always had a penchant for reading some of the better-written crime fiction available. Most of it had been based on true crime, though. There’s still a few of them scattered around the house, although the few you’d tried to read never interested younger you.
