Welcome Guest [Log In] [Register]
Welcome to Ocean Of Stars. We hope you enjoy your visit.


You're currently viewing our forum as a guest. This means you are limited to certain areas of the board and there are some features you can't use. If you join our community, you'll be able to access member-only sections, and use many member-only features such as customizing your profile, sending personal messages, and voting in polls. Registration is simple, fast, and completely free.


Join our community!


If you're already a member please log in to your account to access all of our features:

Username:   Password:
Add Reply
L'enfant du Paradis; Cyrus & Adrienne
Topic Started: Feb 8 2010, 11:00 PM (133 Views)
Ammy
Unregistered

The last person Cyrus had expected to see was Esther.

And Esther carrying a baby? Even stranger, so much that Cyrus thought he was hallucinating. Made all the stranger by the fact that he hadn’t so much as touched any marijuana. Well, maybe a little, but not enough to hallucinate. Could alcohol make him hallucinate.

“Esther, what are you doing here?” his words sounded slurred to his own ears, he wondered briefly if Esther could even understand him. Then again maybe she was drunk too.

“I can’t keep it.”

“Keep what?”

“Her.”

Cyrus stared at the child in her arms, a chill went down his spine. Her. He could see it in the infant’s face, and that hair. It was… “Mine?” he breathed, eyes wide. Cyrus went cold all over, suddenly feeling like throwing up. “It’s not, it can’t be.” Esther fooled around a lot, it could be anybody’s kid. Not his. Cyrus wasn’t a father—couldn’t be a father. He pitied whatever brat ended up as his—

“Yeah, it has to be.” Esther didn’t sound upset about losing the baby, only bored and tired. Her eyes were half-lidded, maybe they were both stoned. “I didn’t sleep with a guy and a few weeks later—pregnancy test.”

“This better not be a joke, it’s pretty f***ing cruel.”

“Not a joke.”

“Then…” he stared at the blonde child in Esther’s arms. Asleep, nestled into her mother’s chest, not having a clue that she was about to be given up. Cyrus, through his drunken stupor, felt… pity? Maybe that was it. His head hurt too much to decide. But he wanted to take the kid and give her to someone who could take care of her.

“Yes,” Esther was sounding annoyed now. “The kid’s becoming a pain to deal with, crying every other hour and throwing up everywhere. It’s hard to break into the music industry smelling like vomit.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Keep her.”

“And do what?”

Esther scowled. “I don’t care, just take her.”

She shoved the child into Cyrus’s arms, nearly sending him careening into the street. He held the kid to his chest, and his hands cradling her small blonde head. “What’s her name?” This was his kid. It would sound crazy once he sobered up, but he just knew.

“I call her baby, but her name is Adrienne,” Esther said. She pulled out a lighter and smoked. “Good luck.” And she walked, or stumbled, away.

Cyrus stared at the baby girl in his arms. “Adrienne…”
Quote Post Goto Top
 
Ammy
Unregistered

Bassam shut the door in his face.

Cyrus rubbed his nose where the door had hit it, scowling. Inside, he heard the older man cursing to himself in Arabic. He should have expected this, but Cyrus had always thought Bassam was joking when he had told Cyrus he was a dirty, rotting pig who didn’t deserve any help. “Bassam—“

“Go away!” he heard through the door. “I only help those who want to help themselves.”

“It’s different this time.”

“That’s what they all say.”

“Bassam... please,” Cyrus said, desperate. There was only one man in the world who could help him. Only one, and he had shut his door in his face.

Silence. No response from Bassam, and Cyrus had thought he’d left. Cyrus made to leave, when the door opened and a gruff voice said, “What is it?”

Cyrus beamed and turned around, wanting to hug the man. “Thank you, thank you, you’re too good, Bassam, too good.”

Bassam snorted. “I know, now what is it you want?”

“Cold Turkey.”

“What?”

“I want to stop. Drugs, I mean, alcohol too. Everything.”

Bassam looked at Cyrus, raising an eyebrow. “We have tried that before, remember?”

Cyrus smiled sheepishly, a little ashamed. “Yes... well, I have a reason.” He didn’t wait for Bassam to ask to guess. “Adrienne... my daughter.”

“I pity the child already.”

“So do I, but do you think you could care for her. Until—until I get back on my feet?”

The older gentleman scratched his sideburns and considered Cyrus a moment. His eyes were tired and his breath still smelt of alcohol, but he wasn’t drunk. Cyrus hoped that was a point in his favour. Though the bottle in his hand probably took it away again. “Cyrus, you swine, you have to take care of this child yourself.” Bassam paused, waiting for it to settle in before saying, “But I will take care of you. Give me that bottle.”

Cyrus looked at the man questioningly, one eyebrow quirked. He half-expected him to get it smacked over his head. Bassam took the bottle, and smashed it on his door. “I will help you, but I swear to Allah if you fail that child I’ll string you up for the whole world to see your shame.”

Cyrus grinned. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”
Quote Post Goto Top
 
Ammy
Unregistered

Cyrus couldn’t believe he was doing this. The man in the other room terrified him.

His eyes were cold, and his lips, they never so much as twitched into a smile. They had hardly spoken since Cyrus was a boy. And even then, conversations were few and far between. Few words were ever exchanged between the father and son. He wasn’t sure why he came back, until something stirred in his arms. Adrienne. Her small hands grasped his shirt, she was asleep.

She deserved to at least know her grandfather, as Cyrus had known his. He gulped, running a finger over Adrienne’s head. “Donnez-moi courage,” he muttered. To whom, or to what, he didn’t know. Maybe a god he didn’t believe in, maybe to the child he held in his arms. She had been his reason for quitting drugs, and why he was sober right now. She was his courage. Maybe, just maybe, Adrienne would help an estranged son reconcile with his father.

The door to his father’s room was as he remembered it. Dark, stained with age. Not as large as when he was a boy, but just as intimidating. He knocked. No doubt his father knew Cyrus would show up sooner or later, his mother had made his homecoming no secret. “Papa...?” he called softly. “C’est moi. Cyrus.” Of course his father knew it was him. Gabriel at least knew his old son’s voice.

There was no response, only a soft creaking from within the room.

Cyrus took a breath, hugged his child to his chest. He opened the door slowly, wincing as it moaned. Everything was the same. The old photos of navy buddies and ships decorated the walls, maps were unfolded on the desks. Musty copies of books littered the floor. And in the centre of the room there was a man. He faced away from the door, so Cyrus could see only the top of his grey head.

Creak. Creak.

He hadn’t so much as turned his head. Still staring out at the bayou. Eight years, maybe nine, and nothing had changed.

Creak. Creak.

Cyrus wanted to bolt, to run away, like he had when he was a kid. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t. “Bonjour, Papa...” His father, remembered, hated it when Cyrus spoke French. He cleared his throat. “I have someone I want you to meet.”

Cr-creak.

There was a slight pause, then a return to that incessant rocking, like the movement of a boat. At least he was listening. Cyrus moved forward and blocked his father’s view of the bayou. He held out Adrienne, still sleeping soundly. “Je vous-presente... ta petite fille.

Creak. Creak.

Those eyes. They weren’t staring at him, they weren’t staring at Adrienne. Like a dead man’s eyes. “Elle—elle s’appelle Adrienne.” Cyrus was a man full-grown, why in front of Gabriel did he become a boy? Trembling and afraid, it was pathetic. He laughed nervously. “Maman always said I’d get mine own one day, guess she was right. Bet she didn’t expect it’d be something so cute.”

“I’m taking care of her, though,” said Cyrus, serious. “Nothing bad will happen to her, I promise. She’s my daughter and... je s’aime.

Creeeeak.

“Dammit, could you at least look at her!” he snapped, holding Adrienne before Gabriel. His eyes didn’t so much as flicker. “Look at her!” Cyrus could feel himself growing hot, a lump formed in his throat and try as he might it wouldn’t go away. “She’s not the one who ran away, or the one who stole your money. Look. At. Her.”

Creak. Creak.

Cyrus had to go. Now. Before he started to cry in front of his father. “Fine, be a child.” He said, kicking the rocking chair. It twisted, nearly throwing his father off. No longer was he facing the bayou, but a family portrait. One of Cyrus when he was ten, when his father still had his legs. Gabriel flinched, the first movement Cyrus had seen all day. He looked away, but not at Adrienne, but at the floor.

“Rot in your own misery, for all I care,” Cyrus said as he left. “I’m going to make my own happiness.”
Quote Post Goto Top
 
« Previous Topic · Character Flashbacks · Next Topic »
Add Reply