Chapter three - Rose - it's probably not normal to recognise the smell that paint and cum make when they mix


I am dying of a headache as I write this. I'm off school again. Yay. Stupid migraines.

Anywhore, I've been very happy with the feedback I've been getting on this. You all just wanna please me, don't ya? ;)

Well, since you've all been so good, here's your update, babies. Read on.

(Reminder: In Rose's point of view.)


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The house stank of sex when I got home. And paint. But there was nothing wrong with paint, of course. It was the sex I had a problem with.

“Dad,” I complained, an irritated frown on my face. “Do you and papa have to fuck downstairs?”

Dad emerged from the kitchen, eating a piece of toast. There was white all over him, hickeys on his neck and a spot of purple acrylic paint on his jaw. “Huh?” he mumbled, mouth full of toast.

“Must you screw my father downstairs where I can fucking smell it?”

Dad choked on his toast. “Um.”

“Yeah. I can smell it. The paint doesn’t cover it up.”

He looked like a felt a little sick. And more than a little mortified. “Sorry.”

I nodded in acknowledgment. “You better be.”

Dad raked a hand through his hair, and a flurry of chalk dust spiralled down onto the floor. With his hair out the way, more bruises and teeth marks became visible on his neck.

“Nice hickeys,” I commented, then slipped past him upstairs.

“What?” he spluttered, hand flying up to cover his neck.

I bit my lip to hide my laughter and disappeared into my room. I loved my dad, but it sure was fun to tease him sometimes.

----

Black Flag was playing through my earphones on full blast when my bedroom door opened. Papa stood in the doorway, looking a little nervous.

I shut my sketchbook and pulled out my earphones. “Hi…?” I said, raising an eyebrow.

“Hey, honey,” papa said awkwardly. “Uh. I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Is this about you and dad fucking downstairs? Cos I was just kidding about that. I don’t really mind. I spend, like, ninety percent of my time in my room. You can fuck where you want as long as you stay away from my room.”

Papa looked slightly horrified at my encouragement of him and dad having sex. “That’s… that’s absolutely nowhere near what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“No,” he said embarrassedly. “I’m sorry. We’ll– we’ll try to keep it upstairs.”

I pressed my lips together and nodded “Right.”

“Anyway,” he said, quickly changing the topic. “I just wanted to say. Uh. If you wanna talk about stuff, you know, with me, you can.”

“Stuff like what?” I asked uncertainly.

“Um…”

“Is this about crushes or something? Because I’m not talking to you about that shit.”

“Rose, language,” he cautioned, though I knew he’d given up on stopping me swearing.

“Sorry. What were you saying?”

“I mean, like, if you’re worried about things. If you’re… I don’t know, lonely or some shit. If you have a problem. You can talk to us. Me and dad.”

I narrowed my eyes. “What’s this about?”

“Nothing! I mean, there’s nothing wrong.”

“Why are you so awkward? Seriously, what’s going on?”

Papa sighed. “Your dad’s worried about you,” he admitted.

I started chewing on my lip. I’d been trying to hide how lonely I’d been lately and how isolated I felt because of being so different. Apparently I hadn’t been doing a very good job. “Oh,” I mumbled. “Worried about me how?”

This was a topic I knew he would be careful on, but I wished he wouldn’t. I wished he would just up and tell me what was wrong with me. Or tell me what he was worried was wrong with me.

“Can you just get the point?” I asked exasperatedly. “We’ve been tiptoeing around this for months. What the hell is wrong with me?”

Papa looked guilty. I knew he knew. “I don’t know, honey. I’m sorry.”

He wasn’t normally one to lie. Great. It must be some really horrible illness or something if he feels like he has to keep it from me.

“You sound like you know something,” I said bravely. “Just tell me. Please.”

“Rosie,” he said quite seriously. “I don’t know why you’re the way you are.”

“Then why do you look so guilty?” I snapped.

Papa looked taken aback. “I– I might know something. But I don’t know exactly why.”

“Well, what is it?” I asked desperately. I had to know this.

“I don’t know if I can tell you,” papa said sadly. “It might really upset Gee.”

“He doesn’t have to know. Come on. We talk about loads of stuff he doesn’t know about.”

“Yes, but this is different. This is to do with his mom. I just don’t think I can.”

“His mom is my mom. I deserve to know. He doesn’t need to know that I know, anyway.”

“I know you’re technically my daughter, Rose, but my husband deserves to know if I’m telling you things about his past.”

I sighed. I couldn’t force anything out of him. “Fine. Right. I understand.”

“Sorry, Rose, I just don’t feel like I can–”

“No, it’s fine. You know, maybe you could mention it to him and the man himself could actually come and talk to me.”

“Hey, there’s no need to be snippy,” papa frowned. “He’s really sensitive with that topic. And anyway, he’s the one who thought you could do with some cheering up, some talking to.”

“Why didn’t he just come talk to me himself?”

“Because…” Papa looked down awkwardly. “’Cos he knows you like me better.”

It was true. But I didn’t want dad to think that. “No, no, I love dad.”

“Right. Yeah. Of course.”

“No, I mean– maybe I like one of you better, but I want to love you equally. Tell dad I want him to talk to me. Tell him I’d really like that.”

“Okay,” papa said with a small smile. He got up to leave. “Remember, Rosie. You can talk to us both about whatever you want and we’ll both still love you. But though it wouldn’t be my favourite conversation topic, I’m definitely the better one to come to for crushes. Your dad would fuckin’ flip.” He grinned.

I grinned back. Papa left, and I put my headphones back in. I was in a better mood now. Papa always ended up cheering me up.

I skipped through the artists in my library to Fall Out Boy. I’d started to really love that band, especially after I looked up their background information. They were an all-black band, standing up to the power so everyone could be equal over in America. England was much further ahead in the whole equal rights thing. The USA were still pretty damn racist.

Dad told me once that he and papa used to know the singer and the bassist of Fall Out Boy. Papa even said that the two of them babysat me once when I was little. He was probably making that part up, but it was still really cool feeling like I had a connection with the guys whose music I was listening to.

Anyway, that was what music was all about. Making people feel connected. Even if they’re halfway across the world.

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The next day when I got home from school, the house did not smell of sex.

I bumped into dad in the kitchen on the way to make myself a celebratory coffee. He smiled at me briefly and awkwardly and then attempted to scurry away. I caught his arm. It made a grey mark. I grimaced for a second but shook it off.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hi there. You okay?”

“Yeah, um. I haven’t talked to you in a while. We should talk about stuff.”

“What sort of stuff?” he asked uncertainly. “Is this about crushes? Because I’m really not the one to go to. I’m telling you, papa will freak out a lot less.”

“No,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Just about stuff, you know. How’s, um. How’s your art?”

“Awesome. A bit slow. Papa gave me some help the other day. That was cool. So how’s school?”

“Uh,” I said slowly. Should I lie? That probably wouldn’t be a good idea. The point of this was to have an actual honest conversation. “Really really sucky.”

“Why’s that?” dad asked, concern etched on his face.

“No one talks to me. I’m not very clever, either.”

“What are you talking about? You’re the cleverest kid I know. And why isn’t anybody talking to you?”

I shrugged. “They think I’m weird. And dad, you know I’m only good at psychology and art. I’m horrible at everything that counts.”

“I still don’t know my four times table and I’m thirty three. Frank can’t spell for toffee. I say if you won’t need it later in life, then you don’t need to stress about it now.”

“I’ve still got to try.”

“Yeah, well. I’ll tell you a secret. I only went to school up to ninth grade and I’m fine now.”

“Seriously?” I snorted. “Wow. How’d you manage to get out?”

“I had to look after Mikey when he was sick. And anyway, the teachers didn’t care as long as they got paid.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, I like England. It is quite nice to learn sometimes.”

Dad laughed. “Nice to know you’re taking initiative.”

I grinned. The coffee machine clicked and I turned to pour it out.

“I’ve got to go do some painting. I’ll see you later,” dad said. “And thanks, Rose. This was pretty nice.”

I smiled to myself. I’d got through to both my parents in just a couple of days. I knew they’d tell me what I wanted to know now.


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I'm starting a thing. A THINGY. I'll ask you a weird personal question at the end of each chapter of this fic, and if a whole bunch of you comment then I'll answer it too ;) Please feel free to PM me if you have any ideas for questions!

"What was the last lie you told?"


xoxo