Watching Her Chapter 27 - Violet Parr

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Chapter 27 - Violet Parr - The Incredibles
Violet is very solitary and shy. Once you get her to open up, you will find that she is outspoken and stubborn with a dash of sarcastic thrown in.
BPOV - This coincides with Edward's Chapter 25

I can feel him out there watching me.

Not that there's much to watch since all I'm doing is laying here, huddled under a blanket that smells like wet leaves, pine trees. If I try, or more likely if I imagine hard enough, I can smell the smoke from the fires my dad used to make when we'd go camping when I was little. I pull the blanket tighter around me and ignore the sting in the corner of my eyes when I realize there's no smoke smell at all.

How could there be? Charlie's been dead a little over seven years now, so it's just another case of wanting what I can't have.

I wonder how long he'll stay tonight.

I should play for him. I like playing for him, but I just can't tonight. There are no notes in my head, no rhythms begging to be played. All I can think about is the notebook in his hands right now and what he's going to think when he reads what I've written.

Did I make a mistake in trusting him? I wonder for the five hundred thirty-ninth time … at least. I hope I didn't. I honestly don't think I did.

I reach into the pocket of my hoodie and wrap my fingers around the sweet, silly pen he left me. I run my finger through the plume of fluff on the end, and smile slightly when it tickles. How something so ordinary can make me feel like laughing and crying at the same time, I have no idea.

The music in the background makes me smile, but it's bittersweet. The achingly familiar beat of Led Zeppelin's Stairway to Heaven causes the tears I've been trying to hold in to fall, sliding down my cheeks and then down the side of my nose. The hot tracks cool from the damp night air and I pull the blanket tighter around me.

Can he hear the music? Can he see me cry?

I'm not sure, but I think the answer might be yes to the first and no to the second.

I close my eyes and let the music wash over me and try to just let go and breathe. I run my fingers through the fluff on the end of the pen and concentrate on trying to relax. My mind wanders and I can't help but smile at how upset and sincere Creeper sounded in his letter apologizing about not showing up for one night.

Not going to lie, it hurt … and it scared me how badly it did hurt. Then I got pissed at myself for being upset; then I got worried that he'd never come back and I'd never know who he was.

Of course his reason for missing is totally understandable, and he definitely did not owe me any sort of explanation and for damn sure not an apology. Apologize for what? Not spying on me? As if that even makes any sense at freaking all. The apology was sweet though, in a weird, messed-up kind of way and the pen … well, I think I love it more than the drumsticks. Not sure what that says exactly. Maybe not anything, maybe it means everything. My brain's full of too many things right now to think about it too much.

He makes me feel, and I think that's what scares me the most.

When Mom had her … accident, I just shut down for a while. My friends in Phoenix, not that I had a whole hell of a lot of them to be honest, didn't know what to say to me, which was good because I didn't want to talk about anything. Phil asked Maggie and she came to live with us because he was on the road so much. I refused to go to school, needing to be with Mom as much as possible. Phil didn't argue too much. I think it's probably because he wasn't sure exactly what to do. I'm not sure he does even now.

He tries though, he really does. I know that Phil's doing the best he can, but he's floundering just like I am. I know he cares, but his wife is laying in a hospital bed, here but not really here in this agonizing state of limbo, and now he's responsible for a child that isn't even his. What can he do?

After Dad died, it was just me and Mom for a few years, and then she met Phil. She was lucky enough to find two men that she truly loved. Mom and Phil have been married for five years … but she hasn't been here for over a year. What can be expected from Phil? I love him, I do, but he's not my dad, and he doesn't try to be. Without Mom here, there's this hole, this glaring empty space that's supposed to be filled by her, by her laugh and her smile and her goofy dresses and the weird food she insists tastes better than it looks. Phil's a great guy. I'm not angry at him, but he has no idea what to do for me. That's not his fault; it's not mine either … it's just another thing in this whole screwed-up mess that just simply is. He does what he can, like my building. I thought it was really nice of him to build me an escape. I think he was trying to make sure I didn't sink any further by being in a small town and not knowing anyone. I can't blame him.

I'm lost, too.

Now, here we are in Forks so that Phil can give me what I want and keep Mom at home. Mags came with us from Phoenix, Phil's always traveling, and I'm all alone. Well, other than Creeper, and I'm starting to really depend on him being here.

Funny how that's happened. At first, I couldn't imagine how anyone could do what he does, just watch someone, and now … I can't imagine him not being out there.

I'd planned on just keeping to myself, getting through this last year of school, and taking care of Mom. Phil told me to take as long as I needed. I'm not ready to give up on her yet, and I don't know when I will be, if ever. How can I? I know if the situation were reversed nothing could make my mom give up on me. Nothing. I've done the research. I know people can wake up from this. All of the doctors, Maggie, Phil, tell me not to get my hopes up, but I have to believe there's a chance. Because if I don't, the alternative means that she's gone. I'm just not ready to be an orphan yet.

I thought I could get through this by myself, but once Creeper started watching and writing to me, not to mention leaving me presents, I realized how much I missed having contact with someone I could just vent to … someone to talk to me and just … be there.

Now there is someone … a nameless, faceless someone, who wants nothing more than to be my friend. At least that's what he says. I believe him. I'm not sure why I do, but I trust him when he says he wants to be here for me. It's not just because I want to believe him so badly, that I need to believe there's someone out there I can trust with things that make me feel like screaming at the top of my lungs or that I'm scared of. It's because he keeps coming back, night after night, when he doesn't have to. It's because I feel a sense of peace that I didn't know I was missing until he showed up, when he's out there; it's from knowing I matter to someone enough to do something as silly and sweet as giving me a ridiculous pen just to see me smile.

I really hope he comes back. I guess I need to admit to myself that he's my friend … or he will be if he comes back and doesn't run in the other direction. Please don't let him do that. I can't handle being left again. He's come back night after night, and hasn't given up on me yet, but I need to acknowledge this is different. This is me giving him something that he can use against me. What I wrote to him could be just too much for someone to have to deal with, and while I don't want him to run, I can't help but think I wouldn't blame him if he did.
I look out into the darkness, and wipe the tears from my face again.

Please come back, Creeper.
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