Post by SalixTheWitch on Dec 4, 2014 19:27:44 GMT
Rhetorical Questions (A W/T fanfiction!)
Hello! Unlike my other stories, this one is not silly. This one is serious. For a while, at least. Hope you enjoy! Oh! And this will be a relatively long story, I think.
Title: Rhetorical Questions (you'll see why)
Author: Gabrielle (or you can call me Sal, your choice.)
Rating: PG-13 to R, for language
Spoilers: No. This has NO spoilers whatsoever. Unless you don't know that Willow is gay, in which case why the hell are you on this website?
Disclaimer: Not my people, a couple quotes are not mine, any songs I use in here are not mine, but aside from that this is all mine. MIIIINNNNEEE!!!
Feedback: Yes, PLEASE! I need to know people are reading.
Pairings: Wouldn't you like to know? W/T eventually, all others will not be said.
Summary: You ain't gettin' no summary! Er... I suppose you get a tiny one. No Sunnydale, this takes place in San Antonio, TX. Why? Because I said so. No more summary for you. Oh, and it's written in the first person, in Willow's perspective.
Email: SalixTheWitch@hotmail.com
Note: As I may have said, this is a very serious story. It won't be funny until at least next chapter.
Another note: This is a fanfiction, not a professional novel. Some things won't be accurate. Deal with it.
Another note: Willow has long hair in this fanfiction.
Sorry, another note: This won't be updated very frequently. I've had a lot going on. I'll update as I write, I promise. I'm sorry.
NOTE: Hi. I will mention this in the next chapter also, but Ira is not Willow's father in this fic. I picture Ira as a very nice man.
Last note, I promise: This has no set time period. It's just whenever.
CHAPTER 1
Late August, right before school starts. I was starting 4th grade; I was 9. We were in the car.
"Willow, what is 13x379?"
I froze. My dad always asked these questions, ones he knew I couldn't answer. "I-I d-don't know."
"QUIT WITH THAT DAMN STUTTER!" He yelled. "What is 13x379?"
I was more confident the next time, which I thought would help. I was wrong. Dad told me I should never be wrong. "I don't know."
"How the fuck do you not know?" I still winced every time he swore at me. "I've been teaching you all damn summer! What. Is. 13. Times. 379?!?"
I thought about it for a moment. I thought I could get it right. I was wrong again. "4937?"
Dad was silent. I hated when he did that. It built up the suspense inside of me and made me die a little inside.
He pulled up in the nearest alley. Oh, darn. I thought. I saw him look around to see if we were alone. Of course, we were. I was the most unlucky person on the planet. We always seemed to be alone.
"Willow Danielle Rosenberg, if you do not answer this problem correctly, I will... well, you know well enough by now. WHAT THE FUCK IS 13x379?!?!?!?"
I winced. He swore at me again. "4929?" I said, trying not to make it sound like a question.
I saw Dad get that fire in his eyes he gets when he's mad at me. He spoke in a calm voice, except it wasn't calm. It was angry. The way he said it was calm. The words we're calm. It was the force behind the words that made these words sound like a death threat, which they almost were. "No, bitch." Wince "13x379 is 4927. I don't think you have any FUCKING reason to not know this!"
He crawled into the backseat of the car so he was right next to me. He leaned in and whispered in my ear. "You'd better learn this before school starts. Now, what is 13x379?"
I saw a shadow of another car in the corner of my eye. It got closer and closer until I realized it was a cop car. Maybe one of the neighbors heard my screaming back at the house and called the police. The thought made me ecstatic. I wanted to smile so bad, but I didn't. He would kill me right there if I smiled, I knew that much. So I quickly came up with a plan. "4-4827?"
The plan worked. Dad got really really angry. He grabbed me by the collar of my shirt and started yelling at me. "Listen, you fucking cunt," EXTREME wince! "You will learn how to fucking multiply by the time school starts or I will destroy you!" He let go of my shirt and grabbed a fistful of my hair. He pulled his other fist back, preparing to punch me, when I screamed. He was used to my screaming; I think he actually liked it. It must've been what made him do things.
I screamed louder. The police car pulled up closer. Dad didn't notice the people getting out of the car and coming near ours. I screamed again. The policemen ran up to our car and opened it; Dad was against locked doors, unless it was his door. I never knew why he wouldn't lock doors with me in them.
The very nice policemen pulled my dad away from me. I would be forever grateful towards them. They dragged him to their car. Dad was yelling the whole time. "You are a fucking disgrace! You are not my daughter! You never have been and never will be!" He was right. I wasn't his daughter. Biologically, yes, but not anything else. He was never my father.
__________________________________________________________
Much, much later. First month of 6th grade. I was 11.
School. It was like a living hell for me.
Actually, no. Not like. Was. It was a living hell for me.
I was jumping between foster parents; none of them could stand my spontaneous crying and uncontrollable stuttering at seemingly random times. Dad used to quiz me every 54 minutes. He loved the number 54. He told me once that 54 was the number of times I screamed in the first week of my life.
He loved my scream. He loved my mom's scream, too. Mommy died when I was four. Nobody told me how. I never stopped calling her "Mommy," because I was four. Dad said never to call her Mommy. He said to call her Sheila. I never did. I took the extra beatings. She will always be my Mommy.
The latest victims of me were the Chase family. It sucked. There was this girl my age named Cordelia. She kept picking on me. She would ask me stuff I couldn't answer. "Rhetorical Questions" were what they were called. Stuff like "What the hell is up with you?" I would try and try to figure out an answer. When I couldn't, I would try my hardest not to cry. Dad may have liked my scream, but he hated crying. A few tears always escaped. Then Cordelia would make fun of me and swear at me. All the other kids would, too.
In TV shows, it was high school that sucked. And I read somewhere that it wasn't actually supposed to suck. It just seemed like it. So why was middle school so horrible? At least I had straight A's. That is one thing I can thank Dad for. He crammed college knowledge into my 9 year old brain. I was set until my sophomore year of college.
I wasn't really sure how this foster thing worked, but I do know that none of them lasted more than a month before they drove me to this building where I waited until they found me more foster parents. That happened again this last time. Cordelia was whispering swear words in my ear the whole time. I was uncontrollably crying the whole way there.
I was kind of a regular at the building they take me to. They all knew my name and are very nice to me. It usually takes a few days to find a new family, but this time there was a family waiting. Actually, it was just a woman and two girls my age. I hate to judge people by their appearance, but one really stood out. She had this light-ish brown hair, but I could tell she had dyed it blonde before; the tips of her hair were still lightly colored. I don't think that's why I noticed her. I noticed her because I swear I could hear the theme from A Summer Place playing, and there was no light in the room except her.
They led me to the three girls, the older one immediately pulling me into a very gentle hug. I assumed they had been aware of what had happened to me, because all the other parents were.
"This is Miss Summers and her daughter, Buffy. And this is a family friend, Tara." One of the very nice women said. Her name was Jessica. She always introduced me to the new families, except that one time when she got sick and had to stay home. I remember being upset, but it was okay. The nice woman at the counter named Alex introduced me to the family that day.
This time, though, Jessica looked happier than usual. Maybe she felt like this family would stick. Then she opened her mouth and I could tell she was about to say something.
"Willow, this family is slightly different than all the others." Jessica started. I could tell she was a little bit sad in addition to happy. I had gotten good at reading people; it was very helpful for telling what mood Dad was in. It was usually a bad mood, but sometimes he was feeling evil instead of bad.
I gave Jessica the universal "What is it?" look. I mastered saying things with her looks; I preferred to not speak unless spoken to. Another one of Dad's rules.
Jessica gave me a small, sweet smile. "These nice young ladies are going to adopt you! Or, rather, Miss Summers is adopting you."
I almost smiled. "A-adopt? Y-y-you mean..."
Jessica smiled again. "Uh-huh! You won't be coming here anymore."
I surprised myself by running up to Jessica and hugging her. Jessica was apparently surprised too, because she took a minute to respond. "You'll like these three. Tara is a lot like you." I believed her. I could sense that she was right.
We walked outside to the Maclay's car. Tara walked over to me unexpectedly. "W-we already have o-one thing in common."
"What's that?" I asked, honestly curious. I never got curious, so this was a pretty big jump.
"We b-both have an occasional stutter." She said, making me actually smile. I hadn't really smiled in months.
"S-sorry." I replied, blushing slightly. I remember, at the time, I had no idea what blushing felt like. I remember it feeling really weird. "I s-stutter every 5-54 m-minutes. It's a psychological thing, I th-think."
Tara looked at me. "Don't ap-apologize. I s-stutter almost constantly. I actually usually stutter m-more than this."
My stutter started to wear off. "How c-come you're not stuttering as m-much as you usually do?"
Tara thought about that for a moment. "I guess I l-like you more than other people."
"I like you like me." I said, realizing for the first time that when I spoke, it usually made no sense.
Tara noticed at about the same time as I did. "You talk funny." I blushed again. "No, d-don't take it the wrong way. I l-like it."
I smiled again. That was the most I had smiled since Mommy. "Do you stutter a lot with Miss Summers and Buffy?" I asked as we got into the car.
Tara looked thoughtful for a moment. "N-no. Not really. But I stutter more than I do with you."
I smiled yet again. So much darn smiling. I don't remember what made me say this, but I did. "Tara, this will sound strange, but do you swear?"
"N-n-no. Swearing makes me a-anxious."
I smiled again, then my smile faded. "My dad used to swear."
Tara pulled me into a hug. "You're t-telling me this? It just seems so... P-personal. It makes me feel k-kinda... special."
I smiled and blushed at the same time. That certainly had never happened before that moment. "Well, you are special." I started. I considered not saying the next part, but I said it. "Y-you're the only girl I've ever really talked to. I mean, there was Cordelia and Aphrodesia and Beth, but they all just made fun of me and stuff. It wasn't very fun."
Tara smiled. I could tell we were gonna be the best of friends.
Buffy was somehow silent this whole conversation. She heard us, I later found out, but she didn't say anything. I had thought it would be a beautiful friendship, but I was wrong. It would be so much more.
END OF CHAPTER
Hope you enjoyed! Sad, I know. But it was in my head FOREVER, so I just had to.
-Gabrielle (Sal)
Hello! Unlike my other stories, this one is not silly. This one is serious. For a while, at least. Hope you enjoy! Oh! And this will be a relatively long story, I think.
Title: Rhetorical Questions (you'll see why)
Author: Gabrielle (or you can call me Sal, your choice.)
Rating: PG-13 to R, for language
Spoilers: No. This has NO spoilers whatsoever. Unless you don't know that Willow is gay, in which case why the hell are you on this website?
Disclaimer: Not my people, a couple quotes are not mine, any songs I use in here are not mine, but aside from that this is all mine. MIIIINNNNEEE!!!
Feedback: Yes, PLEASE! I need to know people are reading.
Pairings: Wouldn't you like to know? W/T eventually, all others will not be said.
Summary: You ain't gettin' no summary! Er... I suppose you get a tiny one. No Sunnydale, this takes place in San Antonio, TX. Why? Because I said so. No more summary for you. Oh, and it's written in the first person, in Willow's perspective.
Email: SalixTheWitch@hotmail.com
Note: As I may have said, this is a very serious story. It won't be funny until at least next chapter.
Another note: This is a fanfiction, not a professional novel. Some things won't be accurate. Deal with it.
Another note: Willow has long hair in this fanfiction.
Sorry, another note: This won't be updated very frequently. I've had a lot going on. I'll update as I write, I promise. I'm sorry.
NOTE: Hi. I will mention this in the next chapter also, but Ira is not Willow's father in this fic. I picture Ira as a very nice man.
Last note, I promise: This has no set time period. It's just whenever.
CHAPTER 1
Late August, right before school starts. I was starting 4th grade; I was 9. We were in the car.
"Willow, what is 13x379?"
I froze. My dad always asked these questions, ones he knew I couldn't answer. "I-I d-don't know."
"QUIT WITH THAT DAMN STUTTER!" He yelled. "What is 13x379?"
I was more confident the next time, which I thought would help. I was wrong. Dad told me I should never be wrong. "I don't know."
"How the fuck do you not know?" I still winced every time he swore at me. "I've been teaching you all damn summer! What. Is. 13. Times. 379?!?"
I thought about it for a moment. I thought I could get it right. I was wrong again. "4937?"
Dad was silent. I hated when he did that. It built up the suspense inside of me and made me die a little inside.
He pulled up in the nearest alley. Oh, darn. I thought. I saw him look around to see if we were alone. Of course, we were. I was the most unlucky person on the planet. We always seemed to be alone.
"Willow Danielle Rosenberg, if you do not answer this problem correctly, I will... well, you know well enough by now. WHAT THE FUCK IS 13x379?!?!?!?"
I winced. He swore at me again. "4929?" I said, trying not to make it sound like a question.
I saw Dad get that fire in his eyes he gets when he's mad at me. He spoke in a calm voice, except it wasn't calm. It was angry. The way he said it was calm. The words we're calm. It was the force behind the words that made these words sound like a death threat, which they almost were. "No, bitch." Wince "13x379 is 4927. I don't think you have any FUCKING reason to not know this!"
He crawled into the backseat of the car so he was right next to me. He leaned in and whispered in my ear. "You'd better learn this before school starts. Now, what is 13x379?"
I saw a shadow of another car in the corner of my eye. It got closer and closer until I realized it was a cop car. Maybe one of the neighbors heard my screaming back at the house and called the police. The thought made me ecstatic. I wanted to smile so bad, but I didn't. He would kill me right there if I smiled, I knew that much. So I quickly came up with a plan. "4-4827?"
The plan worked. Dad got really really angry. He grabbed me by the collar of my shirt and started yelling at me. "Listen, you fucking cunt," EXTREME wince! "You will learn how to fucking multiply by the time school starts or I will destroy you!" He let go of my shirt and grabbed a fistful of my hair. He pulled his other fist back, preparing to punch me, when I screamed. He was used to my screaming; I think he actually liked it. It must've been what made him do things.
I screamed louder. The police car pulled up closer. Dad didn't notice the people getting out of the car and coming near ours. I screamed again. The policemen ran up to our car and opened it; Dad was against locked doors, unless it was his door. I never knew why he wouldn't lock doors with me in them.
The very nice policemen pulled my dad away from me. I would be forever grateful towards them. They dragged him to their car. Dad was yelling the whole time. "You are a fucking disgrace! You are not my daughter! You never have been and never will be!" He was right. I wasn't his daughter. Biologically, yes, but not anything else. He was never my father.
__________________________________________________________
Much, much later. First month of 6th grade. I was 11.
School. It was like a living hell for me.
Actually, no. Not like. Was. It was a living hell for me.
I was jumping between foster parents; none of them could stand my spontaneous crying and uncontrollable stuttering at seemingly random times. Dad used to quiz me every 54 minutes. He loved the number 54. He told me once that 54 was the number of times I screamed in the first week of my life.
He loved my scream. He loved my mom's scream, too. Mommy died when I was four. Nobody told me how. I never stopped calling her "Mommy," because I was four. Dad said never to call her Mommy. He said to call her Sheila. I never did. I took the extra beatings. She will always be my Mommy.
The latest victims of me were the Chase family. It sucked. There was this girl my age named Cordelia. She kept picking on me. She would ask me stuff I couldn't answer. "Rhetorical Questions" were what they were called. Stuff like "What the hell is up with you?" I would try and try to figure out an answer. When I couldn't, I would try my hardest not to cry. Dad may have liked my scream, but he hated crying. A few tears always escaped. Then Cordelia would make fun of me and swear at me. All the other kids would, too.
In TV shows, it was high school that sucked. And I read somewhere that it wasn't actually supposed to suck. It just seemed like it. So why was middle school so horrible? At least I had straight A's. That is one thing I can thank Dad for. He crammed college knowledge into my 9 year old brain. I was set until my sophomore year of college.
I wasn't really sure how this foster thing worked, but I do know that none of them lasted more than a month before they drove me to this building where I waited until they found me more foster parents. That happened again this last time. Cordelia was whispering swear words in my ear the whole time. I was uncontrollably crying the whole way there.
I was kind of a regular at the building they take me to. They all knew my name and are very nice to me. It usually takes a few days to find a new family, but this time there was a family waiting. Actually, it was just a woman and two girls my age. I hate to judge people by their appearance, but one really stood out. She had this light-ish brown hair, but I could tell she had dyed it blonde before; the tips of her hair were still lightly colored. I don't think that's why I noticed her. I noticed her because I swear I could hear the theme from A Summer Place playing, and there was no light in the room except her.
They led me to the three girls, the older one immediately pulling me into a very gentle hug. I assumed they had been aware of what had happened to me, because all the other parents were.
"This is Miss Summers and her daughter, Buffy. And this is a family friend, Tara." One of the very nice women said. Her name was Jessica. She always introduced me to the new families, except that one time when she got sick and had to stay home. I remember being upset, but it was okay. The nice woman at the counter named Alex introduced me to the family that day.
This time, though, Jessica looked happier than usual. Maybe she felt like this family would stick. Then she opened her mouth and I could tell she was about to say something.
"Willow, this family is slightly different than all the others." Jessica started. I could tell she was a little bit sad in addition to happy. I had gotten good at reading people; it was very helpful for telling what mood Dad was in. It was usually a bad mood, but sometimes he was feeling evil instead of bad.
I gave Jessica the universal "What is it?" look. I mastered saying things with her looks; I preferred to not speak unless spoken to. Another one of Dad's rules.
Jessica gave me a small, sweet smile. "These nice young ladies are going to adopt you! Or, rather, Miss Summers is adopting you."
I almost smiled. "A-adopt? Y-y-you mean..."
Jessica smiled again. "Uh-huh! You won't be coming here anymore."
I surprised myself by running up to Jessica and hugging her. Jessica was apparently surprised too, because she took a minute to respond. "You'll like these three. Tara is a lot like you." I believed her. I could sense that she was right.
We walked outside to the Maclay's car. Tara walked over to me unexpectedly. "W-we already have o-one thing in common."
"What's that?" I asked, honestly curious. I never got curious, so this was a pretty big jump.
"We b-both have an occasional stutter." She said, making me actually smile. I hadn't really smiled in months.
"S-sorry." I replied, blushing slightly. I remember, at the time, I had no idea what blushing felt like. I remember it feeling really weird. "I s-stutter every 5-54 m-minutes. It's a psychological thing, I th-think."
Tara looked at me. "Don't ap-apologize. I s-stutter almost constantly. I actually usually stutter m-more than this."
My stutter started to wear off. "How c-come you're not stuttering as m-much as you usually do?"
Tara thought about that for a moment. "I guess I l-like you more than other people."
"I like you like me." I said, realizing for the first time that when I spoke, it usually made no sense.
Tara noticed at about the same time as I did. "You talk funny." I blushed again. "No, d-don't take it the wrong way. I l-like it."
I smiled again. That was the most I had smiled since Mommy. "Do you stutter a lot with Miss Summers and Buffy?" I asked as we got into the car.
Tara looked thoughtful for a moment. "N-no. Not really. But I stutter more than I do with you."
I smiled yet again. So much darn smiling. I don't remember what made me say this, but I did. "Tara, this will sound strange, but do you swear?"
"N-n-no. Swearing makes me a-anxious."
I smiled again, then my smile faded. "My dad used to swear."
Tara pulled me into a hug. "You're t-telling me this? It just seems so... P-personal. It makes me feel k-kinda... special."
I smiled and blushed at the same time. That certainly had never happened before that moment. "Well, you are special." I started. I considered not saying the next part, but I said it. "Y-you're the only girl I've ever really talked to. I mean, there was Cordelia and Aphrodesia and Beth, but they all just made fun of me and stuff. It wasn't very fun."
Tara smiled. I could tell we were gonna be the best of friends.
Buffy was somehow silent this whole conversation. She heard us, I later found out, but she didn't say anything. I had thought it would be a beautiful friendship, but I was wrong. It would be so much more.
END OF CHAPTER
Hope you enjoyed! Sad, I know. But it was in my head FOREVER, so I just had to.
-Gabrielle (Sal)