A Place of Its Own

Prologue:

Without a doubt, the development of the human mind is a fascinating process. Through each stage of our lives, different events can effect our minds to many extents. From the womb to the tomb, we have different sets of needs. The manner in which these needs are met can drastically impact a person's development and effect their lives in ways that most people would not even think of.

For many years, people have studied the effects of traumatic events on the mental development of children. In America alone, there are numerous cases such as this, documented or otherwise. Some of these children, with time, overcome their problems and become thriving, successful adults. Sadly, not all do. Many of these children, in fact, develop behavioral issues, and become what we know as 'troubled youth.'

Those fortunate enough to find help are better off in many ways. For those children stuck in situations that are not condusive to their recoveries, what can possibly be done?

The room was rather hot, and, with the exception of the desk that was lit by a yellow lamp, it was pitch black. At this sat a man, tapping his pencil in irritance. Sweat formed on his brow and trailed down his stubble-covered jaw. He grit his teeth angrily and tugged at a cluster of his sand-colored hair; delirious green eyes skimmed over the paper that he was writing on.

Sighing to himself, he put the pencil down with force, producing a sound that wasn't quite as pleasing as he would have liked it to be. He leaned back in his creaky chair and pulled his glasses off, throwing his head back, closing his eyes, and sighing in exhaustion.

He sat that way for a moment, listening to the sounds of the night outside. He let his senses mingle in the tranquility; it was a nice break from the turmoil raging through his mind.

Hearing these noises, though... it was bittersweet.

Memories came rushing back to him like wildfire. A sad smile formed on his pale lips, and he opened his eyes, looking up at the darkened ceiling. He chuckled bitterly, and raised his hand to rub his eyes.

So many wonderful days and nights shared here... with her. Oh, how he longed to see her smile again! Just to be in her presence again, just to be able to take in her scent...

Raising his head, he sat upright once again, looking down at the drawer.

No. He didn't need to look at that stupid photo. His memories alone were vivid enough without it. Did he want to drive himself into sadness again by brooding on the past?

"That's not what she'd want... you need to finish this article... she's waiting to read it, you know."

He stood up and stretched, dragging his tired feet to the window, where he threw open the previously closed curtain. The moonlight was gorgeous tonight, though adjusting his eyes was a rather painful process. "She's halfway across the world working her ass off and you're sitting here like a lost puppy. Grow up..." he told himself.

Looking at the clock, he discovered that it was 1 in the morning. "I might as well quit for the night..." he walked back to the desk, closed his book, organized his things, and turned the light out, staggering off into the bedroom of his lonely apartment.

__________

- End of Prologue

Chapter One

The monotonous whistle of the water pipes was damned near infuriating. Typically, one would get a shower not only to wash away the grime and dirt of the day, but also to clear one's thoughts and relax oneself. Sadly, all this shower did for Adrian was add to his irritation. Drooping his head, he let the cool water run freely through his sand-colored hair. His green eyes followed the suds as they were cascaded down the drain.

He'd been rudely yanked from his not-so-peaceful slumber by the ringing of his phone; now, he was getting a cold, noisy shower so that he could go to work, where he was prematurely summoned.

At least today he only had to do Emilio's job. Emilio, of course, had called off again. But stocking the shelves was much easier than working the deli, let alone butchering, and Adrian preferred it any day.

He turned off the shower and, thankfully, the whistling ceased. Stepping out, he grabbed a towel, dried himself off, and threw on his clothes. His clumsy hands fumbled around the counter, searching for his glasses. When he heard them fall into the sink, he gnashed his teeth. Muttering a faint curse, he reached into the sink and grabbed them, drying them off with his shirt.

Exiting the bathroom, he grabbed his messenger bag and his keys. His eyes scanned the room. "Did I forget anything?" he wondered. In that moment, he realized that he hadn't even combed his hair. "What a putz you are!" he thought. He scurried to the bathroom and combed his damp, messy hair. The clock chimed, notifying him that 10:00 AM had arrived. "Ah, crap!"

Checking himself to make sure there was nothing else he'd forgotten, he was finally set to go. He half-walked, half-ran to the door, which he locked behind him, and ran down the stairs, to the lobby, and out of the apartment building.

When the brisk air hit his skin, Adrian realized he probably should have grabbed a jacket. It was still late summer, but sometimes it got surprisingly cold at night, which lingered into the morning. Rolling down the sleeves of his flannel shirt seemed sufficient enough; at least it took the chill off. He wrapped his arms around himself for a bit of extra warmth and continued on his way, scanning his surroundings as he did so.

The town was by no means large, or even tidy. It was a small, shabby rural community; shabby old building exteriors, shabby sidewalks and roads, shabby people, shabby everything. Despite the town's raggedy state, everyone seemed very friendly. Most of the people knew everyone else, except those who commuted from outside of town to attend the community college there. Adrian had only lived there for about a year, but he was already familiar with most of the people who shopped in Simmons' Grocers.

Until he'd moved there to attend college, Adrian had been in and out of various towns and cities, in various foster homes, since he was eight years old. Of all of the places he had been, this town was easily one of the smallest. Living here, he thought, was a nice change of pace. He was finally on his own, and a town like this seemed ideal for him. It may have been a shabby place, but its parks and outdoor scenery were absolutely amazing. Frequently, he would go to a spot near the park on the edge of town before or after work just so he could relax and let his thoughts flow through his hand and onto the paper in his brown leather-bound book.

While the town itself may not have been aesthetically pleasing, Adrian found that the town's nature was nothing but a positive stimulus for him; and especially for his writing.

Actually, that writing is what he was going to college for. Journalism was his major. While not very political, he did have some firm beliefs and values which usually fuelled his passions and enabled him to write some strong, gripping papers in his past years.

His feet led him to a familiar parking lot. When he looked up, surely enough, he saw Simmons' Grocers. A stout, tanned-skinned man with grey-white hair came out of the door. "O'Malley, get your ass in here! You're late!" The man disappeared back into the store, and Adrian rolled his eyes and hurried to the glass door. He made his way to the staff room to punch in and change his clothes.

Shuffling over to his locker, he slipped off his flannel shirt and placed it on the small metal hanger inside. He pulled his apron and a small ponytail holder from his messenger bag, and then shoved it inside the locker as well. Turning away, he shut the locker door with his foot, and threw on his apron. His hands fumbled with his hair until he had a small enough clump of excess in the back to tie up in the band he had brought. Lazily, he stalked over to the cart full of boxes, topped with the 'sticker gun' and its ammunition, that waited for him. "Hm... veggies today, eh?" he mused, quirking his lip in an awkward manner. He gripped the handle of the cart and took it to the aisle assigned.

The store was nothing special. It was old and small, or medium-sized at best. The lighting was bad, so the store was dim, which gave it a dirty appearance, or perhaps added to the preexisting one. But, the thing that irritated Adrian the most was the smell. It smelled like ‘old,’ as Adrian called it; aged wood, stale air, and the old people that shopped there. To say the least, this store was just as shabby as the rest of the town.

Using the tools allocated, he got to work. His clumsy hands fumbled with the cans, but he began to adjust to what he was doing. After he got into a rhythm with his work, he let his senses take more notice of what was happening around him. A familiar Fleetwood Mac song began playing on the radio.

He began to hum along to the tune.

The tune reminded him of his days back at home, when he still lived with his parents. He could recall one day when he came home from school, his mother was in the kitchen preparing dinner, and that was the song playing. Her beautiful voice sang in time with Stevie's.

"... Rhiannon..."

He could recall the way she turned to him, smiled happily, and welcomed him home. "Would you like to help me, Adrian?" She asked. Then a dark shadow was cast onto the kitchen floor. When Adrian looked up, he found his father standing in the doorway with a nearly empty liquor bottle in his hand.

"O'Malley!"

Adrian looked up at Mr. Simmons. "What is it, sir?" he asked. The man huffed and poked Adrian in the chest. "You slob; look at you! You grabbed your Deli apron! It's filthy!" The young man looked down at himself in shame. "I'm sorry, sir." He said, still staring at all of the brown stains on the apron he wore. Simmons growled under his breath, but shrugged. "What the hell are we gonna' do with you, you scatter-brain? Quit singin' and get back to work!" He shook his head and stomped off to tend to other things. "I don't understand how that boy can be so intelligent, yet be such an airhead!"

"We still need some beans." He heard a man say. "Oh? Down here!" a female's voice answered. "Oh, that's the weirdo from my english class."

"Oh, shush! You're terrible!"

"No, seriously… Bradley said somethin' to 'im one day about his essay an' he went apeshit on 'im. Some crazy shit about Brad trying to make small talk; asked the guy about his essay, then made a joke about it, an' he flew off the handle."

It was then Adrian realized this man was referring to him and his eyes narrowed a bit.

"Stop it, will you? He's right there! I'm sure he can hear you, you idiot!"

"Doubt it. From what Brad said, the guy just sits an' daydreams."

"Matt!"

"What?"

Adrian sighed and bit at his bottom lip. He looked up at them from his spot, crouched on the floor. He spotted a tan skinned young man in jeans and a football jersey with spiked blonde hair and grey eyes. The young woman had pale, warm skin, long dark brown hair, and hazel eyes, which widened when they saw him looking at the two of them. "Come on, Matt." She said. Her cheeks were red with embarrassment as she grabbed the man beside her and they shuffled into the next aisle.

“What the hell, Lyn?!”

“Shut up, Matt! Let’s go!”

Sighing, he watched until they were out of sight. This event irritated him, and he angrily finished his work. The day went by slowly, but the time finally came and his shift ended. As if to spite him, upon stepping out of Simmons' Grocers, Adrian felt rain beginning to fall on his head. He growled to himself and threw his bag onto his shoulder, making a run for his apartment.

Adrian deduced that there was going to be a storm; the sky looked threatening. Above him, the clouds were dark grey, and in the distance, they faded into a creamy orange color. He judged this not only by the look of the sky, but also by the smell in the air. It stunk when it rained in this town, but when there was a storm brewing, something about the smell made him want to wretch. It reminded him of his father, when he would drag in from a long day of working outside, smelling something like an drunken dog might have smelled.

Upon arriving at the complex, Adrian headed up the stairs, to his room. He opened the door, flung his bag down, and kicked off his shoes. Lazily, he stalked over to one of the end tables by the couch, where sat a fish bowl. Picking up a small, cylindrical container, he unscrewed the lid and took a pinch of fish food, sprinkling it in the water.

He looked down at the goldfish, who returned the glance. “Hello, Sampson. Sorry, bud, I’d stay up, but I’m tired.” A bubble came up from Sampson’s mouth, which flapped open and closed incessantly. Adrian chuckled to himself and went back to lock his door. He dragged his tired feet to his bedroom, closed the door, and flung himself onto his bed. He lay with his face halfway in the pillow, his eyes glazed over as he stared at the wall.

As the thunder began to roll, so did Adrian’s though. This turmoil was familiar to him.

Chaos rampaged in his mind, yet he felt calm enough to gently close his eyes and drift off to sleep.
_______

- End of Chapter One