Post by Grace Claudia-Jackson on Dec 11, 2009 23:41:33 GMT
Here is a short history of why Melville and Diane are always at each other's throats. The reason why it's written here and not in roleplays is because the truth has been so twisted in both of their minds that neither would ever tell what really happened....
The staircase creaked loudly under Melville’s heavy feet stomping their way up as he muttered under his breath, repeating over and over “Not involved in all this,” each time sounding more mocking and believing the words less and less.
Melville was fifteen, and Diane was fourteen, and for the past few months Diane and her father had been staying at the Melville’s more often than not. Diane’s mother had been missing for almost nine months, and things were looking grim; already it was old news to most of their friends, and people everywhere had assumed to worst. Only Diane and her father seemed oblivious to the fact that hope was lost.
Melville was under no delusions. In his mind, the answers were clear; she had left; taken the money she had borrowed from every dodgy scam artist from miles around and fled, probably getting herself killed in the process. Even if she hadn’t, he knew that there was no point in clinging onto someone who wanted to be lost. This, of course, is what he had assumed from the little that he had heard. He had drifted through the house for months, listening to snippets of conversations through doors and read opened letters left lying around. If he didn’t, then he would have never even known what was wrong. Since the McLain’s arrival, not one of them had ever thought to tell Melville why they were invading his home.
He continued to mutter the words under his breath, the words which he had been cast away with. The police had come to their house yet again, but for once he was in the room with them all, ready to listen to the information without a door between him and it. But instead he had found himself thrown out, asked to leave as his own mother explained to the police “It’s alright, he’s not involved in all this.”
He walked into his room, slamming the door behind him. He was furious, and didn’t care who knew about it. He looked around, realising suddenly that he hadn’t stepped into his room - his room, while Diane was there, would always unofficially be the spare room.
He snapped. He was angry at his mother for casting him out for the chance of a fake daughter. He threw his fist into the door, bending and twisting the wood. He was angry at everyone for assuming that he didn’t care, when he had known her mother too. His arms dragged along the table that was cluttered with Diane’s things, smashing bottles and boxes and God knows what else. He was angry at Diane for taking over his life, his house and everything that mattered to him. He took her bags and suitcases and threw them all over the room, causing as much damage and chaos as he could.
He breathed heavily. It had taken a lot out of him, but overall he had felt better from his destructive rampage. He heard a dropping sound from behind him, and knew that Diane was back, staring at the room in soundless horror.
Diane’s eyes were wide, finding the tears that she had just shed evaporating quickly from her red hot cheeks. She looked around, each broken item a memory of her mother that she would never get back. The police had just told them that they were calling off the search and that, in the eyes of the law, her mother was dead. From that, to seeing that every piece that would be newly cherished as a key to a memory shattered... she couldn’t think, could barely breath, Her breath came in short, hot bursts, as finally she turned her attention to Melville, who stood in the middle of the room, just turning around to see how his efforts paid off. “You...” it was the only word that she could say, but it sounded like it had come from some ancient demon rather than Diane. She stepped forward, her pure anger so wild that even Melville took a step back, finding himself falling back onto his bed, staring at her in fear. He held out his arms to protect himself from whatever she planned, afraid.
“Do you know what that is?” she asked, pointing at the splinters of wood in the far corner, “That’s the jewelry box my mum bought me on my tenth birthday. My dead mother.” Her eyes remained wide and bloodshot, too hot to cry. “And that? That was the dress she helped me change when my Dad bought one two sizes too big. And this-“ she grabbed his hand, and his eyes flung open, a searing pain running through his body. Her hand was blisteringly hot, burning away at his hand. She gritted her teeth, keeping her grip tight as he tried to struggle away from her, “This is the pain of finding your mother is dead, and finding that everything you ever had has been destroyed by an immature. Little. Brat.”
She dropped his hand, letting him fall down, writhing in pain as he held his hand, his eyes streaming with tears as a barricade of swearing fired at Diane, from the twisted to the dangerously personal. He wasn’t even sure what he was saying in his blinding pain. She heard every word, though, each one tearing at her soul a little more before she didn’t even see Melville anymore. He was lower to her then any murderer ever could be.
The door opened, and the two parents entered the room, looking around them in horror, watching Diane standing and staring at Melville with hate, Melville still writhing in pain. They held Diane, told her everything would be alright, coming up with ideas on how to fix all of her broken items. Melville watched them, hardly able to believe that his own mother was choosing her over him, even as he lay beneath Diane’s abuse and she stood over him coldly. ‘This isn’t fair...’ he thought, remembering every time he had hurt her, desperate for them to notice that he even existed.
“What happened to Seth?” his mother asked Diane, obviously assuming that whatever it was that he deserved it.
Diane shrugged, letting her hair fall over her face as she said with a small smile, “He tried to throw my straighteners,” as if all karma had been restored.
“Now Diane, you know not to leave them on,” his father disciplined weakly.
“I’m sorry,” she said, and no more was heard of it. They accepted the lie, and Melville was too stubborn to correct them, even retelling the lie, just to stop people from accusing him of lying. Diane had strength in honesty and alliances, and there was no way he could ever convince people otherwise. Even if he could, she would be able to twist it, make it sound like it was exactly what he deserved.
From then on, Diane and Melville played a very dangerous game. Behind the scenes they would destroy each other’s lives, and whenever their fights were brought into the limelight Diane would cry like a ham actress, telling the world how it was all Melville’s fault and lying comfortably in the bed of lies she had spread about him. Melville would fall, and fight back twice as hard, spending every moment trying to let the world see his step-sister’s true side.
To Diane, it was a very different battle. She spent every moment caught in the moment when she saw her life ruined. Even before then, Melville had used Diane’s pain to get his own attention, and not wanting to hurt those around her, she had only retaliated when she knew others wouldn’t get involved. She made it her duty to warn others to never trust him, her only hope that the world would see the pain that the world would see her step-brother’s true side.