Beauty by @((Y^!@ Allyvia (best english books to read .txt) 📕

Avery looked at her, pain written on his face. He wasn't sure what to say. His thoughts weren't something she could just seek out, like all the other dull, predictable residents of Wickerville, population one-thousand-and-ninety-seven. Avery, glancing at the ground, sighed.

Make that one-thousand-and-ninety-six.

"You're leaving," she asked hoarsely, her voice cracking with emotion. He can't be serious, she reminded herself. He wouldn't survive in their world. He needs Others, like Grandma and- 

"Vienna, I can handle living like a normal guy!"

Anger flashed in her brilliant green eyes. Her brows bunched in frustration, Vienna scowled. "I told you not to read my thoughts."

Avery chuckled and rolled his eyes. His disheveled, dark hair fell into his eyes, which were a color no one could really place. Vienna knew those dark, unfathomable eyes were trained on her, and yet she didn't shy away when he touched her arm. 

"I have to find my biological parents, Anna. I-I... I could find what's wrong with us," he insisted, that silver sliver of hope in his voice blossoming like the stages of the moon until the idea was a large full moon, orbiting around in his head on repeat. 

"Nothing is wrong with us," Vienna shot back, the thought repulsing her. She knew Others like herself, like Avery and her grandmother. She was normal; they were normal. Why would he want to ruin that, by searching for his parents who had a habit of not staying dead?

Avery chuckled, a sour one that made her mouth go bone-dry and taste like pennies. She felt her face blush, in embarrassment. He was laughing at her; everyone laughed at her. Anger fueled her arms as she pushed him away, twisting out of his light grip. The smug smile on his lips twitched, but he didn't say anything.

Instead, he turned towards the front door of his house. His adopted parent's house, not his own, Avery reminded himself. He almost wasn't bothered by the fact Vienna was peeping into his thoughts. He could feel her, a warm heat in the back of his head that felt like sunshine on your skin. 

The green painted porch creaked under his weight, the muscles that were solidifying under the t-shirt which stretched across his broadening shoulders. The door was yellow. His adopted parents had told him it was the color of knowledge, although now, at fifteen, he was thinking it looked more and more like an eyesore. The purple siding was for sanctity; the white shutters and window panes purity and healing. How had I not realized I was adopted before, he wondered, thinking of how strange his parents were. 

 "Avery," Vienna tried again, her cool, slender fingers wrapping around his wrist, her voice dripping with heart break. "Avery, there is nothing wrong with us."

Vienna was naive. She believed by hidng, masquerading under her geeky glasses and braces and cheerleading try-outs, she would be normal. She believed by being a bystander, hearing the disturbing thoughts that swam through serial killer's heads and Mr. Wells plans to cheat on his wife and Marci Darwin's pathetic attempts at being selfless, she would be accepted. She was very, very wrong.

Avery couldn't even turn to face her, in fear of breaking down like a baby and admitting he was terrified. Instead, he curled a fist and steeled himself. 

If you leave, she thought, her voice ringing loudly against his skull, I will hate you.

"Be good, Anna," Avery managed through the basketball-sized lump that had formed in his throat as his fingers wound around the doorknob. The thought was the last thing he wanted her to remember him by, in case it wasn't true, in case he couldn't be back. 

I love you. I won't be gone forever.

I think I love this girl.

Me being 'this girl', a ripple of joy shot down my spine. Jake Thorton, the boy unhumanly close to the vanity of perfection, couldn't have thought it any better. My head rested on his rock-solid shoulder, giving me the perfect view of his stubbled, strong jaw and high cheek bones. Pools of chocolate looked down at me in admiration, something some might say I manipulated. I couldn't help but kiss the mole on the lining of his jaw, feeling very... erotic. 

If I said it, would she freak out?

The sun was setting just before us, but I couldn't tear my eyes away from the beauty that was Jake. Despite how he pointed out the Wickerville water tower, or the faint outline of the high school, my eyes stayed unnaturally trained on him. The shell of his car, the hood painted cherry cheery red, was cool under our spooning bodies. Everything was perfect. 

My long blond hair fell down my shoulders as I shifted, dangling in my eyes before Jake pushed the pesky strands back behind my ear. Who would have thought, almost three years ago, I had braces and black, thickly-rimmed glasses. Who would have thought, three years ago, I'd be cuddling with hottie Jake Thorton on the hood of his red Mustang and hearing him rave about me. I was like Ritalin to this kid, appearantly. The thought was sweet enough to give me a cavity.

 I love you, Vee. Vee, baby, I'm crazy about you... Jeez, Vienna, I love you so much it hurts. His thoughts penetrated my own, making it hard to think straight. He didn't know I could hear him, which only made his practicing more adorable and sweet. 

"Jake," I whispered, tearing my eyes away to look at the pink sky, laced with white puffs of stringy clouds, "I don't want this night to end."

Say it now, he thought, panic thick in his deep voice. 

"Me neither... babe," he smiled sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. Even though it wasn't the answer I was hoping for, I still smiled smugly into his shoulder. Life was too good now. 

"And you're too perfect. I mean, the sunset is beautiful, and... and thank you. I love you," I grinned, deciding to push the envelope and hope for the best. Before I was forced to listen to his moronic stutter, I placed a small kiss on his lips, in hope of silencing him. His thoughts were sweet; his sometimes stupid words could be like swallowing push-pins.

She loves me! And she saved me a shit-ton of mumbling. I swear, I will marry this girl someday.

"Vienna, isn't it the guys job to say that," he joked between slow kisses, his whispers hot against my lips. I smiled despite myself and broke away to look in those chocolate eyes. 

"It seemed like I saved you a bunch of stuttering," I insisted, noting the look of bewilderment and humor in his eyes. 

"I swear, it's like you can read my mind," he chuckled. I smiled, despite the bittersweet feeling rooted in my stomach. Jake Thorton had no idea.

 ~~~

The screen door shut behind me, with a creak, and I slipped my heels off in hopes of silencing my steps. On the tips of my toes, I walked with my shoulders hunched and knees high, like in the old, silly black and white movies Grandmother would make me watch with her on lazy, hot summer afternoons while sipping iced tea. The floorboards were dusty and dull underneath the lining of my tan stockings, which I slipped down to my ankles in discomfort. 

I crossed the main hall, a room filled with ceramic chickens and cat cookoo clocks. The loud tick-tick-tick rang through the empty room, the ugly clock hanging from the floral wall-papered, dark green wall. The stupid thing  earnestly exsisted to mock me, it seemed, because just when I had safely crossed the room incognito, the dumb cats began crying out. Normally, they sounded like meowing kittens; in the middle of the night, while trying to sneak in, they sounded like the shrill, angry warning cries of feral attack cats.

Shit, I thouught, just when the light in the living room flickered on. I cringed, and craned my neck to see the outline of her body, frail in the oversized, overstuffed love seat. 

Get in here, Vienna Nicole. We are going to have a very long talk.

I sighed, and rolled my eyes. This is stupid, I thought, more to myself but unable to shield my thoughts. I was just with Jake, and all we did was talk. It's not like I told him I could-

"Vienna," she said again, this time using her words. My stomach clenched, but I steeled myself for the worst and took tentative steps towards the doorway. So close, I thought, pushing the wall of hanging beads aside and letting the cool, round orbs fall from my fingers half-heartedly. 

"Hey, Grandma... what're you doing up so late," I asked, a nervous chuckle building in my voice, pulling at the volume like the tides. She didn't turn to face, which made me feel even worse. Her white-tufted, wrinkled head was pointed towards the TV, even though it wasn't on. She looked like a golden, little old raisin. If only she was as harmless.

"Where did the two of you go," she asked in a cool as ice voice that made my attempts seem silly and vapid. I ran my fingers through my hair and exhaled, finding myself a seat in one of the plush, velvety-soft armchairs that were older than Grandmother herself. 

"Just to the edge of Wickerville. We just... talked," I insisted, thinking back to the many kissing breaks we had taken in between. My cheeks flared wiith embarrassment, knowing she could see every little thing, every little touch. 

"Right. Talked....," she chuckled, although it was less in humor and more in a 'you're going to turn out just like your mother' kind of tone.

"I didn't tell him," I said, although I really doubted she believed me. A rough, almost painful snorting sound came from her small body, which was enough confirmation for me. 

"Do you realize how some silly high school romance could ruin everything for us, Vienna? If he ever found out, if you ever breathed a word to him, our lives would be erased from Wickerville, and we would have to relocate. I know you think he'll still love you-"

I was, although not yet willing to admit that with her analyzing every one of my thoughts. 

"-but we can't afford to be selfish. I have to look at the whole picture, not just your's."

"Why shouldn't we tell people," I asked, in a desperate attempt to keep Jake out of my mind. Just the thought of telling him, of him finding out, made me feel sick to my stomach. 

Anger flashed in her hazy, hazel, watery eyes; this fight was just the tip of the iceberg for the two of us. Grandmother and I clashed regurlarly, and although half the time it was about how I wore my clothes or skipping out on a chore or two, many were because of our... differences. 

Grandmother was stuck in the past, although which decade I wasn't exactly sure. The living room was proof enough: an old, clunky TV which only played in black and white; floral couches and plushy armchairs that looked like they migh have survived the Titanic; big, white china plates hanging from the walls,