REBEL SUN ╱ CONRAD FISHER
꒷꒦ · ˚.‧ . written by ella . . . © -lostgardens
chapter 004 ━━━━━━ ❛ rebel trouble ❜

"Officers, thank you," Laurel said with a tight smile on her face. She stood in the foyer, staring at the two officers that had brought the teenagers home from the bonfire that she didn't know three of six were going to. "It won't happen again; I can promise you that much," she assured. It was safe to say that she hadn't been too pleased when they showed up at the front door with the teenagers she was supposed to be caring for.

Amber sat next to Conrad on the bench, since they were the most intoxicated, and Belly, Jeremiah, Steven, and Aiden all stood with guilty looks clouding their expression. They knew once the officers left, Laurel would rip into them, and none of them knew if they wanted the officers to leave so that they could get it over with or if they wanted them to overstay their welcome so they could prolong the wait.

"Tell Mr. Fisher the chief wants to set up a tee time when he gets back in town," one of the officers told her.

"Absolutely." Laurel nodded, sending them a sweet, don't-arrest-my-kids-please smile. "Sorry again for all of the trouble." She showed them the door. "Have a good night, officers," she added, as they exited. Then she wasted no time closing the door and turning to face the teens.

They all shuddered under her heated gaze. She looked so pissed, and that made them nervous. Of course they were nervous. Laurel was not a woman you wanted to mess with when she was angry or disappointed.

"How could you guys be so irresponsible?" Laurel placed her hands on her hips, letting out a sigh. "Especially you, Amber," she added, giving the blonde a disappointed and slightly annoyed look. "Just earlier today, I was talking to Susannah about how you're such a good and responsible kid; how you're the prime example of what a mother wants her kid to be like."

Amber sighed. She hadn't known why, but that compliment had not made her feel good at all. She never wanted to be expected to act perfectly; she wanted to be able to make mistakes without feeling like hell had frozen over. She didn't meet Laurel's eyes, nor did she mutter a word. But Steven did.

"Mom, it wasn't a big deal," the Conklin boy interjected, sighing. "All right? Seriously—the cops were just looking to break up the bonfire," he explained, slightly waving his hands as he tried to get his point across.

"Not a big deal?" Laurel scoffed, raising her brows.

"Yes," Steven replied.

"I would say getting picked up by cops for underage drinking is a pretty big deal, Steven," she retorted. Her frustration was peaking, and she did everything in her power not to yell.

The foyer grew quiet when Steven didn't respond. He just sniffed the air like a drug dog, confusing everyone, and Amber furrowed her brows, looking up at him. What was he doing? The thought came to her mind as he scoffed, shaking his head in amusement. "Have you guys been smoking tonight?" he accused, meeting his mother's eye with suspicion.

"What?" Laurel breathed out, furrowing her brows. Amber faced her, narrowing her eyes slightly. The woman had a look of guilt on her face. Hmm. "Keep your voice down; Susannah's asleep on the couch," she added, trying to change the subject.

"What? I wasn't yelling," Steven muttered, offended by the misplaced blame. "What? You were."

"Just so you know, Laurel, I-I didn't drink tonight; I was the DD, I swear," Jeremiah interrupted, taking a step forward and putting a hand on his chest.

Laurel ignored the boy's words and turned to Amber and Conrad again. "You're the oldest," she pointed at Conrad, "and you're the most responsible," then pointed at Amber. "What the hell's gotten into you both?" she asked, throwing up her hands.

Amber and Conrad shared a look, and before they could respond, Laurel turned to her daughter, giving her a confused look. "And when did you leave the house without telling anybody?" She paused, taking in her daughter's appearance. "And what in the world are you wearing?"

"It's Taylor's," Belly muttered, wrapping her arms around her torso. "And why am I the only one who's not allowed to go out?" she asked, her face twisting with offense that she was the only one being scolded for leaving the house. "It wasn't even my idea to go to the stupid bonfire; it was Amber's," she blurted, and then slapped a hand over her mouth.

Amber's head snapped up when she heard the girl's words, and Belly sent her an apologetic look.

Laurel turned to the blonde again, looking even more pissed off. "Seriously, Amber, did a little heartbreak make you lose your mind?" She scoffed, her voice filled with nothing but frustration. Her hands were back on her hips, and she narrowed her eyes.

"Mom," Steven muttered, shock from her words filling his face.

Without a word, Amber stood up from her seat as she felt her own anger grow. She brushed past Laurel, going for the stairs as everyone watched her closely. Her heart ached, and she felt tears prickling her eyes. Yes, Laurel, a little heart did make me lose my mind.

She was almost at the stairs when she stumbled a bit, still severely drunk. Laurel scoffed, and Amber felt her face heat with embarrassment. She was no longer the perfect daughter, the perfect role model, or the one people bragged about. She missed her old self as much as she was sure everyone else did. She was ruined; she was no longer Perfect Pearly like everyone wanted her to be. No, that girl was long gone.

Or maybe that girl has always been gone. Perhaps she was never Perfect Pearly. Perhaps she was just Amber, the girl who hid behind a mask of a smile—the one that hid what really happened at home, the one that strived for so much greatness just so daddy dearest would pay attention to her, so that he'd love her, so that he'd believe in her. Perhaps she was just a ruined girl. Perhaps she had been since the day she was born.

With one last glance at the group of people still silent and staring at her, she fought back the tears even harder. Her eyes trailed everyone's faces but lingered on his. He was the only one not looking at her. No, his focus was on his hands, where he picked at the skin around his nails.

Sighing, she went upstairs, wanting nothing more than to cry her heart out so that she was tired enough to sleep and never wake up.

━━━━━

She sat in her room, tears streaming down her face—the last remnants of her sobfest. Now in different clothes than before—a large t-shirt and some baggy shorts—and with her makeup off, she laid on her bed, her face buried in a pillow and her soft blanket covering her legs.

She was so tired, but every time she closed her eyes, she thought of everything. Her childhood, her summers in Cousins, her relationship with him, her failed everything with Judas—all of that made her want to cry even harder.

It was too much. It had always been too much; she just never let it show. She was letting it show now, though—only for her pillow, walls, the picture of her dead cat, Garfield, on her nightstand, and Mr. Chocolate Muffin to see.

Then there was a knock, and her sobs paused. She laid quiet, her face not moving from its spot in the pillow. She wanted nothing more than to ignore it; she was certainly not in the mood to deal with anyone. But curiosity got the better of her.

Using all of her still-not-fully-sober strength to lift herself from her pillow, she flipped over onto her back, then sat up. Rubbing some tears from her cheeks while being too lazy to get up from her spot, she muttered, "Come in."

She hoped that it was someone she could bear to see at that moment, meaning hopefully not Laurel or Belly. But the person who opened the door was much worse than the other two. She wanted to curl back into a ball and cry some more. She felt pathetic. It was surely unhealthy to cry that much.

Her eyes caught on Conrad as he pushed the door open. She studied him, fighting back her patheticness. He looked fine for someone who had gotten hammered at a bonfire, then got into a fight with a guy who took his beer. He had a bag of frozen peas in his hand and a thin smile on his face. It was so faint, though, that she didn't know if it could've been classified as a smile at all.

He stepped into her room without a word and closed the door behind him. She watched him closely, seeing him pause, still facing the door. She wondered what was running through his mind. She wondered if he was regretting coming to her room in the first place. Perhaps not, though, because he turned to face her, his face more relaxed, and moved towards her bed with three long steps.

As he stood on the left side of her bed, still at the very end, he didn't meet her gaze; he just stared at the blanket covering her legs.

Taking the hint, Amber pulled her legs closer to her so that he wouldn't sit on them when he sat down. If he sat down, she wasn't sure he would; he still looked like he was contemplating turning around and booking it out of the room. But, after a moment of awkwardness, he finally took a spot on the bed.

Another pass of silence, and Amber stayed put, despite the nagging voice of her fourteen-year-old in-love self in her head telling her to move closer. It was not going to happen. But she wanted to. She hated that she wanted to. But she wanted to. Sighing, she moved closer to him, keeping the blanket around her legs. Curse you, fourteen-year-old me!

"I brought you this for your face," Conrad finally said, lifting the bag of peas.

She stared at the bag for a moment and then looked at him. He still wasn't looking at her, and she wondered why. Did he feel bad for elbowing her? Or did he just not want to look at her? No, of course, he felt bad—he wasn't heartless, despite what she wanted to believe sometimes. But maybe he didn't want to look at her as well.

She shook the thoughts from her mind quickly and took the frozen bag from his hand. "Thanks, I guess," she muttered, lifting the bag to her cheek. The coldness bit her skin, causing her cheek to throb, and she winced slightly. And Conrad finally met her gaze.

They were silent after that. Conrad just stared at Amber, and Amber stared at Conrad. The eye contact was intense, and she was slightly freaked out on the inside. She didn't know what was going to happen—not that anything was going to happen, but still. Taking a deep breath, she went to speak but quickly snapped her mouth shut, thinking better of it.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

His eyes were soft and kind, which made Amber melt inside a little bit, but she kept her face calm, not wanting to make something of this. It was nothing, just an old friend—a childhood and family friend? ex-boyfriend?—checking up on her. There is nothing to see here. Nothing at all.

"Yeah, I'm alright," she replied. Lies. Amber knew she was lying, and so did Conrad, especially since she still had tears going down her face, ones that she had noticed but decided to ignore. Out of sight, out of mind, right? Well, one thing wasn't out of sight, and that was most definitely not out of her mind. Fake it till you make it. That was better.

"Really? Because you're crying."

Thank you for the reminder, asshole. So much for her cheesy sayings.

He lifted his hand to her cheek (the one that didn't have a bag of frozen peas to soothe it) and wiped her tears away. And after his lingering touch warmed her skin for a moment that felt like eternity, he cupped her cheek and stared into her eyes.

She hated that she did it, but she leaned into his touch. No, Amber! You're supposed to hate him! Her thoughts screamed at her, literally. She let out a rigid sigh and nodded her head, answering his question non-verbally because she didn't trust her voice.

But her strength didn't last long. It never did. Her lip started quivering, her eyes began filling with tears again, and she felt like sinking into a very dark hole and never coming out. And the next thing she knew, Conrad was wrapping his arms around her, bringing her into a tight hug as she dropped the bag of peas next to them.

She had missed this. Him. She had missed his comfort. His touch. His warmth. His everything. She hated herself for it, and she wanted to forget it all, but she couldn't. She never would. And she wondered if he knew what he was doing. If he knew how he made her feel—how he still made her feel. One day in Cousins, and she was already ready to fall back into his hold and never come out.

It was pathetic. She was pathetic.

She sobbed violently on his shoulder as he stroked his hand over her hair. Conrad hated seeing her so sad, but the selfish part of him was glad that it wasn't because of him for once. Little did he know... "It's alright, Rebel. Let it all out," he whispered as she wrapped her arms tightly around him.

After what felt like forever of crying, which added to her other fit of sobfest of forever, she finally stopped. She was still sniffling, but tears weren't coming from her eyes. It was almost as if she didn't have any tears left to cry. She wouldn't be surprised if she didn't. Certainly unhealthy.

A moment of silence lingered around the room, like the scent of the lavender air freshener Susannah had all around the house. Then she lifted her face from Conrad's shoulder, and she looked at him. Her eyes roamed his, then she looked at his shirt, which now had a wet spot on it from her tears. "Sorry about your shirt," she mumbled, sniffling and rubbing the wetness from her face.

He smiled softly. "It's alright."

Then they just stared at each other. Neither one spoke, and neither one wanted to speak. But then, just with the snap of a finger, all of the agonizing and annoying thoughts about the boy that sat in front of her came flooding back to Amber's ever-changing mind.

She quickly stood up from her bed, putting plenty of space between herself and him, not missing the confused and curious look he sent her way. "Uh, it's getting late, and you probably want to go to bed, so—" she said, intertwining her fingers together and cracking her knuckles.

"No, I'm fine," he replied, cutting her off with a shrug.

"Let me rephrase that: it's getting late, and I probably should head to bed," she retorted, walking to her door. Her hand fell on the coldness of the silver door handle, then she twisted it, pulling the door open and motioning for him to leave.

His brows furrowed as she stared him down. And then, with a sigh, he slowly rose from her bed and made his way toward her.

The sudden shift of emotion must've thrown him like it did Amber, because he looked unsure. Of what? She didn't know and didn't care (another lie). "Alright, well, I guess I'm heading to bed," he said, stepping out into the hallway. And when he went to turn and tell her goodnight, he was met with a door closing in his face.

Amber took a deep breath as she turned off her bedroom light. "What is wrong with me?" she mumbled, feeling her mind race as she put her hands in her hair, pulling at the roots with frustation. "What is wrong with me?" she repeated to no one but herself.

She felt another round of cries coming upon her, but she couldn't do it. She was all dried up. There were no more tears. And even if there were, she wouldn't let them spill. Too many had been wasted on unimportance, and she was done with that.

As she made her way back to her bed, she dropped her hands from her head, feeling so tired. She climbed under her comforter again, then grabbed the bag of peas and threw them on the floor. She'd deal with them later.

She laid there, staring at the black abyss that was once her ceiling, and she just thought. Life was the main topic of her worries. Just like when she had gotten back to her room earlier in the night. Just like always. What was she going to do with all of her bottled-up feelings? That was the real question. The answer was to keep them bottled up.

It was for the best. It was always for the best.

She hated feeling that way: sad, unimportant, tired, and sad—wait, that last one was already mentioned. She hated it so much that it hurt her heart and gave her a headache. She was just tired of everything: the constant worries, regret, pain, and, most of all, the inner brokenness.

She wanted her old life back, the one where her parents were still happily together—or what seemed to be, when she was a seemingly happy and carefree kid, and when everything was right in the world and it was full of silly little crushes and smiles. But in her world, nothing had ever been right; nothing was ever as good as it seemed from the outside.

And it never would be.

━━━━━

When Amber woke up, she felt like someone had hit her with a ton of bricks—bricks that were full of guilt. Her body was sore, most likely from how she had slept, and she was still very tired.

Her slumber had been nothing short of restless.

But she believed that it was time she got up, started a new day, and forgot all of the previous day's problems. Yes, she remembered everything from the night before (she wasn't as drunk as she and everyone else had thought). She had been hammered, but just not enough to lose her memories—a blessing and a curse.

And the thoughts that she distinctly remembered starred Laurel and her words. Has a little heartbreak made you lose your mind? Her answer, which she hadn't said aloud, was still the same as it had been the night before.

Yes, her mind was lost. And the interaction with him hadn't made it any better.

Speaking of Conrad, she sat up and looked down at the shirt she was wearing and recognized it immediately as one that he had given her. COUSINS SAILING, it said boldly in black letters. It was a soft blue cotton shirt, and it still fit her as if it were three times her size.

She furrowed her brows, looking down at the shirt with curiosity. She had about four of them, all of them looking the same and coming from the same person, but she hadn't remembered packing any of them. And she most definitely hadn't remembered putting it on when she went to her room last night. Maybe the tears had blurred her vision so much that she didn't realize what shirt she had grabbed.

Yeah, that was it.

Then it hit her—she had been wearing it when talking to Conrad. He had seen her wearing his shirt, one of the ones he had given her. And she wanted to die of embarrassment. Slapping her hands over her face, she groaned into her hands, letting out her frustration.

And after a minute of deciding whether she should've just gone back to bed or if she needed to get up and face her day, she chose the latter. Climbing off her bed, but not before struggling with her comforter and sheets, trying to get them unwrapped from her legs, she felt chills coat her skin, sending a shiver through her body.

She went over to her vanity next to check on her face. When she looked into her mirror, she was met with a forming bruise on the left side of her face, and she grimaced. It wasn't the prettiest thing in the world, but it could've been worse.

Shaking her head and running a hand through her hair, which ended up getting stuck, she sighed and went over to the closet. Flicking the switch, she grabbed a zip-up jacket and some shoes, then turned the light off. Then, after putting on her jacket and shoes, she left her room.

She needed to brush her teeth before she went downstairs (because there was no way in hell she would leave the house without doing that). She went to the bathroom, did what she needed, and then tried to contain her hair with a bit of water and her hairbrush. It didn't do much, but it was a little better than before.

Finally, she went downstairs and into the kitchen, where she was met with Jeremiah and Steven sitting at the counter eating cereal. "Hey, guys." She greeted them with a small smile. Her mask slipped back on, making it seem like she was in a better mood. It always worked, just like a charm.

"Hey," they responded in an awkward tone, giving each other a look.

"Have you guys seen Conrad?" she asked, ignoring their awkwardness and semi-pity looks.

Steven cleared his throat, looking back down at his bowl, almost like he didn't want to say something.

Jeremiah gave him a look that said "real smooth" and then looked at Amber. "Yeah, uh, I think he's outside on the beach," he told her, throwing his thumb over his shoulder and at the back doors.

"Alright, thank you," she replied, making her way to where Jeremiah guided her. When she opened the door, the salty, fresh air filled her nose. It was so strong, even though the beach was a good distance from the house. And as she stepped outside, she closed the door behind her and began her journey across the porch, going straight for the beach.

The walk was quiet and peaceful, which was something she needed. She enjoyed the bright surroundings of the boardwalk, and she loved the beach house and everything around it, so why did it all have to have so many bad memories?

When she finally arrived on the beach, she knew all too well that the beautiful ocean and all of its blue glory would catch her eye. But what she hadn't been expecting was to see Belly talking to Conrad as they sat on the sand.

She opted to leave. She didn't want to interrupt. But she also needed to talk—and apologize—to Conrad, so she also thought she should wait. Her mind was very indecisive at that moment, but it was too late to decide because Belly was out of her spot and her eyes were on the lingering girl.

"Oh, hey, Am," Belly said, her words catching the attention of Conrad. "What are you doing here?" she asked, giving Amber a small smile as she walked closer to her.

"Uh, I'm here to talk to Conrad." Amber nodded to the boy who sat on the ground. He was still looking at the ocean but was obviously listening to the conversation between the two girls. "I think it's about time."

"Oh," Belly muttered with a small nod as she glanced back at the boy. "Well, I have to go, so have fun." She began to walk away, and Amber started toward Conrad. But then, a second later, Belly whipped around again to face the girl's back. "Oh, and Amber," she said, catching the girl's attention. Amber turned around, giving her a questioning look. "Um, I'm sorry for ratting you out to my mom last night. It was stupid of me."

Amber offered her a small smile. "It's alright, Bells," she assured. Forgive and forget. Forgive and forget. Forgive and forget.

"Really?" Belly asked, and Amber nodded. With a bright smile on her face, she wrapped her arms around her longtime friend in a squeeze-the-life-out-of-you hug. "I'm so glad. You have no idea." They stayed like that for a moment before pulling back. "Also, you should try and get Conrad to stop smoking. I think he'll listen to you," she whispered, then walked away.

Amber watched as the girl ran up to the boardwalk, no doubt going to the beach house, until she disappeared. Then she turned back to where Conrad was sitting and made her way over to him, finally feeling the nerves of needing to talk to him.

"Hey," she said, standing next to and looking down at him.

"Hey," he replied, glancing up at her, putting the unlit joint behind his ear like a construction worker would a pencil. And then he watched as she sat down next to him.

The air was filled with tension, and they both knew why but didn't have the courage to talk. It felt like the breeze was still frozen in time, suffocating them with awkwardness. They were just staring at the sea, nothing coming out of their mouths but everything filling their minds.

"I'm sorry," Amber blurted out, facing Conrad.

He turned to her. Shock at her words ran through his mind. He studied her without replying, just analyzing her to see if she was serious or not. "Why are you apologizing?" he asked, his gaze boring into hers—olive green on ocean blue.

"Because I was a bitch to you last night—in my room and at the bonfire," she admitted, sighing.

"Yeah, you were," he agreed jokingly with a nonchalant tone, looking back at the ocean as she playfully punched his shoulder. He bit back a smile as she did the same, both of them looking at the sight in front of them. The awkwardness broke faster than either of them had expected it to, but they were grateful nonetheless.

"No, but seriously, I'm sorry," she repeated, bringing her thighs to her chest and wrapping her arms around her legs as she placed her chin on top of her knees. "I shouldn't have been rude to you when I know that your elbowing me was an accident, and I shouldn't have tried to kiss Jere, and I definitely shouldn't have kicked you out of my room when all you were trying to do was comfort me," she continued, looking at him with nothing but regret for her actions.

He laughed, confusing her.

She scoffed, looking down at the sand. "I'm apologizing for all of the crappy shit I did in the past day, and you're laughing—how lovely."

"No, I'm not laughing at your apology," he reassured. "I'm laughing at the fact that you shouldn't be the one apologizing." He paused, and Amber looked at him, telling him to elaborate. "I shouldn't have gotten stupid drunk and started a fight over a stupid beer. Which led to me elbowing you." He threw up an offering hand, staring into her eyes.

Another beat of silence passed.

"And you don't have to apologize for the other things; after all, you can kiss or try to kiss whoever you want, even if it is my brother," he continued after a moment, shuddering as the thought ran through his mind and left a sour taste in his mouth. "And as for kicking me out, you were 'tired and ready to go to bed,'" he laughed, quoting her words from the night before.

"Well, I won't feel better until you accept my apology, so accept my apology," she told him, seeing the small smile that played on his face. When he didn't say anything, she gave him a pointed look, letting him know that she wouldn't give up until he did what he was told.

"Fine; apology accepted," he responded, a full-blown smile tugging at his lips.

"Good." She nodded, inhaling deeply as she looked back at the beauty in front of her.

It was quiet again, but this time it wasn't awkward or tense; it was calm and relaxing. The waves were crashing in front of them, and that was something Amber missed, not only hearing but seeing as well. The ocean was glimmering; it shone brightly, like little diamonds were floating in it.

"So, you're not going to accept my apology?" Conrad asked, breaking the silence and interrupting Amber's peace.

"Uhm, I don't think I heard the words 'I'm sorry' leave your mouth," she retorted, looking up at the sky as if she were thinking back to his words. "Nope, never once said 'I'm sorry,'" she confirmed, meeting his amused gaze.

"Well, I'm sorry," he said with a smirk threatening the corners of his mouth. "Now, are you going to accept my apology or not?"

She hummed as if she were thinking just before replying, "I guess." She huffed like it was such a grusome task and took a lot of energy from her.

He raised his brows. "You guess, Rebel?"

"Yeah, I guess I do, asshole," she replied, sending him a snarky smile.

He just shook his head in amusement and faced forward again.

They went quiet once more—the wind in their hair, the sea in their eyes, the salty air filling their noses—and their breathing was shy, not making any noise or disturbing the peace.

Everything was perfect in the world at that moment. Nothing could break their peace or their lull. Nothing. That was, until Conrad's voice was heard once more.

"You know, this is where we had our first date," he reminded her of that time that seemed like a million years ago.

"Yeah, I know," she muttered, resting her head on his shoulder.

He looked down at her with a barely-there but pleased smile, then put his arm around her shoulder, drawing her slightly closer.

Quiet once again. The peace returned. Nothing was ruining that moment. Nothing could derail the moment when they could stop pretending—stop pretending to despise each other; stop pretending not to care about each other.

It had only been a day since they were back in Cousins, but so much had already happened, and those things reminded them of the good times. That moment in particular was sacred; some may even describe it as enchanted. It wasn't always going to be like that, so they were savoring it. And they didn't know it, but they were preparing themselves for the hell that was about to come.

Salty air all around; peace and quietness. Peering eyes from the boardwalk—ones that the two weren't aware of. All of this was around them. Conrad and Amber sat in all of it, not wanting to change a thing as her head rested on his shoulder and his arm rested on hers.

The ocean calmly sat in front of them, with only small waves crashing on the shore and crawling their way to their shoe-covered feet. That sat in the spot where they had their first date, the most important spot they could ever be. It was a full-circle kind of moment.

But none of that stayed forever, and the two were all too familiar with that.

"Belly wanted me to tell you to stop smoking. She thinks you'll listen to me or something," she admitted.

"Anything for you, Rebel," he sarcastically replied.

"She wanted me to tell you to quit, but what she doesn't know is that I smoke too."

"No, you don't."

"Yeah, I do."

"I don't believe you." He turned to face her as she lifted her head from his shoulder.

She smirked. "I guess I'll just have to prove it to you." Taking the joint from behind his ear and putting the end against her lips, she watched as he looked at her with curiosity before lifting the lighter to the joint.

Olive green on ocean blue.

━━━━━

━━━━ ella's speaking !
i rewrote this weeks ago but completely forgot abt it 😭

i really hope you liked this chapter!! i'm in the process of rewriting chapter five, meaning i'm hoping i will have that up soon!

make sure to comment and vote 🫶🏻

kisses.

━━━━━━━━━ rebel sun,
© -LOSTGARDENS,   oct 2023

word count: 5479 (re)written: 10.10.23 published: 10.24.23