A Little Problem-Chapter 3 (WIP)

>452 Acorn Drive.
>This was the right place.
>At least based on the notes.
>How much of them was right, remained to be seen.
>But with so much work invested, it didn't make sense to not check.
>Dropping down the arm holding the piece of paper, another took its place in the air to ring the doorbell.
>At first, there was no sound.
>Maybe it was broken.
>Or it wasn't pressed hard enough.
>The arm reached once again towards the doorbell before hearing a click.
>It was the sound of a series of locks coming undone.
>Slowly the limb made its way back down, no longer needed for the occassion.
>As the last of the locks gave way, the door slowly creaked open.
>"Lana, I know you want to put in an actual doorbell, but I keep telling you the buzzer is good enough-"
>The man behind the door stopped halfway through his sentence as he looked down to the girl in front of him.
>She was not Lana.
>She did not know who Lana was.
>Or what she looked like.
>But given the stare she got, it was a good guess that she didn't look anything like her.
>Coming down from his initial shock, the man let go of the door and brought his hand to his pocket.
>"Uh, sorry, I was expecting someone else. People don't generally come here so I just sorta made an assumption. Is there something you need?"
>The small girl looked to a piece of paper in her hand, before turning her attention back to the man.
"Would your name happen to be Lincoln Loud?"
>"..."
"Is it not?"
>"...No, you're right. My name is Lincoln."
"Jesus, that's a relief. I thought I just embarrassed myself pretty badly there."
>The girl extended out her free hand, offering it to Lincoln.
"My name is Lupa."


>Lincoln approached her hand with apprehension.
>Lupa saw he wasn't too enthusiastic about the handshake even as he followed through with it.
>”It's nice to meet you, Lupa. What brings you here?”
>Lupa's arm fell to her side as she slipped out of the grip, swinging like dead weight at her side.
“Um, I know this is probably a bit sketchy to ask, since I just showed up out of nowhere and knocked on your door, but would you mind if we talked about this inside? It's kind of cold.”
>The hesitation on Lincoln's face was evident.
>Lupa didn't dwell on that fact.
>She knew what she could be in for anything, including disappointment.
>”...Sure. I can't promise it'll be much better inside. Heater's off and I haven't had anyone come over to fix it yet.”
>Lincoln slowly stepped out of Lupa's way, keeping his hand on the door as she walked into his home.
>As she drew in her first breath in the building, she could tell herself it wasn't much better inside than outside.
>While the door was being closed behind her, she scanned the room past the puff of her frozen breath.
>To Lincoln's credit, it was not a dirty room.
>Mostly because there seemed to be nothing in the room to get dirty.
>Under-furnished was an understatement.
>Lupa had snuck into open houses that were better stocked than this place was.
>The walls were bare, bereft of any decoration or wallpaper.
>A small lamp illuminated the room in a far off corner, its only company on the floor being an aged futon and a table with three chairs nearby.
>Her impulses led her to sit at the table, seeming the less intrusive choice than plopping down on the more comfortable furniture.
>”I'll go put on some coffee. How do you take it?”
>As Lincoln brushed past her, she didn't quite know what to say.
>She'd never had proper coffee before.
>Just the sugary convenience store sludge.
“Uh, plain.”
>Lincoln lightly nodded before rounding a corner and disappearing into what she presumed was the kitchen.

>Lupa sighed, silently cursing the fact that she found herself alone with her thoughts again.
>Her legs kicked back and forth, fluttering her skirt as she sat in solitude.
>In the back of her mind, she began to dwell on her first impression.
>How she wished she was flexible enough to kick herself in the back of her head.
>That entire meeting felt so abhorrent.
>Like she had never talked to someone before.
>Lincoln certainly didn't want to even shake her hand.
>Not that she could blame him.
>Who would want some random girl off the street suddenly coming into their house?
>Especially a weirdo like her.
>A frosty puff of breath left a fog on the table below, which Lupa slowly began to etch a few words into with her index finger.
>Small as it was, it was a distraction.
>Something she needed before she made things worse and just left without a word.
>She wasn't going to shit the bed this time.
>She was 17, an almost fully grown woman.
>Surely she could manage enough social grace to give him proper eye contact and talk for at least five minutes.
>”Sorry if it's not the best. I've never been great at making coffee.”
>Lincoln's footsteps snapped Lupa out of her self-deprecative daze.
>Her arms brushed against the table, quickly wiping away her writing as she clasped her hands together and waited for Lincoln.
>Her gracious host came back with two mugs in tow, setting a dark blue one before her as he sat with his own plain one across from her.
>Bringing it up to her mouth, she blew at the jet black liquid before dipping her tongue in it.
>She surprised herself as her tongue recoiled in an instant.
>Lupa realized she did not like the taste of plain coffee a bit too late.
>It would be rude of her to not drink the only thing offering her any warmth in the house after asking for it, though.
>Lupa pressed her lips to the mug and quickly knocked back the coffee.
>Yes, that was definitely a mistake.

>”Glad you liked your coffee.”
>Lupa shot back a weak smile at Lincoln, trying her best to hold back both her true disgust and her breakfast.
“Yeah. Thanks.”
>Lincoln gave her back a grin of his own as he sipped at his own coffee, before slowly setting it down and frowning.
>”That certainly still needs more sugar.”
>Lincoln lets out a slight laugh at his own failure to make a proper mug of joe.
>Lupa's smile softened up with his infectious laughter.
>Before she could join in with a laugh of her own, Lincoln straightened himself up and looked at Lupa.
>She fixed her own posture slightly as she waited for whatever Lincoln was about to do.
>”So, Lupa, what exactly brought you out here today?”
“I...uh...”
>A hand slipped from Lupa's mug to her mouth, clearing her throat with a small cough.
>Her hand found its way back to her cup as she steadied her breath and settled her mind.
“I'd just like to start by saying it might sound a little weird to you.”
>”Weird?”
“I grew up in a foster home.”
>”That's not weird. I've known a lot of people who were adopted.”
“Actually, I was never adopted.”
>”Oh.”
“You probably already know, but I'm not exactly well equipped to deal with the sun. My hair is white, and my skin's pale. I...I had a hard time growing up. No one wanted a kid with health issues, and no one wanted to be around the creepy looking girl who had no friends.”
>Lupa slowly rubbed the rim of her mug without a thought, as she stared at Lincoln's face.
>It was obvious she had killed the mood by the way he was looking at her.
“I thought that I was just a problem, for the nice people who looked after me. I was raised by nuns, if you can believe it. Well, ex-nuns. They fled from Mexico and got asylum here, then they got into taking care of kids. Funny thing was, they were sisters, too. They used to joke about it and try to make me laugh. I would get a smile out of it, but I always felt bad. They knew I was troubled and they tried so hard for me. It hurt.”

>Lupa sat with a knot in her chest, clutching at the glassware in her hands.
>Her heart felt slow, like it wanted to stop.
>She wanted to stop.
>But she couldn't.
>She knew she needed to continue.
>For her own peace of mind.
“It felt wrong that I couldn't be happy when everyone else was so happy. That I couldn't make myself feel that way, that I made them worry about me. And one day, I wasn't having a good time. It was sunny outside, and everyone else was playing while I was lying down on the couch in the common area. There was a big television they played shows for the little children on, but I was just flipping through it on the remote. Then I saw a show that really caught my interest. It was a war documentary or something, I didn't really know what I saw because I was just a dumb kid. That didn't matter to me, though. What mattered was that I saw something important. I saw a man with white hair and he...he was smiling. He was talking about his life, and his job as a soldier, and he just seemed to be a normal person. That stuck with me.”
>”...You saw me?”
“I did. I paused it, too. I sat there for a little while and I just thought. Then, I played the rest of it until everyone came back inside. There were reruns of it, too. I even took a picture once. It didn't come out great. But I used it to draw. It was the only thing I really did that made me happy. I drew that picture so many times until I felt that I got it right.”
>The table and the mug clattered together as Lupa let go, reaching her right hand to the side of her skirt.
>She plucked out a folded piece of paper from a small pocket, and opened it with absolute care.
>It was old, and yellowed, but it still held its shape.
>A testament to how well-preserved it had been.
>Lupa passed the paper off to Lincoln, and he slowly looked over the page.
>It was obvious that he was surprised.
>Whether it was the drawing itself, or how insanely creepy she had just come off, Lupa did not know.
“You showed me I could feel happy. That I could be myself, and I could feel something other than bad. I wanted to give that to you, and I...wanted to say thank you.”