#struggling to fit in with the popular crowd and finally getting to flop down on the couch at home and read a book and just be yourself

[cloudy-coyote]

Necessity

(A/N: I just find these gifs on google so they are not mine! I hope you guys enjoy this part cause there’s more to come!!! You should totally leave feedback if you think I need some criticism, I’m all open ears. And believe it or not, things get even crazier from here. xoxox) 

Ch. 3: Sammy’s a Kicker

Eva stands wobbly, her bandaged legs not yet strong enough to hold her up. 'Of course, I choose to wear overalls on the day I vanish to another year,' she thinks to herself.

She ended up having to sit down on the bed while she shimmies her legs into the fabric. If she thought that was hard, she had no idea how to get her sweatshirt over her head, considering she has freshly stitched wounds all up her torso and back—even the slightest of stretch could rip them.

As she spends her time getting dressed, Sam and Dean stand outside her door, trying to claim possession over the patient. Saying they need to take her back to headquarters, wherever that is.

They didn't have time to explain much, but she was desperate enough that that didn't matter. They were her only option. She'd do anything to keep herself from being locked away in a straight jacket. So when they told her to 'haul ass and get dressed', that's exactly what she did.

She finally gets the shirt over her head, gently dropping it down her torso. She places her rain boots back on and grabs her backpack, keeping her phone securely inside. She grabbed the pair of crutches that was sitting next to her bed. She tried to balance herself on the silver sticks without hurting her arms too bad. Once fully ready, she draws back the curtain that was blocking the window and door. They see her standing, clothed and ready.

Sam gently opens the door, giving her room to walk into the hallway. She makes direct eye contact with Dr. Calloway, the same nurse from before standing behind him.

"Eva, we can help you," The Doctor says, "We highly insist you stay here where you can be taken care of,"

"Sorry, Doctor, we're just following orders," Dean states. He places a large, callus hand on Eva's shoulders.

"Thank you for your cooperation. Have a nice day, sir," Sam politely farewells.

Fitting their character, they both put on sunglasses. Their faces remain poker straight, and quickly escort Eva out of the hospital.

Once they reach the front doors, and she takes her first step back outside, she sees it.

She sees the old cars, the hideous 2000's fashion (super low-rise jeans, velvet jumpsuits), the billboards advertising 'Transformers' or 'Toyota 2005' models, she even noticed everyone using classic flip-phones. She sees the girls with bleach-blonde hair, streaks of hot pink. She sees people using neckties as belts and wearing flip-flops with cargo pants.

After looking around and seeing everything, she feels entirely lost. Like she had traveled to a foreign country. I mean, nothing about 2005 America simulated 2019, not in any way. She could even say the air felt different. It was just slightly off, slightly changed, it didn't feel right. It didn't feel anything like home, especially without her family.

Eva wearing overalls and a cropped sweatshirt didn't really mix well with the crowd. People gave her lots of odd looks, not to mention the millions of bandages she's buried in, along with the crutches.

"This is crazy," She says, looking to Sam. Dean begins leading her through the parking lot, to his car.

"Are overalls popular in 2019?" Sam asks, a small smile on his face.

She laughs, "They are, but I stick out like a sore thumb, don't I?

"Yup," Dean adds, "What, were you like a farmer on somethin'?"

Eva snorts, "No, but are you guys gonna explain what's going on or what?"

To that, both Sam and Dean look at each other, before finally stopping at a car. The car was black, sleek; it had silver rims and a low top. Dean walks around to the driver's seat and swings the door open, "First we got to get you outta' here, sweetheart."

Sam opens the door for Eva, "Don't worry, if there's anybody who can help you with what happened, it's us," He sends her another kind smile before she slides into the backseat, "You're safe here." He shuts the door.

Dean gingerly slides the keys into the slot and turns them, earning a great big roar of the engine. Eva--even through the layers upon layers of bandages-- feels the rev of the car beneath the leather seat.

Once she gets comfortable in the cushion, the best she can despite her aching body, she relaxes. The fresh scent of clean laundry, booze, and an old, homey car. Her muscles practically begin to melt into the seat with each deep breath she took, strangely putting her mind to peace. She truly did feel safe away from the hospital.

"You alright back there?" Dean asks, meeting her eyes in the rear-view mirror. But this time when they hold eye contact, it's not stern, or scary. His green eyes were much more kind.

"Would be a lot better with some food," She comments with a small smile on her face.

Dean laughs, "Couldn't have said it better myself."

Her smile slowly sinks from her lips, her mind wandering onto what the absolute Hell is going on. This whole past day and night have been nothing but chaos and confusion-- things she'd never expect even in her wildest dreams, yet here she is. Stuck in 2005, torn away from her family- her life, her loved ones, and been attacked by God knows what.

"2019, huh?" Dean comments.

"What's it like?" His brother asks.

Eva rolls her eyes, thinking about all of the mayhem that is the future. Global warming, Wars, the Muslim-ban, the racist uprising. But at the same time, there were many wholesome movements--things that bring people together. Black Lives Matter, Me Too, there was in fact, a lot of unity despite the polarizing President.

There was a time when Republicans and Democrats could live together civilly. But that wasn't the case for 2019. There was such a strong division among the political groups. You had people from both sides saying how much they despise each other. Neo-Nazis marching against minority groups, and young Democrats preaching violence against Trumpsters. There was just so much hatred--- so many hurt people.

"Pretty hectic, honestly."

"Hectic?" Sam repeats.  

Before they have a chance to ask more questions, she cuts them off. Trying to change the subject-- she doesn't want to think about home.

"So what is it you guys said you did, again?" She asks.

While the question was said slightly to derail the conversation, this had also been eating away at her brain. The only explanation she got in the hospital was Sam telling her that they help people like her, paranormal cases-- but what exactly does that entail?

"Er- we're hunters," Sam answers, "We hunt Ghosts, Demons, you name it."

"How does one exactly...get into a job like this?"

"It's the family business," Dean shrugs.

Sam snorts, "Most parents tell their children there's no monster under the bed. Our Dad handed us a shotgun."

Eva's eyes widen at his words. What a totally different world from hers, huh?

And she thought when her Dad would make her come fix the pipes with him, that he was being unfair-- God was she privileged. And for a moment she thinks how awful it must've been to grow up with a life like that. But then it hit her, it hit her that what if this is her life now? Her family is gone. It's only been a day, but down to the absolute core of it, she has never felt such a cold-cut separation from them as she does now. Never truly felt empty, without their love until now-- as if they were dead. She just couldn't feel them.

"He was honest with us, it was the only way to keep us safe," Dean adds.

When his words tear her away from her thoughts, she immediately notices Sam's reaction. His eyes slightly rolling, turning his head away with a muttered scoff. She hates to admit it but, having someone else's tension and stress to focus on makes it easier for her not to get caught up in her own problems.

Truly, if she compares their childhoods, she's practically treated like a Princess. She had great big birthday parties with all of her cousins and friends, during Halloween her Mom used to plan weeks ahead, helping little Eva become whatever she wanted to be.

And her favorite part of the year: Christmas. It was just magical.

They would decorate the outside of their house in cute, colored lights. Eva and her Mom would bake cookies and pies, which Eva absolutely loved. They would bring in a nice big Christmas tree every year and decorate with tons and tons of ornaments and lights. Around the house, her parents would scatter around little Santa's and little reindeer decorations.

It was also the time of year when tons of her cousins and family would come visit their home and they'd constantly have people over playing games, eating together, and having so much fun.

Most of all, when Christmas day came, they all got each other gifts, nice gifts. True, her brothers always struggled with not only wrapping but also picking things out. Despite that, it was always purest, the happiest day of her life. Whether it was her Mom's homemade knit socks or Charley's artsy drawings, or just being in the company of Oli and her Dad--it was all perfect. At the end of the day, she loved being surrounded by them. And right now, she really needed it.

'What they wouldn't give to have a childhood like that...' she thinks.

She feels their thick, fiery tension. She could tell instantly that Dean's words rubbed Sam the wrong way and vise versa. But, while it distracted her-- it also made her feel guilty. She didn't like their discomfort. No, she liked it far better when they were kind and calm. Something she needs at this time while dealing with her madness. Something she required from them in order to know that everything's going to be okay.

"I can imagine knowing about all those evil things at such a young age must've made your childhood so much different," Eva earnestly says.

Her voice glazed over as she recalls all the precious memories, slowly tugging tears to her eyes. Her fingers eagerly find her necklace, holding it tight in her palm. She really can't help but feel bad for them, growing up hunting monsters? They probably felt like outcasts-- outcasts that weren't getting paid nor recognized for saving people. 'I just can't imagine,' she thinks.

It was strangely comforting, the words she spoke. Sam and Dean have this consistent tension that pulls on both of their ends every time they talk about their childhood. It's like, sometimes, they didn't even live the same experience. As if Dean was raised by a completely other man. In Sam's eyes, the John Winchester he knows raised them like soldiers. But it's like that man didn't exist to Dean.

"So, how am I going to get back to, well, er- the future?" She stumbles over the words. The idea that her saying 'back to the future' as a real thing and not as a reference to the movie, making her feel really odd.

"Honestly? Not a clue," Sam answers, "We've never actually had a time-travel case before," He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly.

Instantly, this makes her stomach drop. These guys are her only hope, and even they don't know what to do?  Even they've never even heard of something like this? Her brain starts spinning, her anxiety flying out the window as she feels her face get hot with frustration. And she goes straight back to that place, 'what if she can't get back? What if, truly, yesterday was her very last day in 2019?'

"Great," She whispers, hopelessness getting the better of her.

Sam jolts in his seat, his hands frantically waving at her, "No-no! That's not what I meant. Just because we haven't had a case like this before doesn't mean we can't figure it out. Seriously, we do it all the time."

"Just tell me truthfully," Eva meets his hazel eyes in the mirror, "Do you think that I'll ever see them again?"

"Yes. I promise that you will," Sam responds in a soft tone.

"Then, what's the first step?"

"Ganking the SOB that attacked you," Dean decides.

Not even the slightest wavering in his voice, or a flinch in his face, he was sure as Hell. The firmness in his tone, the fact that he was self-assured enough to make a very certain decision-- it gave her ease. She didn't feel scared, like whatever what was going to happen next was unknown or that her future wasn't hopeful. She really needed someone right now to give her security. To give her trust, and that's exactly what Dean did.

Eva's stomach rumbles with a loud growl. Her brain just now realizing how hungry she was.

"Not without eating first...right?" Eva asks.

This causes both Sam and Dean to laugh, the mood lightening up even more.

"How do you feel about burgers?"

"Well," She looks down to her fingers and hands covered in bandages, "How do you guys feel about cutting up my food?"

Dean lets out a low whistle, "Sammy's the babysitter tonight, idn't that right?" He gives a hard pat on his brother's shoulder.

"You know Dean, correct me if I'm wrong but last hunt I carried your ass out of a burning building. So actually, I think it's your turn, brother."

"Oh c'mon," Dean groans, "Y'know how much I hate kids,"

"Hey! I'm 18, thank you very much," Eva hollers from the back seat.

"Is that so?" Dean meets her eyes in the mirror, sending her a flirtatious wink, a small smirk playing on his face.

"Seriously, Dean?" Sam gags,  "She's injured! God, I'll do it, okay?"  

~~

The Impala smoothly pulls into the parking lot of an off-road diner called, 'Two Men and a Griddle'. The building looked rather vintage, a 60's themed restaurant. It had a few cars parked here and there, most of them taking a rest stop to eat.

Once Dean sets the car in park, he quickly unbuckles his seatbelt and swings the door open. Sam and Dean were still decked out in their FBI suits, looking a little out of place for a small diner like this.

They decide to ditch the jackets, the tie and untuck their shirts to make it look less formal. While Dean makes his way to the trunk, Sam opens the side door, greeting Eva with a kind smile.

"Do you need some help?" He asks. She quickly looks down to her body. She already knew her body was in some pretty severe pain since she's been feeling it the entire car ride, but she honestly didn't know how to go about getting out the car. Everything was bandaged, there were lots of splints, so she wasn't very bendable at the moment.

"I think so," She answers. He offers a hand out for her to grab-- unfortunately not getting the finest grip. And when he tries to pull her out, using most of his strength to help her--- her hand slips from his grasp and she nearly tumbles to the ground. Her breath caught in her throat the moment she lost balance, feeling herself fall-- but oddly enough, she didn't hit the ground. No, she fell into Sam, who had his knees locked at the moment and was at a very awkward angle, and when she tumbled, she didn't fall on the concrete but rather something on the ground,  and landed on something very hard, it was also warm--- and groaning.

"I'm so sorry!" She yelps, trying to shuffle off of his gigantic body. Unintentionally--at least she thinks-- she catches a feel of his muscular build while trying to scramble off of him.

"You two need a room?" Dean jokes, still rummaging through the contents of the trunk.

"Ha. Ha." Sam rolls his eyes, "Very funny, Dean."

Once Eva is fully off of him, she crawls around, trying to find a way to get up. Her body was pulsing even harder than before, and now she was sitting on her legs which were definitely too sore to carry her weight. She inaudibly winces when trying to reach toward the car, attempting to find leverage.

Sam grunts as he sits up, brushing off his clothes. He easily stands up and looks back down to Eva. He notices her scrunched up face, she's in evident pain. But despite her very clear discomfort, she desperately tried grabbing on to the car door, trying to pull herself back up.

"Hey, hey, relax. You don't want to end up ripping one of your stitches, just lemme help you."

He extends his hands out and she jumps away from them."But I fell on you!" She protests.

"And I'm fine. You're clearly not."

"I don't know what you're talking about, I'm fine," She argues back, still trying to pull herself up.

He ignores her words, not buying one second of it, and bends down, "I'm gonna help you now, okay?"

He gently grabs both of her arms, his large hands easily wrapping around her entire elbow. Slowly pulling her up, he makes sure not to grip too tight, or too loose, and she dare not look him in the eye. Once she's on her feet, he holds her for an extra second to make sure her balance is grounded.

His warm hands leave her arms, and she nervously meets his eyes, "Thanks," She mumbles.

"You're welcome."

Dean pops back up from the trunk, he's holding a black, beat-up journal in one hand, and in the other a laptop. He hands the computer to Sam.

"Let's try and do some digging," Dean says.

"Good idea, the sooner we find this thing, the sooner we can kill it."

Sam looks to Eva, her eyes veiled with the look of disassociation. She was quiet, but her mind was the complete opposite. She couldn't bear the thoughts coiling in her brain. The fact that what Sam and Dean do shouldn't be real. None of this should be real.

She can't help but think back to when Amber used to say her house was haunted. She'd only been there a couple times herself, but she'd be lying if she said it felt normal there. There was something so stomach-churning about her home. It makes her think, what if it was really haunted? What if, all of this stuff has existed in her home town? What if, Amber didn't go missing out of the blue---but was attacked by something paranormal?

"You okay?" Sam asks, startling her from her thoughts.

"I just can't believe this stuff is real."

"Neither can we sometimes," Sam sighs. They begin to walk towards the entrance, "Especially with your case, I don't even know what could do this."

Eva hums in response. It certainly doesn't calm her nerves knowing they're just as perplexed as she is. And when she's more on edge--more scared, it's harder for her to see a happy ending.

She trails sloppily behind the boys, trying to not hurt herself with the crutches. They swing open the cute little brass doors of the diner and are met with the strong smell of fried food and milkshakes.

A bubbly blonde hostess instantly greets the little group, "Just 3?" She asks.

They all nod as she grabs a couple of menus. Dean, not even trying to be discreet, easily scans her body. His eyes wandering from top to bottom, meeting all the way back to her face, and resting on her red-painted lips.

"Follow me."

As Eva makes her way through the restaurant, she notices the many different people sitting about the tables. Travelers, businessmen, families, and so on. Similarly, the way she peers in on these people, they peer at her. She wasn't exactly normal looking at the moment, even in a diner full of random social classes---not a single person looked away from her as she passed them.

She didn't realize it at first, but seeing the occasional family sitting in a booth, really cut straight into her. Her family used to go on road trips, they'd pile in the car and drive out to a city close by to visit cousins. She always loved to travel, but she supposes it was always easier for her to have fun because she never actually drove the car. There was something calming about watching the scenery flow by the window, she couldn't explain it, but it was very peaceful to her.

They'd almost always make a rest stop somewhere exactly like this. A little pull-in diner, she'd get milkshakes, dip her fries in them. They'd cozy up into a booth, and while there would be bickering, there'd be lots of funny moments too---somehow always turning into a laughing fit.

She smiles at the memory of the one time her brother Charley sat across from her and they were in the corner of the booth. He kept annoying her, flicking straw wrappers at her or mocking everything she said-- he's always been a bit childish. And of course, he got what he wanted and got her all riled up. And she remembers getting so annoyed that when she saw him about to throw another stupid, crumpled paper at her--- her arm flung up in the air trying to stop it. But, she ended up hitting the little wall decoration right next to her, and broke it straight off.

Off course, the waitress had just arrived to bring them their food, her face was appalled, to say the least. Eva had never felt more embarrassed in her life. Not to mention, the diner had been rather quiet, so when everyone heard the ceramic wall decoration shatter, the whole entire restaurant stared at her and she was as red as a tomato. Her family laughed their asses off, and couldn't stop talking about it the entire trip.

The waitress hands Eva a menu, "That's such a pretty necklace!" She compliments, staring right at the little bugger.

Once they reach their table, Sam notices the ghostly smile on Eva's face. It wasn't necessarily pleasant, but not sad either. There was an almost bittersweet twinkle to her gaze as she rounded the chair. Eva softly mumbles a 'thank you', before sitting down.

Dean, on the other hand, had his green eyes glued to the waitress wearing the nametag: 'Marlene'. And he couldn't stop chatting her up, making her cheeks flush and her fingers naturally twirl through her blonde locks.

Sam gingerly took a seat next to Eva, "You alright?" He asks.

She was knocked out of her reminiscent feeling. Her eyes blinking as if she's adjusting to the sight in front of her for the first time.

She appreciates his kindness, it helps to know that someone is caring about her. She has no idea what she would have been like if these boys didn't take her case. She'd be in that hospital, alone--maybe even put away in a Mental Health Institution---something she couldn't handle without her family- not again.

She shook away the thoughts, not wanting to jump down that sticky rabbit hole either.

"I'm okay, just a little scared honestly," She answers Sam back, meeting his concerned eyes.

She's a very concise person, it's an admirable trait. She learned very early on that lying does her no good. If something is too hard to talk about, too hard to explain-- perhaps she's not ready to say it--- then she's learned to say exactly that, 'I'm not ready to talk,' 'I'm too scared to talk', 'Frankly, I don't know'--- rather than lie.

He places his laptop on the table, but keeps a fixed gaze on her, "You have every right to be scared; what you're going through is hard."

"Do you deal with a lot of freaked out people?"

"All the time," He smiles, "It's normal. And you can count on us to help you get back home."

"Thanks, Sam," She gives him an endearing, warm smile-- showing her appreciation for his comforting words.

"Alright, let's start from the beginning, we need every possible detail you can give us," Dean announces, flipping open the journal.

She begins to tell them everything that she can remember about yesterday. Amber, the missing car, the intense downfall of rain and the eerie emptiness of the town. Just as she's explaining the events leading up to the attack, Dean pauses her.

"Wait, so whatever this thing was, it just popped up out of nowhere? Didn't make any sounds?" He asks.

She fearfully recollects the night, shutting her eyes tight. She remembers the thundering footsteps bellowing toward her.

"I heard running, really l-loud, uh, footsteps..." She pauses, out of breath, "-And t-then it all happened so... uh- fast- I, I couldn't do anything," She starts to feel her eyes filling over with tears.

"Dean, we should give her a break, you're pushing her too much," Sam suggests.

"You good, kid?"

She shakes her head, feeling his eyes on her. She breathes out the tightness in her chest and the heat in her eyes, "I'm okay, I wanna get this over with."

She shuts her eyes again. 'C'mon Eva,' she begs herself.

She knows that they need every detail from that night. If she misses something, they won't be able to figure out what it is that stalked her. Her story is vital-- doesn't matter how painful and mortifying it is. The longer she puts it off, the less of a chance they have at finding this guy.

It's just honestly-- it's one of those moments where she craves nothing more than her Mom's warm, comforting arms. Her Mother has been there for her night and day, the kindest and sweetest woman to walk the Earth. But, barely even being able to envision the feeling of what one of her hugs, it just made her colder. She couldn't feel them, couldn't feel her warmth. And it just made her feel even farther away.

'It's your mind,' she tells herself, 'you need to control it, you need to.'

Clenching her jaw so tight, it stung; screwing her eyes shut so hard, she saw stars; breathing in so deep, that her lungs felt like they were going to pop-- she tries again, illustrating the night.

"The footsteps they- they were the loudest thing I heard... louder than the thunder and...and- I was bent over-- I was bent over because... because- I dropped my necklace," She recalls, the last bit making her eyes shoot open at the memory.

"No- no, it fell!" She corrects herself, "Yeah, it fell right off of me, straight onto the sidewalk."

Sam and Dean are listening very carefully, putting together all of the strange elements. There was something about this case that was agonizingly freakish. The fact that these little, simple things were just slightly out of place, they couldn't understand it, none of them could.

"Is your necklace broken?" Sam asks, looking down to her chest at the gem. Her fingers subconsciously twirl it, as she shakes her head.

"No, I checked it when I got it at the hospital. It was perfectly fine," She mutters the last part, going into a little state of confusion herself.

"And that thing, you hadn't heard it yet, not before your necklace fell?" Sam asks.

"No, it wasn't until after I bent over to pick it up."

Dean shifts his eyes to the book, flipping through it. Trying to find something, anything. His tongue peeking out the corner of his mouth and he scans the pages.

"And when it started running, it wasn't close to you? Not behind you?" Dean asks, still frantically searching pages. Sam listens just as intently, but also is opening hundreds of obscure informative websites on lore and myths, looking just as confused as his brother.

"No, when I was about to pick up the necklace, I heard footsteps from really far behind me, but going to so fast it ended up- well, uh- right there and- you know, it- it attacked me," She stuttered through her words, the images and surging pains flashing through her as she remembers like a movie.

"Definitely not a ghoul," Dean mutters to his brother.

"Not a skinwalker either."

"After it attacked you, did it try to get your necklace?" Dean asks.

"Uh--no."

This causes both of them to look at each other. If the attacker didn't want the gem, then why did it fall off of her? It didn't naturally un-clasp from her neck, Dean knows that for sure. It was like the two biggest factors of her story were contradicting each other. 'If it wasn't going for the necklace, then what was it going for?'

The waitress suddenly pops up at the table startling everyone.

All three of them deep in a frenzy of trying to look for a pattern. Sam nervously lowers his computer screen and Dean quickly shuts the journal. He flashes the young lady a nice smile, and she smiles back.

"I hate to say this, but it's gettin' real late, you three," She nods her head to the side, "We're sorta startin' to clean up..."

"Marlene, you're kickin' us out?" Dean teases, pretending to look hurt.

"I know!" She pouted, "I was really likin' serving you today, Dean."

"Me too, sweetheart," He cocks his head to the side, locking eyes with her,  "Say, you live around here?"

Eva chokes back a laugh, entertained by the cinema playing in front of her. Sam's irritated look is incomparable, and Dean's goofy smile really has her forgetting all about the attack.

Sam clears his throat lightly, failing to get Dean and Marlene's attention, he clears it much louder.

"Excuse me, Dean, but maybe another time? Did you forget we have that thing at work tomorrow?"

Dean reluctantly looks back to his baby brother, sighing, "Right, forgot."

"You mind gettin' me a slice of apple pie to go?" He asks.

"Comin' right up!"

While Marlene happily dances her way over to the kitchen, Eva looks back to the boys. All while getting caught up at the hospital, to the diner-- then getting swept up into the story and researching, she totally forogt...what is the next step? She doesn't have a home to go back to, this case-- right now-- is her life. If they stop researching, she can't just sit down and watch some tv, can she? She sighs at the thought, of how long the road ahead is going to be.

"So, you guys, where exactly are we going?"

"Lotus Motel, on Semple." Dean answers.

"Right, so, where exactly am I sleeping?"

"Well it's...oh, okay, " Sam remembering that there are only two beds, politely offers, "Do you want me to sleep on the floor?"

"I'd take him up on that offer, Sammy's a kicker," Dean whispers the last part.

"That was once, Dean, once. And we were friggin' kids! I don't do that anymore!"

Dean lets out an airy laugh, grinning with entertainment. Sam, on the other hand, ears turning bright pink and nose all scrunched up in annoyance.

"Just so easy," Dean clicks his tongue, still smiling.

If they're going to be driving again, and staying up God knows how late researching-- Eva decides she should probably use the restroom. She stands up, the boys going back and forth. Dean teasing Sam, Sam getting upset, Dean pushing it, Sam sassing back, Dean getting annoyed-- it was, maybe, just a little headache provoking?

She picks up the crutches and get's herself steady. She catches the eyes of the waitress, "Could you tell me where the bathroom is?" She asks politely.

"C'mon, I'll show ya'!"

She quickly follows behind the blonde girl. Her legs and arms wobbling as she tries to move fast on crutches. Good thing they're the only customers left, otherwise, she'd be wrecking into everyone's table.

Marlene begins to slow down, making a couple turns through a sweetly decorated hallway--literally. There were bubblegum machines and candy bars everywhere. It was like she was walking through the Willy Wonka Chocolate Factory.

The waitress swiftly glances behind her to look at Eva-- her face jumping in surprise.

"Oh sweetie, do you want some help?" She offers a hand.

Eva nods. She'd be lying if she said her arms were starting to hurt even more, and it was hard trying not to tug the wrong way and accidentally rip stitching.

She places her finely manicured nails behind Eva's shoulders, and places the other hand out in front of her, ready to open a door. The girl was being awfully polite. I mean, for working in food service, one tends to become pretty wrung out from all the crazy customers they deal with. She was surprised this girl was so happy.

"Here we are," She opens the door, holds it up for her to limp in. She gives her one last pat on the shoulder and a bright smile.

"Just call out if you need some help, hun," Her blue eyes twinkling.

"Thanks, I will."

The waitress leaves the bathroom, the door swinging shut behind her. She carefully makes her way over to a stall. Then she realizes, she's wearing overalls. Boy-- is this going to be fun. She struggles to unbuckle the straps and tries to get it down her legs.

As she's washing her hands, she can't help but succumb to the quietness of the empty room. Silence, it always gets to her.

When she has something to stimulate her brain, whether it's tv, books, games, conversations with people-- it distracts her. When she has something else to focus on, something else to intrigue her, it keeps the mind from spiraling away. At this moment, she can't afford to have herself get caught up in the monstrosities of her pain. The second she lets herself think about her family, about what happened---she'll go off the deep end, she knows it.

Of course, arguing with her brothers is something she never enjoyed. But, she can't deny having something to busy her mind with, even if it's something annoying, she needed it. She quite likes that the Winchester boys bicker. Especially, with all that she's dealing with-- with all the heart-wrenching thoughts of being without her family-- her well-being demands distraction.

She exits the bathroom, and even from such a far distance, she can hear the muffled sounds of Sam and Dean arguing. She tries to focus---some call it eavesdropping, she calls it, 'I can listen to whoever the Hell I want to, fuck off,' Or at least that's what she'd say to her brothers, anyway.

"--Dean, you're refusing to look at the similarities," Sam's voice, she infers.

"No, there's just nothing to look at." Dean, she figures, "That kid was a psycho."

"The psychic abilities? Both of our Mom's died in our nursey---both died the same exact way? We were connected in some way, Dean, admit it."

"Admit what?"

"Hmm, I don't know. Maybe that you're scared? You're trying to tell me you're not in the least bit scared I could turn into that?"

"You're not like that, Sammy, okay?" Dean raises his voice, "Now stop fussing over it, we've got other things to deal with."

Now, Eva was in a predicament. She heard quite a lot there-- quite a lot that not only made her concerned but very confused. She felt wrong knowing all that personal information, things about Sam that he didn't tell her willingly. Not to mention the guilt-- the guilt of hearing about his Mother. She doesn't know what to think now except, 'maybe eavesdropping wasn't such a good idea...'

She pops her head into the main eating area. Her eyes instantly meeting the majorly thwarted boys. Dean takes it as a signal to go. He stands up, quickly throwing his coat over his shoulders. Sam also stands and clothes himself in a jacket. Eva looks to the table noticing no take-out box.

"She didn't bring you your pie, yet?"

Dean frowns, "Nope, 'bout to go up there and get it myself."

"Dean," Sam warns.

"We can just go find her, she was with me a few minutes ago--"

All of a sudden, something was not feeling right in Eva's brain.

Something feeling thick and cold in her veins. She could feel her stomach jump so high, it felt like it was caught in her throat. It was as if her chest cavity was collapsing with each breath-- as if her body was shrinking with each shudder.

And that's when she started to feel the excruciating pain on her back. It wasn't on the surface where the stitches were-- no, it was inside of her. Where the monster tore her up. She felt her organs cramping up; her blood burning so hot, that it felt like it was going to eat her inside out; her flesh feeling like it's being compressed so tight, she couldn't move.

Her skin begins to run pale. Her breathes getting frozen in her lungs.

"You're not lookin' too good," Dean says. He notices the pink rings forming around her eyes. Dark purple color flooding her eye bags. He sees her eyes fall heavy, her breathing slow, and her lips agape, shaking.

Just as Sam is about to ask her if she's okay--- her head cocks to the side and she collapses on to the floor.

Blood spilling out of her nose on to the black and white tiles.

(Let me know what you think! I really hope you guys are enjoying this xoxo)

[lil-feenz]

This Christmas (MyDay Secret Santa gift)

a/n: wow, okay first off i haven’t written a fic in years so this was a #struggle so props to all of you writers out there doin ur thing! ur amazing and you are appreciated!

i wrote this for my secret santa gift for one of the world’s nicest mydays aka @parkjaeins ! it’s been so fun messaging you, and i’m really glad i got to know you a little bit! i hope you have an amazing christmas, and i hope this is slightly enjoyable! (im sorry i still don’t quite like the beginning and end so forgive me!!)

genre: holiday fluff, angst if you squint and do a headstand

word count: 2.8k-ish oof

summary: Distance makes the heart grow fonder, they say. However, being apart for their first Christmas left Janelle particularly reminiscent. (a.k.a. holiday facetiming with Jae)

characters: Jae x OC, 3rd person (I did write this specifically for my secret santa!)

Brrrrrrng.

“Huh.”

The ringing sound slowly seeped its way into Janelle’s consciousness, insisting its way through her concentration as her brain reached for a response. What was that noise again?

Brrrrrrrng.

“Oh.”

Janelle haphazardly leaned over the bowls and ingredients crowding the counter in an effort to reach her laptop. Smudging some residual flour on the mouse pad of her laptop, she ran her fingers over the device and pressed down to hear that satisfying little click, accepting the video call request.

“Hi, babe!” she called out hurriedly, dancing around her own feet to maneuver in front of her laptop. Catching herself in and out of balance, her body finally slumped onto the countertop, a lopsided smile decorating her face.

A scratching sound echoed in the kitchen as Jae shuffled around on the other end of the call. Janelle caught the sight of the dormitory in the moving scene displayed in front of her. “He must’ve just finished at the Christmas Eve concert the boys were having,” she thought.

“Hey, baby,” Jae drawled with a tired smile on his face, raising his phone to eye level now. “How’s it going?” A soft thump pushed its way through her laptop speakers as Jae unceremoniously flopped onto his bed, followed by the murmur of ”Merry Christmas Eve.”

“Pffft,” Janelle laughed airily at his antics. “I’m doing fine, just trying to finish up some things for our Christmas get-together.” Glancing down at her hands, she noted the dusting of dry ingredients surrounding her laptop and absentmindedly brushed it away with her fingers. “How was the show tonight?”

Jae quietly beamed, his face turning up towards the ceiling. “Man, the fans’ energy was great. I think it was a nice way to finish 2018 as a group and fans, we had a pretty good year together, y’know?” He reached back, ruffling his fluffy crop of hair. “I just wish you could’ve been there.”

A small sadness panged through Janelle’s chest. “I know, I do, too…” She exhaled softly. With Jae’s world tour, music show performances, and awards shows on top of Janelle’s studies and exams that all seemed to come nonstop the past two months, the pair only had digital representations of each other to find comfort in.

A thought dwelled in the back of Janelle’s mind: she knew long distance spells like this would be a reality when she chose to let Jae into her life, but she didn’t expect that the deep craving to be there with him would ache so thoroughly. Walking into a coffee shop reminded her of their first few meetings with him. Seeing dogs on the street reminded her of the time they puppy-sat for Dowoon when Janelle concluded that Jae was absolutely a Yorkie.

-

“A Yorkie?!” Jae choked while Janelle cackled. “How on earth am I a Yorkie?”

“C’mon, don’t tell me you don’t see it. Big personality, easily susceptible to getting clowned, sassy, territorial, suspicious of every noise, they’re, like, 18 cm tall, you’re 180 cm,” she listed off, checking off each thing with her fingers. “Yorkies absolutely fit the bill.”

“Okay, okay okay,” Jae hurriedly interjected, “but I protest. I’m more like a Great Dane, or something.” He was incredulous, and she could tell. This would be fun, and she knew it. “I am friendly, I am loving, I am large and in charg-” Unfortunately, he did not get to finish before Janelle’s laughter burst through the conversation.

“Please do not finish that phrase, oh my gosh,” she managed through her giggles, sitting up. She patted his knee gingerly. “The only thing you can claim from a Great Dane is you don’t realize how big you are.”

“I am offended,” Jae gasped, eyes wide and a hand mockingly hovering over his chest, “are you calling me fat?”

Suddenly, Janelle’s humorous expression dropped. She knew what was coming. “Jaehyung Park, don’t you dare,” she tried to warn, but Jae wasn’t one to back down from a joke.

“I am honestly HURT that you would call your warm and caring boyfriend fat,” he went on, progressively leaning further into her space on the couch, “I truly thought you appreciated my physique, you’ve never once complained about my cuddles, but I guess your true feelings are showing.” He continued blabbering dramatically as he used every bit of height he had over her to lay uncomfortably on top of her protesting figure. He turned onto his back as he tried to push her into the couch as she alternated between laughs and groans of discomfort.

“Jae, you’re really bony, you know that?”

“Yep.”

“So you know I’m very uncomfortable right now.”

“Yep.”

“So then what will it take to get you off of me, if you don’t mind?”

“Admit I’m a Great Dane.”

“But you know, you’re really acting like a stubborn Yorkie right now,” she commented, wiggling underneath him to free her shoulder of his spine pressing into her. He only pushed further. “Ow!”

“Or am I just an affectionate Great Dane trying to get some reciprocated affection?” he rebutted, turning his head to catch a glimpse of her struggling underneath the dead weight of his body.

-

“Hey, is something on your mind?”

Janelle snapped back to attention, staring at the image of Jae on her laptop. He was sitting up, looking at her curiously with a bit of worry coloring his gaze.

“Sorry, I just zoned out a bit,” she smiled meekly, widening the placement of her elbows, allowing her to fiddle with her fingers.

Jae gave her a knowing smile. He could read her like a book, no, like a score, watching all the thoughts swirling intertwining within her, conveying her thoughts and emotions in a symphony of signs: the light behind her eyes, the furrow and lift of her brows, the pull of her lips, the curve of her posture. “Damn,” he thought, “I’ve got it bad.”

“It’s okay,” he assured warmly, trying to lift the mood. He knew it was hard being apart for their first Christmas as a couple, but it was Christmas, for goodness sakes, and he wasn’t about to let Janelle be sad if he could help it. “So what are you doing for the fam?” he asked, hoping to bring about a lighter topic.

Janelle looked at the bowls, sugar, baking powder, and other items scattered about next to her. “Well, I’ve been trying to finish baking as much as I can for tomorrow’s dinner so tomorrow is as stress-free as possible,” she sighed, the hours of baking she’d done the past week catching up to her. “I realized a few days ago that I’d been so busy baking for everyone else that I forgot to plan what I’d bring to Christmas dinner, so I’m just making a batch of brownies.” Her eyes flitted over the half-done batch of batter she had been making when Jae called. The oven light let out a soft click to signal it was done preheating, briefly drawing her attention to the appliance. “I figured it’s a crowd-pleaser, so I couldn’t really go wrong.”

Jae threw back his head with a groan and a smile. “You’re making brownies? Without me to taste test? I’m jealous.” There was no doubt Janelle’s baking was popular amongst her family and friends, and Jae was undoubtedly a contender for her number one fan.

Jae watched Janelle turn back towards the camera and arch an eyebrow playfully. “You better watch that sweet tooth of yours, I wouldn’t want you going out to find a substitute sweet and finding a better baker than me,” she joked. “I can’t lose my number one customer.”

A fondness curled up inside Jae’s chest. He lolled his head to the side, squinting and shaking his head. “Never, babe.” A brief but familiar silence lapsed between the two as they alternated looking at each other and at their hands. Jae quickly cut in, “But for real, you’re going to save me some, right? I put it on my Christmas list, and I’ll be very sad if I miss out on that brownie goodness.”

Janelle chuckled. “Well, if I can figure out the rules for sending food at the post, then I might just make you a batch.” Collecting her measuring spoons and snatching the tub of cocoa powder, she scooped up the soft, brown powder and tapped it into her mixing bowl. She glanced at him through the camera mischievously, attempting an air on nonchalance. “But you might check under your bed in the meantime, Santa may have left something to make it up to you.”

Squinting suspiciously to hide his excitement, he lowered his arm and scooted off the bed.  Sliding himself to the floor, he rested on his knees and elbows, still clutching onto the device that held Janelle, nervously awaiting his reaction. Sure enough, a small box sat proudly amongst the clutter underneath his bed. “Wow, a bow and everything!” he tucked his chin in in a big, goofy grin. Janelle’s view of Jae was obstructed as he ducked to grab the gift.

“Nice ceiling, are those new lights?” she quipped, heart picking up a little as she waited for him to see the gift. Jae just snorted in response. She was actually quite nervous: had the gift made it in one piece? Was it the right one? She hadn’t laid eyes on it herself, rather, she had it shipped straight to South Korea, entrusting Younghyun to receive and hide the box in Jae’s room. Abandoning the mix once more, she looked on as the camera moved around dizzyingly until Jae righted himself into view.

“Aw, thank you, babe,” Jae cooed, examining the box in his free hand.

Janelle smiled, trying to egg him on. “You can thank me after you open it! Go ahead!”

He obliged, commentating with his stream of consciousness while setting down his phone to pry open the box. “Alright, alright, I’m going. I can’t believe this, who did you have to bribe to bust into my room?” he paused and shoved his head directly in front of his phone. “Was it Brian?”

“Jae, for the love of all that is good and sacred, if you don’t open that gift, I’m going to send all of your brownies to Wonpil and make you suffer, please open it!” Janelle threatened quickly, eyebrows shooting up to try and show some authority.

“You’re not intimidating, babe.”

“...shut up and open the stinking box.”

Jae continued on, ripping open the tape keeping the box sealed. Janelle shifted on her feet, waiting for any sort of reaction.

“Well?” she asked, only catching the tip of his head from the angle of the camera.

“Well, you need to tell Brian that he’s a crappy gift wrapper. He only put a bow on it,” Jae panned, holding the red decoration over the camera for Janelle to see. Janelle heard the final rip as the last bit of tape gave up its hold on the box. Shuffling. She gazed intensely at the shot of Jae’s forehead, the nerves in her stomach tingling. She studied the way his eyebrows pushed up, creating fine wrinkles in his forehead.

Jae was silent. Janelle hopes it’s the good kind of silent. Chewing on the inside of her lip, she cautiously asked, “Do you like it?”

The view on her laptop shifted again as Jae picked up his phone. She couldn’t read the look on his face, but she didn’t push any further. Jae sat against the side of his bed, organizing his thoughts, his jaw slack and his eyes clear. “Janelle, this is…” he left his sentence unfinished, opting to shake his head and look directly into the camera. “Thank you for this,” he swiveled around, snatching his pillow off the bed to use as a stand for his phone. He carefully set down the device and leaned it against the pillow until his cross-legged figure was in full view. Next to him lay the now empty brown box, and in his lap sat a brown leather bound book. He turned his attention to it, opening the cover gently, eyes roaming the title page that read “Memories” in black script. In it were pictures the pair had taken while they had visited each other, Janelle when she went to Korea in the summer and Jae when he pit-stopped for a day after the concert stop in Jakarta. Some were selfies, showing silly faces and surprise kisses, some were sneakily taken shots of Jae sleeping on the couch or low-angle shots under his chin. He slowly flicked through the pages, seeing pictures of the coffee shop where they first met in Korea, selfies of Janelle pouting with a small plushie Jae had given her before she left to start uni.

Janelle watched on, her chin resting on the heel of her palm, her weight balancing on one foot as she crossed her ankles, resting her toes on the cool floor of her kitchen. She felt a soft bliss as Jae scanned the photo book she had made for him, a compilation of their times together so they could reminisce. She knew how sentimental Jae was inside, and she knew how hard being constantly busy was, and if he missed her the way she missed him, the distance couldn’t have been easy on him.

“I just figured it’d be nice to start keeping something to help us along when we’re apart,” Janelle divulged, eyeing the screen before letting her eyes fall to the countertop.

“There’s blank ones,” Jae remarked, looking at his screen once more. His voice was soft, devoid of the usual playfulness typical of his tone.

Janelle bit her lip, an excited smile forming on her face. “Yeah, I left those for our future memories.”

Jae rocked backwards, hands holding his ankles, hitting the side of his bed in the process. He looked down at the book again, a smile brimming on his own face. “I love it, babe. This was very thoughtful, I really like it.” Making eye contact with her through the screen, he tried to convey as meaningful a look as possible. “Come, here,” he suddenly said, holding his arms out towards the phone, wrapping it and the pillow in an awkward hug.

Janelle laughed on the other end of the line. “Well, that didn’t last long, did it?”

“Come on, don’t leave me hanging, or else this’ll get really awkward.”

“It already is awkward, Jae.”

“It’s what I do best.”

Releasing a sigh ahead of a warm smile, Janelle obliged, wrapping her laptop a hugging gesture. “You’re crazy.”

“Right back at ya,” Jae drew away, smoothly dropping a wink. Janelle gagged in response.

“What about me? Any hints for my gift?” Janelle redirected, hoping to escape more electronics-as-middleman skinship.

Looking out at his room, Jae exhaled shortly. “I checked the postage tracking, but I think it got held up in customs,” he explained, “I knew I should’ve sent it earlier.”

“Don’t worry about it!” Janelle hastily deflected the negativity pulling down on her boyfriend’s shoulders. “Anything is fine, I’m just lucky to have you,” she pressed her lips together to try and dispel any regret he may have been having.

“Janelle,” Jae began, “I think we all know that I’m the lucky one in this combo. Like, the fact that I even managed to meet you is a miracle in itself, so please, will you let me keep the title of ever-grateful boyfriend here?”

A roll of the eyes. A sarcastic smirk.

“Well, I guess, but where does that leave me, huh?”

“You win title of the most tolerant girlfriend to the most ridiculous man on earth,” he quipped.

Another eye roll. “Well, you’ve got that right,” she muttered jokingly.

“I’ll let that slide since it’s Christmas.” Jae got up from the floor, clutching the book as he waddled over to his desk.

“You love me,” Janelle swayed her shoulders to the side, leaning her head down until they met before she started to pick back up on her baking.

“You know it.”

Time slipped by as they continued to chatter about plans before ringing in the New Year. Janelle joked about kissing a random person at midnight on New Years Eve: sulking, Jae left the phone on his desk as he paced around his room. “That’s mean,” he pouted. Both of them knew that neither would ever do such a thing, and both trusted each other to not betray that.

After catching up with each other, Jae was fighting back the onslaught of sleep and Janelle was waiting for her brownies to finish baking. It was quite late, but neither party seemed to want to end the call. Eventually, Janelle’s conscience nagged her into encouraging Jae to go to bed.

“You need the rest, you shouldn’t sleep Christmas away,” she reasoned, swinging her legs from her perch on the countertop.

Jae whined, but relented. “Yes, ma’am,” he grumbled sarcastically. “Talk to you later?”

“Yeah, talk to you later. Good night, Jae.” That little pang in her chest returned, wishing earnestly that she could be there with him.

“G’night, babe,” Jae grinned, crinkling his eyes and waving before her smiling face disappeared and a dark screen took her place.

Heaving a sigh, Jae propelled himself up from his bed, going to the bathroom to wash up before packing his toiletries.

Her Christmas gift was on his way.

a/n: WOW congrats if you made it through!! hope you enjoyed it, have a merry christmas! 

[riderandwriter]

Unlike the Rest

By: Trayton Harmon

When I woke up I was covered in cold sweat. The words in my dream were perfect, exactly what I was looking for. I quickly leaned over and reached under my bed, my hand finding my notepad and pen. I sat up and positioned the notepad on my lap and clicked my pen out. Scribbling as fast as my hand would let me, I struggled to remember the words.

           I sit and write in the moon light when the mood strikes, no mic, just a pen and pad tonight. I fight with the norm; mental beats flow faster than my ink dries and I finally feel at home.

           As the rest of the verse came into my mind, I slowly looked up from my pad, dropped my pen, and blinked as a single tear ran down my cheek. I picked my pen back up after a minute and continued.

           How come I only feel at home when I’m alone with my shallow heart and soul colder than fresh snow, like a blanket over my emotion that my pen spills. I spill the beans with the sickest beats and I never admit defeat unless I’m facing me.

           Feeling empty, yet relieved, I let me head fall back to my pillow and placed my pad and pen back under my bed. When I closed my eyes, I was already seeing the notes for the beat. I fell asleep wondering what to name the song.          

           My name is Luke and this is my story. From the outside it may not seem like much, but it’s worth the world to me.

             My alarm went off at 6:30 and I tiredly rolled out of bed. I got dressed and walked upstairs to find some breakfast. After eating, I routinely got ready and grabbed my backpack. Then when I was about out the door, I stopped. Running back downstairs to my room I dropped to my knees and unzipped my backpack. I slid my notepad in next to my binders and books and quickly ran outside and drove to school.

           I walked down the crowded hallway, seeing everyone’s mouth moving but not hearing their words, just the music in my earbuds. I sat through class after class just watching the clock waiting for study hall. After what seemed like forever the bell rang and I walked across the hall into Mrs. Peterson’s room. She smiled at me and marked me on the roll. I sat down in the back of the classroom and pulled out my pad. With a click of my pen I started scribbling words on the page, pausing occasionally to tap out a beat and make sure the syllables fit.

           The classroom filled up and the noise level went up with the growing number of kids. I kept adjusting my iPod’s volume to hear my music over the pointless chatter. Tap tap tap, scribble scribble scribble. Look up at the ceiling, think of the right wording, scribble some more. Suddenly a hand slapped my pad sending it flopping into the floor. I hurriedly took out one earbud and paused my song. The first thing I noticed was the Mrs. Peterson was no longer in the room. Then I dared glance up and saw the three faces I was expecting. And dreading.

           The leader of the little posse, John, spoke first as always.

“Whatcha writin’ there? Love notes?”

He never ceased to amaze me with his cleverness. But his biceps made up for what he lacked in intelligence, and it was common knowledge that he loved to use them for things such as hurting kids like me. I’d had my face smeared on enough walls and lockers to know firsthand.

“Dude, will you just leave me alone? I’m just doing homework,” I said. He just smiled and motioned one of his two cronies to pick up my pad. Sidney leaned over to get it. He was about as dumb as a board, but like John, he could lift more weights than I’d ever dreamed of. And he would cripple you if you mentioned his name. Guess how I know? When they first confronted me I thought it would be a good idea to use my extensive intelligence and vocabulary to poke at Sidney’s name thinking he was too stupid to get the pun and I could walk away feeling like I’d won at least a small victory. That wasn’t quite the case. Instead I walked away feeling about 100% more sore than I would’ve otherwise.

As I was trying to think my way out of the situation John and crew were reading over my lyrics. I was desperate for escape and my face was twitching with fear and irritation. Not even the few people who I fully trusted had read the contents of my notepad. Not my parents, friends, girlfriend, or anyone. To have these idiots reading the raw product of my life in verses was horrifying.

Suddenly the three bullies were laughing. John threw the pad behind him, a few of the lose pieces of paper I kept in it flying through the air. Dillon, the third bully, spoke up for the first time.

“Little white boy thinks he’s a rapper,” he said smirking.

“Come on guys, just leave me alone,” I said, already feeling hope abandon me.

           Before one of the other kids could say anything, Mrs. Peterson walked back into the classroom. She saw the scattered papers and the three bigger kids standing around me. She must’ve figured out that something was wrong because she asked, “What’s going on boys?”

           “Oh, we just saw Luke accidentally drop his pad so we came to help him clean it up,” Dillon said. He wasn’t as big as his two friends, but he was noticeably smarter than them, so he did most of the cover-up work for the crew’s evil deeds.

           “Did you know that he’s a rapper? His whole pad is filled with lyrics. After high school, he is thinking of going big. He was just telling us about it,” Dillon continued.

           “Oh, Luke that’s fantastic,” Mrs. Peterson said. “It’s great to dream big like that, but it’s always good to have a ‘plan B’ too, just in case it doesn’t work out like you planned.”

           At that my face hardened. I didn’t know where Dillon got his information, I certainly didn’t tell him, but he was spot on. Mrs. Peterson, on the other hand, couldn’t have been more wrong. In my mind ‘plan B’ just lowered your chances at achieving ‘plan A’. I just muttered something that could’ve been ‘ok’, just eager to deflect the classes attention from me.

           The rest of the class hour couldn’t have passed more slowly. Everyone was staring at me and I even though I couldn’t hear them, I knew that they were whispering about me and laughing. After class I hustled out of the room and quickly walked to my car and drove to work where I could just listen to music and be left alone.

           The next day at school was the worst ever. Kids whispered to their friends and glanced at me, but always fell silent when I got closer. A few called out, “There goes the wanna-be!” In class, nobody would sit next to me. Even kids who I used to call friends wouldn’t make eye contact with me. The words I dreaded most came from my second hour teacher. “Ok kids, we’re doing a group project next. Please get in groups of three to five and we’ll get started.”

             The class went into momentary chaos while everyone scrambled to find their friends. Of course, after the groups were established, I was left standing alone in the middle of the class. I didn’t dare look at anyone so I began memorizing every detail of my shoes.

           “Luke, you can work with me for this one,” Mr. Rights said after what seemed like an eternity of silence. I shuffled over to his desk hanging my head low. I was never a popular person, but never had I felt so completely alone. It was probably mostly my teenage brain’s fault, but I felt like the whole world was against me. I turned bitter and depressed so my grades started dropping, I disrespected my parents and teachers, and pushed all my friends away. My lyrics turned dark and angry, and my mind began turning into something I wasn’t proud of.

           Of course, I kept writing. It was the rope tied around my waist that wouldn’t allow me to fall over the edge. I would sit in my car, letting the engine idle so I could listen to music and I would write for hours. Winter, summer, sunshine, rain, whatever. My brain was always working in fifth gear, making rhymes and coming up with clever ways to play with words. I found a recording app and started putting my lyrics to more complex computer-generated beats I put together. I felt like some sort of idiot rapping into the speakers of my iPad one, hunched over, trying to be as quiet as possible so people couldn’t hear what I was saying. Not that it was very hard, seeing how nobody would listen to me even when I wanted to be heard.  

            I think it was a Wednesday and I was sitting at my computer writing a story. I found that I liked writing stories because they helped me get my ideas out on paper so I could turn them into songs, plus it was fun creating characters and seeing what they would do if they were my life and how their personalities worked. But, like always, I was listening to music. I forget the exact song I was listening to, but an amazing thought struck me. I could create an anonymous YouTube account and put my music out there for all to see. Instantly I was opening new tabs figuring out how I could get an account.

           Within the next week, I had singlehandedly filmed three music videos, edited them, and got them looking as professional as I could. Fuze. My stage name, because when I burn out things blow up. I was more excited than I could handle. I was doing it! It was a miracle that nobody from my school saw them, but others began seeing them. My account began getting more and more subscribers. I was working myself to the bone writing, recording, filming, and editing, trying to have at least one new song out every month. Complete strangers complimented my music. To say the least, my confidence started to pick itself up from rock bottom.

           I knew my good luck wouldn’t hold out forever though. A fellow classmate approached me right as lunch was ending. I found this strange, to put it lightly. Nobody from school had talked to me for months. I guess it was just curiosity that kept me from walking away before any words could be exchanged.

           “Fuze, huh?” he asked. “I hope you know that your music is horrific and you need to just give up on it and just be a normal high schooler. Do yourself a favor and delete that account before anyone else sees it.”

           The words crushed me. I felt as if I didn’t have the strength to stand up anymore. I can’t remember making any conscious decision, but I punched him as hard as I could, blood spurting out of his nose. I dropped my backpack and hit him again, sending him tumbling back and sitting down hard. But no way was I done. My vision blurred red as I kicked him over and over. I was on my knees over him hitting him when the other students got to me and pulled me off.

           Next thing I knew I was sitting in the principal’s office, crying. Two police officers where visiting with the principal. I couldn’t hear their whispered conversation, and I didn’t care. I still wasn’t really thinking straight. Then a small group of people walked in. Dressed in all black and looking very daunting, one stepped forward and said, “Excuse us. We heard about what happened with young Luke. We will be happy to pay for the victim’s hospital bills and any other resulting expenses.”

             The principal and police officers where a little taken aback. “I…guess that would be ok,” one of the police said.

           The man in black looked at look and smiled. “You can go home kid. You’ve had a rough day. Take it easy and don’t worry about a thing here.”

           Feeling dizzy I thanked the man and stumbled out of the office. On the way home I couldn’t help but think that the man somehow look familiar, but I couldn’t place him. When I got home I sat down at the computer with the intention of looking up who the man might be. Then after sitting motionless for a moment, I felt stupid. What was I supposed to look up? Who is the Man in Black?

            Late that night I was still unable to fall asleep. Words swirled through my head, some rhyming, most not. I quietly unzipped my backpack and pulled out my pad and, finding a pen on the floor, began scribbling. I plugged in my headphones and played music quietly while I wrote, my feelings from the day all pouring out onto the page. The hurt of the words said to me, the feeling of uncontrollable violence, and the confusion of my unknown savior.

           After about a half hour I glanced down at my iPod to change the song and saw something that sent chills down my spine. The face of the Man in Black was staring back at me from the screen, gone after only a second, but most definitely there. I made the connection in my mind. It was Buddy DeSylva from Capitol Records. Capitol is one of the biggest record labels out there, how did Buddy know me? With the question still on my mind, I put my pad back and went to sleep.

           Only a few hours later, my alarm went off and I had to get up and go to school. I tiredly got dressed and ate a quick breakfast before driving to the dreaded building. When I walked in, nobody talked to me, but they all cast nervous glances my way. It never occurred to me that people would fear me, but I guess it’s only natural. I suffered through the whole day with the nagging feeling that Mr. DeSylva was still around somewhere and I needed to talk to him.

           Finally, school ended and I walked out to the parking lot. I had a lot of things on my mind and I didn’t pull out my pad once during school because I feared my classmates much more than they feared me. So I sat in my car writing as fast as I could. I had the music turned up to the point where I couldn’t hear anything outside of my own little bubble. Then, in a moment where my subwoofers weren’t powered all the way up, I heard a knocking on my window. When I looked up I saw no one else but Buddy DeSylva.

           Startled, I turned my music off and shut down my car’s idling engine. I opened the door and stood up, reaching my hand out to shake his. I wasn’t really sure what to say, so I waited for him. Finally, he spoke up. “Sorry about any confusion I caused yesterday,” he said.

           I stuttered something about how it was fine, and thanks for coming.

           “I couldn’t help but take notice of you when one of our artists came to me saying he saw a few of your videos on YouTube. I really like your music style and, according to our rap artists, you have a gift for words that can’t be taught.”

            “I…I…I’m overwhelmed sir,” I stuttered. “Can I ask what artist came to you?”

           “Nathan Feuerstein. I dare say he’s one of your biggest fans.”

           This was crazy! Nathan, also known as NF, was famous. I listened to his music all the time. I couldn’t believe he knew my name, who I was, and actually liked my music.

           “Dude…,” was the only thing I could muster.

           Buddy just laughed and said, “We could actually arrange for the two of you to meet if you would like that. But first things first, I wanted to give you this.”

           He pulled an official-looking piece of paper out of his bag. He handed it to me and said, “This has my phone number on it, so if you have any questions, feel free to call. I understand that this can be overwhelming and crazy, so don’t feel rushed. You have all the time you need.” He shook my hand and strolled away, a black Mercedes waiting for him a few parking spots away.

             I got back in my car and turned it back on, scared to look at the paper. Eventually curiosity won over. I read it through, and with a start I realized what it was. It was a contract. I could sign my name at the top, fill out a few other pieces of information, and be an official artist of Capitol Records alongside NF, Katy Perry, and many other famous artists. I drove home slowly, clutching the paper in my hand, never wanting it to leave my sight, but scared to put a single wrinkle in it.

I got home and called out to my mom. I told her everything. She knew I wrote music, but was never really a fan of rap, so she didn’t listen to much of it. She asked me if this is what I wanted and if I read the contract through. I had of course, more than once. She explained a few things I didn’t really understand and I walked down to my room looking at the paper. I sat on my bed for a while, just thinking. What happens when you sign the dotted line?

Eventually I pulled out my phone and dialed the number on the bottom of the page. On the second ring Buddy picked up on the other line. “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Luke,” I said. “I was just calling to tell you that I’ll sign with you. I just don’t really know the protocol for this type of thing.”

He laughed and replied reassuringly, “What’s your address? I’ll come over and help you all through it. But ask your mom first.”

I yelled up to my mom, “Mom! Can the Capitol guy come over and talk to us?”

“Yeah sure,” she called back down. “Ask him if he wants dinner.”

Into the phone, I asked, “My mom wonders if you want dinner.”

“That would be great! I’ll have two colleagues with me. What time should I be there?”

“Ummm…can you be here in an hour?”

“That works, thanks Luke! I’ll see you in a little while.”

I hung up the phone and jumped off my bed, throwing clothes under my bed and trying to make my room and the living room as clean as I could. Then I ran upstairs and told my mom that Buddy would have two other people with him. She said that was okay. I grabbed the contract off my bed and set it on the dining room table after I wiped it off so good it almost sparkled. I grabbed plates and forks for everyone and laid them nicely on the table. “Mom, is Dad going to be here tonight?” I asked.

“No, he’s off on a business trip until tomorrow night. I sent him a text telling him all about what’s going on. He’s excited for you.”

“Oh ok, so only five plates.”

             The knock at the door came right on time. I looked at my mom and she motioned for me to get it. I walked to the door and opened it. Then I just stood there dumbly, staring at the three men on the doorstep. Buddy stood in the front, beaming. “I thought you might be excited. I heard that you were a big fan of Marshal, so I asked if he could some with me and Nate even though he’s not with Capitol.”

           Marshal and Nate, Eminem and NF, were the two beset rappers ever. Some say that’s just my opinion, but I’m pretty sure it’s a fact. And here they were, standing outside my house with the founder of Capitol Records. I was convinced I was dreaming.

           My mom walked up behind me and invited the three of them inside, noticing that I wasn’t going to be able to speak for a few minutes. I stood aside and each of the men shook my hand as they entered, first Buddy, then Nate, and finally, Marshal. We followed my mom to the dinner table and I pulled out chairs for all of them. We all sat down to our heaping plates filled with ribs, mashed potatoes, and gravy. “My compliments to the chef,” said Buddy. “I hope we didn’t cause you any inconvenience.”

           “Oh no,” my mother said. “It’s a pleasure to have you over.”

           We made small talk until we finished eating. Well, everyone but me. I was too busy taking in every detail of Marshal and Nates face. After I cleaned up the plates Buddy looked at me and said, “Well, let’s get started!”

           He walked me through the contract and Nate helped him explain what everything meant. I understood Nate a lot better than Buddy, and I signed the dotted line. Buddy smiled at me and said, “Perfect Luke! We’re overjoyed to have such a skilled young artist with us! I have a surprise for you, so while me and your mom talk about a few legal things, I’ll have Nate and Marshall show you.”

           I followed the two rappers out to Buddy’s car and watched as the opened the trunk. Nate motioned me over and asked, “Have you ever been in a real recording studio?”

           “No, sir,” I replied. “I’ve been using an app on my iPad.”

           Nate grinned and said, “Just wait to see what you can do with this stuff.” He handed me and Marshal each huge speakers and some weird spray bottle. Then he pulled out something that looked a little like a big keyboard, but without keys, just dials and buttons. Marshal said, “We can put this stuff all in your house somewhere or we can just teach you how to use it and set it up somewhere else. Whatever works.”

           “We should be able to fit it in my room nicely,” I said and they followed me downstairs. We set all the equipment down on my bed and I moved my little shelve to a different location next to my dresser, leaving one whole wall empty.

           “This is perfect,” Nate said. “Do you know how to wire speakers?”

           “Yeah, I can do it.”

           “Ok, let me hurry and plug these in here…,” he said, plugging the ends of two wires into the keyboard thing.

           “Alright,” he said, handing me the wires and pointing to the speakers. “You hook up those and me and Marshal will go grab the legs and mics.”

             Set-up took about an hour. When we finished, my room looked like a professional studio. Microphones and speakers were set up in the best locations and one whole wall was taken up by the computerized recording equipment. Nate and Marshal gave me a crash course on how to use it and their phone numbers so if I had questions, I could ask. Buddy came down and gave me his congratulations and handed me a check for $10,000 and my mom one for the same amount. “A signing bonus,” he said with a wink.

           Me and my mom were both the happiest people on the planet when the three of them left, walking out the front door with handshakes, corny jokes from Nate, and lyric tips from Marshal.

           I immediately headed down to my room and began playing with my new recording studio. My mom came down and watched me. She eventually said, “So is our house going to be this loud all the time?” I wasn’t really sure what to say. I noticed the little spray can that we hadn’t used and wondered what it was. I called Nate, feeling kind of retarded considering he was probably only a few blocks away. When he answered, I said, “Hey, so what’s this little can for?”

           “Oh crap,” he exclaimed. “That’s soundproofing plastic. It’s completely clear drying and won’t damage your walls or paint at all. Just spray it lightly around your door, window, and on your walls. Sorry man, I forgot about that.”

           “It’s fine! Thanks,” I said and grabbed the spray and started coating my walls in the stuff. I couldn’t see it, it just made me walls a little shiny if you stood in just the right place. A few minutes later my mom came back down and expressed how happy she was for the soundproofing.                

                 Nate came over to my house once or twice a week after that. We wrote music and he helped me learn how to expertly use the recording equipment. Buddy came over a few times just to see how I was progressing with my music and said he was impressed. One day after Nate left, me and him were talking. He asked if I could have an album ready in a few months and we could schedule my first on-stage performance. I was a little nervous, but I promised I wouldn’t let him down. The $10,000 checks in the mail every month reminded me that this was my job now, and that I could be fired at any time.

           I worked from the minute I got home from school, sometimes skipping dinner to record my music. Nate helped me a lot, teaching me how to set up albums and how to get album art done. Three months later I had organized and recorded enough music and I had my first album. It was my pride and joy, hanging on my wall above my computer.

           My show was in three days. Nate, Marshal, and Buddy all came over and gave me advice and reassurance that I would do fantastic. I practiced all my songs so mush I sometimes woke myself up singing them in my sleep.

           On the morning of my show, I met Buddy and Nate at the airport. They had a private jet reserved for me. Buddy promised that after a few shows I would be able to buy my very own, but said he didn’t want me to have to be stuck in a car for hours right before my first show.

           It was a short flight, landing forty minutes after taking off. I was instantly met by a limousine and driven the short distance to the stadium. Buddy told me that I had sold out, so the stadium would be packed full of people waiting to hear Fuze’s newest music. I sat backstage wiping sweat off my hands and remembering the order of the songs.

           I still had ten minutes until I had to walk out on stage, so I pulled out my pad and began scribbling. I’m a little different than the rest, sittin’ backstage stressed, people out there expectin’ the best. Can I do it? Of course I can, two strokes and I hit my powerband. Exhausted haters better pipe down. Rhymin’, lovin’ the sound… “Luke?”

           I jerked out of my little zone. “Yeah?”

           “It’s time.”    

             I stood up on shaking legs and began the walk to the stage. It was a very short distance, but it seemed to pass in slow motion. I was handed a microphone and received a few slaps on the back and I heard a few words of encouragement breaking through the haze in my mind. I pulled up the hood on my jacket and a second later the noise hit me.

           The crowd was breath-taking. I saw hundreds of faces in the dim light, hundreds more blurring into the background. In the spotlight, aimed a few feet in front of me, I saw Marshal and Nate. It took me a second to realize that they were doing my introduction. I couldn’t believe it. Here were two famous artists and they were introing me, a teenage kid? I smiled, pulling my hood a little lower to hide the visible show of emotion. I was told to keep a poker-face until my first song began.

           When the two were done with the intro, ending with a very dramatic ‘FUZE!’, they spun out of the spotlight and walked to where I was standing in the shadows. They both smiled at me and told me I’d do a fantastic job. They told me to just imagine myself recording the songs in my room until I was confident enough to focus on the crowd. I just nodded, not really hearing the words, just feeling emotions rise up inside me. I was actually doing this. The thing I had never dared dream, and here I was on a stage in front of thousands of fans. I vaguely wondered if any of my school-mates were down there, waiting to see what was going to happen.

           Then the beginning of my first song broke into my consciousness. I waited right up until the first word I sang before stepping into the light. I kept my head down as I let the words flow, looking at my shoes, my brain immediately taking Marshal’s advice. I was just in my room, recording my music where I felt most comfortable. Alone.

           About a minute into the song I dared glance up. The crowd was stunning. The first song was a fast paced one, ‘a good ice-breaker’ Buddy had said. I was lucky that I was in a slow part of the chorus or else I wouldn’t have had time to catch my breath without falling behind. I stared into the eyes of the people on the front few rows, making sure to keep my eyes in the shadow of my hood. I saw the acceptance and love of the fans, even though I knew I had never met any of the before.

I was overcome with emotion by the end of the song. I pushed back my hood and, waiting for the applause to end, I addressed the crowd. In the lull between songs, my voice rang out on the mic. “I want to thank all of you for coming out tonight, and for the support you have all shown me.”

That was all I could get out before the next song started. A little way into the first verse, I went to the very front of the stage. I got on one knee and gave high-fives and handshakes to the fans. I couldn’t believe this. People were climbing over other people to just do something as simple as touch my hand. I walked up and down the stage-front, touching the outstretched hands of all the fans I could manage to touch. Then I sat myself down, legs dangling my legs into the crowd.

By the time the song had ended, I jumped down and walked among the people. They were all singing my lyrics along with me and I could see the emotion sliding across their faces as they related to my experiences. I reached the edge of the first level of seating and was forced to turn back. Some fans picked me up and I was held up my countless hands as the crowd moved me back to the stage.

The whole show was an emotional roller coaster. The deeper, more pain-filled songs were met with tears and fans relating. It made me feel like maybe I wasn’t alone all those times I was certain that nobody knew how I felt. During the faster, more up-beat songs were met with hands and lighters in the air and the loudest cheering I had ever heard. When I was out of songs to perform, I was a little sad. I felt like I had so much more to share with these people, so many more memories and stories, so many more people to meet and talk to.

I was cheered off the stage, hesitantly stepping out of the light and into the congratulations of my team. Buddy, Nate, and Marshal all backstage grinning and telling me ‘You did so good!’ We had a party in Capitols private studio a few blocks away from the stadium. It all seemed surreal and dreamy, like I was floating away from my body, watching the whole thing from above.

That night I lay in bed feeling happier than ever. I fell asleep think about each of the faces I had seen, each pair of eyes I had looked into and saw a friend in. The feeling was overwhelming.            

 The weekend passed and on Monday I had to return to school. Buddy said I should still get an education even though I already had my career, and I was fine with that. When I walked in I wasn’t really expecting much to be different, but I guess that was a stupid thought. People who I was sure didn’t know I existed a few weeks ago were smiling at me and saying hi and when people called, “Hey! There goes the rapper kid!” it wasn’t an insult like used to be. I had friends in every one of my classes for a change.

I eventually found that only some people really wanted to be my friend, others just wanted to bask in my fame. It was pretty easy to figure out what people belonged in what group. And something else came into play that I had never considered before. I had come to rely on the privacy I got from not being known, and now that everybody knew me I was stripped of that privilege. I had to find quiet places at lunch to write my music if I had an idea during school. I never really got used to writing with people looking over my shoulder. My feelings were appearing on the page in scribbled words that anyone could read, but only few could understand.

But I guess, like Marshal says, “beggars can’t be choosey.” When the check came in the mail it was staggering. I knew I could never do this for money, but it certainly was a nice side effect. My lifestyle changed very little while my bank account grew my leaps and bounds as I kept performing shows and putting out new albums. I was still the same person I was before I picked up a pen and started writing. They say that money is evil, but nothing can change a person without the person being willing to change, for better or worse.