#the bookshelf took me all night and i ended up blurring it anyways goddamn

[reaganassassination]

basically like what if john kramer was your therapist instead of the jigsaw killer.

[lepusrufus]

Double edged scalpel ch.6

ch.1 ch.2 ch.3 ch.4 ch.5

Summary: It's backstory time!

Mandatory warning since this is not a usual thing on my blog so I think a separate warning would be useful, there will be talk of past abuse and alcohol abuse.

----

"Wakey wakey," came the gruff voice from just outside her bedroom door.

It was slightly muffled but more than enough to make her jolt awake, muscle memory taking over the remnants of sleep. She only had one minute to be out the door. It was more than enough though, her routine perfected over years. Get out of bed. Put socks on. Get shoes. Grab the duffel bag. She slept dressed anyways, ready to go at any time.

Or not?

Where were her clothes?

Nevermind that she had time to put something on. Just grab a shirt and pants from the dresser.

Hurried steps took her over the plush carpet. Wasn't it supposed to be a solid grey? Had her mother swapped it for one of their fancier rugs?

That didn't matter right now. Clothes. She needed clothes. When she got to her dresser she stood there, frowning at the bookshelf that now took its place. She didn't even remember acquiring the tomes in front of her, most of them old and with unfamiliar trinkets surrounding them. That's not how her bedroom was arranged. Why wasn't anything in its place? Was Alex playing a prank on her? No, he wouldn't do that.

Time was almost up and she needed some goddamn clothes and to get out and her head was starting to spin-

"Nicole?"

Her eyes snapped back to the bed she had so hastily vacated, Cassandra looking at her concerned.

From the room's entrance came another familiar voice. Bela. "I only wanted to let you know that Daniela wants to go for a hunt tomorrow." Her eyes were averted and as soon as the words left her lips, she turned and shut the door behind her, not waiting for an answer from her sister.

Confusion mixed in with dizziness, but Nicole let out a quiet oh when she fully realized where she was. Cassandra's bedroom. They came here last night and fell asleep. And she was only wearing underwear.

She went to sit on the edge of the bed, head resting in her hands to try alleviate the fog in her brain. She probably looked like hell, but that was the least of her concerns right now.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Came the uncharacteristically soft voice of Cassandra, who had moved from her spot under the blankets and was gently rubbing her back.

"Uh, nothing," Nicole replied, as if she didn't look ready to puke.

Cassandra only pursed her lips and frowned. "You looked like you simultaneously saw a ghost and were ready to fight a ghost."

She swallowed thickly and forced out a laugh. "Oh are we at "tragic backstory" relationship level now?" It was at best a pathetic attempt to change the subject and at worst annoying.

When she looked back at the brunette she was still frowning, but not in annoyance. Her golden eyes sparked with concern, scrutinizing the redhead's face and body language for any clue as to what was wrong. It sent a pang of guilt through Nicole's chest. She took a deep breath and leaned back into Cassandra's touch, trying to collect her thoughts. Where does one even begin to explain this whole mess?

"Have you ever wondered why I came here? To the village?"

"...Not really," she admitted.

Nicole took another deep breath, pulling the words from her mouth as if she were pulling out teeth with pliers.

"My dad, he…he had a bit of a weird business. We never knew the details of it, he never told any of us and we knew better than to snoop, but I do know it had something to do with drugs and was highly illegal."

Staying in one place proved itself a pesky little task, so Nicole stood up and started to collect her clothes from the floor and started dressing. Cassandra instead remained in the same spot, listening intently.

"With a job like that you make enemies by default. And that made him paranoid beyond belief. When me and Alex, my older brother, were children it wasn't that bad. Worst thing he would do was lock our bedroom doors and refuse to let us attend public school."

She narrowed her eyes at a wall, still not wanting to meet Cassandra's gaze. Now that she said it out loud, not that bad sounded pretty bad too. Whatever.

"It started going downhill when I was around…" She pursed her lips, trying to make her brain put together some semblance of a timeline. "Twelve. Yeah twelve. He came bursting into our bedrooms at 2 a.m. saying that someone with a gun had gotten into our house and wanted to kill us. We were mortified. I remember my mom holding me and Alex in the backseat crying while my dad drove us to his secluded cabin in the woods."

"And that became a habit of his. He'd have us do these drills every once in a while and then scream at us if we didn't do everything in under a minute."

"That's so fucking stupid," Cassandra spat, golden eyes gleaming with anger.

Nicole started pacing back and forth, desperate for a distraction. "Oh I know. And after a few years of this I made sure to tell him exactly how much I thought it was bullshit."

Finally coming to terms with the lack of something to do while she talked, Nicole gave up and went back to the bed. She sat down by Cassandra's side, though still avoiding her eyes.

"Do you know what getting punched in the face feels like?"

Cassandra's expression contorted into a disgusted grimace. With the hand not on Nicole's back rubbing comforting circles, she dug talons into the soft fabric of a blanket. She didn't really have an answer because frankly she didn't know. Her body reacted very differently to physical harm and the few that could hurt her wouldn't go for a stupid punch to the face. Nicole kept on talking though, not really looking for an answer.

"That shut me up for a bit. Key word a bit. When he woke me up on the night before an important test I was pissed. I just thought fuck it and went upstairs to the library. It took him around twenty minutes to find me and when he did… Well, I regretted some life choices."

"I was so done with being there in that house. Though thankfully my parents went on a business trip the next day and Alex was at a friend's for the weekend. I had the whole house to myself and decided to grab one of my mom's vintage wines and just spend the evening on the couch drinking. And that's how I became an alcoholic at the ripe old age of fifteen." She let out a humorless chuckle at the end.

That day was a blur in her mind. The only thing that she vividly remembered was Alex coming home early and finding her blackout drunk on the couch. At the end of the day though, they were both in the same boat. He just grabbed the bottle from her and started to sip away at the remaining wine. Laughing at each other's hangover the next day was the most fun they'd had in ages so it became a habit for the both of them. Every once in a while they'd go into the wine cellar, pick out a bottle and then go drink it in the attic while they pretended their problems didn't exist. It continued well into their college years. Nicole was barely able to recall doing anything during her years in med school that wasn't being drunk or studying.

She groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. That's not where she meant to go with the story. Cassandra placing a gentle kiss on her shoulder brought her enough comfort to try and wrap it up.

"I guess in a sick ironic way my dad was right in the end though," she subconsciously shifted closer to the brunette and she wasted no time in loosely wrapping her arms around Nicole's waist.

"I was three weeks away from completing my residency when I came home from the lab, only to find my mom in a puddle of blood on the living room floor. My brother was in a similar state in his bedroom. My dad was nowhere to be found but I didn't care. It was his fault," she swallowed the lump in her throat and felt tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

"I just grabbed my documents and a duffle bag with some clothes and ran. Booked the first flight to Romania to come stay at my grandparents'. Oh except they know what my dad is all about! Told me I had an hour to get some rest and be out of their house as they didn't want any trouble with my dad's people."

"I did grab a fuck ton of my dad's cash though so at least hotels weren't an issue," her words were coming out chocked, occasionally interrupted by sniffles. She rapidly whipped a hand across her face. "Have you ever been to Braşov? Old part of the city is quite lovely."

Cassandra grimaced. She didn't want to interrupt, but seeing Nicole in such a state made something in her unbeating heart ache. She gently wiped the trail of tears from her cheeks and placed a kiss on her temple from where she was sitting half behind Nicole. Then, with the softest voice she could muster, "And how did you meet Duke?"

Nicole's eyes widened slightly, apparently having forgotten that detail.

"Oh I stumbled upon his shop one day. I thought he was selling some neat stuff and he was nice so I kept coming back. One thing led to another and when I found out about a place off the map where no one gets in or out without help I thought it would be the perfect place to hide from the people trying to put a bullet through my head." Then she winced slightly. "I was also mildly tipsy when I made that decision."

Cassandra looked a little incredulous. "And he just brought you here?"

"I paid him."

Cassandra's expression turned to what could only be described as disappointed but not surprised. Then her attention went back on the redhead, glossy eyes fixated on the floor. To say she sucked at comforting others was an understatement. Daniela was far more well versed in the art of making others not feel miserable but she was nothing if not stubborn enough to try.

"Listen," she shifted to sit in front of her, hand placed gently on a wet cheek. "If anyone ever dares come near you with the intention of harming you, I'll make them regret every life choice that led them there. You're safe here." She may not be great with her words, but if Cassandra excelled in anything, it was keeping her loved ones safe. Loved one huh.

Nicole leaned into her touch, finally meeting Cassandra's eyes. There was a gentle kind of determination in her golden gaze, accompanied by a fiery rage that, for once in her life, brought comfort as opposed to terror. It came with the knowledge that it wasn't directed at her but at whoever may want to harm her.

She didn't doubt her words. Instead she shifted closer, face nuzzled in the crook of Cassandra's neck and, barely above a whisper, said: "Thank you."

[asofterfan]

Winter Winds

Chapter 8: Bleeding Out

Previous ~ Next

Summary: Remy wakes up, and freaks out, and lashes out, and runs away because of course he does.

Warnings: None I think

Remy wakes up slowly, disoriented by a mix of familiar and unfamiliar sensations. The pounding in his skull is practically an old friend. The ache in his muscles, the layer of dried sweat and body paint and makeup on his skin, the dryness of his mouth- none of it is out of place for him. But the softness beneath him is nothing like his beat up mattress. The sheets feel smoother than the threadbare set he’s had since he moved.

And there are arms around him.

His eyes shoot open, body jerking in shock, blinking rapidly and taking deep breaths as he tries to slow his heart rate and take in his surroundings. A light breath ghosts over the top of his head, and Remy realizes that he is curled up against someone’s chest, their chin resting against the top of his head as muscular arms hold him loosely. Remy’s eyes catch a tattoo of a black cat in front of a moon. It’s a tattoo he recognizes, and everything from the night before comes rushing back.

October had held him all night long.

It was becoming a little harder to take deep breaths. Fuck. Fuck, Remy couldn’t do this. He thought he could, but he really, really couldn’t. Slowly, carefully, he slid out of Toby’s arms. The shorter man shifted slightly, but otherwise remained deep in sleep. Once he was free, Remy backed away quickly. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t be someone else, he couldn’t be himself, he couldn’t stand around and be tossed aside again, nope, fuck that, he was out, kthxbye.

His head was still pounding, but he ignored it as he searched for his boots, finding them tossed a bit aways from the bed. Grabbing them, he threw them on as quickly and quietly as possible, keeping one eye on Toby to ensure he stayed asleep. The man’s face was relaxed and peaceful, sighing softly as he buried his face a little deeper in his pillow. Remy swallowed thickly, silently cursing the part of himself that wanted nothing more but to crawl back into the others’ arms, to feel safe and secure and warm.

Tangled, dirty hair fell into Remy’s eyes, and he couldn’t even find a hair tie to pull it back. God, he was stupid to think he could even fake being someone that deserved to be here.

Whatever. He was the loner, too cool for friends, with skin as strong as steel. That’s who he was and that was who he was going to be.

Running his fingers roughly through his hair in an attempt to get it out of the way, he took one more glance around the bedroom, briefly taking in the Christmas lights hanging around the ceiling, the overflowing bookshelf, and the desk covered in papers with a laptop charging in the corner. But he didn’t see his jacket anywhere, so he didn’t waste anymore time standing around.

Tip-toeing out of the bedroom, leaving the door half closed behind him, Remy entered what was obviously the living room. The walls held posters of classic horror films, and framed photos of Toby with Talyn and a man he didn’t recognize, as well as several of them with two women who Remy assumed were his moms. The room was maybe slightly cluttered, but clean, and cozy. He saw his jacket draped across the couch in the middle of the room. Directly across from him looked like an entryway to the kitchen, and on the wall to the right he could see the front door. Quickly grabbing his jacket, he checked to make sure his phone, wallet, and keys were in the pockets. They’re all there, and he knows he’s forgetting something, but he can’t figure out what it is and he needs to get out of here, right now, so he clutches his jacket to his chest and moves towards the front door.

“Mmmrew?”

Remy nearly shrieked, spinning around to find the source of the noise. His head whipped around, abruptly reminding him of the terrible headache still present, and searched the room until his gaze finally landed on the floor next to the couch, where a black cat was looking up at him curiously.

Sighing in relief, Remy laughed lightly. He vaguely recalled Toby mentioning a cat before, he thinks. Shrugging to himself, he turned back towards the door.

“MmmmEOW!”

Jumping, Remy spun back around, eyes widening at the cat’s loud cry, “Shhhhhh, shush, shoo, hush!” He whispered frantically, trying to wave the cat away, but it only padded slowly closer, crying even louder.

“MREOOOOW!”

“Shhhhhhhh!”

“Meow?”

This time Remy did shriek softly, flinching to the side as a second cat appeared in the kitchen doorway. This one was orange, with bright green eyes, and trotted over much quicker than the first cat, coming to stand barely a foot away from Remy’s feet.

“MEEEEW!”

“MROW!”

“Could you please use your indoor meows?? I thought cats were supposed to be quiet pets!” Remy whispered furiously. Jesus, he needed to get out of here. Giving up on attempting to quiet the animals, he turned around, ready to bolt out the door.

But before he could take more than a single step, a black blur darted between his legs, sending him stumbling forward, barely catching his balance as he grabbed at the table next to the couch, sending a pile of magazines crashing to the floor.

“MEOWWWW!”

Glancing up, Remy saw the black cat staring at him. He was just about to curse the creature out when a second black cat- the first black cat?- came to stand beside it, making Remy do a double take. Turning his head, he saw the orange cat darting up behind him, coming to curl around his legs.

“Motherfuckers-” Remy tried to step over the cats, all of them crying at him loudly. The orange one stayed right by his feet, one of the black ones tried to bite at his shoelaces, while the third cat stood behind them, crying like the world was ending.

Everything was too loud. Everything was too loud and too close and he just wanted to leave but the damn cats kept tripping him up and if he wasn’t quick then October was going to-

“Jesus Christ, Rem, what the fuck are you doing to my cats?”

-wake up.

For a moment, Remy felt his entire body tense up. But he quickly recovered enough to turn and glare at the other man, “Me? I’m not doing anything! If anything, I’m the one being attacked!” He gestured at the cats, one happily chewing on his shoes while another rubbed against his legs.

Toby smiled, shaking his head fondly as the third cat jumped up on the back of the couch so Toby could scratch behind its ears. His hair was a disheveled mess, makeup smeared around his eyes from the night before, wearing just a wrinkled shirt and boxers.

Rubbing at his face tiredly, he looked back up at Remy, “What are you doing up, anyway? It’s like six in the morning.”

“Nothing,” Remy replied immediately. Toby raised an eyebrow at him, and Remy tried to wave him off, “Seriously, nothing, just… meeting your cats. All three of them. Seriously, three? Whatever, not important. You should go back to bed, it’s like six in the morning.”

“You should join me,” Toby smirked, winking playfully.

Remy was too hungover for this shit.

“Nope. Nope. Nope. I was right, this was a terrible idea. I’m out,” Remy threw his hands up in surrender, turning to head out the door only to immediately trip over a cat.

“For FUCKS SAKE!”

“Hey, dude,” All joking was gone from Toby’s voice. He frowned in concerned and walked towards Remy, “I was just kidding. But seriously, you should lay down, last night was… intense. And you kind of look like shit.”

Remy giggled with a tinge of desperation, “Please, I am a goddess. Models want what I have. I am an icon, and the lack of appreciation you have just shows I am ahead of my time.”

“Riiiight,” Toby drawled, the concern not leaving his face, “I more meant that you look tired, and you didn’t sleep for very long, so we should maybe-”

“That’s cute,” Remy snapped. His head hurt. He wanted to go home. “I’ve definitely never heard that line before.”

“Excuse me?” Much to Remy’s annoyance, Toby still sounded worried, instead of fed up or angry or disappointed.

“You know, you don’t have to try to be all sly and talk around me, mmkay?” Remy took a step back, stumbling over a cat and struggling to keep his balance when he still felt a little tipsy, “I don’t need any dumb pickup lines or insinuations, it’s getting more than a little irksome trying to untangle whatever subliminal messages you’re trying to blab at me so just. Just do something, stop fucking with me and just... fucking just…” Yeah, no, there was definitely still alcohol in his system, because there was no filter stopping all the words pouring out his mouth and honestly Remy couldn’t bring himself to care.

Toby took a step forward, hands out like he was approaching a spooked animal. Even now he was so fucking gentle, “Hey man, we can talk about, uh, this, but I really think you need to sit down. I can get you some water and-”

Remy gripped a fistful of his own hair. Fuck it, he couldn’t live like this. He was pulling out the goddamn dagger.

“What the fuck do you want?!”

Blinking in shock, Toby actually had the gall to look confused, “Remy, what are you-”

“I can’t keep guessing!” Remy knew he was yelling; knew it was early and he was yelling and he was probably going to get Toby in trouble with his neighbors or something but he didn’t know how to say any of this softly, “It’s driving me crazy trying to figure out what the fuck you expect from me! Just tell what you want me to do, or be, or not be, or whatever!” His jacket dropped from his hands, landing with a ‘thud’ on the ground but he barely noticed, “I’m trying okay? For the first time in God knows how long I’m actually trying here, but it’s pointless if you don’t at least give me a hint as to what the fuck I’m supposed to be doing! So...” Remy panted, hands shaking at his sides, and his eyes were watering but it was probably from the headache. “So just tell me what you want so I at least know what to apologize for!”

Silence rings through the apartment. Even the cats are silence, two of them having run off at the yelling while one of the black cats hovers around the couch nervously. Toby is staring at Remy with wide eyes, and he looks more than a little lost, and this really wasn’t what Remy was going for.

This is why he shouldn’t have tried. This moment, right here, the feeling of whatever he had with October slipping through his fingers was so much worse than just being alone from the start.

But he swallows it back.

“Fuck this.”

His voice cracks, but he ignores it as he turns around, stumbling towards the door. He just wants to leave.

At that moment, Toby snaps out of whatever shock had left him frozen, his eyes widening in panic as he saw Remy try to leave, “Woah woah woah, wait!” He rushed forward, because no he was not going to let Remy just leave, not when he looked so sick, not when he looked so broken.

Toby’s hand wrapped around Remy’s thin wrist, jerking him to a halt, “Remy, wait!”

But Remy pulls away, refusing to look back at Toby as he desperately tries to escape his grip, “Let me go!”

“Remy, just hold on-!”

“No! I’m done-!”

“I just want to talk, please-!” Toby reached out with his other arm, gripping at Remy’s shoulder in an attempt to turn him towards him.

Gritting his teeth and clenching his eyes shut, Remy let out one last shout, “Let GO!” as he shoved Toby away from him.

As they staggered apart, Remy didn’t notice Toby’s fingers snag in his necklace until he felt a pinch and a light ‘snap’ at the back of his neck. The three charms barely made any noise as they landed on the floor, the silver chain tangling around them. Even as the two men each regained their balance, Remy leaning against the front door as his stomach lurched from the hangover and Toby standing frozen next to the couch, neither could take their eyes from the fallen jewelry.

The room was silent except for Remy’s harsh breathing, until it was interrupted by a choked sob. It took Remy a moment to realize it came from him.

Toby’s eyes snap up, and he looks more heartbroken than Remy thought was possible.

“Remy…”

He doesn’t get the chance to say anything else though, as Remy turns on his heel and swiftly fumbles with the lock until he has the front door thrown open, only to slam it behind him just as fast.

Flying down the stairs, Remy nearly trips three times. When he bursts out of the building, he’s dizzy, and he feels sick, and he thinks he might be crying and he has no idea where to go but he picks a direction and runs anyway. The street is empty and quiet, the cool morning air a blessing against his heated skin, and the sky is still pink as the sun rises.

After a few blocks, the consequence of running with an intense hangover becomes apparent, and Remy ducks into an alley to throw up.

When his stomach is empty, he leans against the wall, and he could almost laugh because here he is again, crying in an alley over a boy he’ll never be good enough for. Nothing has changed. He hasn’t changed.

He leans heavily against the wall, taking gasping breaths and pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. It takes a few minutes for him to calm down, and he debates just staying in the alley, but he feels too close, and even though he feels like shit, his body is jittery and restless. He needs to move, needs to run away just a little more.

Taking a deep breath, wiping his face with the back of his hand, he starts walking. He left his jacket in October’s apartment. He doesn’t have his wallet, or his phone, or his keys. His hands reach to his forehead and he realized he doesn’t have his sunglasses. His hair blows freely around his face. The phantom weight around his neck reminds him that his necklace is gone too.

He feels hollow.

Gutted.

Shivering slightly, he wraps his arms around himself. Remy would love nothing more than to fill the emptiness in him with booze, or cigarettes, or unmarked pills like he has so often before, but without his wallet that’s not an option. For the first time in so long, Remy has no choice but to just feel all the bad things inside of him. And there is a lot of it.

This isn’t who Rem wants to be. This is who Remy has spent years trying not to be.

But nothing’s changed.

The sun rises, the light hurting Remy’s unprotected eyes. Downtown wakes up, cars filling the streets and people crowding the sidewalks.  He stops in a park for a little bit to get some water from a water fountain and get his bearings. He sits on a bench for a bit before the restlessness returns, and he finds himself wandering again.

He walks in circles. Going around blocks, looking for dead ends, doubling back. His mind feels like static. There are no words to his thoughts, just vague aches and pains. He knows where he wants to go, but he doesn’t want to go there.

But, as the sun peaks in the center of the sky, he finds that his feet take him there anyway. The city settles into suburbs. Remy walks through the nicer neighborhoods where he sticks out like a sore thumb, the areas where he is never more aware of how shitty he must look. The sun is just starting to dip into afternoon when he arrives at the familiar house.

Remy isn’t sure how long he stands on the sidewalk outside, but once he starts walking towards the front door, he feels like he’s moving through molasses. His limbs feel heavy and unwieldy and he cannot deny that his heart is pounding with something like fear. His hand is shaking when he knocks on the door. His whole body is shaking when he sees the doorknob turn.

Picani is dressed casually, no tie and with his shirt pushed up around his elbows to reveal the cartoon themed tattoos on his forearms. He blinks in surprise as he takes in the figure in front of him.

“Remy?”

That’s all it takes. Remy sucks in a breath, and barely manages to choke out one word- “Dad….”- before it’s lost to sobs. He feels so small, curling into himself, and covering his mouth with his hands as if he could hide all the pain pouring out of him.

His dad doesn’t hesitate. The first tears have barely made it to Remy’s chin before Emile has his arms wrapped securely around his child. Despite being shorter, Picani feels large, feels strong, and safe, covering Remy like a bandage. It makes Remy cry harder.

“Shhhh, I'm here, I got you, Remy,” Picani whispers, pressing a kiss to the side of Remy’s hair, pulling him even closer as he shakes and cries.

“I'm here.”

[shipsbcshesdiabetic]

Chapter 16

“Ew!”

Even though I wasn’t there to see it, I can picture it in my mind perfectly. I know they were in front of the gym, about to turn the corner to get to English. I can see Richard, The Dumbass, walking past as Bree is still asking around if I’m straight. She sees him, and asks that question. In a panic, he tells her everything he knows. She freezes up. He walks by.

I can even see her reaction, her face all scrunched up in disgust the moment she realized she’s the “guy” I like. The only thing I can’t picture is what exactly she was feeling. That’s the one part of this that I can’t fathom. Or, rather, I don’t want to fathom it. I would shatter.

The whole point of my coming out speech was to tell everyone I liked her so I wouldn’t have to sit around all day, wondering who knew the truth and who didn’t. Now that everyone, including Bree herself, knows about this, the presentation will just be dumb. It’s laughable. I tried to make it funny, but it’s more stupid than anything else. I have no time to redo it. Today is Halloween morning. The sun hasn’t risen, and nothing and no one is stirring. It’s just me and my thoughts.  

Everything about this is stressing me out. No one will like this. I don’t want to publicly out myself. Things would be better if it were only an open secret that is clearly not to be discussed, because then no one would feel inclined to give me hell for it. It would just be an awkward blip in my otherwise boring life. And then, there’s that one sentence from Bree that’s been bouncing around in my head all night.

“If it’s me, I’m going to shoot you, because that’s disgusting.”

Everything about that sentence, especially how she said it, doesn’t make me so keen on admitting my feelings for her in front of the entire fucking class. Whenever I think about her empty yet meaningful death threat, my heart starts pulsing uncomfortably like nothing else.

 I’m jolted out of my half-asleep state when I hear Kirsten stomping down the hall. She mutters something, voice tight, like she’s upset. I hear mom open her bedroom door and say something faint to her. Curiosity overrides my tiredness and I open my own door. Besides, anything is better than dreading the afternoon when I will be absolutely murdered by everyone.

I find Kirsten standing right in front of the doorway, holding a bundle of sheets, looking mad as all hell. Her clear tears shine in the low-light, highlighting the fact that she’s not wearing her usual heavy layer of eyeliner. After she gets sick of me looking at her, she carries the sheets to the washing machine in the bathroom, part of it dragging against the carpet.

“What happened?” I ask against my better judgement.

She halts suddenly, lifting her head up a little. Without turning around, she says, “I just pissed my goddamn bed.”

I don’t hold back my smile because I know she can’t see it anyway. “Didn’t you stop doing that when you were my age?”

She turns around. I quickly wipe the smile off my face. “I did. But it’s back. I’ve been under so much stress lately. I’m under such a moral dilemma…”

“That must piss you off.”

Her tired expression quickly changes into a wildly mad one, teeth gritted and everything. “You’re such a faggot sometimes,” she seethes, coming at me with her piss sheets in hand. A pang of real fear runs through my limbs, prompting me to run back into my room and slam the door as hard as I can. Nothing and no one can convince me that Kirsten wasn’t about to choke me out with her saturated bedsheets.

“Is everything okay?” Mom calls from her bed.

“Simply peachy,” Kirsten answers for me, still outside my door.

I hate library class. It’s the one and only thing that can make me hate reading. It’s one of those classes that are so dull and slow that you hope a beam of lightning strikes you dead where you sit. One minute in there feels like ten regular minutes.

It’s been ever more difficult to track time in that class ever since Mrs. Winery, our teacher, banned clocks. The only thing that kept us going was an old broken one that she kept hung up on the wall. Just before the minute hand reached the top, it would make a dead stop for two seconds exactly, and then jump two spaces. It doesn’t sound like a lot, but to a group of middle schoolers bored slap-happy, it was a godsend. We all have our differences, but whenever Mrs. Winery gave us a boring lecture about citing sources or told a lame-ass story about her dead grandmother, we would be united in laughing like maniacs at that clock.

           Nothing brings people together like hating the same person.

           Unfortunately, Mrs. Winery got really pissed off at us one day and threw the clock in the trash. Not only can we not be entertained by it anymore, but there’s no way of knowing what time it is without the risk of having your phone tossed in the trash too. I might be coming out to the entire class in five minutes or fifty minutes. There’s no way to know.

            We all wrote an obituary for the clock and gave it to her last time we were in here. Surprisingly enough, she liked it a lot and still has it on her desk. It’s quite possible that she doesn’t understand it well enough to hate it.

Oh clock, with your hands, the hands of love and joy and the promise of a better future, cut off with indignation by the cruel oppressor. Ticking like the souls of quarreling lovers, skipping a beat like the heart of one who often cheats death, breathing life into those who need it. The loss of you versus our passion for you makes our very beings burn, exhaling the red smoke of the blood from our strife into the endless empty void of the blankness and brokenness of our lonely afternoons. We can no longer hold you in the arms of our love, Mrs. Winery took you off her crusty classroom wall.

            “I hate Mrs. Winery,” Hallie groans as she walks into library class.

            Out of nowhere, Mrs. Winery walks out from behind a bookshelf. “I heard that.”

Everyone tenses up, but she doesn’t do anything. She even still has her fake little smile plastered on her chubby face. We’re convinced that she’s dead on the inside.

Since it is Halloween, she decides to let us read instead of do classwork as usual. I select a random book from the shelf closest to me and open it. I find that my mind is buzzing and blanking too much for any of the words to get through. To keep up appearances, I stare blindly at the center and turn the page ever so often.

From the other side of the room, I hear Braxton and Tom laughing at something. I look and see that Alan is also with them, holding his phone so they can see the screen. “This is so gay,” he says, still giggling. My heartbeat pulses irregularly.

I know it wasn’t directed at me, but it’s still unsettling.

Braxton pauses then says, “My dad says he’ll kill me if I ever decide to be gay.”

           Even more unsettled, I grip my book harder and attempt to work meaning out of the blur markings on the page.

           I numbly walk down the seemingly endless hallway, carrying nothing but my folder that holds the speech. Somehow, I end up in the right seat: last row, second one down. I grip the sides of my seat and focus on not fainting. My face feels hot, signaling that it’s most likely already bright red.

           The lights are turned off, and scary music quietly plays in the background. I eye the chair in the front of the room, sitting behind the small little black table with the lamp. I blink several times because it seems too bright. Mr. Patterson gets out his attendance sheet. It’s time.

           Becca is the first victim. I can’t understand the story. I’m too stressed. She picks Sam. Sam stumbles through his paragraph and picks Alan. Alan picks me.

My mind blanks. I don’t think I remember how to read, more so than ever in this moment.  I get up, head spinning, like I might faint for real. A rush of fear mixed with a sprinkling of excitement shoots through my stomach. This is the worst thing I will ever do. I make my way to the front of the classroom, still dizzy as ever. Everyone looks short in their desks. I should feel more powerful, being tallest, but I feel overexposed. Terrified, I turn to the side to smile at Mr. Patterson, who gives me a thumbs-up.

“I don’t know if I can do this.”

‘You can do it. You’ve done it before. What do you have to be worried about?”

A shit ton of things. “Yeah…”

           In the dark, everyone together looks like an expansive monster. Some are muttering things to each other, others bob their heads up to see me better, some text on their phones and pay no mind, but all are a part of this daunting and judgmental living tapestry. I sweat harder, knowing that the monster can see my face and my fear clearly.

“Alright Katherine, you have to do this. If you don’t, we’ll tell everyone for you,” Lauren says. Years of friendship slip from my mind. All I want in this moment is to rip her face off.

Here goes nothing everything. “One time…” I can’t finish the sentence. I’m terrified. This cannot happen. Not today. I’d rather not know who knows. The monster drills a hole through my eyes, waiting to hear more, though I’m sure it’s less that and more of it wanting to get this over with. “What are you waiting for?” a corner of the monster complains.

“I’m sorry. This is just hard.”

“It’s not hard at all, Katherine. Stop being a baby and do it,” Rose says.

“One time…” I stop. “One time…” I stop. Again. “One time, I thought…” I breathe in. “One time, I thought…” I force the air out of my rock-filled lungs. We all sit here like this for a long time, the monster, the teacher, and I. Everyone coaxing me on, and me sitting here, having a complete freak out at the worst hour.

“Can I just not do this? I don’t care if I get a zero, I just can’t do this.” I tell Mr. Patterson in the off chance he’ll let me.

“You’ll be alright. Just read it. I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think.”

“One time…”

They all stare at me unblinkingly, waiting for me to finish. When I don’t, some groan. Eventually, the scary background music goes out. Great, now I don’t even have that. The monster awakens, parts of it shooting darts at me.

“Katherine, just read the damn thing already!”

“Everyone knows what it’s about, anyway. Lauren told everyone this morning.”

“You’re wasting so much time.”

 Go Ahead. It’s Not As If They Thought Well Of You Before. “One time…”

“Do we have to read it for you!?”

“One time, I thought…”

“Come on.”

“Okay guys, I can do this. One time, I thought I was…” I stare at the paper.

“Come, on, Katherine!” They’re obviously pissed. It’s been at least twenty minutes.

A chunk of the monster breaks away from the pack, walking closer to the lamp, casting a shadow on my paper. Someone tries to grab it. “Alright!” I swat the hand away. “I’ll do it…”

One time, I thought I was heterosexual. Then, one dark Halloween night, I sneezed and no one said “bless you,” so Satan entered my body, turning me into a lesbian. I was then inducted into the Gay Agenda, where we practice satanic burnt offerings of all the straights who have wronged us. Then, I took part in dark rituals including decapitating straights, devouring the souls of children, and ironing. All hail Satan!

I’m so kidding. Not the gay thing. That’s legit. But I’ve, you know, never tossed straight people into a fire. Nor do I want to. I’m fine with heteros as long as they keep that disgusting lifestyle away from my adopted kids. If there are any straight people in this room, I just want you to know that you can be fixed. Pray. Because practicing heteros can carry every STD known to science. I personally don’t believe in straight people, but whatever. It’s their choice. Just because it’s legal doesn’t mean that it’s right. The Bible says Adam and Steve, not Adam and Eve. Only gay people will enter heaven.

Change or burn for all eternity…

So, I’ve been wondering how to do this for a while. I was thinking about coming out in a video, but that might require telling my family, so… ha-ha, no. But I had to tell this class, because about five people find out every week. Why? Well, it’s been brought to my attention that you can’t keep secrets in a fancy smart-person class. Especially when your crush keeps asking you who your crush is in a crowded room and your face turns into a frickin’ FIRETRUCK every time she interacts with you. Thanks, Bree. By the way, I love your laugh. Don’t listen to Christina. It’s so cute. It’s literally my oxygen. So, yeah, I decided to go ahead and rip that bandage off.

Will coming out make me be more open about my feelings and make me a softer person as a result of it? Uh… no. But will I be able to possibly get a girlfriend now? Uh… no. So cold… So lonely… So many cats…

Life is hard if you’re like me. It’s not cool or edgy to be gay. If anything, it makes me extremely nervous around girls. Not even just the prettier girls either, because I even can get nervous talking to ones that look like old horses that died of stupidity. At this point, I’m not sure if it’s from being gay or being incredibly socially awkward.

All along I was wondering if I should do this at all. I mean, I don’t want to ruin my life. But then I was like, what life? What life? I consider going to the grocery store an event. I can’t ruin what I don’t have. Besides, the closet sucks. It’s dark and lonely. It’s so cold in there. And that, kids, is why lesbians wear so much flannel. Spending time in the closet allows us gays to sort out our fashion sense. It’s why we look so fabulous.

So yeah. I’m gay. Sue me. Actually, don’t. I can’t afford that. I just want you all to know that I’m the same freak that crawled in here this morning. So, after all of this is over, you all can go back to eating orange peels and or licking windows or whatever you straight people do in your free time. I have to say, this was horrifying. Perfect for Halloween. It should be scary for you guys too (girls, rather), because I’m coming for you… Actually, just don’t tie my shoes or stare into my eyes for too long, and you should be fine.

For a limited time only, join the Gay Agenda and receive a tube of glitter and a free haircut. Okay. I know that I’m going to regret this, but… any questions?

What The Fuck Did You Just Do?

Alan, who I can see only because he’s in the front, raises his hand. My stomach falls, knowing in advance that it’s going to be a horrible question.

“Yes?”

“Why did you become a lesbian?”

“This concludes question time.” Everyone laughs. I smile sheepishly and sit back in my seat. Now everyone is clapping. I’m not sure if that’s genuine or not.

They all start chattering, and I become slightly paranoid. Lauren turns to me. “During that whole thing, my mind went back to when Mrs. Coleman gave Xander detention for saying the word ‘lesbian’.

“Do you think I’ll get in trouble?”

“In this class, no, but in any other class your ass would be marching to the principal’s office right now. It was really fucking awful.” My heart squeezes itself.

The lights turn on, transforming the monster back into my class. The feelings of relief from finally getting through that no longer rush through my veins, prompting me to notice my surroundings more. Everyone knows now. I want to shrink into my seat.

“Katherine,” Mr. Patterson calls. I look up. “I want to talk to you after class.” 

That doesn’t sound good. “…okay.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” Lauren whispers to me.

“Yeah, I know that,” I hiss back. “Lauren, exactly how bad was that whole thing, on a scale of one to ten?”

“Remember when we had to read out loud in science last year, and I said ‘orgasm’ instead of ‘organism’?”

“Yeah, why?”

“If that was an eight, your speech was an eighteen.”

“I hate everything.”

“At least you can be yourself now.”

“I don’t think that’s possible.”

I’m not sure if I can ever look these people in the eye ever again. Especially Bree. I’m not sure where she is, and I’m definitely not going to look around to check. At least I don’t have a staring problem anymore. I’m too ashamed.

The bell rings, dismissing the class. I walk out after everyone else, carrying my notebook tightly in my arms, the edge pressing into my arm. Mr. Patterson catches up with me.

“That must have taken a lot of courage. I personally wouldn’t have been able to do what you just did.”

Mr. Patterson, I don’t think anyone in their right mind would do what I just did.