99 5 2

"Dreams are free therapy. Consult your inner Freud." Grey Livingston

Frogs and snails and puppy dog tails, that's what boys are made of. I know, because my father told me. My father tells me everything. What say, went to talk, what to wear, who to watch and went to think and he is never wrong about anything.

Yet when I told my teacher this biological fact, she giggled. Actually, she threw her head back and laughed.

Then he joined in. Alfie 'the sun always shines on' Taylor. That was slightly weird, as being two years older than me, we never shared any classes? However, that didn't stop his laughter burning my face and sparking off the warm wave that rose up within me. I wasn't embarrassed. No, I was angry. Pissed off, mad and frustrated.

I had no choice but to prove my father right. I mean, if he had lied then nothing had any value any more. My whole life would be a lie as he had taught me how to live it.

On the desk in front of me I could see the shining scalpels laid out ready to sever the stems of the waiting buttercups. We were to look at the stamens through fat lenses, observing the hidden hairy surfaces.

Picking up the blunt safety blade, without hesitation, I brought it down hard, stabbing into the back of Alfie's hand.

The teachers attention was drawn by the screams of agony that pierced the stunned classroom.

Our eyes locked.

At first, I thought she was gawping at the endless chain of frogs, puppy dogs and snails leaping over the desks and chasing around the table legs. But, as I looked down, I saw my father's lies pour out over the bench and drip onto my white school shirt.

His blood red lies which stained my clothes as well as my life.

Waking with a jolt, I tried to call out from the shock of the searing pain that exploded behind my eyes.

I didn't make more than a croak though. My throat was so dry and my lips gritty, pressed hard against the ground. A feint metallic taste on my tongue.

As awareness began to ripple, the initial pain of my head throbbed and I could feel nothing below but the dead weight of my body, numb and unresponsive. I wasn't moving anywhere.

My neck felt stiff and at an odd angle. My face cracked as I winced.

Something was wrong. Very wrong. I knew I should be worried, like panic and fear were just waiting for me on the edges. Yet I was so tired, I just closed my eyes again.

How did I get here? Why was I still dreaming of Alfie?

Alfie James Taylor. One fiercely beautiful male specimen. Tanned, blonde, chiseled from stone, lick-able abs, affable, charm personified, universally popular, rich, privileged  and still, somehow, all round nice guy.

Except to me. To me, Alfie was my own customized poison. One that brought nothing but agony, shame and personal loathing. The knowledge that I was definitely not the perfect Barbie to his Ken. That this doll was broken and beyond fixing.

I couldn't take one more look of disappointment from those brilliant blue eyes. Anger, hatred, pity, disgust, all of them preferable to disappointment.

Disappointment meant that at one time there was hope. There was possibility and chance. To lose something as precious as that was too much. I'd rather never know warmth and be forever cold, than lament its loss.

I felt so icy cold now. Perhaps the last time I was truly warm, was at school four years ago, when I stood basking in Alfie's light. To be noticed and picked out by him was fairy tale magic. Back when I believed in such things.

So a big thank you to everyone who has read my first story. I am going to take some time out to get started on writing Ren's story and will be taking part in to see if I can get it down before posting here.

Please follow me to get a notification for when the first chapters are ready to post. Also please comment let me know whether it's something you are interested in reading and what you hope will be included?

Finally, please recommend some more stories for me to read. Firstly, I'm a reader. At least 3 books a week, if not more, so please help feed my monster and get in touch with your favorites. Sx

FlipFlops & ParkerWhere stories live. Discover now