Nathaniel Jean's Senior Year

11: Nathaniel Jean's Biggest Fear

Video of the song Lucas sang for his solo above (it's really good just saying) (also the lady laughing can suck my ass)

For every moment that Lucas was with me that night, I was smiling. How could I not be, when I was finally experiencing a part of my life that I'd deprived myself of for so long?

       The moment he left, so did my smile.

      Because the moment he left, someone else surged forward to take his place. Someone I knew well and didn't want to see. Someone who brought all of his friends with him as well, because he was never quite alone. He kissed my cheek softly in greeting and whispered ruthless nothings in my ear. Then he rubbed my shoulder, consoling me, as his friends released their fury. He told me to listen to him, like a father speaking to his son; he told me that it would help. He would make things better—I only had to listen. His friends backed off then, retreating to softly supporting his sayings.

       But they threatened me, too. He was an absent-minded fellow, and they muttered, when he wasn't paying attention, where I would end up if I didn't listen. With them, they said. On top of me, crushing me, suffocating me. They would kill me. Or at least, they would hand me the knife.

     They were silent when he was focused again, though. They respected him—after all, they worked for him, not with him. Without him, they would not exist. Not within me, anyways.

     His name was Paranoia. And his friends, his friends were Fear, they were Regret, and most horribly, they were Hatred.

     I did have my own defense, yes. I had my new friends—I had Confidence, I had Acceptance, I had Bravery. But they were exhausted. They'd been fighting for so long now, without a break. Paranoia and his gang had rested recently, up until now. They were ready for a new war—my friends were not. My friends lost.

     They fought bravely, though. They argued that we could do this—nobody but Lucas and I would have to know. Then we would be off to New York—just a few months from now—and it wouldn't matter who knew.

     They said that this, even now that it had happened, was nothing bad. Nothing was wrong, or impure, about our actions or feelings.

     They told me I would be good for him. That he really liked me, and in his own ways, he needed me as much as I needed him.

      Paranoia and his buddies clapped back just as fiercely. I would get caught, they said. I would lose everything, all for one measly boy. I would be hated, I would never get out of here.

     This was wrong, they whispered, sometimes yelled. Thinking and acting were very different, and acting would be my end. This was where my friends won, because I was past that mindset. I refused to fall into it again. I wasn't wrong, I wasn't dirty. Maybe I still struggled with that sometimes, but not enough to go back. I promised myself I would never go back.

     Everywhere else, we lost.

     I was bound to hurt him, they told me, over and over. I was toxic for him. I wouldn't be there for him. I didn't deserve to be there for him. I was selfish and needy and unsympathetic and mean, they shouted, so loud I felt my brain would explode. My personality was ugly, I believed that much without their verification. Their word made it fact.

     And so I descended, with my enemies on my heels, into a restless, tearful sleep. I awoke to a painful day, filled to the brink with internal argument which I always seemed to lose. I was so screwed up, coach nearly benched me at Saturday's game.