unholy ; phan

✝ Chapter 1 ✝

ANGELS OF PORN II 

Everything was spinning. The wind had stopped blowing the trees, the Earth stopped rotating around the sun, it was falling off its axis entirely. All because Daniel Howell was at a party. Daniel Howell, the purest boy Rushmore High had ever seen. As soon as he walked into a room, the whole place fell silent. The strobe lights reflected off his crucifix necklace, the record skipped, alcohol stopped being drank, people stopped making out. Even the people upstairs felt the whole house shift as he stepped foot into Phil Lester's home. Phil Lester, the Antichrist of Rushmore. 

The tall, black-haired boy invited the Catholic as a joke. A total, all-in-good-fun, joke. He had no idea he would actually show. All eyes followed Daniel as he walked over to the drinks table, grabbing a plastic cup of red wine and taking a large gulp, then everything went back to normal. The kid dj-ing started playing the music again, the lights went back on, people hooted and hollered, everything was okay. 

Most people associated Daniel Howell as The Nark, the kid who sat in the back of class, eyes on everyone and everyone, his pencil sketching across his note pad without even looking down, recording everything that ever happened. Daniel had dirt on everyone, including the teachers who thought their drama never left the teachers lounge- they were dead wrong. Your darkest secret? Daniel knew. Every crime your brother has committed? Daniel knew. Every wrong-doing? Check. Every gossip bubble that floated around Rushmore, Daniel popped and let it fall all over him, spilling over into his black, leather covered notebook. It even had a lock on it. The key dangled just under the crucifix, never touched by anyone but Daniel himself. 

Daniel knew everything about everyone, but no one knew him. Sure, they all knew his name from attendance and the book of secrets he kept on him at all times, but no one knew him. They didn't know what lunch he had, or what colour his eyes where. They only cared to know him because that way people got to know the real them, the them that played football in the hallway, or the them that spray painted a giant tampon on Katie Neistat's locker when she bled through her pants in Chemistry. They only cared to know if it was important to them. Everyone in High School is a narcissist, everyone only cares about their grades or their teachers or their friends or their social media status. The only time they really do care is when someone surpasses them in something, rather it's on social media or the playing field, grades or prom king/queen.  

It was always me, me, me, me and never you, he, she, them. 

Daniel scanned the crowd, placing names with every face, Louise Parker dancing with AJ Gregs; Stephen Whitmore staring at Katie Neistat's ass; Peter McDonald making out with Christina Knowells, who was Freddie Malrarcy's girlfriend but certainly not for long. He checked off names in his head, this was an invite only party and he knew everyone on the guest list. His eyes scanned all the walls, his fingers itching to reach for the pencil tucked behind his ear. Patience, he thought to himself. One thing he learned from his late grandmother was that it was better to observe before taking action, "Know your situation, Daniel, then know when to act." Daniel's grandmother had Dementia, towards the end of her life she lost her mind and thought she was an escaped Jewish Spy from Germany, so every time she saw her grandson (the only relative she remembered clearly) she would pass down advice. It suddenly came in handy once High School started up. 

Daniel's eyes fell upon the fallen angel himself, his hands planted on the dark oak railing that looked over the living room. He wore a button down, dark purple velvet shirt with a necklace that had a pentagram in the middle. People called him the Antichrist for a reason, rumours of him being a Satanist started about a year before Daniel was even in the High School. Then some stoner spread the word that he was an LSD dealer, then girls spoke up about how he would sleep with them then skip to the next girl in line. Names like El Diablo, The Ghost, Grim Reaper, all of them floated around the halls of Rushmore until someone said, "He's like the fucking Antichrist," and that's when everything finally clicked, the name stuck and he had been called it since the tenth grade.