He stopped.
Ever since January the 24th of the year 2010, Kendall Brush stopped coming to school.
His seat at the piano remains unoccupied, ghost like even, resembling a shadow of what once was perfect, blissful.
People had started to notice his absense, glancing back only for an instant when I wasn't watching. I feel their stares. Whether I'm looking or not, I can still feel the stares. I don't know where they come from. It seems even the walls tend to observe me, although they have no eyes.
I feel like a rat. A rat that had been kept in a cage, and all the scientists surrounding it would look down at me with distinct curiousity that had my ears perking up and my eyebrows twitching. But I'm not a rat. I'm a student, feeling the guilt of a murderer pack onto my shoulders.
Why isn't Kenny here?! I've been asking myself that question all day. Especially now, during Mr. Dolton's boring lecture about how we are too irresponsible for our own good.
I've already grilled Jackson about why he's not here, but he seemed to know as much as I do. And I know nothing!
I watch longingly at the keys to my left, remembering how on the first day, he completed one of the hardest piano concertos in the little time before class started. If I focus hard enough, I can almost see them moving with his rhythmic fingers. But that hallucination quickly fades, and I'm thrust back into the cruel reality that is my life.
I've still had little time to think over what I'm going to ask of my dad. He said he would help me, true, but I still am completely unaware of the limitations of that offering. I don't even know where I would begin!
The honk of the bell bleats out, signalling that the first period of the day is officially concluded. Students begin to ramble out of their seats, eager to flee the wrath of the 'oh-so powerful' Mr. Dolton. He seems principally irritated today, for God knows why.
I slink my bag onto my stiff shoulders, and make for the door, barely getting through without being smushed by one of the other, bigger students, since, in comparison, I am quite small.
But big enough to take you down, so don't call me small!
"How you holdin' up?" A tentative hand finds my shoulder, making me jump in surprise. A paper falls out of one of my side pockets and onto the ground. Jackson looks into my face with mischief, before bending down and snagging it without another word. "What's this?"
"Give that back!" I yelp, fighting solely against one of his arms, while he skims over whatever note could be scribbled on it.
"What the hell?" His eyebrows furrow together, but not before a crafty grin plays at his lips. "Roses are red, violets are blue-"
Oh, God. "Give that back!"
"I know you're in bed, I am too? What type of love letters are you gettin'?" He returns the crumpled piece of paper and throws his arms back, roaring with laughter.
"None of your beeswax." I grumble beneath my breath, and he tosses me an 'are-you-serious' type of look. "And, to answer your previous question, I'm doing just fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine."
"Really?" He utters sarcastically, although his genuine interest has not gone forseen.
"Yes." I say tightly, embarking on the far set of stairs where multitudes of other students have already begun to climb. "And, as I remember, you have math now, which is on this floor. I have science, which is not. So b-bye now."
"Fiesty." He cackles, before flipping me off, and turning a corner. What a d-
"Hey! I'd assume you're on your way to science, too?" Ariel's familiar voice chirps in my ear, startling me to say the least. That's strange. I thought he was mad at me. Better not question it.
"Y-yup." I gulp hard, and follow after his Adidas. "Uh, Ariel?"
"Yeah?" He asks without turning a shoulder. We near the science room, just as the bell's ringing, but I stop him with a forceful tug with my hand. He halts without much effort, and I come around to spy his quizzical expression.
"What did you mean? The other day... About having to tell me something that Kenny should have told me?" I scour his facial features, taking in how clouded his usually clear oceans look. "Did you know that he was going to stop coming to school? Is that what you had to tell me? Because I'm sure you've noticed-"
"Actually," He interrupts, chuckling as he puts a finger to my lips. An unwanted shudder travels down my spine and up again, freezing me in place. "I'm glad I didn't tell you. It's not really my information to tell, and hopefully you can respect that.
"But-"
"Get in here! Now!" Mr. P rages, throwing the door open, and ushers us inside. Ariel smirks at me for a half second, before launching himself over to his seat. I growl lowly, feeling a hissy fit leak out of my skin in the form of perspiration. Ariel seems to notice, as he cackles quietly to himself, sifting thorugh his bag for a notebook of some kind.
"Now, I'll be passing out the graded rubric for your hereditary disease projects. And I have to say, the majority of you did horrible. C's, D's, and I counted quite a few F's. A small percentage of you actually tried, and those of you with A's will be able to fail the next test and not have it impact your overall grade."
The rabble around me cry out in frustration and vengeance, frustrated with the biased treatment they've been receiving year round. I drop my head into my hands, and pray for a good grade. Mr. P chortles dryly to himself, gathering a stack of folded papers off of his desk. The surrounding students begin to converse, indicating if I wanted any time whatsoever to talk to anyone, I'd have to do it now.
"Ariel, please!" I mewl softly, poking his elbow. "I want to know!"
"There's nothing to know." He coughs through a hoarse chuckle, and crosses his feet atop the table. Charming.
"You're lying. Ariel...." I rub my eyebrows, aggrivated to my very center.
"Mmm.." He purrs, tapping his foot against my bag. "I really need a good grade on this assignment."
"And you think I don't?! Don't change the topic!" I wail, ruggedly pushing his shoulder until he topples over and onto the floor.
"Jenny, I said before..." He hoists himself back onto his chair with minimal effort, and gives me an exhausted, apologetic look. "Respect that I can't tell you. Not to sound too formal, or anything."
I remain quiet, as the boisterous chatter that had been going on for minutes died down to a friendly buzz. Mr. P continuously wings out sheet after sheet of failed assignments, his temper quickly growing short.
"If I don't ace this assignment, I'll have to tell my dad." I speak gruffly, hoping to attain the quality of not giving a 'fuck', as Kenny used to say. I kick back in my chair, leaning slightly to the left. I cross my arms behind my head, and heave out a gulp of air I had been storing in since the beginning of time. "I told him I was gonna be better."
"Hey, don't worry. I'm sure we've done fine." He pats the wrinkles from his collared shirt, keeping an eye on me all the while, as if while he's looking, I might strike. "If we get a good grade, it'll boost my B+ up to an A!"
"If we don't get a good grade, it'll lower my C+ down to a F." I say rottenly, unknowingly sparking a variety of different toned giggles to escape the demon himself.
"Woops. I guess you need this good grade more than-"
"Fairly well done, ... kids. I guess you moderately care about your future." Mr. P mumbles, a sparkle evident in his unforgiving eyes. He slaps a paper down onto my desk, fashioning two, red numbers that make my heart leap miles inside my chest.
93.
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"Dad! I'm home!" I sing, ready to flaunt my 'above average' science report in his face. Ariel was kind enough to let me keep it. Actually, he sort of insisted. Quite peculiar, to be honest. But everyone has been acting pretty strange recently, so he was actually acting normal. I even confused myself.
"...sell various musical intruments, and I'm a very dedicated worker. Really I-. Yes. I understand. Yes. Oh. That's unfortunate. Well, thank you for the update, Ms. Ellie. Yes. Oh, I know. My family's been absolutely fearful for the- Oh, Jenny!"
"Hi, dad..." I slither into the kitchen, grasping his attention. He blushes a violet color, and clears his throat, obviously having been startled by coming in so abruptly. "Who's Ms. Ellie?"
"She's our representational agent. -No, Ms. Ellie. Just my daughter."
"Oh." I manage to squeak out, before realizing what they're actually conversing about. They're talking about staying here. In America. I wobble over to the fridge, and secure my science project beneath a magnet, before careening up the stairs, and locking myself in my room. I'd assume, now, that a lead 5000 pound weight would be lighter than my head. I feel limp and saggy, about ready to pass out, when I notice a veil outside. It's quite light, calm even. Miniature snow flakes dance down and onto the ground to play with their mates, conjoining with each other to form a protective barrier for the soil beneath. The little stars link together, twinkling like a pair of diamond earrings under the dying winter sun.
One more week. One more. Then I get to ask for my dad's help. And with the 93 I just got, I know he won't be able to resist.
And I know exactly what I'm going to ask of him.
My heart swells in my chest, merely thinking about the plan in which I've concoted. A chance to be good again.... A chance to see Kendall again...
I've let my mind loose all day, and the results that it came back with are astounding. I've decided that I'll drive up to Kenny's house, and demand an explanation. He won't be able to refuse me then! Oh, he'll see... If he won't talk to me, I'll talk to William! His dad!
Wait.. Now that I think about his dad, something is a little fishy...
I really wonder why his dad acts like the way he does. Fidgeting, every moment of every hour. It seems beyond his control, almost. Almost as though he doesn't notice it anymore...
Hey! That's sort of like....
No.
No way, no.
I feel a stress sweat break on my scalp, and it trickles down to my temples, urging me to hop on my train of thought. I only get this feeling when I've lied about something. Which is never. So this is pretty horrible.
It's like, one in a billion chance that he has Huntington's. That's ridiculous to even think about! Absurd!
... Still. Kenny had mentioned that he went to doctor's appointments quite frequently, another statement that I will surely never forget. Maybe....?
No. That just isn't even possible. It's not even centered in the United States! Plus, like, 6% of all Huntington chorea cases affect juveniles! That's nothing! Well, it did say that it would progress faster as an adolescent, so wouldn't he be showing signs of it by now? .....
Maybe... I should just try to get some sleep. Yeah. That'll calm me down. Hah! I knew I was over complicating it. Probably, when I wake up, I'll finally be able to rationalize and think clearly, instead of jumping to assumptions.
Next I'll be saying that my family has Huntington's, too. Look what this assignment is doing to me!
I gotta get some sleep. I think, I might just be going crazy.
Not Griffin crazy, but still.
▂▃▄▅▆▇█▓▒░Once Upon A Dime░▒▓█▇▆▅▄▃▂
This is worthless.
I helplessly kick my legs back and forth, entangling my knitted blankets around my distressed limbs. I whine ferociously, howling in the crepuscule.
Who invented sleeping?! I'm gonna fucking sue their a-
Stop.
You're becoming like him. You're going insane.
A lowly chuckle escapes my lips, and I shake my head in disappointment.
It's almost as if I'm having withdrawl. Sure, I haven't been thinking about him as much, but you don't even understand the impact his absense has been having on my lifestyle. And I don't mean just from today. Since weeks ago, when he felt the need to desert me. His departure only intensified my feelings for him, uncontrollable, compassionate feelings, as well as making me yearn for him in the night.
"Look at you." I mock, feeling the mad man's strings tug at the back of my mind. "You're disgusting. Filthy."
I stare at the ceiling, caressing each individual crack and splotch with my mind.
I wait around for something to happen, although I'm unsure what. What am I waiting for to happen? Nothing will. I fizzle out an aggitated sigh, and continue to toss and turn in my uncomfortable lumber-like mattress.
You'd think I'd fall asleep with such a luxorious comfort, no. I fuss with my sheets, unable to dislodge the sticky material from my sweat coated body. I throw my hands up in impatience, and saunter soundlessly down the stairs and into the kitchen.
Something to eat... Something to eat. I reach my fingers out, barely scraping the worn, plastic handle of my food closet, before the tips of my callused touching machines come in contact with an elderly piece of card stock. I reel my fingers back in, observing a teensy paper cut with the uttmost care, quietly cursing that demon piece of paper and all of it's relatives. I snag it when it was least expecting, pummeling it in the face a few times, before it's coughing up blood.
Okay, that was the over statement of the century.
I snatch it off the door, closely inspecting it to see if it's worth my time. What could possibly come between me and my food?
Oh, right. My science report.
The big, bold numbers at the top of sheet make my inards melt into a gooey like substance, and I beam brightly with pride.
A freaking 93! I can't even believe it! I pretty much owe Ariel my life, since he kind of already knew everything about this beforehand.
Hey... That was really really weird! He didn't even have to research it. How the crap did he ever know stuff like that? He can't be like, the 'all-knowing', since we know there is only one of them up there. And when Ariel dies, he'll be going to a little town south of there, called Hell. I hear it's wonderful. Go say hello to my old friends Courtney Love and Justin Bieber when you're down there!
I know they're both not dead, but gee. Cut me some slack. They should be.
Well, maybe not Courtney. I mean, she did basically end Kurt Cobain's life, and don't even get me started on that. I have a very biased opinion when it comes to these things!
I flip through the indented pages to come face-to-face with paragraph after paragraph of unscripted knowledge.
Okay, something completely off. How does Ariel know all of this?! Unless....
He... Ariel has Huntington's?!?!
"You're losing it, Jenny." I chortle to myself, turning more pages into the document. "Next you'll be saying Paris has it, too."
"Hmm?" A bland, fatigued sounding voice mumbles, sending an unwanted shock up my spine, and back down again, making me jump two feet into the air.
"God, Paris! You scared the crap out of me!" I place a hand on my chest, hopefully calming my galloping heart rate. No luck. "What are you doing up so late?"
"I-I couldn't sleep..." She moos through her teeth, effectively grabbing my attention and dragging me in for more. Damn you and your sick ways, Paris!
"Continue..." I warily take a seat opposite her, noting the dark bags beneath her eyes, and her deflated look, overall. It looks like she was just hit with a small, but powerful truck.
"W-well, I can't believe I'm telling this to you, out of all people-"
"Yeah, nice time to insult me. Real good choice." I clap my hands together, ready to pound her face in at any second, when she sighs half-heartedly, and leans into her palm. Okay. Something's definitely wrong.
"Just- go back to sleep, okay?" She looks at me with weary, worn out eyes, and I squint at her through the darkness, suspicion seeping out of my own. I glare daggers at her for the next few moments, of which she avoids with ease. She rests her chin atop the folded flap of skin on her elbow, and peeks up into my eyes with an unknown sense of hope and longing, simply dying for me to beg for her.
"Come on." I enforce her doubts by putting a supportive hand on her arm, and she heaves a sigh, about ready to spill everything's she's been keeping locked away. If only other people were easier to read....
"Jackson.... hasn't been paying much attention to me."
"Oh no? Why's that?"
"Well, he's concerned for some other girl."
"I'm sure that's not true."
"C'mon, Jenny. Let's face it; she's talented, pretty, and she even has another person that basically is 'crawling out of his own grave' in love with her. Plus, she plays the piano."
.... I didn't tell Paris about Griffin. She can't mean him... Does she really mean... Kenny? He's not dead, though. Seems like it.
Wait! So she is talking about me?! What?! What?!?
"Paris, are you kidding?" I blink, dumbfoundedly. "Paris, Jackson's crazy about you! He's been-been.... helping... me. Of late."
"Really? What are you working on?" She perks up, arching her neck slightly, as if she couldn't hear well enough the first time around.
"No... It's not for school. He's just been a.... friend... to me, for the passed few days. I've needed one, recently. But don't worry. I'm fine, thanks to him. He'll be back to normal in no time, and you'll have him all to yourself." I smile weakly, suddenly exhausted, although my mind is perfectly alert and keen on my surroundings. Damnit. I guess I can't be expecting sleep anytime soon.
"R-really?" She wavers for a second, and questions me with a bamboozled expression plaguing her features. I nod in acceptance, and joy overflows onto her face, beaming brightly out of her eye sockets that I almost have to shield my own.
"That's great! Thanks, Jenny!" She whizzs over the table, pulling me into an arm crushing hug.
"O-okay, Paris! You're... killing me..." I whisper dramatically, as I wither down into my chair, pretending to be dead. I open one eye, just to see her reaction, and note that it looks displeased, yet amused. "Okay. Enough fun. Back to bed."
"Okay." She chirps gleefully, frolicing over to the stairs, and climbing a few. "Thanks, Jenny!"
"Whatever." I wave her away with the flick of my fingers, but secretly cherish this moment, locking it away in the catacombs of my memory. She genuinely smiled, and said thank you. January 24th, 2010 is a strange day in history, indeed.
I heave a sigh, and begin to file through the report, yet again. I feel as if I'm somehow overlooking something, setting it aside, completely giving it up to my blind side. What could it be?
I refurbish the ideas of this muscle killer back into my mind by reading over Ariel's extraordinary analyses and mind twirling complications.
Huntington's.... There's only a 50% chance that you can inherit it. How does that even relate? Useless information, if you ask me.
Mood swings, got that covered. Changes in irritation levels, and the obvious jerking ticks. Almost as if... one couldn't control one's own movements and reactions...
Almost like... William Brush.
There's actually no way that that's a possibility.
...
It's settled then! When I go to visit Kendall's house in a few days, I'll ask him about it! Of course, he'd have to be willing to tell me. But I'd be at his house. He couldn't refuse to talk to me, could he?
No. Of course not. My plan is brilliant. Genius, even.
But of course, all of this would be executed after we sort out our obvious problems,̶ a̶̶n̶̶d̶̶ ̶̶a̶̶f̶̶t̶̶e̶̶r̶̶ ̶̶I̶̶ ̶̶t̶̶e̶̶l̶̶l̶̶ ̶̶h̶̶i̶̶m̶̶ ̶̶h̶̶o̶̶w̶̶ ̶̶i̶̶n̶̶s̶̶a̶̶n̶̶e̶̶ ̶̶h̶̶e̶̶'̶̶s̶̶ ̶̶d̶̶r̶̶i̶̶v̶̶i̶̶n̶̶g̶̶ ̶̶m̶̶e̶̶.̶̶.̶̶.̶
Scratch that last part. There's no way.
'Huntington's Chorea Hereditary Disease commonly affects peoples from 35 to 44 in years. 6% of cases begin before the age of 21.' That means in the entire world, 1800 teenagers are plagued with this monstrosity of a life.
And suddenly, I have the growing urge to vomit everything I've eaten in the last four days to the extent where I'm coughing up my own organs.
- - -
A/N :Boring. Right? The big reveal is coming up soon. Maybe you'll be expecting it. Maybe not. MAYBE, MAYBE NOT.