A/N
FEMSLASH. (girlxgirl) Rated for very, very crude language. I listened to The Misfits while writing this and it's a wonder it didn't come out worse than it actually is...
I decided to write a little companion drabble for Rebecca because Nemo suggested it would be a good idea. And since every time I wrote dialogue for Becky's character I would ask myself 'what would Nemo say?' I figured I owed her this. I asked her if she had any preferences and the clever bitch suggested that the love interest be a blonde cheerleader named Melissa.
: |
Yeah.
This is not me inserting myself into a story. The fact that she's blonde and named Melissa is just a har har onmy part. Seriously.
Seriously.
Cheerleaders scare me.
Also, she asked for Star Trek/ Fight Club references but I didn't think I could do the Star Trek references any justice so I just piled in the Fight Club
For yoooou. :D
ATTENTION: IF YOU DON'T FOLLOW ME YOU CAN'T READ THE FIRST PART 'DRAIN ME' BECAUSE IT'S AUTOMATICALLY SET PRIVATE FOR EXCESSIVE PROFANITY. ONLY FOLLOWERS CAN READ STORIES SET TO PRIVATE. I promise it exists and I still get asked about this all the time so I thought I'd finally put a PSA out there for anybody entering this story.
P.S. The title is my favorite Misfit song.
Last Caress - Rebecca's Story
"Who the hell do I have to fuck to get a bloody aspirin around here?" Rebecca laid back on one of the uncomfortable beds in the nurse's office—with the scratchy bed sheets and lack of stability—bemoaning her terrible predicament. The idiot kids at school called her the masochistic, lesbian, queen of hell—mentally fucked over and always purposely pursuing girls that never even looked her way. She'd get in a few good fucks on the weekend, maybe a couple shared empty promises of them leaving their boyfriends to be with her. They always ran away with their tails between their legs in the end, always, spouting shit about experimentation and mistakes and how they were all fucking angels of god that would never, ever have an affair with another girl.
She started coming into the nurse's office periodically after heart breaks sometime into her junior year, bitching that she'd like to puke in peace. Occasionally, she'd light up a cigarette and bemoan to Nurse Winston who was, oddly enough, male, and didn't mind listening to her glorious problems.
"Uhh, you can't smoke in here." It was a freshman office attendant that said it. A poor, small freshman that really didn't know any better.
"The hell I can't." Rebecca blew smoke in the naïve kid's direction, kicking her bulky black boots against the wall, letting the freshman know she was in no mood to deal with rules and bullshit.
"Don't bother being the voice of reason for this one. Many have tried, my dear. Many have tried. Why don't you go man the front desk, Sarah? I'll stay here to soothe the sorrows of heartbreak with the medicine of life." The small girl nods, shuffling off in a hurry, a little confused on the situation.
Once she leaves, Rebecca tilts her head back and comments, "Poetic." She smirks. "Still trying to show off in front of the little girls, I see. You plannin' on bangin' her?"
"You know," Nurse Winston says (affectionately called 'Winnie' by Rebecca) snatching the cigarette from her hand to claim it as his own, "if you keep spreading around false rumors that I'm a pedophile-deviant that preys on little girls, the principle will probably stick his head out from between his secretary's legs long enough to take notice and have me fired. And then who would you bitch to?"
"I would call forth Satan and say 'bro, I think we live in the same neighborhood and understand each other's plight quite accurately. Let's be total besties.' Then we'd run off into the sunset. Also, I was never spreading anything around, all those rumors started because all the A-cup little girls want to screw you and think deluding themselves into making you out as some creepy pedo makes their dreams that much more real. I just go along with it for the kicks."
"That's your excuse for everything you do. And, in my head, Satan would be a woman."
Rebecca pauses to think about it, reaching out to take her cigarette back and frowning when he shakes his head. Her current and biggest obsession comes to mind, dancing around in her little cheerleading uniform. "Makes sense."
"Yeah. Plus, I was married to a porn star with E-cups, once. Once you go there, you never come out quite right on the other side. Those girls wouldn't stand a chance even if they paid me."
"Blah, blah, blah. Denial. Admit it; you secretly want to screw them, even if it's just to know what its like to be with untouched goods. Even Sally-Sue-Sarah out there. How many times have you jerked off to the nasty image of her in a nurse's uniform? 'Oh, Doctor Winnie, I need you to operate on my top, the buttons have seemed to come undone..."
"Sounds to me like you want to screw her." Rebecca rolls her eyes because she knows he isn't being serious. Maybe in the old days it was true. She'd take any girl on campus and make them completely enthralled with her. She'd seduce bright eyed freshmen left and right, breaking hearts and taking names.
At one point, however, she decided she was bored with her love life and came to the conclusion that she wanted to catch bigger fish. She'd always had a thing for cheerleaders, as odd as that sounded coming from one of the misfit-leaders of the school, because while they were spunky and cheerful and occasionally total idiots, they were also ruthless and power hungry. They ate social statuses for breakfast, clicking with her desire to never take no as an answer. Sure, some of them were still just ditz and some were only good at taking orders, but a rare few were lethal beauties that made her heart thump. "Winnie, I'm screwed. And the sad part is it's only metaphorically."
Nurse Winston takes a drag from what used to be Rebecca's cigarette, purposely hording it for himself. "Ah, to be young and to feel love's cold sting."
"If by sting, you mean Melissa injecting me with heroin so I'm too tweaked out of my mind to move but still vividly aware of the idea of pain as she jams a giant metal pipe up my ass, then sure, it's a total love-fest."
He puts the cigarette out in a nearby secret ashtray he kept for Rebecca's sudden appearances, pausing to say, "Man, if I would've met a girl like you when I was in high school, I would've followed you like a love sick puppy."
"Vagina only, sorry. Plus, saying something like that rea—lly isn't helping your pedo rumors."
"The rumors you started, I know it!"
"Stop making this about you and console me, damnit!"
"What the hell do you want me to say?" Nurse Winston asks, thumbing through a book he often keeps around, one that was not-so-cleverly entitled HOW TO DEAL WITH OUT OF CONTROL TEENAGERS. "Go smoke some pot and get over it."
Rebecca scuffs her boots against the wall in irritation, because yes, she's already tried that—dozens of times and to no prevail. And, oh Christ, he has the book out again. She's contemplated in the past searching for book that had a title that was something along the lines of HOW TO DEAL WITH INCOMPETENT AUTHORITY FIGURES just to spite him. "Psh, some nurse you are. Aren't you supposed to abide by those stupid posters that show a picture of a happy bee (that ironically looks bakes out of his mind) with the words 'Bee cool! Don't do drugs!' underneath? Don't they screen for bad influences or is everybody at this school just a fucked up contradiction?"
"That's the heartbreak talking."
"Fuck," she cursed, kicking her boot against the wall again, "it is. That bitch has me wrapped around her perfectly manicured fingers. I don't know what the fuck I should do! Literally cut my chest open, rip my heart out, and hand-feed it to her? Get gender reassignment surgery and hope she looks in my direction when I have a stick on dick? What does this bitch want from me?"
"If it's any consolation, I think you'd make a hot guy."
Rebecca pauses her bemoaning for a second, thinking over what he just said, and then proceeds to start laughing manically. "You always know just what to say. Ah fuck, fine! Goddamnit, I'll quit my bitchin' and give this my all."
"...just don't do anything illegal."
"That's fresh," the redhead cackles, "who exactly do you think you're talking to?"
-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-
Rebecca Harris was no stranger to masochistic tendencies. In fact, most people that knew her would nod and refer to her as 'that crazy bitch that got off on the pain and utter terror of others and she would unabashedly agree.
Melissa Monroe, however, was on a completely different level of fucked up—and that was saying something. Rebecca has seen Satan and it's the head cheerleader ofNewGloryAcademy. This girl gave a new definition to apathetically psycho. Underclassmen trembled in her presence. Cheerleaders bended to her every whim. This bitch struck fear in the hearts of teenage girls everywhere—god was she fucking hot. "Virginia Alveraz, do you know why you're here?"
Rebecca sat in the empty silver bleachers, watching the cheerleaders surround one terrified junior. "Be—Because I went to your party?"
"Because you crashed my party, uninvited, and had the audacity to claim Bianca's slob of an ex boyfriend was your date."
"I—I didn't—"
"You didn't what? Didn't party-crash? That's funny, because I have several witnesses, including Bianca, who claimed a fat cow was slobbering all over my living room."
"I—"
"Oh save your fucking crying for somebody who cares. From now on, whenever you pass a cheerleader on campus you have to moo like the fat cow you are. Is that understood?"
"Ye—Yes."
"Good. Now get your ugly face off my field, you fucking home wreaking whore." The girl started crying, sprinting away from the evil cheerleaders as they yelled random insults at her retreat. Clearly, the girl hadn't crashed Melissa's party. She was much too mousy, much too introverted to ever make a ballsy move like that. Clearly, it was this Bianca chick that started all of this, probably angry that her ex was gettin' frisky with some new girl. And clearly, the head cheerleader knew this all along and went ahead with the punishment anyway. "Alight, girls, get your skanky asses into the locker rooms." The blonde looks out into the bleachers, knowing she would find one leering redhead ready to start trouble. She breaks away from the group, staring her down. "Becky-babycakes," she says, throwing her pompoms on the ground, "how about I just fight you and pray to god for accidental brain damage?"
"You're making me hot, blondie."
"Oh yeah, I forgot you get off on that sort of thing, huh? Oh man, you are one sick messed up freak. I'd have the girls kick the shit out of you and you'd probably be in complete euphoria, you masochistic whore."
"Fuck yeah. Then maybe we can start some sort of chick fight club. Be my Marla Singer, Mel."
"You're fucking psycho."
"Psh," Rebecca says, hopping down rows of bleachers, "what's that shit-saying about the pot calling the kettle black...?"
Melissa walks along the bottom bleaches, balance impeccable as her tiny skirt flows in the wind. In Rebecca's eyes—this girl is perfect. She's stunning, vicious, smart and just as crazy as she is. The redhead is in love, there's no denying it. "C'mon, let's hear today's proposal. Blackmail? Empty threats? Maybe steal some more of my books and conveniently return them to me?"
Rebecca waves her hands, taking her seat on the second row bleachers. "None of that. No more schemes. No more crazy proposals. My final offer is myself."
"Yourself?"
"Yes. I'm giving myself over. This is it. After this—I give up."
"So," Melissa says, pausing her light as feather footsteps for a moment, turning to Rebecca directly, "this is you throwing in the towel?"
"Sure, if you want to look at it like that, then I'm waving my white flag."
"And when you say you're giving yourself over, you mean you'll do whatever I say, no matter how crazy?"
"In the movie, he tells Marla something along the lines of'the little scratch on the roof of your mouth that would heal if only you could stop tonguing it, but you can't.' What you see before you, honey, is a wasted shell of a heart that's fucking sick over you, got it? I am Jack's inflamed sense of rejection. I am Jack's wasted life. I am Jack's broken heart. ...and all that other Fight Club bullshit. Now just reject my final offer so I can get on with my fuck of a shitty life."
"I'm not," Melissa says instantly, completely frozen. "Going to reject your offer, I mean. I'm not going to reject it. But you better mean it when you say anything, and you better worship the ground I walk on every single fucking day I give you this chance, got it?"
At this, Rebecca is completely in shock. She never, in a million years, expected Melissa to give in. She was prepared to lay her heart out there and have it stamped on by Satan herself. Somebody should really be here to catch this moment in time. Rebecca Harris being caught completely off guard. Paint a picture and capture the humanity peeking through her love sick eyes. It'd probably be the most realistic portrayal of love this generation has ever seen. "...you're serious?"
"Of course I'm goddamn serious. Are you serious? Don't fuck around with me, Becky. I'll lay you on the pavement and rip your tits off."
"Yeah, but if this is some sort of trick to pull the bleach over my eyes and laugh in my face, then I'm just going to slit my wrists now, you sadistic bitch."
"Okay, now you're pissing me off." The blonde cheerleader suddenly hops off the first row bleachers and jumps into attack mode, bridging herself over the redhead with a snarl. She grabs the girl by the collar, bringing them so close together their foreheads are practically touching as Becky witnesses the burning pits of hell in those clear blue eyes. "You follow me around for the last yearand a half, pulling scheme after scheme. We've screamed bloody murder at each other, fought each other, humiliated each other and basically killed each other on multiple occasions. And yet, here you are, confessing your love to me, and here I am, saying I'm fine with it, and you wont even drop the little masochism act for one second to accept that?"
Rebecca reflects that, with all the shit she talks, all the names she takes, (from beatings to running this school with an air of superiority), she isn't all that confident in herself. She's confident that she can kick ass, but not all that sure when it comes to silly matters of the heart. At one point, she thought she was chasing Melissa purely because she thought she could never actually have her, but now that the girl was saying yes, sort of, she figures it's just this crazy fucking thing that she'd started depending on for comfort. "Okay. I'll do anything."
"Good." The blonde kisses her on the lips, hard, yanking the roots of Becky's red hair. "Be at my house after school tomorrow and make good on your promise." And, just like that, the cheerleader is off the bleachers completely, kicking her pompoms to the side. Rebecca can still taste her cherry lip gloss.
"Hey, wait, you aren't going to make me kill somebody, right?" Melissa smirks, waving over shoulder with a shrug. "Right?"
-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-
The next day at school, something calm had formed inside of Rebecca. She came dressed in red, deciding to wear her combat boots with the spikes on the bottom to match her good mood. She had on red lipstick and dark liner, smiling as she leaned against a dirty wall in the Fuck Lounge.
Jasper walked in with some kid at one point, taking in the redhead's creepy expression and turning on his heel to make a quick retreat. But the kid beside him—some tiny freshman that looked way too innocent to hang out in a place like this—said, "Where are you going?"
Rebecca shakes out of her dreamland, eyes narrowing in on the two boys. Jasper sighs, turns around and regretfully heads in her direction. "Hey, Jassy-bear. Who's the kid?"
The relatively clear headed and quiet Jasper gestured for the scrawny kid to take a seat next to him, glaring at any approaching kids bearing bongs. "Rebecca, this is Stevie. Stevie, stay away from her."
The kid was definitely a freshmen, very cute, very baby faced, huddling closer to Jasper awkwardly. And the poker-facedJasper actually looked protective. Like this kid was his... "Oh man, is everybody at this school turning homo, now? Dude, I was totally screwing the same gender before it became cool." Stevie looked confused as to what they were talking about; probably not connecting the dots yet that Jasper liked this kid in a romantic sense. Poor Jasper, falling for the innocent type. It figures—he was always the mom in their group. "Hey, speaking of homos, where the hell has AJ run off to? Shit, I feel like I haven't seen that kid since the school year started."
"He's having sexual intercourse with Evan in an empty classroom, I believe."
The redhead whistles at this, leaning back, almost smirking at the beet red expression on Stevie's face. "Exhibitionist whores, the lot of you."
Jasper's half smiling, one arm half way draped around the freshmen. Man, ever since she fell face first into a pile of love, she can always smell it when it's around her. Seriously, it's like she acquired fucking super powers. She reads people more clearly, could see that little bit of happiness caked under cynicism, poking out from underneath. It was really, really creepy. "What about you, where have you been." She doesn't answer, just lets her smile do the talking, lets it burn holes and make her point and— "Would you mind not smiling? It's creeping me out."
But Becky doesn't care. She simply smiles wider.
-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-
While she walks to Melissa's house, Rebecca smokes a cigarette and thinks about love and stuff.
People were always telling her she couldn't understand it. You're too young, too old, not bitter enough, not happy enough, not pretty enough, not good enough. And this was coming from bitter parents preaching their guts out about marriage and how this generation doesn't get it anymore, how they've screwed things up. Rebecca understands this first hand, knows divorce like the back of her hand, could be her own preacher of a generation filled with divorce-babies. They curse this generation for being apathetic, saying that we're a fuck of a generation of cynical assholes when they're the ones that made us that way, Rebecca reflects.
They wonder why we don't believe in concepts like love or marriage when parents get married, have kids, get divorced, split everything down the middle until you're waking up in one house and falling asleep in another, wondering which house you belong in, not really giving much of a fuck after awhile. When they're remarrying and remarrying and dating complete assholes and shoving one person into their kids' lives and then tearing them away as they please. When they're fighting and screaming and crying and the kids are hiding under their beds in terror. Or when they stay together, in an unhappy marriage, and have affair after affair, fight after fight—and these are the same people that claim they're trying to protect the sanctity of marriage, that same sex couples will taint that commitment?
Rebecca doesn't think she's better than them, just smarter. She understands the difference between love and settling. Between staying in one spot because you're scared and going after what you wanted, no matter where it took you. She understands that people are scared of what they understand and completely terrified of what they don't. And, hell, they should be. The unknown is pretty fucking horrifying. But if every Bob and Sally let that stop them then nothing would get done. Everybody'd just be unhappy.
As the red head nears Melissa's house, lost in thought, she pauses at a street light as the orange crossing hand cautions her to stop. But what caught her attention the most, was the fact that Vinny was chained to the large pole with the crossing button yelling 'I'M RAPEABLE' every time a car honked. Unfortunately for her poor eyes, he was also wearing nothing but choo-choo train undies and a sign duct taped to his stomach that read, GUARANTEED NOT TO TESTIFY IN COURT! She leans against the pole and blows smoke into his sullen face. "Don't you ever learn your lesson, Vin? Your mother is seriously going to kill you one of these days."
Vinny simply slumps inwardly, probably bemoaning his existence at the moment. And yet he still chooses to ditch class. Some kids just don't learn. "Can you pull down my briefs so I can have the dignity of not pissing myself, Becks?"
The little orange hand turns into a little white person and she throws her cigarette under her boot, crushing its guts out before proceeding to walk. The redhead waves a hand over her shoulder. Places to be. People to meet. Livin' life. "Not even if you paid me. Tell your mom I said hi, though." Becky's pretty sure the kid'll make it. Maybe he'll even thank his parents later in life for helping him develop balls of steel. ...or maybe he'll end up in therapy. Who knows.
Eventually the red head finds her way to the driveway of Melissa's two story house (which made her one bedroom apartment look like a closet). The blonde was already there, waiting, leaning against a sleek black motorcycle. Becky thought she could hug the girl when she saw two helmets.
The two pause for a moment, looking over at the cheerleader's house. Screaming could be heard, whore, bitch, cunt, liar, cheater, asshole, lowlife—the works. Breaking glass. Loud sobbing. Rebecca knew this song and dance pretty well. "Third wife," Melissa explained. "Caught him with two maids and a hooker, this time."
"She threatening to cut his nuts off?"
"Yep."
"Man, I thought my dad's fifth girlfriend would actually do it, this one time. Had the gardening equipment out and everything." Rebecca slides her hand across the beautiful bike, gleaming under the sun. "We going for a ride?"
"You're running away with me," Melissa states, handing Rebecca her helmet, "wherever I want, for as long as I want."
"That so?" The helmet rolls around in her hands. It feels good. "Hm, on one condition, then."
"If I recall correctly, you said I would be the one making the conditions."
"Just this one," Becky assures. She loops the helmet ties around her wrist and grabs a hold of the blonde's narrow face, kissing her openly and heatedly. She's pretty sure, for the rest of her natural born life; she won't be able to smell cherry lip gloss without getting turned on. "Tell me. What I want. To hear."
Melissa climbs onto the motorcycle, rolling her eyes. She's used to Becky's stubbornness by now. This girl just wouldn't give up without a fight. She guess that's why they're at this point in the first place. It's a pretty good fuckin' place to be. "I love you, you crazy masochistic bitch. Now get on the damn bike before I beat the shit out of you."
The redhead smiles, climbing on while her heart thumped like a thirteen year old girl. Becky really couldn't help but say, "You've met me at a weird time in my life."
"Would you stop with those Fight Club quotes? I'm not going to be your Marla Singer."
"Fine," the redhead said, pulling her helmet on, "then just be my Melissa Monroe."
God, she loved this psycho chick.
-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-
The next day Rebecca Harris calls up Nurse Winston from a pay phone in the middle of nowhere and passes a message to him that he's instructed to pass to anybody that's missing her enough to give a shit about where she disappeared to.
Listen to Highway to Hell.
If they really knew her, they'd understand.
Um, Chuck Palahniuk owns my everything. That's all I have to say about that. Why are my female characters always fucked up? I dunno. Self reflection? Also, I added in that bit with Jasper because I'm thinking of making one last part for this universe surrounding him and that cute little freshman. Anybody think that's a good idea? Raise your hand. Okay, now I think I'm gonna go make some chocolate milk and the sleep for a million hours. /batmans into the night/
P.S. COMMENTS MAKE ME HAPPY OMNOMNOMNOM.
P.P.S. Drain Me went on private again because there's some stupid glitch when I edit it. It'll come off private after I post something new, though. _-_