[Probably no Friday update (Mar 31). I'm taking a break to make pre-written chapters. Hope you all understand. <3
Enjoy the chapter!]
Stay Creepy, My Friends!~
Chapter 18
Reese's POV
After my horrible not-so-nightmare-very-so-memory I was unable to sleep. I woke up at 3am and stayed wide awake until the very beginning rays of sunlight beamed through my window. Most of the time I spent awake I kept staring at my phone. As soon as I saw those rays of sunlight, I navigated my way to Ben's contact and hovered my thumb over the Call icon. After waiting and waiting, contemplating if I should or shouldn't, I hit the button and gingerly brought the phone to my ear.
I sat still, holding my breath, listening to the dial tone drone every other second. It was all I could hear for the past minute, until...
"This contact is currently unavailable. Please call back later or leave a message at the to--." I hung up.
Clutching the phone tight, I raised it up to throw it on my bed, but then slowly brought it down. Then I went back to Ben's contact and hit the Call button again.
"This contact is currently unavailable..."
"This contact is currently unavailable...
"This contact is currently unavailable..."
Finally, I decided to stop trying to call him on my fifth attempt, but I wanted to leave a message just so that the dork wouldn't think I ran into a Corrupted and was desperately making calls. After the automated voice stopped talking, and the beep echoed into my ear, I gulped and was silent for a few seconds. Eventually, I cleared my throat and said, "Uh, hey, it's Reese. I'm not dead, if that's what you'll be worried about. Um...I don't know what to say. I...well...I don't know. I guess I'm not...feeling good. Things have been pretty shitty lately. But I hope you're doing alright with whatever it is you're up to. Um...crap, I don't know what else to say..."
Of course you do, Reese, you dunce.
Scratching the back of my head, I added, "Hey, text me back soon so I know you're okay, uh... I'd really like to--."
"Your recording has been saved. Thank you."
"Ffffffffuck," I muttered. Letting my arm go limp, it fell and my phone tumbled out of my hand. After leaning against the wall and staring at my black phone screen, I muttered, "Wait," upon realizing how I had finished my last sentence. Thank god that didn't make it into the recording. Awkward.
...
Hunter and Mom were already in the kitchen having breakfast; I was the last one out of his bedroom. As soon as I stepped out into the kitchen entryway, Mom didn't flash me a warm, good-morning smile.
"Oh my god, mijito, are you okay?" she asked, standing up from her chair.
"Yeah," I mumbled, obviously lying but I didn't care if I was.
"You look like you hurled up your entire digestive system, dude," Hunter said.
"Thanks," I remarked. I kinda wish I did.
"What happened?" Mom questioned me, grabbing my shoulder gently.
I shook my head and walked sluggishly to the fridge to take the milk out. "It's nothing, mama. Just a restless night."
"You're not coming down with the flu, are you? Flu season is starting. Your previous vaccination should still be working, but we can go to Walgreens and--."
"Mama," I murmured, holding out the gallon of milk, "I'm okay. I'll get over it and come back home looking like I can run ten miles straight."
The reluctance was in her eyes as she shifted them from me to the gallon of milk. With a sigh, she grabbed the gallon and said, "Sit down and let me make your breakfast, at least."
I handed her the milk and she placed a tender kiss on my forehead. As Mom walked around the kitchen, gathering stuff to make me a breakfast that wasn't cereal, I sat next to Hunter at the table. I placed my arms and head down on the tabletop, and my brother immediately put a hand on my head.
"Are you sure you want to go to school today?" he whispered to me.
Even though I didn't want to, I knew I would have to. Despite that school can be a bitch to go to sometimes, I kind of don't want to miss anything while I'm gone. With my luck, it's always something important.
"I'm alright with going to hell, my dude," I murmured.
"If you say so," he replied, though I could tell he would prefer me to stay at home. Thanks, but no thanks. I don't want to stay stuck here, suffocating in my frustration and anxiety.
I rested at the table as Hunter gently scratched my head and went on with enjoying his orange juice and toast. Several minutes later, Mom placed a plate of pancakes onto the table with a glass of milk. She gave me the bottle of syrup to put as much as I wanted and kissed the top of my head.
"I expect you to come back looking like you can run twenty miles straight," she joked and I managed a smile.
"Thank you, mama," I said.
"Anything for you, mijo."
While Mom washed her dish at the sink, Hunter and I stayed sitting at the table. Every so often, I'd stick my fork out to him with a piece of syrupy pancake on the end, and every time he would lean over to take it into his mouth without so much as a glance away from his phone. Seeing him look laid back reminded me of how wired I felt, but it also relieved me. After my dream, I'd rather see that the Earth is still rotating, the sky is still blue, and my family is still happy than even think about myself.
...
I felt nauseated as soon as I stepped out of the Chevelle (which I had been using to get to school lately). But my hands already shut the driver's side door and locked it, and my legs already carried me forward by the time I realized I didn't want to be here. Without much complaint, I sauntered towards my school, earphones in my ears blasting music to drown out everything else. Seeing crowds of students in the main court waiting for school to start made me dizzy for a split second. I clutched one strap of my backpack tight, trying not to let my stress get the better of me.
And suddenly I felt like throwing up, so I ran to the mens' restroom and barged into an available stall. But nothing was willing to come out of my mouth other than my rage-filled growls and swear words.
After I came out of the stall, other boys stared at me, worried or weirded-out. Casually, I washed my face by one of the sinks, dried off with a paper towel, then tossed the crumpled, beige paper into the trash on my way out.
That's how I acted through most of the day: relaxed, quiet, mentally stable. No one was the wiser that I felt like being none of those things.
...
If I could barely handle the crowd in the main court this morning, the cafeteria was a fucking nightmare. People were getting mixed up more than usual today and staggering for longer whenever I tried to maneuver past them. With every bump I felt on my shoulders or on my backpack, my annoyance grew. Even with my music on, I could still hear people talking loudly. I would crank up the volume but I also don't want to bust my damn eardrums.
Although I'm usually hungry by the time lunch rolls in, I didn't feel like eating at all, for fear I'd hack it up. With this in mind, I only focused on finding a place to sit and rest my head, preferably a decent distance away from other people. As I walked around, searching for a good spot, someone commented to my left, "You look like shit, Jones."
Frowning, I glanced down to see a snarky looking brunet wearing the school's football jersey. From my angle, I wasn't able to see his ugly-ass crooked nose, which was courtesy of me. Regardless if I couldn't see his ugly-ass nose, I knew who he was.
"Oh hey, Bryce," I muttered.
"What the fuck happened to you?"
"Oh, ya know, none of your business," I replied with a casual shrug.
He laughed despite my rudeness. "Well, pretty much everyone has been talking about the Jones-kid walking around like a zombie and on the verge of pulling a gun out of his bag."
"Luckily for everyone, I barely even have my notebooks in my bag," I said. Bryce turned around and now I could see his ugly-ass crooked nose. I remember how he got it clearly. Because he pissed me off and I happened to not give a shit if I bloodied my knuckles that day.
Bryce whatever-the-fuck-his-last-name-was is my first girlfriend's--Miranda's--brother. Obviously, I hate him, and he hates me, but he hated me first. In his eyes, I was a "no good hoodlum" who'd get his precious fraternal-twin sister in trouble. So he had taken matters into his own hands to get me away from her and threatened to hurt me multiple times. Of course, I stayed resilient for Miranda's sake, but when Bryce started a fight with me I responded back with anger and violence. Even though he beat me up and had his friends join in and had already been harassing me for weeks, his sister didn't take my side. She didn't realize that me relentlessly punching him and breaking his nose was my self-defense. She hated me after that. I hated them both, too. Now they're the most annoying pair of siblings with Bryce being, well, Bryce, and Miranda being a complete ho.
"So, I'm gonna go," I started, "um, it was not nice talking to you and seeing you again."
"See ya, Jones," Bryce said. I stopped walking away and slowly turned around to tell him, "Don't call me that."
"It's your last name, isn't it? Jones?"
"That doesn't mean I like it, let alone do I like being called by it," I responded.
"Aw, is someone butt-hurt?" Bryce taunted.
"Listen, if you're trying to pick a fight with me after, what, three years? then you're a complete idiot and a complete asshole. Screw you and bye."
Again, I turned to walk away, but a leg stuck out in front of me and I wasn't quick enough to jump over it or stop myself. A moment later I was on the floor, my hands and knees stinging from the fall. Bryce and his friends laughed and made belittling remarks. I stayed on the floor, staring down at the white tiles, feeling my anger rise up in me. Carefully, I got up and adjusted my backpack. Even though hearing Bryce's laugh pissed me off to no end, I knew I shouldn't make things worse. Never provoke first, never punch first. Calmly, I inhaled and walked away.
"Being a pussy now, Jones? Fuckin' half-spic with daddy issues."
I wanted so desperately to run back and bash his damned head in, but the fear of disappointing my family and getting suspended--or even expelled--kept me from doing so. With my head held up, I put on my earphones and blasted my music again. But a few seconds into the song, I felt something hit the back of my head. Standing still, I felt cold liquid drip down my neck, soaking my shirt collar. When I turned my head back to see what had hit me, I saw a strawberry-milk carton on the floor (gross, strawberry milk of all things).
I took off my earphones and looked back at Bryce, at that crooked-nose asshole who kept grinning at me like he was the bigger man here, and his friends. Other students at other tables were staring, silent, expecting something horrible to go wrong. Some girls next to me murmured to each other, saying how Bryce and his friends were being douchebags. I agreed.
Gritting my teeth, I picked up the milk carton with my index finger and thumb, then threw it into a nearby trash can. Looking back, Bryce was still stealing glances at me while snickering to his friends. With a deep breath, I took out my phone and went to Hunter's contact. My thumbs shaking, I managed to get out a text to him:
-In advance, I'm sorry for getting in trouble. Just know, he started it. I'll gladly do a shit ton of chores. Love you, don't hate me.
In the next moment, I threw off my backpack and stormed up to Bryce. Before he could completely react, I grabbed his lunch tray and slammed it into his face. Food tumbled everywhere and Bryce blindly knocked a fist against my jaw. A friend that sat next to him got up and wrapped his arms around my neck, pulling me away. He and I fell backwards onto the floor, but I wasn't able to get up because another guy got up to kick me in the stomach. While second friend kicked, the first friend kept strangling me and every other moment my vision would be filled with wavering, white dots.
Finally, I had enough and slammed a kick into the second friend's crotch. He yelped and backed away, allowing me room to slip out of the first friend's arms and ram my fist next to his eye. Quickly, I got up, laid eyes on Bryce, then lunged for him. He tried jumping away but I grabbed onto his shirt at the last second. Instantly, I clutched onto his hair, pinned his arm against his back, and forced him onto the table, slamming his head against the surface. He uttered a surprised yelp and complained about his nose but I could barely hear him over the sound of my racing heartbeat.
"Never call me a pussy, or a half-spic, and especially not 'Jones', got that, cabrón? No me jodas de nuevo," I hissed fiercely at him, pulling hard on his hair and making him groan in pain. When he struggled, I picked up his head and shoved it back down onto the tabletop. While he groaned and grunted, I glowered down at him, not once feeling an ounce of mercy.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted security guards trying to shove past a crowd of students that gathered. An idea came to mind, one that would help me look at least less at fault for this. I let go of Bryce, and immediately he whirled around and hit his fist hard against my cheek. I staggered back and onto the floor, and then the security guard came just in time to pounce on the crooked-nose bastard and yank him away from me. Two more guards arrived, mostly to disperse the crowd of teens. While everyone was preoccupied, I laid still for a few moments, staring up at the cafeteria's ceiling high above me. And then I managed a smile even though my bottom lip throbbed with pain, even though my stomach churned with distress.
A worthless fuck-up, Dad called me.
I guess he'd be right.
...
"Two weeks, Reese. It's been two weeks since your school suspension," my counselor said, holding up two fingers for more emphasis.
"I'm sorry I'm a magnet for disaster," I deadpanned.
"You know very well that that isn't the cause for these kinds of incidents," she chided. "You wouldn't be a 'magnet' if you only stayed in line, shaped up."
"As much as I appreciate these amazing talks, I will mention that I barely do anything to provoke anyone at all," I argued. "Bryce whatever-his-name--."
"Halford."
"Yeah, that one--he picked a fight with me. For what reason, I don't know, other than to be a jerk."
"You punched him first," she stated.
Gripping the arms of my chair I replied, "He's already assaulted me in the past, even made his buddies sic me, too. He showed obvious signs of unwarranted provocation in lunch just now. He threw an open milk carton at me and tripped me. He called me a half-spic and a pussy--."
"Reese...!"
"It's true! And one of his friends nearly strangled me unconscious! I would never do that! How is it that whenever I get into fights, more of the blame gets thrown on me?"
"That isn't true--."
"Yes it is! That time in freshman year when big-shot Michael Rendon tried to terrorize me in the boys' locker room and I fought back?"
"You slammed a locker door into his head multiple times..."
"That time some idiot sophomore was harassing a female freshman and I stuck up for her and myself when he tried to beat me up?"
"You nearly blinded him."
"What about when Tony Weisener pulled a knife on me last school year?"
"There was no knife--."
"He wasn't a complete idiot; he dumped it before he was called in for questioning! And no one found it because they didn't bother to search--they never do! All of these incidents, will they keep being my fault?!"
"Reese, you know that--."
"Isn't true? Well, it is! Everyone blames me! They're scared of me, hate me! And all I want to do is be left alone to be happy and not worry about stupid PTSD and anxiety and anger issues. But life wasn't fair to me and still isn't. Haven't I had enough? Wasn't my father enough?!"
All of a sudden, the office door opened and a security guard came in. "What's going on here?"
Slowly, I released a steady breath and muttered, "Nothing, I was just about to leave."
The counselor's eyes widened and she started, "Mr. Jones--."
"Don't call me that! Ever!" I growled and glared at her. Her demeanor had been relatively calm before but now her irises gleamed with fright. Just like mine used to.
Shaking my head, I grabbed my backpack and said, "I'll happily oblige to attend detention or in-school suspension, but please don't expel me. That would be a horrible decision for someone who's meant to help students. Who should be helping students."
The hurt was clear on the counselor's face and even the security guard seemed uncomfortable. I didn't care though. With that, I hauled my backpack onto my shoulder and calmly walked out of the office.
...
I got into an argument with Hunter over my leaving school early. He said I shouldn't have; I said it wouldn't matter because I'd have a shittier day after the fight. He said he would rather see me and talk to me; I said he's going to do it anyway so both of us shouldn't be bothered with waiting.
I ended up driving to Artem's shop. Since the garage doors were open, I knew he was there. After I parked the Chevelle, I left my backpack inside and hopped out. Walking through one of the garage doors, I saw him standing by a car, writing down on a clipboard, his expression focused.
"I don't suppose I'll get a bonus for showing up early today?" I announced. The Russian brunet looked up from his clipboard and his stern mien gave way for slight surprise.
"What happened to your face?" he questioned.
I shrugged. "Genetics."
He frowned. "You know what I mean, soplyak."
As I took off my jacket, I answered, "Got into a fight--he started it. Had a not-so-productive talk with my counselor. May or may not be expelled. Just the usual."
"You should still be in school," he remarked.
"I know, but I didn't want to endure that place any longer," I said, before walking into the office to get my uniform. As I took out my uniform from the closet, Artem came to stand under the doorway and set his clipboard down on the desk. He folded his arms over his chest and I sighed, knowing I'd get a lecture. At least his are short and to the point. Such a blunt man.
"You didn't go to a nurse?" he asked, which wasn't what I expected.
"Nah."
"They didn't let you?"
"Well, I didn't mention it, but neither did the school, which I guess was rude of them considering I got fucked up," I muttered.
Artem stepped in front of me and motioned for me to lift my head higher. I did as he wanted and he scanned my face with those daunting, blue eyes. With a sigh, he reached for the lower drawer of the desk and pulled out a first aid kit. He set it on the table, opened it, but then huffed with annoyance.
"Ran out of bandaids, it seems," he mumbled.
"Art, don't worry about it, I'll be fine--."
"When will you stop pretending you're okay and putting yourself behind others, soplyak?"
I blinked. "Wh-What...?"
The Russian brunet stared right into my eyes as he said, "You heard me well. You've been through too much to still be selfless. Be bold, be selfish, as long as you're honest. You may think it's trouble, but there is strength in veracity. Now, wait here while I make a quick run to the store."
Silently, I stood in my spot as Artem took off his mechanic uniform and hung it up in the closet. Then he pulled out his car keys from one of the uniform pockets and said, "I'll make sure to lock up everything this time. You stay here. Don't leave or do anything stupid. I'll see you in a while."
And with that, Artem walked out of the office and went to lower the shop's garage doors. I watched him through the windows, watched him standing by the button, waiting for the metal doors to close, tapping his foot. He didn't seem to care that I kept staring at him, and my gaze finally broke away as soon as he closed the main door. Suddenly, the shop was incredibly quiet and unnaturally still.
I sat at the desk's chair, listening to it creak every time I moved just a little. Leaning back into it, I closed my eyes and tried to relax. The tension in my shoulders was starting to fade, but not fast enough. Even though it seemed like a bad idea, I reflected on today's events: the fight, the mental breakdowns, the nightmare. Everything was so vivid and fresh in my mind. While I remembered all of the bad things, I kept Artem's brief advice in mind. Stop being selfless, was pretty much what he said. Honestly, something like that is nice coming from him.
But then I think about my dad, and voices belittling me and laughing at me, and the counselor's uneasy gaze, and all of the times Hunter has ever been hurt, and Dad's cold, vicious eyes that he and I share. Suddenly, not being selfless seems so foreign, so daunting of a way of life, so unnatural. All I've ever been is selfless. Not just because I owe it to Hunter and Mom, but because that's how I was raised: to not give a shit about myself whatsoever. Thanks to my dad, I'm always placing myself below other people. Thanks to my dad, my insecurities amplify and that's hard to deal with. Thanks to my dad, I'm exactly what he always called me: a stupid fuck-up.
And dammit, I fucking hate that son of a bitch, but he terrifies me. The thought of him scares me, and even hearing his name makes me tense up just a little. It's been ten years--ten years!--since he was taken away to prison, but even from a dingy, cold, cement cell he's fucking me up. I hate him. I hate him so much.
This is the worst relapse I've ever had in a long, long time. Yeah, I'm usually a little antsy and short-tempered, but now things have gone too far. I want something to distract me from my emotions but Ben had been doing that and he's not here. And, before I know it, I'm tapping my fingers frantically on my phone screen, sending him another text that won't be responded to. And after I send the message, I try calling him, but I keep hearing that stupid automated voice tell me, "This contact is currently unavailable", and now I want to punch something again.
I set my phone down onto the table and clutched my head in my hands. Frustration set in and my fingers clenched my locks of hair tightly, wanting to feel anything but my stress, even if it was pain.
Suddenly, knocking interrupted the stagnant silence of the auto shop and I threw my head up to look at the front door. At first, I thought it was Artem, and wondered how the hell the ruski could have locked himself out. Once I stepped out of the office to look at the entrance, through the tinted glass I could see a different figure. Not only was it shorter, but slimmer too: a woman. I guess it's a customer. I should probably talk to her.
Quickly, I fixed my hair back to look presentable, then walked to the door to unlock and open it. Now that the tinted glass was out of the way, I was able to see the woman more clearly. She wore regular jeans, sneakers, a thin-looking gray jacket, and black shirt. Her hair was dark and long, going as far as her midsection, it seemed. Her skin was pale like she hasn't seen the sun in a long time. What caught my eye the most wasn't the minor scars on her face (can relate), but the fact that she wore some Harry Potter looking glasses with an eyepatch covering her left eye. That's an interesting fashion statement. The glasses I mean. I didn't want to judge the eyepatch.
"Hello, can I help you, ma'am?" I asked her.
She flashed me a gentle smile and spoke in the softest voice I'd ever heard, yet she was still loud. "Hi. Um, my name is Angel Summers. I was wondering where I could find the nearest motel?"
Nodding, I explained, "There should be one about six blocks from here, to the east. You'll definitely see it."
Again, in that smooth voice, she said, "Thank you! You have no idea how long I've been trying to find one. My phone's busted so I couldn't check a map."
"You're welcome," I said, pulling my best smile. The woman named Angel turned around to walk away and I began closing the door. Suddenly, she came rushing back and I had to quickly open the door again.
"Sorry to bother you again," she started, "I couldn't help but notice the Help Wanted signs in the front while I was walking over here...."
It took me a few seconds to realize what she was talking about and poked my head out to look at the poster we had put on the outside shop wall. The other sign was set up near the sidewalk and it's probably worn by now.
"To be truthful, I completely forgot about those," I stated, and Angel stifled a chuckle.
"I'm guessing you don't get many offers for workers?" she questioned.
"This place has been a desert," I jested. She flashed a sweet smile again.
"Well, I'm interested," she explained. "I'm going to be moving here soon so I'd like to find a job as quickly as I can."
"Are you experienced with vehicles?"
The dark haired woman shifted her gaze to the side and rubbed her arm. "Only the basics."
"Do you mind getting your hands dirty?"
"Not really. There are worse jobs, I'm sure," she replied nonchalantly.
I smirked and said, "Okay, well let me get you an application form. My boss isn't here but when he gets back I'll tell him about you."
Angel cocked her head. "You're not the owner? Mr. Kuznetsov?"
"No, no," I answered. "Believe me, I don't think I'd ever want to handle a shop mostly on my own like he does. No, I'm his apprentice." Graciously, I held out my hand and introduced myself, "I'm Reese Montemayor-Jones."
"Ah, that name seems like a handful to say," Angel commented as she shook my hand. Her grip was surprisingly strong for the way she looked. Then again, she was short and her clothes were baggy.
"It tends to be," I replied. "Just call me Reese."
"Nice to meet you, Reese," she chimed.
After we exchanged a few more words, I ran back inside to get an application form from the office. It's a bit sad to know that the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet that held applications was finally opened after what seems like forever. Despite that, I plucked out a form and ran back to Angel. She gave me another sweet smile when she saw me and I handed her the application.
"Feel free to take it home. We'll be waiting to hear from you," I said.
"Thank you so much," she beamed.
"No problem."
After staring at the form in her hands for a few moments, she held it close and grinned again. "Until we meet again, Reese."
"Until we meet again. Have a wonderful day," I said as we shook hands again in farewell.
"Likewise." Adjusting her glasses, she hurried away towards the sidewalk and began walking down the street. I stared at her, wondering if she had walked all the way here, and if so then I felt kind of bad. Regardless, I closed the door and locked it up.
Several minutes later, Artem returned with bandaids and some food for me (apparently I looked like a "starving porosenok"). After he made sure I was tended to, and after I scarfed down all of my lunch, I got dressed to start a very early shift of work.
...
Upon arriving at home, I found Hunter laying sluggishly on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. As I closed the door and locked it behind me, I remarked, "I was half-expecting you and Mom to be sitting and waiting for me, like those intervention scenes in movies."
Even though I managed a slight smile, Hunter didn't smile at all. He sat up straight, leaning his elbows on his knees, looking exasperated. Before I questioned him, he replied, "That's exactly what we had been planning to do until your school called."
"About my fight? Didn't they already explain?"
"Yes, but this phone call is different."
I furrowed my brow. "How so?"
Now, Hunter forced a small smile, something he does when he's upset or uncomfortable. Looking up at me, he answered, "Your school wants you to receive psychiatric aid, and if you don't then they'll request Child Protective Services to investigate us."
The living room was dead quiet as I stared at him in disbelief. Then, I stifled a chuckle and said, "You're joking, right?"
"I'd never joke about something like this, Reese," he affirmed, and I completely believed him.
Leaning my hands on the couch, I said, "That's bullshit. Nothing's wrong here...! There's no abuse or neglect. CPS would just be wasting their time."
"I know, but still."
"And the school can't make me see a psychiatrist! What the hell is this? I don't have to take medication, don't want to take medication, just because the school thinks I'm some rabid animal."
"Reese, Mom thinks it'd be wise if you took medication," Hunter stated flat out.
Again, the living room was dead quiet. Staring intently at him, I quietly asked, "And you? What do you think?"
Hunter paused to inhale a deep breath. A few moments later, he opened his mouth, admitting, "I agree."
And there's the kicker, of all things. I bit my bottom lip despite it being busted, letting the pain linger. As I stared down at the floor, Hunter shifted in his spot and added, "Listen, it's not as bad as you think. You'll get evaluated before anything is set in stone, but if things are looking down then Mom will get the doctor I went to, who was great--is great. It's just pills, Reese."
"Just pills...," I muttered. Then I scoffed and continued, "They may be pills but the fact that I have to take them because I'm fucking crazy doesn't thrill me."
"You're not crazy."
"I'm not? Really? I know you love me and all, but don't lie to me to protect my feelings."
Hunter looked hurt by my statement and his gaze hardened. "Reese, I'm being honest when I say you're not crazy. You're just, you know, broken."
"That makes me feel much better, Hunter, thanks," I remarked sarcastically.
"You know what I mean."
"I know. That's why I don't want you to lie to me to spare my feelings. What difference will it make if my fucked up self gets another scratch?"
"You forget that you're not the only one who got 'fucked up'," he chided. "That's why I would at least think you'd trust me enough to confide in me and understand where I'm coming from instead of fighting with me."
"I'm not fighting you."
"Sometimes fighting is mellow. Sometimes it's not raising your voice at all and it tends to hurt more when voices aren't raised."
"Should I start yelling, then, to console you more?" I fired back.
"I'm not the one in need of consoling."
"Right, right. I forgot for a few moments that I'm the lunatic, fuck-up brother."
Hunter shook his head, his eyes bright with frustration. "Why are you being like this, Reese? Seriously?"
"I just said, I'm the lunatic, fuck-up brother."
"I'm trying to help you! That's all I've ever been doing!"
And he's right. He is so incredibly right and I feel lower than scum knowing I'm being an asshole. But my anger doesn't boil down and his reminder of helping me throughout most of my life doesn't comfort me. All it does is cement the fact that everything bad has been my fault and always will be. I'm to blame. I'm the lunatic fuck-up. Lower than the lowest of scum.
"Where's Mom?" I asked out of the blue.
Hunter paused, still looking upset, but he answered anyway, "She's in her room, still talking with your school counselor."
"I need to talk to her."
"She's busy, Reese."
"Then I'll wait," I growled. "As long as I don't have to keep talking to you about all of this."
Before I could let him argue again, I rushed into the hallway towards Mom's room. Hunter called for me, but only once as to not disturb the apartment's silence. Mom's bedroom door was slightly ajar and I stopped just beside it as I overheard her speaking.
"Like I mentioned, he has these relapse stages. Outside of that, he's a wonderful boy...! He's just been through so much, and it's always been hard for him to find the right treatment, and we're barely coming by with money.... Is there no way for you to let this go? I understand that it would be in best regards to other people too, but--..... Okay. Okay. I'll make an appointment with a psychiatrist soon. Yes. Th-Thank you. Sorry for the trouble..." After that, she stopped talking and all I could hear was sniffling and slight whimpers. A hollowness opened up in my chest hearing Mom cry so quietly, like she didn't want Hunter and I to know. And now I felt much, much more lower than the lowest of scum.
It's unfair that my school is practically forcing Mom to see me to a psychiatrist. In reality, I'm sure any other parent would sue the school for something like this, but knowing Mom she'd rather spend her money on something that's sure-fire and will help me. She'll spend money on a psychiatrist and the medication, and I'll endure it, because I love her. I love Mom, and I love Hunter, so much, but I hate myself just the same so I'll take the medication. It's just pills.
Just pills.
...
Elizabeth's POV
What am I doing?
Angel Summers. Really? There isn't a more generic-sounding protagonist name out there other than Angel Summers. Well, maybe except like Joe Smith. Whatever, it's fine!
Did I have to wear glasses? Not really. Especially these Harry Potter looking specs? They don't even "look"; it's pure Potter. I must have appeared awkward wearing the glasses and my eyepatch, too. Geez, everything about that encounter was cringe on my part. I feel bad for that kid, Reese.
Most of all, why am I trying to seem normal? I shouldn't even be out in the open. There are probably authorities that are on the look out for some demon girl raiding cities, screeching in rage. Worst of all, Ao will be looking for me, along with everyone else. If I wanted to hide properly, I should've stayed in Zalgo's realm. On the other hand, I don't want to be in that place for a split second. It nauseates me. I'd say the only thing I like about it is Zazel and Sudryl.
Not only do those two respect my space, but they can hold a thoughtful conversation. They didn't just agree with my wishes to stay in the human realm, but they gave me advice, too. I promised them I would come back every so often to let them know that their "master" is okay. In return, they would keep Caedis within Zalgo's realm for as long as I needed.
I don't want to hide in Zalgo's realm. I don't want to hide at all. Deep down I still want to stay in the human realm with the chance that I can find a way to be as normal as I can, live that life in the woods up in Canada. There's no way I want to give in to the reality that I'm supposed to be a god damned queen. I'll be happy being anything else but that.
An auto shop though? I'm not even confident enough in my basic auto-tech skills. Maybe they have positions that deal with customer service. Wait, I don't want to interact with a lot of people... Customer service would be out of the question, then. I'm sure whatever task I'm given I can pull off, especially if I can get more money out of it.
During the fight between Ao and I about a week ago, I lost my jacket that had all of my money in it. Luckily, I've been able to steal some by pickpocketing, though just barely. If I'm going to do the whole Canada-idea, I'm going to need more cash. It's a lot of work, but starting over isn't easy. Despite the evil that hangs on my shoulders in my waking hours, I'll still try.
Starting over wouldn't just be for my sake. Although I know it's a bold idea, I thought maybe I could steal Jeff away from the mansion so he could be with me. It could just be us, with no one else to worry about but each other. We could live a quiet life away from urban society and all of its issues, surrounded by peaceful nature. Forests are just as enchanting as country-sides, too. We can stargaze forever there, like we always wanted to.
But as circumstances would have it, this idea is flawed. Not only would I have to sneak back to the mansion to get him whilst risking Ao kicking my ass (as I'm certain she so desperately wants to now that she knows what I am), but once I have him what's to stop me from snapping and hurting him? My battle with Ao proved that I wasn't strong enough to resist the mouths. I gave in and killed so many people with so little effort. Jeff is just one man. Though he's the man I love with all of my heart, the mouths won't feel the same. To them, he's just sustenance. And knowing me, I would just end up leaving him all over again if the mouths demand me to kill him.
Still, I hope maybe I'll become stronger someday. I'll learn to hone my current powers; I'll practice every chance I get if I have to. In the meantime, I'll keep believing a future with Jeff is reachable, and I'll keep thinking of him no matter how much it hurts me. Someday we'll reunite and finally have our happiness.
And if anyone and anything comes close to sabotaging that future, I'll eradicate them with no mercy.