[Heyo, so Reader Discretion is Advised, because some shit goes down. It isn't anything devastating, but it can be upsetting in a few ways, considering there is bullying, signs of abuse, and--as signature of me--angst. So this is just a warning in case people get uncomfortable.
Regardless, I hope you enjoy the chapter! Have a wonderful day! :D]
Stay Creepy, My Friends!~
Chapter 22
Elizabeth's POV
I stormed down the corridor, streaking over red carpeted floor and black, lantern-lit walls. I opened any doors I came across with reckless abandon, hoping to find the twin servants.
What are you doing running rampant?
Zalgo appeared in front of me and I dashed right through his figure without a care.
"Looking for Zazel and Sudryl," I stated briefly.
Just call for them. They'll hear you.
It couldn't be as simple as that, but the second I uttered their names the two seemingly appeared behind me when there had been nothing in their place.
"Yes, Madame Umber?" Sudryl said, wearing their designated red robes, with white trim, that helped me distinguish which servant from which.
I rushed up to the pair and said, "I need counseling from the both of you."
"What seems to be the matter, Madame?" Zazel questioned, their white robes, with red trim, swaying as they straightened.
Before I went on a rant, I swerved around to enter one of the rooms and found a sitting area inside. Good enough. I beckoned them inside and they followed my command. Once I shut the door, I rushed for the couch and practically launched myself into it. My head was in my hands as I started, "I've run into a problem."
"What kind of problem?" Sudryl asked.
Yes, what kind of problem?
When I uncovered my face, Zalgo sat next to me and I scoffed at him. Turning to the twins, I answered, "Recently, I've taken up an occupation at an automobile shop, and one of my co-workers has a car belonging to one of the member's of Slender's--Ao Matsukochi's group. Do you know a man named Ben?"
"We have only heard a few mentions of that name from Lord Zalgo, but none were of significance," Zazel stated.
"Why are you upset over the vehicle's owner?" Sudryl asked.
"Because," I began, shooting up from my seat, "if Ben finds out where I am and what I'm up to, he'll inform Ao, and then she'll come after me and my current plans will be ruined!"
"Not to offend you, My Lady, but what are your current plans, again?" Zazel asked, looking at me with those big, white eyes.
"I want to raise enough money and resources to provide a stable life for my fiancé, Jeff." Anxiety was getting the better of me and I roughly brushed my hands through my hair. "But that may not happen if Ben tells Ao where I am! She'll come after me and possibly fight me again, and I'm not sure if I'm ready for another battle. She's much stronger than she used to be, and I'm scared that I'll freak out and create another disaster. I don't want a repeat of Cincinnati again! And I don't want her to ruin my plans to be with Jeff. If she finds out, she might keep him guarded. Sh-She'll want to keep him away from me, and god knows what I'll have to do if she does that! I can't let her take him away from me! No one will!"
Elizabeth, please take a moment to breathe.
"Shut up!" I screamed, whirling around to face Zalgo's sitting figure. His face was placid and his body was relaxed. Seeing him undisturbed and looking so regal pissed me off more.
"Madame Umber," Zazel murmured reluctantly. I turned around to face the white robed servant and recognized nervousness in those pure white eyes.
For a few moments, I took some deep breaths to calm my nerves. Discomfort still clung to my body but I was able to sit and rest on the couch. I kept my gaze at my feet, which I tried to keep still on the floor. Once I finally composed myself, I said, calmer this time, "I cannot let Ao Matsukochi ruin my plans. In order to do that....I need to get Ben off my trail before he even knows it's there."
"How do you wish to achieve that, Madame?" Sudryl asked.
I shook my head. "I don't know. He can't die, so killing him isn't an option."
Distract him.
Furrowing my brow, I turned my head at Zalgo, who was examining his black nails. "How?" I questioned. He shrugged.
Somehow.
"Gee, that's specific..."
Send out more Corrupted to keep him and Ao's friends busy. You have control over them now.
"I do..."
He raised an eyebrow at me.
Then?
"Ben could cut through those things like nothing, though. He's a strong fighter. I'm sure the others have advanced, too."
Then, send Caedis.
My thoughts hesitated at the mention of his name. I haven't even acknowledged Caedis since the twins mentioned him the first time I came to the castle. To be honest, I didn't want to think about him at all.
Caedis is strong enough and resilient enough for your old friends. In addition, he's completely invincible against all other magic and weaponry, remember? The only way he'd ever be subdued is by your blood, and I doubt you'd want to sabotage him, no matter how much you may dislike him. He is your soldier and protector, Elizabeth. In that sense, he will be the same for Jeff and the future you strive for the two of you.
As much as I didn't want to admit it, he was right. Caedis is meant to be my solider, my best fighter. He'd be an entire army if I so commanded it. Like Zalgo has said before, Caedis is a tool, so I might as well use him.
"Alright," I murmured. Standing up, I ordered, "Zazel, Sudryl, I'll need your help in coming up with a plan of attack."
Ahem.
Without looking back, I rolled my eyes and muttered, "You can help too, snob."
Oh, how thoughtful of you, my darling.
I fucking hate him.
"Shall I retrieve Caedis so he may be present for any discussion?" Zazel inquired.
"Sure," I said.
With that, Zazel bowed and exited the room in a swift, graceful motion. Sudryl clasped their midnight black hands together and asked, "Might I offer you a meal or beverage? I am sorry to say you look famished, Madame."
"Y-Yeah, thanks," I mumbled. Sudryl bowed and exited the room, too, leaving Zalgo and I alone again.
When I turned around, I was disturbed to find Zalgo grinning at me with bright eyes. "What's with that look?" I grumbled.
Oh, nothing. It's just...
I scowled. "Just, what?"
The former Lord chuckled and twisted his black tie.
It's so fascinating to see you taking command so easily. It's almost as if you were born to be a leader--a ruler. It's quite thrilling.
With a huff, I turned away from him to stare at a window across the room.
I am proud of you, Elizabeth.
"I don't need any confirmation from you," I hissed.
Yes, of course. You are an independent, dauntless, young woman, after all. A perfect Queen. My perfect heir.
"Jesus, can you ever learn to shut up? For a menacing, malevolent demon, you're as chatty as a bitchy, teenage girl. You never seem to take the hint like one, either."
Ah, how fierce. I always admire how your words can sting like venom.
"Ugh," I groaned, before walking out of the room to get away from him. The downsides of having him as a conscience, though, is that he can easily follow me.
Look at you walking like a Queen, too...!
"Oh my god, shut up," I growled, storming down the corridor again.
I'm just so amazed, is all. Can you blame a father for gushing over his wonderful daughter?
"You are not my father," I hissed, stopping abruptly in my tracks. He stopped with me, still bearing that proud smile, which revolted me to no end.
"You," I started, "are a monster and nowhere near to ever being a father. A father wouldn't screw up his kid's life; a father wouldn't throw so much responsibility onto his kid's shoulders; a father wouldn't leave his kid to wallow in anger, and sadness, and worthlessness; a father wouldn't fuck up his kid's true love and leave her contemplating if she's to blame for everything that has ever gone wrong in her life...!
"Maybe I shouldn't have accepted your deal all those years ago. Maybe I shouldn't have been so desperate and naive. I should've died in that creek, rotting and reeking, and never should've been given a second chance! But I was too selfish to realize that, at the time. I should be dead, god dammit! Even if it meant I would never, ever get to meet Jeff, at least so many people wouldn't have died and suffered because I fucked up! Ever since that day at the creek, I've been to blame for everything that's ever gone wrong.
"I-I wasn't brave enough to stand up to the years of bullying; I wasn't enough to save my grandmother; I wasn't competent enough to save my parents; I wasn't smart enough to remember my life before I shot myself and return to Jeff sooner; I wasn't good enough to stop your stupid attack on the mansion; I wasn't strong enough to save Slender; I wasn't strong enough to stop the horrors that happened in that wretched SCP facility; and I wasn't smart enough to keep myself from devouring you and taking your place! All of it was my fault! Because I was never enough! Because I'm stupid! I'm worthless--don't you understand that?! A father wouldn't watch his kid's life go to ruins and keep egging her on like she's some messiah, when really she's a disaster! A father wouldn't lie to his kid!
"Don't tell me I'm amazing! Don't tell me I'm perfect--I'm the opposite! If you really want to be a good father, then tell me the truth! Say I'm a fucking mess, call me stupid, call me all of those horrible names you used to! What were they--whore, pig, rat, bitch?! Call me those names again, because those words will be the truest things that will have ever left your mouth!"
Zalgo stood silent, his smile having faded long ago. He watched me huff and pant and it took me a while to realize I was crying.
"Well? What are you waiting for? Go ahead and call me names!"
Elizabeth--.
"Admit it--I'm worthless! Say those names!"
I--.
"SAY IT!!!"
For the first time ever, Zalgo was left at a loss for words. His eyes were darkened with something I couldn't recognize and his jaw was tightened, like he knew I would notice and realize he'd keep words to himself. Tears kept falling down my cheeks, dropping profusely from my chin. My hands were clenched so tight my nails drew blood from my sweating palms. I could hardly stand the silence.
The second he opened his mouth, I inhaled a breath, awaiting the volley of sickening words that would bring me more relief than I realized. But instead of vulgarity, Zalgo only said...
I am sorry I cannot be a father, then...
Once I figured out what he meant, I shot him the harshest glare I could muster.
Elizabeth...I care for you very much, so to call you anything so disgraceful would be diabolical.
Shaking my head, I hissed, "You're a fucking coward."
Elizabeth, please--.
Before he could finish, I spat down at his feet and growled, "If you truly loved me, you would hate me with all of the malice you have."
Without another word, I turned and walked down the corridor, with the intent of being anywhere but around him. When I expected him to follow, I was only greeted by silence and loneliness. This wasn't comforting, though. If anything, it was more hurtful than being called a pig, or a whore, or a rat, or a bitch. Because I wasn't even worth the hatred.
I'm not worth anything.
...
Ben's POV
It happened again, but it was longer this time. I was minding my business in my room when my body seemed to freeze and I wasn't sure what I was thinking about until it was over.
For some reason, the first thing I heard was a tenor voice softly singing in a somewhat echoey space. The lyrics were familiar...
"I don't ever want to feel, like I did that day,
Take me to the place I love,
Take me all the way..."
Was that...Red Hot Chilli Peppers? Damn, I haven't heard of them in a long time....!
The lyrics were interrupted by someone else piping in, "Hey choir boy, this is P. E."
Suddenly, I was looking up at a young man, tall, with the mature physique of an athlete. His expression seemed annoyed with me and I suddenly felt...inferior.
"S-Sorry," a meek voice said--it belonged to me.
The athlete huffed and turned away from me to get clothes from a gym locker. He suddenly started changing his shirt in front of me, so I quickly grabbed my clothes and went for a restroom stall. I changed, hesitant to take off my clothes despite that I was hidden away from any prying eyes. It was surprisingly hard to remove my shirt and I had to stop for a breather every now and then. Taking off my pants was worse. I wondered why until I glanced down at my pale body to see faint bruises over areas of my skin, mostly on my thighs. With a groan, I put on my gym clothes and made sure the shorts covered the bruises.
When I came out, most of the boys were already gone, and like always the coach was by the door, waiting for me with that stern look on his face. Passing him by, I heard him retort, "You've gotta hurry it up, Gallagher. If you keep taking so long, I'm going to have to deduct points."
"Y-Yes, sir," I murmured.
Gallagher? Who's that? Me?
Like always, I walked behind the coach all the way to the gym. There, all of the boys were running around or messing with basketballs, and the girls just sat in their corners. The second, female coach whistled and ordered everyone to get in their lines. On my way to my spot, someone bumped my shoulder and I staggered. I briefly heard a faint snicker before I kept walking.
For the next sixty minutes, we did stretches and exercises and were left to play games like basket ball, or volleyball, or badminton. While everyone had a place to go to, I was still unsure after all of these years. Usually, I just walk around the gym, daydreaming while also on the look out for projectile balls--some on purpose. So that's what I had done instead of playing with the others, instead of making connections, instead of being a normal, carefree kid.
Whenever I had to pass by the group of boys playing basketball, I would stick to the wall to be as far from them as possible. Sometimes, when the ball hit close to me, I would flinch, and a few of the boys who noticed would laugh at me before returning their attention to the game. I tried to ignore it all.
As I was passing the volleyball group, a girl had ran into me in her attempt to hit the incoming ball. The both of us fell while the ball bounced away against the wall. Where an apology would be said, the girl only grumbled, "Watch where you're going, Gallagher..."
"S-Sorry," I murmured, but I wasn't sure if she heard me. The girl got up in seconds and went to get the volleyball, while I had stayed on the floor, finding it hard to move. Everything hurt.
"Geez, how hard did you hit him, Sophie," a boy remarked across the net.
The girl who ran into me said, "Not that hard. He'll be fine."
But the truth is, I wasn't. I never am.
"Look, you gave him bruises," the boy pointed out in fake awe.
The girl glanced at me and gave a wry laugh. "Um, that wasn't me."
It certainly wasn't.
Self-conscious, I tugged my shorts down so the dark splotches on my skin were covered again.
Eventually, I found the strength to get up and move out of the way. Despite the aches in my body, I continued walking around the gym, alone.
After P. E. was over, we all headed back to the locker-rooms. Like at the start of class, I went to change in the restroom into my jeans and plain t-shirt. During the seven minutes it took for me to change, all I could stare at were my ever prominent bruises. Suddenly, my eyes stung like I was going to cry, but a part of me knew not to. It's just a little bit of pain; it'll go away.
The school bell rang as soon I came out of the stall and I had to hurry and put my clothes away in my locker and grab my backpack. Quickly, I left the locker-room to go to my next class.
The next thing I knew, I was sitting at a lunch table in a lonely corner of the large cafeteria filled with many students. All around me were tables of friends who laughed and smiled and messed with each other's foods. They all knew where they belonged. And me? I never knew.
The only place I really felt I belonged in was choir. It's a class where I can let my voice roam free to express. It's a class where the only judgement that exists is positive as to ensure healthy, musical progress. It's such a wonderful class. Granted, I still don't talk to people there, but I'm comfortable enough with the teacher, who always makes the time for me to help me practice after school, sometimes during lunch when I don't feel like eating (which can be often).
As I was lost in my thoughts, someone sat in the seat across from me and I looked up to see who it was. It was a boy I recognized from my junior class but I wasn't well acquainted with him. He gave me a gentle smile before greeting, "Hi. You're Ben Gallagher, right?"
Ben Gallagher? Me?
"Yeah," I answered the boy and myself.
"Okay, cool," he replied. I wanted to say something clever, like: how could he not know who I am since I'm the only kid that doesn't have any friends? But I felt like I would chase him off that way, so I kept my mouth shut.
"I'm Greg Taylor. My sister, Chelsea Taylor, is in your choir class and has told me about you," the boy started. "She really admires your singing and how 'passionate' you get, so she's told me. So, she's having a birthday party this weekend and was wondering if maybe you'd like to come and sing for her?"
I blinked, confused. "Me? Sing? For her birthday party?"
Greg nodded.
My eyes turned down to my lunch tray and I said, "Um, that's nice and all, but I don't do gigs."
"We'll pay you forty bucks," he offered, giving a sly wink.
The mention of money had definitely caught me off-guard. Forty bucks just to sing at some girl's birthday party? I mean, it's not a bad deal...
"I-I'll consider it...," I murmured.
Greg chuckled. "Well, I hope you give me an answer soon. You have three days, okay?"
"O-Okay..."
And with that, Greg gave me a smile and left my table. I sat still for a while, staring ahead at the spot he was in, leaving my barely eaten food untouched. Though I didn't want to admit it, a part of me was trying to find a reason not to go, other than the obvious one which was: I would be a loner among a sea of friends at that party. But I also didn't not want to go. I needed help for this dilemma...
So that's why, after school, I went to consult my choir teacher, Miss Goodwin. She sat by the piano, playing a few random chords as she muddled over what I told her. She adjusted her glasses with a swift, slim hand and said, "Well, I think it would be a wonderful opportunity for you to shine outside of the classroom."
"Do you really think so?"
The brunette flashed me a kind smile. "Benjamin, you have spent countless hours practicing. There is no reason not to believe that you're incapable of singing. You've proven that you're not shy with crowds. A birthday party isn't any different than the choir class."
"But it is different. It's a party. Full of people I wouldn't know."
"Which would give you the upper hand in performing," she chimed. "Think about it: how many kids do you think there'd be who have any musical intuition? Hmm?"
I managed a sheepish smile. "None.."
"Exactly. So they won't be able to judge you because you know far more than they would. They don't care about technicalities like I do. There, you're just a singer for a birthday party. But 'there' is where you may find your start into what you want to be in life."
I twiddled my thumbs. "Really?"
"Yes...!" Miss Goodwin stood up and tenderly grabbed my shoulders. "Benjamin, you are so, so talented! In my years of teaching, I've never met a more passionate student than you! You have potential and I honestly believe you're going to go far with your skill."
"Y-You're just saying that...," I mumbled.
"Absolutely untrue." She leaned closer and cupped my face in her cool, nimble hands. Forced to look up, I stared into her brown eyes as she added, "You are worth so much more than you let yourself believe. You're a priceless gem of a human being and nothing can dissuade that. There is confidence, and potential, and inspiration somewhere inside this body of yours and it's all waiting to be let loose into the world. The road to success isn't easy, so take baby-steps. And dammit, I think this baby-step of a birthday party is something you should take. It may seem silly, but the smallest things lead to so much more."
I hoped she wouldn't notice how my eyes watered at her words, but, knowing her, she did. Fortunately, she didn't make a big deal of it, which would have made me actually cry. With my head still in her soft hands, I nodded and said, "Okay, I'll do the birthday party."
Miss Goodwin practically jumped out of her flats and chirped, "Ah, Ben! I'm so excited for you! You're going to do wonderfully, I know it! Are you thinking about performing that song you've been practicing?"
"I was thinking about it, yeah."
"Do you want to borrow the guitar? Take good care of it. Do you remember the chords? If not, we can go over them today. If all else fails, I have a CD of the instrumental. I'll lend you my player."
Practice had been nothing but going over the guitar chords to my song, but I didn't mind it. Being with Miss Goodwin could brighten up any day, no matter how dark. Her words of inspiration really moved me and just thinking about her passionate gaze and voice of bravado made me energized.
But, though I love her, I shouldn't have listened to her advice and gone to the birthday party.
On Saturday, the day of the birthday party, I arrived at Chelsea Taylor's house (Greg gave me the address when I approached him the day after Miss Goodwin's pep talk). It was nine o'clock, exactly the time I was supposed to show up. It was dark out by now and all of the lights in the house were on. From the front yard, I could hear music and the sounds of teens cheering with glee. With a deep breath, I stepped onto the front step and rang the doorbell. I waited with the borrowed guitar tucked away in its case on my back. I clutched the case strap, thinking the doorbell probably wasn't heard, or worse, people saw it was me and told everyone not to answer the door, hoping I would leave eventually. But that scenario didn't come true as the door opened and there to greet me was the birthday girl herself.
"O-M-G, Ben! Hi! It's good to see you! I'm so glad you came!" she chimed in that flamboyant, soprano voice of hers.
"Happy birthday, Chelsea," I said.
"Did you bring a gift?" she asked, batting her blue eyes at me.
I felt flush reach my cheeks as I hesitantly answered, "N-No..."
She patted my shoulder and said, "I'm kidding, I'm kidding! The only present you need to give to me is yourself. Come on in, your corner is already set up!"
The preppy, birthday girl walked back inside her house and I followed her, closing the door behind me as I did. All around me were other students from school, and some teenagers I didn't recognize at all (probably from other schools). Everyone either had drinks in hand or snacks stuffed in their faces, but one thing they all shared in common where silly, party cone hats. I slipped past everyone as I kept my sights on the back of Chelsea's head. Eventually, I arrived at my appointed corner which had a speaker and two microphones set up (Chelsea is also in theater so she probably borrowed the equipment, somehow). I didn't even think to bring anything like that so I'm glad she thought ahead before me.
"Have a seat," she said, patting a wooden stool. I went ahead and did as she said while taking off the case from my back. When I laid it on my lap, she leaned closer to see the guitar (which I didn't understand why since Miss Goodwin brings it out for class sometimes). Once I set the case down, and clipped the strap to the bottom end and the sound hole, I took out my pick from my pocket.
"Wait, wait, wait," she said, waving her hands about for more emphasis. I waited. She ran off somewhere in the house and came back a couple of minutes later with a birthday cone hat like hers. Both of them had sparkly red tinsel on top. I tried not to let my grimace show.
"Take a picture with me?" she asked. I didn't really have to answer as she set the hat on top of my head anyway. She pressed herself against me as she held out her pink cellphone (the latest Motorola Razor) to take a picture. I managed a smile despite that I was a little uncomfortable. After the front flashed, Chelsea pulled away from me and looked at the photo. "Perfect! Okay, now sound check. Greg! Greg! Dammit, where's Greg?"
"Yeah?" Greg shouted, popping up right next to his sister, whom jumped in her spot. She gave his shoulder a smack before saying, "Help me do sound check, jerkface."
"Alright, alright." As he came close to me, he remarked, "Bossy, amirite?"
"I can still hear you," she growled while she turned on my mic.
After the speaker and microphones were working, and it was assured that no one would trip or step on any wires, Chelsea gave me the go ahead. I adjusted the mic for my guitar and gave a good strum on the strings. That got people's attention and everyone in the main room seemingly turned as one hive mind (it was a little creepy). After I tested my own mic (testing, testing, 1, 2, 3), I gave a thumbs-up to Chelsea.
She practically squeaked as she came up and announced into my mic, "Everyone eyes on the right-side corner! I introduce to you Ben Gallagher! He'll be performing..." She looked at me for an answer.
"November Rain," I whispered. She looked puzzled. Guess she doesn't know much rock. "By Guns N' Roses," I finished.
"November Rain by Guns N' Roses!" she said into the mic. People in the crowd who knew the song cheered and whooped in approval. I couldn't help but smile.
"Dim the lights down. Sloooooowly," Chelsea commanded Greg, who gave a thumbs up from the other side of the room.
Once the birthday girl gave me the go-ahead nod, I rolled my shoulders and began picking at the guitar strings. It was a gentle song, and something not many people seemed to expect me to play. Nonetheless, they were staring at me with wide, enthralled eyes. With each note, people seemed to gravitate closer towards me, eager to hear more despite the aid of the speaker. Though I'm used to crowds, I wasn't all that comfortable with this kind. So, to calm my nerves, I closed my eyes and focused on playing. I've practiced this song so many times that my fingers just know where to go automatically.
Eventually, I leaned toward my mic and began singing the vocals in a soft, but strong, melodic voice, something slightly different from the original's vocals. No one seemed to mind the difference.
"When I look into your eyes,
I can see a love restrained,
But darling when I hold you,
Don't you know I feel the same..."
And as I kept singing, I found that a weight was being lifted off my shoulders. I couldn't contain my smile, knowing that I would never get tired of this free feeling whenever I sang. It was something almost unreal and it took away the edge to anything. When I'm singing, my mind and body and even my soul seem to be uncaged, unhindered, and sorta renewed. When I'm singing, I can feel like myself. And god damn, it's a beautiful sensation.
"Nothing lasts forever,
And we both know hearts can change, And it's hard to hold a candle,
In the cold, November rain..."
I felt relaxed and courageous enough to open my eyes and gaze out into the crowd of captivated teens. Something was different though. There was a bluish-purplish glow fading into the room and after a quick search I found that there were blacklights installed at the fireplace mantel, at the end tables, and at the doorways. All of the light was pointed toward the main room and I saw white shirts brighten and certain clothing items go neon. It was really cool to see, actually.
After a few moments, the crowd started to bustle and whisper. There was no more silence, though I figured that people were just getting slightly bored. This song is pretty long. But, in reality, that hadn't been the case. I realized this when teens started laughing and snickering. My voice quieted a bit and I nearly lost my tempo on the guitar. I tried to brush it off as nothing but soon enough the entire crowd was laughing and I was too distracted to continue playing. Everyone was too loud to hear me anyway.
"What's going on?" I murmured. Paying closer attention, some kids were pointing towards me. At first, I thought there was something behind me, like maybe the blacklight had made a decoration look funny. Upon brief inspection, there was nothing but a blank corner behind me. The more I focused on the teens, I figured out what they were pointing at.
Puzzled, I took off the cone hat on my head and turned it around. Suddenly, my blood ran cold and my stomach churned all too violently.
On the front of the cone, someone had scribbled in blacklight marker:
TWAT
⇩
Everyone laughed harder when they saw that I finally noticed what they were getting kicks out of. My cheeks burned fiery hot as I stared wide-eyed across the crowd of cackling teenagers. Their laughter was becoming so loud that it could deafen me. All of the noise in the room amalgamated into one taunting, blaring sound that rattled my head to the point of nausea. Just to make sure I wasn't imagining the whole thing, I pinched myself. It hurt, and I whimpered knowing that this was, in fact, real.
Quickly, I tossed away the hat and grabbed my guitar case from the floor. I put the instrument away as swiftly as I could though knew I probably placed a peg out of tune in the process (I'd fix it later). Without looking, I put the case on my back and made a B-line through the crowd to the front door. But the teens suddenly became a maze and I could feel everyone closing in on me and I was beginning to hyperventilate and I just wanted it at all to stop but the only way out is the door and I can't find the door where's the door where's the door where's the door where's the door!!!!
Finally, I pushed my way out and yanked the front door open. I didn't bother trying to find Chelsea or Greg to ask what the hell was all of that. For all I knew, they set me up. I knew Greg coming to me out of nowhere was suspicious--that asshole! And Chelsea being polite when she must've known what she was doing all along--that bitch!
Once I was running far down into the dark of the street, I let tears fall from my eyes. Even after I got three blocks away, I could still hear that mocking laughter in my head. The word on the party hat was burned into my mind in that stupid scribble handwriting. I clutched onto my hair and crouched down to tuck my head between my knees. I stayed like that on a lonely sidewalk for what seemed like hours but was probably just ten minutes.
For the first time ever, I thought I was finally being accepted by people outside of choir. I thought I meant something than just being the creepy, loner kid. I thought I was wanted. But even with my singing, and talent, and potential, and whatever the fuck else Miss Goodwin preached about, no one liked me. No one gave two shits about me. And whoever did can go fuck themselves, too, for not doing anything to help me.
After I stopped crying and my heart beat calmed down enough, I stood up and walked all the way home. It would be late by the time I get there, and dad will definitely get mad at me, but at this point I don't care about anything anymore. I just wanted to sleep. Preferably...forever.
On Monday, when I got back to school, everyone in the halls was glancing and snickering at me. I knew word of the party would get out but seeing people look down at me like that still hurt.
When I got to choir class, I took Miss Goodwin into her office and told her bluntly that the party had gone horribly. I explained everything and she was nearly in tears by the time I finished.
"I'm so, so sorry, Ben! I-I shouldn't have pushed you to go! If I had known--."
"You couldn't have known..."
"Yes, but still...!"
"Please, don't blame yourself," I said, pulling a smile. But the truth was, I kind of blamed her, because she did push me into going. Although it was a positive push, it was still a push.
Choir class didn't seem as enjoyable today, even when we got to practice gospel music and style for fun, which is something I always like to do. My mind was too preoccupied on ignoring Chelsea, who was at the front of our choir crowd, singing her soprano voice with all the energy she had. So happy, so carefree, and innocent, like she hadn't fucked me over the other day (like she hadn't been scolded by Miss Goodwin earlier, either). Before, when I heard her voice, I was always so amazed by it. Now all I feel is bubbling anger and embarrassment just hearing her talk.
When I went to my other classes, I received more snickers and glances from students when teachers weren't looking. People passed me notes with that same word 'twat' written on them. On my gym locker, someone scratched it in to the metal for all to see. On the desks that I sat in, the word was written in pencil. In my class notebooks, the word was scribbled over multiple pages. In all of the boys' restroom stalls, someone wrote 'Ben Gallagher is a stupid twat!' in sharpie marker, along with taunting doodles. It was everywhere I looked, and I heard the word everywhere I went, and felt the weight of the world crash into me all over again.
When it was lunch time, on my way to my lonely table, I spotted Greg and Chelsea Taylor sitting at their booth. A part of me wanted to storm up to them and dump my food on them, yell at them, bully them and see how they liked it. But the rest of me was scared of confrontation. All of me was nothing but fearfulness. And when that realization had shown on my face, and Greg Taylor saw me, he flashed me the most devilish grin I had ever seen. Chills ran through my body and I quickly hurried to my table to get out of his line of sight. Sitting at my table, I couldn't eat my food for fear I would throw it up and make a bigger fool of myself. I just sat in silence and poked my fork into some rice.
Suddenly, I felt something splatter onto me and gasped from shock. Hot mush ran down my neck and I frantically wiped it off to find it was steaming mashed potatoes. I looked around to see who had thrown it and was mortified to see a group of boys next to Greg and Chelsea Taylor's booth cackling at me. Meanwhile, the siblings glanced at me with condescending, superior expressions. My stomach churned and, next thing I knew, I was running for the nearby trashcan. I had eaten nothing at all--haven't been eating since Saturday--and somehow I hurled up a storm. An uproar of laughter rose and I stole a glance around to find everyone laughing at me vomiting into a fucking trash can.
"Hey, what the hell, kid?! You couldn't go for the bin that said 'trash' on it? You blind, or what?!" a custodian suddenly scolded me. Confused, I looked at the bin's label to see three arrows circling around each other. My mortification increased tenfold and I trembled in place.
I ended up going to the nurse after repeatedly apologizing to the custodian for ruining recycling for everyone. At the nurse's office, I got to clean off the mashed potatoes, was given water to drink, some crackers to snack on, and fifteen minutes to rest in a patient bed. None of it really helped. I was still suffering from every negative emotion possible.
As I laid on that bed, stuck in the nurse's quiet office, I was able to recount everything that has happened up until this point; I was able to contemplate why the hell people loved to cause me pain and misery. And I came to a horrifying conclusion that caused me to cry silently, tears falling down my temples.
Bad things happen to me because I'm too weak, and stupid, and worthless to stop it all.
And then another horrifying conclusion popped into mind that actually got a single sob out of me, though the nurse didn't seem to notice or didn't care.
Maybe I deserve it.
And that thought carried into me after I regained consciousness and bolted up from my bed. I was panting heavily, staring off at the wall ahead of me, feeling petrified. My hands shook as I tugged out my blanket from under me and bundled myself up. All of me felt as if I was freezing, yet I was sweating like I ran a mile. Maybe I should take a shower and warm up.
But the thought of getting out of bed and setting foot on the floor...scared me. The thought of leaving the safety of my room scared me. Going outside seemed scary. I knew I had to get up, but my body wouldn't listen to my mind, too frozen to move an inch on my mattress.
After a while, my breathing had steadied and I stopped trembling. Now that my head was clear, all I could think about was what I had just imagined. But that's just it--it wasn't a daydream. Everything felt real, and vivid, and I could feel every sensation. All of the laughter I heard, all of the heartache I felt deep inside myself, all of the pain from those bruises, everything. It was then and there, sitting on my bed, huddled into a blanket, that I finally realized what was happening.
I'm remembering my human life.