"I scraped my knees while I was praying
And found a demon in my safest haven.
Seems like it's getting harder to believe in anything
Than just to get lost in all my selfish thoughts." - Turn It Off
Never in all my years of going to this spot, did someone sit on it at the same time I did. I had always assumed that even this section of the part was only reserved for me.
There was someone sitting where I usually did, a dark burgundy hood cast over the figure's shadow. Never a good sign. The rational part of my mind yelled at me to run away before I was brutally murdered and thrown into the lake but I couldn't move. So I just stood there like an idiot, glaring at the back of the stranger's head for what seemed like an eternity.
"Take a picture, it lasts longer." The stranger's low, smooth (and obviously male) voice startled me, making me step back and crunch a leaf with my Converse. Wincing at the sudden noise, my glare hardened as I took in the figure. He hadn't moved or even acknowledged me, so how did he know I was there?
"Well? Are you going to sit down or not?" He snapped, finally turning around to look at me. From my position, I couldn't see what his face looked like. I only caught the shape of his head and the slight curve of his nose. His eyes were hidden underneath the shadows of his hood and he placed an elbow on the back of the bench, setting his chin on his hand and waiting for my next move.
I didn't reply and just shifted on the balls of my feet, suddenly thinking that my adrenaline rush and fantasies of life outside the walls I've built around myself was just a huge mistake. I should've been home by now. Safe (mostly) and sound. Rev would be in my arms, and I would take a sleeping pill or two, fall asleep, then repeat the cycle the next day.
But here I was, at Lakeside Park, by my bench, interacting with a suspicious possible-serial-killer. Something about the guy's voice sounded oddly familiar and before I knew it, my feet were moving of its own accord and I found myself walking towards the bench and the hooded mystery man.
What are you doing, Lacey? I screamed at myself as I took a hesitant seat beside him, keeping a good distance away. I was literally sitting on the edge of my seat.
"Are you mute?" he asked suddenly, a sincere curious tone in his melodic voice. I turned to stare at him incredulously, scrunching up my nose and giving him an irritated look.
"Are you stupid?" I retorted without thinking, snapping my head back to the lake where I tried to focus on the shimmering visuals instead of the obnoxious guy seated next to me.
"Touchy." He scoffed, crossing his arms. We lapsed into an uncomfortable silence and I drummed my fingers on my jeans impatiently.
This was supposed to be my quality time of peace and solitude. It was bad enough not having Rev for the first time here since I claimed this spot, but sharing my personal getaway with someone as instantly infuriating as this guy, I was definitely reconsidering leaving earlier.
My finger-drumming grew in intensity, creating a wild rhythm to match my feelings and thoughts. I even added the other hand to the mix as I breathed through my nose heavily and tried to ignore the stranger beside me.
If I came here to reflect, I sure as hell will end up reflecting. Stranger or not.
And even though he was still tugging at the back of my mind, I allowed myself to at least forget about my problems and just focus on the drumming at hand. In a way, I guess I owe the guys for dragging me out to see this band that I expected to be horrible because they were indeed: horrible, but instead I was met with a whole new side of Tilted Reality. And their drummer... I had no words to speak about him. But it was really nice of them to just drop out of their tour, come to Seattle, Washington for no apparent reason, and play a free gig.
It sounded fishy though.
Closing my eyes, I pondered on why they would've chosen this location and what their real plans were. In my opinion, what they performed might have been a whole charity case event or their record company might be planning some gigantic plot to make Tilted Reality even more famous than they already were. My drumming grew a little bit frantic as my thoughts flew through my mind.
"Are you a drummer?" His voice cut through my thoughts and my fingers faltered, stopping the beat altogether. Consider my reflecting period over.
"Oh, no. I was just casually creating random, intense rhythm patterns that a normal person wouldn't even know existed unless they were in fact, a drummer." I retorted sarcastically, turning to face the guy and just daring him to make a comeback.
"Ah. I knew it. Because those rhythms weren't even correct and an actual drummer would be able to tell the difference." Mr. Serial Killer smirked, placing his hands behind his head and leaning back, causing the Bench to make a creaking noise. I felt my heart shrivel up and die in a hole. How dare he comment on my drumming like that. I felt my nostrils flare in annoyance.
"Why you little piece of sh-"
"Tsk, tsk. Hey, now. Proper ladies aren't supposed to know curse words. Oh, wait. You're not a proper lady so..." He shrugged as if this topic was just a casual thing to bring up in conversation.
Alright, who was this guy and who did he even think he was talking to?!
"You don't even know me so shut the hell up." I retaliated, clenching my hands into fists. He had no right whatsoever to say those things about me.
"What did I just say, sweetheart? Here, let me put it simpler terms. No. Cursey. For. The. Lady." He replied, putting air quotes around each word.
"I thought you said I wasn't a lady, asshole." I hissed out through gritted teeth.
"Ah, ah, ah. I said you weren't a 'proper' lady. You're still a girl. Wait... you are one, right?"
At this point, I just wanted to sock him right in the eyes, knee him in the balls, and then trample over his pretty little face with my Converse. But I kept my mouth shut in hopes of him also shutting up. Yet, my dreams were denied. Shoot. I knew I shouldn't have wished for invisibility.
"Even if you were a guy, I'm feeling a bit nauseous from all this flirting. And if you really are a male, sorry dude, but I don't swing that way." He continued, as if he didn't notice I was practically shaking from anger.
"You know what, jerk? Get off my fucking bench and go suck your mom's balls!" I yelled, standing up and socking him right in the arm so hard that I felt my knuckles crack. Looks like someone worked out. Grimacing, I half-smiled smugly to myself, waiting for his reaction.
And guess what the he-devil did? He laughed. And not just a little 'oh-you're-trying-to-be-funny' laugh. It was whole package deal. He clutched his stomach and just laughed, running a finger across his eye as if pretending to wipe away a stray tear. I just gave him a look that practically screamed "Are you insane?"
After he calmed down a bit, he looked up at me and smiled; a genuine, sincere smile that held none of the cockiness his smirk did before. "You're different; I like that." His hood caught a bit as he moved, giving me a tiny peak at his eyes. I think they were were blue, but I couldn't tell from the darkness surrounding us. But his face seemed a little young, and I could tell that he wasn't that much older than me.
He straightened himself in his seat and rubbed a hand on his arm, "I really thought you would've reacted differently, but nothing like this. Don't girls usually go for the growling in anger and then stomping away after slapping the guy?"
"Here we go with the stereotypes again." I threw my arms up in the air, rolling my eyes. When I brought my arms back down to my sides rather forcibly, I shot him a skeptical look. "...Are you bipolar?"
The idiot just burst out laughing again, grinning at me. I was starting to get a little worried. I was just kidding about thinking he was a psychopath, but then again, I'm always wrong on many things.
"I'm dead serious," I muttered hesitantly, taking a small step backwards.
"Well, no. I'm not." He replied, raising his arms up in the universal sign of surrender. "I swear, I'm not going to hurt you or anything. I was just testing you."
"And why would you be testing me?"
The thickness of his eyebrows scrunched together in confusion and I hated to admit that it was kind of adorable in a way. "Well, don't you want an autograph or something? Usually, I only act like this," He explained, bringing his hands up while imitating a dinosaur. "When I don't want to be around people. That way, when I turn on the jerk, they leave me alone."
My mind reeled, completely and utterly confused. "What are you talking about? I don't even know you, idiot!"
"Really?" He asked incredulously, surprise thickly lacing his words.
"Uhm... am I supposed to?"
"N-no! I mean, I'm just a regular teenage guy, you know. Wanting to get some fresh air and stuff." He quickly interjected, obviously wanting to take back his earlier words. I fought the urge to retort, "In the middle of the night on a school day?" His eyebrows were still scrunched together in confusion, just like mine, and he quickly glanced at the bench. His sudden shift in personality sent my mind into circles, trying to figure out what his mental disorder was.
The stranger probably noticed my freaked out gaze because he widened his eyes, rubbing his head sheepishly, "Look. I'm really not like that jerk I was pretending to be. That was just a fake persona I created so that I could get out of tough situations. I swear I don't really act like that. I'm kind of nice once you get to know me."
"Uh huh...." I muttered, unconvinced. "And me wanting to sit down on my bench was a tough situation?"
"No! I just- Well..." He sighed, smacking a hand to his forehead. "It's complicated, let's leave it at that. As long as you don't recognize me."
"Whatever, bro. Your problems, not mine."
Ignoring this statement, he rolled his eyes and asked, "Hey, why do you keep using possessive nouns when talking about this bench?"
"Well, it's my bench." I stated simply, earning an arched eyebrow response from him.
"Riiight."
Changing the subject, he patted the seat beside him a little too anxiously as he said, "Wanna take a seat next to me?"
"Swear you're not a serial killer?" I blurted out, not even pausing to think before the words were out of my mouth. The boy just stared with amusement in his eyes, leaning back against the wood again.
"I swear." He agreed seriously, offering a small smile. I didn't know what I was thinking; I didn't interact with people because I didn't want anyone attempting to tear down the walls I've built around myself. I already had five too many people trying to get close to me. Any new face I meet could be the catalyst; and my plans to keep my true self a secret would be ruined. I was okay with my life... Wasn't I?
But I don't know what drew me to this mysterious, and aggravating boy. I was still beyond confused by his first impression. First, a relatively snarky jerk, and now a shy, friendly teenage guy? It just confused the hell out of me. But either way, my feet made its way back to The Bench and I took a cautious seat next to him, making sure to keep the distance.
"But you really are a drummer, right?" He asked, after a silence between us.
Giving a shrug, I gazed at my palm, watching the intricate lines weave through each other. In a way, it kind of reminded me of myself. "I dabble a bit in the art. Why?"
"I'm a drummer too," He grinned and placed his hands on his shirt, starting to pull it up.
"Oh, my God!" I choked out, quickly grabbing his hands and gripping them tightly. "What the hell are you doing?!"
He rolled his eyes and slid his calloused hands out of mine easily, "Relax, pervert. I'm just going to show you something."
"I don't care if your pee-wee's larger than an over-sized churro! When you told me you weren't a serial killer, I didn't even stop to think that you were a rapist. Very clever." I babbled, starting to get nervous. I stood up but his hand grabbed my wrist and pulled me down again.
He stared at me with a horrified expression. "When I said, relax. I meant it. I meant my drum sticks..." He grinned crookedly and lifted the hem of his shirt so that he could grab at a pair of sleek, wooden sticks tucked in between the waistband of his pants. After they were in his hands, he lowered his shirt down and twirled one stick expertly. "Now that wasn't so bad, was it? Can't wait to go home to call up your clique and blab about how wonderful your first time was?"
"Oh, shut up." I glared threateningly, fighting the warmness spreading to my cheeks.
He chuckled lightly and turned to face me, hoisting his legs up on the bench and started a beat on the wooden area between me and him. After listening to the first few patterns, my eyes widened by a fraction of an inch, recognizing the pattern as the one I was just drumming on my legs. But he was right; I was doing it wrong. I watched with awe as his sticks created a simple but complex rhythm that annunciated each clack precisely and with the perfect amount of pressure. He was just as good, if not better, than Tilted Reality's own drummer.
I felt my eyes glaze over slightly as I felt hypnotized by the recurring pattern and the wonderful sound the drum sticks made against the old, wooden bench. But all too soon, it stopped.
"Now you try." said he, twirling the sticks so that the handles were facing me. An encouraging smile was on his lips. Feeling a little smirk of my own making its way onto my face, I took them and his hand brushed mine for a second, making a weird sensation crawl up my arm. Shrugging it off as nervous jitters from being about to perform, I held his sticks firmly in my own hands. It felt comfortable, but the pair wasn't Rev.
But once I got adjusted to the feeling of the heavier pair in my hands, I closed my eyes and pictured his drumming, recreating the patterns and timing in my brain before starting up the beat. It sounded exactly like his had been and I gave a small smile, proud of my gifted ability. Some may call me a prodigy, but that term wasn't right. It wasn't me.
I could almost feel his surprise as he listened to me replicate his style and pattern, drawing out the sounds and adding a bit of my own flair back into the mix. When I finished, I opened my eyes softly to find him leaning towards me with energy in his eyes.
"You were amazing." He whispered and I had to strain my ears in order to hear him. "You just fell into a trance... and played it exactly like I did." The boy blinked, and I cocked my head to one side. His eyes were green. Like a beautiful shade of emerald that glistened in my eyes. I couldn't look away. "How?" He breathed.
I didn't reply, not even knowing the answer myself. I handed him his drum sticks back wordlessly before turning to gaze at the crescent moon in the sky. I heard a rustling beside me as he put his sticks away and then there was silence. But this time, it was a comfortable one.
"What's your name?" I asked, not tearing my gaze away from the beauty of the universe.
He didn't reply for a while, and I thought I had scared him with my abilities until his deep tenor voice cut through the night, "Harnage."
I frowned, this time turning to face him. "Harnage? That's a weird first name."
"I never said it was my first."
"Your last?" Harnage shook his head and replied, "Try to think. Maybe you might actually have a taste in good music."
Pursing my lips, I sat there and tried to think of whatever he could be talking about. The only Harnage I knew was Blake Harnage, the vocalist and lead guitarist for the amazing band, VersaEmerge. Realization dawned in my mind and the boy next to me seemed to sense it. Funny how he had the same name as the drummer in Tilted Reality. But the boy sitting next to me couldn't have been him. I saw with my own eyes, the band getting into their van and driving off to who-knows-where after the concert. Unless... no. The guy definitely might look, sound, and play like Blake Mercer, but I don't want to believe it. Otherwise, my night would've seemed a heck of a lot more confusing.
"And what's the pretty lady's name?" He asked me, the tilt of his lips grazing upwards.
"Who said I was a lady?" I smirked back, recalling his earlier words from the Jerk Era. But the delusional Lacey at the back of my mind echoed his word, pretty.
"Oh, haha." Blake said sarcastically. "Answer the question, man-lady."
I bit lip a little, waiting for the little light bulb in my head to go off. He waited patiently as I mused until I finally murmured, "Sturm."
He grinned crookedly and said in a high-pitched, terrible imitation of my voice, "That's a weird first name."
"Who said it was my first?" I retorted, imitating the dorky rumble of his own.
Blake winked and I felt myself laugh a bit until I abruptly stopped, bringing a cautious hand to my mouth. I had just laughed... Which I haven't managed to do in so many years. I've only known this guy for about a half-hour and he had already broken a chip through my wall. Impossible. I had to leave before he could do anymore damage.
Sensing something in my mood shift, Blake frowned and reached out a hand to me but I shrugged it off and stood up. "Look, I have to go. See you later, Harnage." More like never again. Moron. I forced myself to think, trying to build up my indifferent character persona again. He frowned even deeper but didn't say anything as I stood from the bench and started off towards the exit. It may have been my delusional imagination but I heard a faint voice call after me, "See you around, Lacey."
And before the shell closed around my heart once more, I let out a small smile before making it disappear.
So, he has good taste in music too.
—
I was perched by the front door of the apartment, hand poised on the doorknob uneasily. They were shaking both from anxiety and fear. What if Marco really was awake?
Shut up, dumbass. He's drunk. You know how he is.
Yes, I know exactly how he is! And that's not a good thing, Lacey.
Lacey, shut up.
No, you shut up!
Mentally slapping myself for falling into the hands of schizophrenia, I turned the knob and pushed it open quietly, cheering silently when the door didn't make a sound. I slipped through the small opening and took off my Converse quietly before turning to head up the hallway. But what sight I was met with scared me half to death.
Furniture was ripped apart so badly that the cushiony stuffing overflowed from the tears, making them seem like rabid dogs. The TV looked smashed in, the shards littering the ground, and the rug was rolled up and tossed to one side of the room. The kitchen was worse; the piles of bills and letters that were stacked precariously on the island before were now strewn all over the floor along with kitchen utensils and groceries. My eyes went wide and my exterior dissolved, as I took in the scene.
Marco was never this violent when he was drunk. Wait... where even was he? I stepped cautiously over the broken bits and pieces, making my way into the hallways were I gaped at the larges holes smashed into the beige walls. I stopped at my room where I heard the sound of even more crashing... and sobbing?
"Marco...." I whispered and instinct followed, causing me to open the door to reveal my step-father curled into a fetal position in the middle of the room, clutching my bottle of sleeping pills. My bed was still unmade from when the guys had kidnapped me, and the stupid idiots didn't even bother closing my window. But my angry thoughts flew away when Marco raised his red-rimmed eyes and saw me.
So many emotions flickered through those familiar brown eyes and I couldn't catch them all as they flew by like a movie. First it was surprise. Then relief. Then confusion. Until it finally landed on rage.
"Where have you been!?" He bellowed, screaming at me so loudly that the ceiling trembled a bit from the sound waves.
"Marco, I-"
"I thought you were dead!" He roared, his voice cracking on the last word. I frowned at him and shook my head, frantically hoping he saw the confusion in my eyes. "You! I walk in to kiss you goodnight, and all I see is your bed, the window wide open, and..." He let out a heart-wrenching sob before clutching the bottle in his hands so hard that it crumpled. "All I saw were these pills all over the room and I thought you did it. I thought you were just like your goddamn mother!" He screamed at me, taking large steps until I smelled his sour breath on my face. I cringed, tears welling in my eyes no matter how much I forced them away.
"Marco, I wouldn't do that, I swear. I didn't try to-" I tried reasoning but he got that look in his eyes as he glared at me, nostrils flaring. I knew that look. I knew that Marco was gone, and a monster had replaced him. His fist whipped so fast towards me that I didn't even register I was on the floor with an intense pain in my jaw until he was towering over me with those blank eyes. "Marco, stop." I ordered, trying to sound brave but he ignored me and kicked at my stomach, making me heave from the pain. When I didn't make a sound, he growled, and kicked me again... And again... And again, until I coughed, watching horrified as blood spattered against my pristine white carpet.
"M-Marco, please." I croaked out but he ignored me and bent down, grabbing the front of my shirt and literally pulling me to my feet, where I tried to steady myself but his fist connected with my jaw again and this time I cried out. It hurt so bad, the pain was everywhere. Red rimmed the corners of my eyes. Marco had never been this violent before, and I knew that what set him off was Mom. He thought I had tried to commit her crime too. But I wasn't her.
Next thing I knew, I was pounded against the wall so hard that my head spun from the connection. Marco was weeping now, his head on my shoulder as his own wracked with sobs. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." He said, and I knew he wasn't apologizing to me. He was apologizing to my mom. "You are my greatest sin." Marco hissed to me and with one more punch to my gut, he threw me onto the floor and exited my room without so much as another glance at my broken form. All I could do was curl into a ball and let the tears from my pain mold into the carpet with my blood.
I was so, so stupid to have gone to that concert. I shouldn't have stayed as late as I did. I shouldn't have met Blake. I shouldn't.... I shouldn't.... But when a single thought ran through my mind, I curled up even more into myself, covering my face with shaking hands. It may have been stupid, yes, but it was worth it in the end. My head swam and I felt as if an epiphany just came out of nowhere and smacked me into a wall. Or was that Marco?
But honestly, I was just overlooking the entire thing and missing the big picture. It wasn't pathetic to pretend as if I was okay, it was pathetic to let Marco and my emotions take control of my life. It was pathetic to have to hide my true feelings between a mask of fake happiness and rainbows and unicorns and glitter shit. For once, I interacted with someone genuinely because I had decided to taste the freedom I yearned for. And it was great. It wasn't like when I was with my group of 'friends', I was actually myself.
Curled up from pain on the ground, tears in my eyes, and a light bulb flickering over my head, I finally decided.
My fear of losing everyone I loved would be gone along with the sentimental value I had with Marco. The old Lacey Carson is gone; I'm like a snake emerging from its old skin. I want to start fresh. No. I can start fresh.
I just have to figure out how.
--
Dedicated to alexis1612 for making me an awesome banner. (It's on the side.)
Stay lovely,
Isabelle