#my hair (on the left) looks so weird unstyled without conditioner

[amygdalae]

Before and after the blood curse

[idiosyncrasy-at-its-finest]

Inc. written work from May 2019 (possibly pt. 1)

Took a trip into one of my many folders in google drive– found this gem written May 16-17, 2019.  I edited a bit while reading through... I would continue it, but... ah, I’ve just gotten back into writing!  Don’t want to force myself into anything...

Inspired by I Don’t Care by Ed Sheeran + Justin Bieber.  Song was played while writing.

May or may not be continued

The music was light, playful, and very loud.  It danced like the hordes of people surrounding me.

The red plastic cup felt heavy in my hand.  I looked down at it and watched as the drink thrummed in my hands with the vibrations of the song.  It sloshed around as drunken teens stumbled all over, occasionally tripping and bumping into me.  A few uttered apologies, most just laughed while some even threw sultry winks.

I couldn’t help but feel out of place.  For some reason, I had thought that coming might have been a good idea.  I knew that there were kids who threw parties but I had never been invited until now.  I stood uncomfortable, fully clad in dark jeans, a black short sleeved top, and flannel.  There were a lot of people who were already half naked, playing truth or dare- or strip, spin the bottle- and strip, never have I ever- strip edition, and every kind of game you’d expect intoxicated kids whose motives were to ultimately get laid to be playing.

I continued to stand in the middle of the crowd, cup filled with coke that was probably spiked, unmoving as everyone else swayed to the beat of the music.  I was sweating and itching under my clothes, eager to leave as soon as possible but also clinging on to this foreign feeling of wanting to stay.  There was no incentive to except for the nagging sensation in both my gut and heart that was telling me to stay.

I somehow migrated to the back of the room, standing next to a house plant as tall as I was.  The leaves occasionally brushed against my face when the sputtering air conditioner blew or people ran past.  There were a lot of boys being dragged by girls as they headed down the hall, up the stairs, and to the bedrooms.  There were girls being carried by guys– bridal style, facing each other as they desperately made out, piggyback.  There was one girl who was being carried by half the guys on the football team.  Some clapped me on my shoulders and back, all whooping and hollering.  One guy with a sleazy grin on his face pushed past my shoulder and wished me the best in my pursuit to ‘get lucky’.  The force of his shoulder against mine caused my drink to jump out of my hand, first spilling its contents on my shirt, then clattering to the floor to get trampled on by partygoers.

I couldn’t even hear the cup falling– I could hardly hear my own voice as I asked people where the bathroom was.  I trailed aimlessly down the hall all the couples had gone down.  I went up the stairs, stopping to listen to each door to figure out whether or not there were occupants in the room.  A guy left his drink with me after asking if I could hold it and before I could respond.  I gripped the cup hard.  After four doors, I gave up.  Even if there was a bathroom I passed, it was already occupied.  I felt a cool breeze, a wave of fresh air as I walked further down.  I chased the feeling like a fleeting dream and found myself outside on a grand balcony.  It overlooked the front of the lavish mansion-like house, where more people were hooking up on the lawn, in bushes, the hot tub, pool, a car.

I shivered when the breeze cooled the wet spots on my clothes.  It was a welcome reprieve from the staleness of the inside.  I closed the balcony door to try and mute the sounds of the deafening music.  I could still hear it, but it faded slightly and I sighed, relieved.

I didn’t want to be at this party.  I never wore a suit or tie and before I left the house, I had stood in front of the floor-length mirror next to the door that led beyond.  I’d stared at myself, hating how much I tried.  Eventually, I ripped the tie off, took off the too-fancy jacket, kicked off my pants and changed into something more my style.

Too bad my style didn’t fit in here.  Beer soaked or not, everyone dressed to impress.  It was Rachel Mathis’ party.  But I wasn’t here for her.

I ran my hands through my hair, further mussing it up, styling it to look unstyled.  Frustrated with how much I cared, I finally just shook my locks out and put my head against the balcony railing.  I blew out my cheeks.

I definitely did not fit in.  Everyone down below, in the house, was their own type that was the same type.  You had the jocks, the cheerleaders, the girls who thought they owned the school, the guys who knew everyone…but they were all partygoers.  I wasn’t.  I sighed again.  I felt the wind blow my flannel back and for a moment I remembered that night when I was on the hilltop with her.

“Hey.”  And suddenly the world melted around me.  Her voice was a little rough from overuse, but I liked it that way.  I liked that she liked to have fun.

“Hey yourself.”  I gave her a lopsided grin, feeling awkward for having a still slightly damp shirt and casual clothes– feeling awkward because she was finally here.  She didn’t put much effort into her look either, just folded her shorts a little higher than made her comfortable, and rolled her shirt up a bit to fit in.

Her smile was as bright as ever and, in her hand, she held a similar red cup.  I lifted mine up, throwing another goofy grin as I nodded my head and leaned forward.  “Care for a drink, milady?”  Her eyes lit up and the warm brown made me feel perfectly at home, as if no time had passed at all.

“Why, yes, good sir, I would care for a drink.  Though probably not this one,” she quickly dropped the fake accent, “it’s definitely spiked.”

“Oh, for sure.���  She laughed as I extended my free arm, bending it slightly, an inclination for her to hook her arm with mine.  She did without hesitation– something that made my heart pound– leaning against me as we stumbled through the hall, not a drunken mess but a mess nonetheless.

“Hey, wanna get out of here?”  I blinked at her and then grinned again.  I couldn’t stop the corners of my lips from lifting up, nor did I want to.

“Yeah, why not?”  I began leading her toward the front gate, still wide open and now strung with toilet paper, but she pulled me back.

“Let’s sneak out the back.”  Those bright and soft eyes gleamed in the moonlight and I was in no position to say no.

“Alright.  But, Roe,” I tasted her name on my tongue, hating how foreign it felt, “you know we can just-”

“Shh!  Come on, let me live my teenage fantasy!”

“Does that fantasy include me?”

“Among other things.”  A cheeky grin.

“Oh, yeah?  Like what.”  A challenge.

“Mmm, maybe a clean shirt.”  An eyebrow raise.

I glanced down.  “You got me there.  Come on, I’ll take you home.  I’m sure Mom would love to see you again.”

“And I’d love to see her.

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“Do you think I was away for too long?”

“Yeah, Roe.  It’s been a year.”

“Eleven months.”

“And twenty-seven days.”

“You got me there.”  I ruffled her hair.  I then placed my hand under her chin, a silent plea for her to look up at me.  She did.

“Mom has always loved you.  I mean, maybe not the first time we met when you pushed me into the sand pit, but–”

“I was four!”

“And I was five!  What gives you the right to disrespect your elders?”

She stuck her tongue out at me.  “Well, maybe if you hadn’t thrown sand at me-” The door swung open.  My brother’s mouth dropped into an ‘o’ shape and he quickly ran into the house screaming for our mom.

When she came out of the kitchen, Roe and I had already seated ourselves on the couches, me resting my back against the right armrest, her against the left, legs tangled together as we reminisced about the last time she was here and everything was still okay.

“Mary Roe.”

“Mrs. Hendricks, I-”

“I spent a lot of time helping to raise you.  You leave for nearly a year and when you come back…  ‘Mrs. Hendricks’?  That’s what you call me?”

Roe blushes, “Sorry…  Mom.”  And just like that, the tough facade drops and Mom runs over to embrace Roe.

“I missed you so much.”

Roe meets my eye when she whispers, “I know.  I missed you too.”  There was a pause.  “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, no, it’s not a problem.  Are you hungry, thirsty, cold?  Your clothes are hardly there…”

She didn’t break eye contact.  I didn’t either.  My mom’s ranting became distant background noise, a faint humming like the music at a party.  

Only when my mom left, to get clean clothes and a set of pajamas or something or the sort, did I look at Roe, really look at her.  And I saw the girl who had suddenly picked up everything and left.

“Roe.”

“I know, I know.  Look,” she ran her hands through her hair and sighed.  “Logan.”  My name on her lips sent shivers down my spine.  “Logan,” she tried again.  It sounded hesitant, scared, experimental.  I hated that it was just as weird for her to say as it was for me to hear.  It shouldn’t be weird.  “Logan…”  She blew out her cheeks.  “I didn’t come here to say sorry–” of course she didn’t “– I just came to say that I’m back.  I came to be back.”

I blinked.  Once.  Twice.  She bit her lip.  I cocked my head to the side slightly.  She continued to gnaw on her bottom lip.  I blinked again.  Three.  Four.  She sighed.  “Logan-” I involuntarily shivered.

“Don’t… don’t say my name.”

“Okay.”  She played with the hem of her shirt, which she’d since rolled down.  “Do you wanna talk about anything else?”

“Anything else,” I nodded.

“Okay.  Okay, I can do that.”

“Okay.”

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“Any boyfriends while you were gone?”  My heart ached at the thought of her having someone else special in her life.

“Nah, you’re the only one for me,” she teased.  My shoulders sagged and released a tension I hadn’t known existed. “ Besides, did you really think I’d get my first boyfriend without telling you?”

“Yes,” I deadpanned.

“Okay, fair enough.”  A pause.  A sly smile.  “So… did you ever get with Nicole Porter?”

I flushed, shaking my head.  “Never got around to asking.  She ended up moving.”

Roe punched my arm, “Oh my god, why are you so dumb?”  She flipped herself onto her back as she whined about my level of intelligence.  She laughed when I hit her with a pillow and screamed when I jumped on top of her.  “Oh my god, Loges, stop!”  I didn’t.  Her infectious grin and laughter spread to me and I couldn’t help but to feel like I was on cloud nine.

“I should hate you.”

“Yeah.  You should.  I was just about to say the same thing.”  We were both on our backs now, staring up at the ceiling where drawings we made as kids and photos we took as we grew up were plastered on.  I watched as a photo of us on the beach seemed to become a video and replay itself in my mind.

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It was a hot day, but she’d refused to get in the water because she just read that the chemicals in sunscreen were killing turtles and causing water levels to rise.  She really was something.  I watched, smiling, as boys swarmed her, but had to push aside the jealous feeling in the pit of my stomach when some began to drag her arm, asking her to play volleyball with them.

She gave an apologetic look, her sorry look– I could see her mouth those words.  And then she was running to me and jumping into my arms.  And then I was lifting her up and then running to the water and throwing her into the waves while she pleaded for mercy in between breathless laughs.

Mom thought it’d make a cute photo if Roe posed ‘trying’ to kill me.

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I look at her beside me now as I rub my neck.  She looks back at me, smirking as if she knows what I’m thinking about.  Of course, she does.  She’s Roe.

“Roe-”

“Loges-”

Rock, paper, scissors.  She always let me win.

“Why’d you leave?”  She rolled onto her side.  “Roe?”  I hated how my voice broke when I said her name.  “Mary Roe.”

“I think I should leave.”

And she did.