closed ... super sorry! ><

[goldh31]

Lol, thanks. And I'll get to that soon...I need to finish Goldh31 requests first. Work and my novel are killing me. X.X

I love what you have so far....the concrete angel story isn't over is it?

[eden .]

No, it's not. I'm so sorry I haven't finished it. I have all this other stuff to do all of a sudden plus my story took off... I'll finish it though. I will!

[eden .]

|◀◀-------|►-----►►|

WARNING: contains language [that is censored, of course] that is not suitable for all ages. read at your own discretion.

Evelyn Steward was your typical Miss Popularity. Blonde, cheerleader, homecoming queen, et cetera, et cetera. But she loved me, so it was fine. I could take not speaking to her, not being allowed to look her in the eye at school, not able to breathe the same air as her. For her, I didn't mind. If it was for her, it was alright.

♣ ----♣---- ♣

"Hey. I can't come today. Sorry," Evelyn's recorded voice said to me over the phone. The tone was clipped, harried, almost waspish. I felt the excited smile on my face overturn into a frown. She couldn't come? Again? She had to skip out last week, too. And the week before that. For the first couple of weeks I thought I was just being paranoid and too clingy. But this was the third weekend the two of us had tried to get together, and I was starting to worry that something was up. I wanted to think it was for a good reason, but some small part of me was automatically rewinding all of the smiles she had thrown at a couple of guys at school the past month, a few looks she had given and returned, a hand on the arm ...

I impatiently shake off these thoughts like they're cobwebs on my head. Evelyn wasn't the kind of person to cheat. For one thing, the two of us had been together for almost a year and a half, now. Yeah, it was hard that she wouldn't let me walk in the same hallway with her at school, but I understood why she did it. She was in a good spot at school, and I didn't want to drag her down. It was just hard to see her be friendly with all those guys and not being able to go over there and tell them that "Hey! You're touching my girlfriend!" Sometimes I would bring it up to her, and Evelyn would promise to be a bit better next time, but I guess she forgot. It wasn't like there was much I could do about that. Again, I tried not to blame her.

Of course I could tell that I was being a total pushover. A long time ago, if I heard this sort of story, I'd be like "Are you freaking kidding me? She's walking all over you! You go right up to her in the middle of school and cry for your rights, or something!" But now that I was in the situation ... I wanted to do everything I could so I wouldn't lose her. Love was definitely a strange thing.

Sighing, I rolled out of my bed to switch out my day clothes for some pajamas. I had been ready to go at least an hour before Evelyn would've come to pick me up, but now that she wasn't coming there wasn't much point in being dressed like I'm going out. I slipped out of my jeans and simple t-shirt in exchange for a pair of sweat pants and a white sleeveless. I guess I should probably do my homework, now. I glanced at the desk shoved in the corner of my room, my backpack carelessly thrown on the seat, before snorting and walking out of the door.

My mom wasn't home. On Saturdays she would work her second job at K-Mart. Yeah, pretty awesome, I know. But a job was a job, and Lord knows we needed the money. I'd have worked too, if she'd let me, but I'm not really the maternal type so babysitting was out, and my mom didn't want me working in an actual legit job. I don't really understand why, but since I don't have my own car it probably would've been hard to organize how I would get anywhere. But I felt bad. I felt like my mom was doing all the work. I guess that was how it worked, since technically I was still a minor. Three more days! God, what would it be like, being eighteen? Probably nothing different than being seventeen, really. But I tried to keep my hopes up. Maybe the birthday fairy or something would appear to me Tuesday morning and present me a Ferrari or something. That would be ... nice. I smiled to myself as I rummaged around in the kitchen.

Well, I had an entire free day, now. That meant that I was stuck finding my own lunch -- which was definitely going to go well -- and I certainly wasn't going to do my homework until, like, Sunday night, so whatever. I grabbed a bag of chips, poured the Lays into a bowl, and poured myself a glass of juice. Mom was convinced soda was the physical manifestation of the Antichrist, so she didn't buy it or keep it in the house. It didn't really make our house very exciting for parties, but whatever. It wasn't like I was the type to throw parties at my house -- which both relieves and concerns my mom at the same time. I don't think she understands that I wouldn't care less about what sort of clique I was in if it wasn't for Evelyn. God, if I was just in that popular-whatever group, I wouldn't have to deal with all the other guys fondling her and crap.

I was aggravated, now. Good job, self. You're doing an excellent job making a lazy day for yourself, I chastise myself, but of course that doesn't really make me feel better. Snorting a little, I take my afternoon's version of lunch and collapse in front of the television. It was the boxy, convex screen sort of T.V., kind of small and had that weird static stuff on it that tingled your fingers when you touch it. I grabbed the chunky remote on the arm of the couch and flipped through a couple of the channels for a second before deciding there was nothing good to watch and retreated to my room. My computer (and the only reason I had a laptop in my possession in the first place was because my school required them) was a small, square ThinkPad that ran perfectly fine, it was just tiny and a lot less ... fancy than the other laptops everyone else had. Again, I usually wouldn't have cared, but sometimes Evelyn would screw up her nose at me when I used my laptop in class anywhere near her. I knew she was acting, but it still hurt a bit. I guess that meant she was a good actress, right?

The Internet had few places of escape, for once. I guess Evelyn cancelling our date again really wound me up. I was super antsy, super anxious to get going, and even super annoyed that she couldn't make it for the third week in a row. But I tried to be fair, as always. Evelyn was a good person, and she'd tell me if ...

... If what? If it was important? She hadn't really given me explanations the other times, either, and this time she sounded so hasty.

Well, what are you saying, then? I ask myself. That she's sneaking around behind your back? Doing what?

The answer seemed too obvious from my vantage point. Evelyn had been super friendly with this one guy on the football team ... but I nearly snort instead. That was way to cheerleader, even for Evelyn. Going out with the football team? C'mon.

That kernel of doubt still lingered in my chest.

♣ ----♣---- ♣

I ended up doing my homework out of sheer boredom. Who knew that Calculus could be so ... invigorating? Ugh, gross.

Mom called at around eight telling me that she'd have to work some late hours at the hospital -- a couple of the nurses had to leave, apparently -- and told me that I could order pizza or something -- and soda, if I wanted, which was a rare treat. Clearly she was feeling bad that she was leaving me home alone so much. I told her that it was fine, and out of guilt I refrained from ordering the soda. It was the kind of battle of wills that you should see in a movie or something. Well, not really.

I opened the door, expecting the pizza guy, but instead I was met with the face of Dearest Evelyn. Her blue eyes were as piercing and sparkling as ever, scrunching up as she smiled that dazzling white smile of hers as she saw me. Long blond hair got caught in my open mouth in surprise as she gave me a hug, bending over to give me a quick peck on the lips before letting herself in.

"Hey!" she grinned, slipping off her heeled boots in exchange for stocking feet. "What's up?"

"I--hey," I responded, too surprised to respond adequately. "What are you doing here?"

"What do you mean, silly?" Evelyn chuckled. Her voice was high and almost like wind chimes -- at least, they were to me. I was probably just a love drunk idiot.

"We had a date today, didn't we?" she continued with an innocent cock of the head.

"Well--I mean, yeah," I confirmed closing the door and stepping after her as she collapsed on the couch as if she had one of the most exhilarating and tiring days of her life.

"You said you couldn't come," I continued. "I was just surprised you showed up."

"I know, and I'm very, very sorry," Evelyn enunciated, placing her palms together in a prayer like gesture and bringing them down with every "very", "very", and "sorry". "I got caught up."

"Caught up," I repeated somewhat testily. I looked over her outfit -- a waist length, elbow sleeved leather jacket over a spaghetti strapped red dress and black stockings, and of course she had the boots from earlier -- with some doubt. Evelyn glanced up at me, a crinkle in her brow. "Yes. Caught up."

"Okay," I shrugged, taking a seat next to her on the couch, pointedly sitting at the very edge of the couch and as far away from her as possible.

"Oh, come on," Evelyn whined, and I steeled myself for the ensuing argument that was bound to happen.

"I really did have something else to do," Evelyn insisted, scooting over so our hips were touching. I scowled and leaned away, although now I was trapped between her and the arm of the couch. Not easily defeated, Evelyn leaned over and rested her head on my waist. "Don't you believe me?"

"No," I snapped before I could help myself, and I instantly regretted it as Evelyn snapped up and glared at me, real fury in her eyes.

"Excuse me?" she hissed. I swallowed, my throat dry.

"What did you just say?" she nearly spat at me, and I closed my eyes to summon up the inner strength I would need.

This was my moment to shout at her for once; tell her that she was being unfair and unappreciative of the patience that I had for the past three weeks. It wasn't that I was bothered that she couldn't come for three weeks in a row, it was that she didn't give me any good reason for it all of those times. It was like she was just skipping out! And not to mention all of those little intimate moments with Jett Brenner were screwing with my head, and in general I was feeling deeply insecure!

"I -- nothing," I sighed. "Forget it."

"No, I want to know what you said," Evelyn insisted, her eyes hard. She crossed her arms and even pouted like a small child, and I was beginning to feel supremely uncomfortable.

"It's nothing," I said, straightening up and staring at her with an almost begging look in my eye. But Evelyn wasn't appeased.

"Did you just say that you didn't trust me?" Evelyn asked with a barely concealed growl.

"I was just upset."

"Did you say it or not?" she nearly shouted.

"I -- yes, okay, yes! But I didn't mean it! Of course I trust you!"

"You realize how much I'm doing for you, right?" Evelyn snapped. "I'm dating you even though it would be catastrophic if everyone at school found out, and I come here in the middle of the night to see you -- here, this dingy, ghetto cesspool of --"

"Look, Evie, I get it!" I interrupted her, hurt and annoyed. Evelyn paused for a moment, her face still screwed up in righteous indignation, but after a moment her expression softened as she donned one of sympathy and understanding. After a deep, calming sigh -- as if she was the one that was being attacked here -- she said, "Look, I know you're upset, okay? It's just ... it's been hard for me, you know? Keeping up the face at school and being perfect all the time. It's hard, you know? And I have to keep, you know, us a secret, right?"

"... Right," I relented, unable to argue under her firm gaze.

"Right," she nodded, as if I was the one that was listing all of her problems and she was agreeing with me. "So is it so bad that I want a break on the weekends every once in a while?"

"I guess not."

"Of course not," Evelyn nodded again. "So I'm sorry I couldn't baby you all this weekend. I'm sorry that I thought I could relax a bit. I hope that you can forgive me."

The biting sarcasm cut deep, and I instantly felt guilty as I floundered for a good reason to argue. Relax for three weeks straight? Why didn't you just tell me this earlier? Then why are you here now if you're so tired? But before I could say anything, Evelyn continued, "But I guess if you're so upset with me, you don't want me around." All of a sudden Evelyn was rising from her seat and striding purposefully to the door. I could already see where this was going and what she was doing, but I still leaped up and ran after her to the door. And I hated myself for it.

"Evie, wait," I begged, grabbing her thin wrist before she could slip on her shoes. "I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean it. Of course I trust you. I was -- I just missed you, that's all."

And there it was. Evelyn paused a moment and looked up at me. I didn't miss the spark of triumph that passed through her eyes, but it only was there for a second before she closed them and said with apparent forced patience, "Well, since you apologize ... and I do understand where you're coming from ... I forgive you."

"Thank you," I breathed out in relief.

Some small part of me realized that this was all wrong. This morning I was indignant that Evelyn was skipping out on our dates without a good reason, and now she was making me out as the villain. And now I was apologizing. How did this happen? How did I get here? How? Just how?

♣ ----♣---- ♣

Sunday came and went without event. Evelyn didn't stay over -- predictably -- and she didn't even bother calling me on Sunday, so I was stuck at home with nothing to do. Mom offered to go to a movie or something, sensing my disenchantment, but for one thing there were no good movies showing and for another I really didn't feel like it. I just couldn't muster up the energy to do anything anymore, and I knew exactly why: Evelyn.

It was always Evelyn. It had to always be about Evelyn. Evelyn, Evelyn, Evelyn. I could feel my annoyance building up only to be torn down again by her. How did she do it? How did she always make herself into the victim, the one in the right?

But it was true what she was saying. I was sure that she had to work hard to make sure people didn't find out about us, and I couldn't blame her for that. What would happen if people found out? I mean, I'm already jerked around, but Evelyn wasn't cut out for that. She's not made for that. She wouldn't be able to handle it.

Mostly on impulse, I snatched up my phone and called her, wanting to see if somehow ... I don't know, talk or something. I felt like, with the way things had gone yesterday night, I should probably call her at least. I wasn't sure if it was right to leave things as it was ... although I couldn't really explain my trepidation of it all. It was hard to explain.

To my surprise, the shrill ringing pierced through my house, and I tracked it down to under the cushions of the couch we were sitting on last night. Smiling a little at Evelyn's forgetfulness, but I picked up the phone anyway and ended the call.

I was about to re-lock it -- it was a fancy iPhone S4, too, you know -- when I spotted the text message. At that moment I cursed Apple; the message had already popped up in its little text bubble on the front of the screen, and before I could help myself my eyes were glued to the screen.


Jett Brenner

Hey babe. Where r u? Im w8ting ;)


I felt ill, sick to my stomach, and on the verge of throwing up. Not what you think. Not what you think. Not what you think. My thumb hovered over the message, torn. But as the screen lighting dimmed, I pressed down before it could lock and entered the messages screen.

Before I could give myself an opportunity to feel guilty, I looked over the message history, and for each hour I went back that kernel of doubt germinated into an infectious weed. Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God, oh, my God, oh, my God, omigod, omigod, omigod, I thought over and over again, unable to string together a coherent thought as I scrolled through the history.

After I had read enough, I dropped the phone as if it were some disgusting bug. I threw it onto the couch like I couldn't wait to get rid of it, which was all too true. Unable to keep standing, I collapsed onto the floor, clutching the short carpet fibers in search of something to hang onto.

Lied.

She lied to me.

"Oh, my God," I chocked out.

"Is everything okay?" my mom called to me from the kitchen.

"Fine, mom!" I warbled back, my voice audibly shaking. Clearly unconvinced, she poked her head into the living room and only saw me sitting on the floor with my arms thrown out behind me to support myself. And I probably looked shell shocked, too.

" ... Are you -- "

"I'm fine, mom!" I snapped, not in the mood to speak with her. She opened up her mouth to snap something back, but clearly thought better of it, closing it again, working her jaw, and giving me one final glare before retreating back to the kitchen.

All I could do for at least a minute was sit, completely and utterly dumbfounded. Dumbfounded. I always thought that I had a good sense of the word. Like a good grasp. But now I realized that the dictionary didn't do it justice. Dumbfounded was when you're stunned, completely paralyzed, your limbs limp and the energy just drained from you. Your brain goes dead for a moment and you have no idea what's supposed to happen next. What are you going to do, now? What's there left? I should be doing something, be thinking something, but when you're dumbfounded you really didn't know ... what to do. I stared unblinkingly at the pink and white case on the couch, only half seeing it, internally focusing on ... well, basically nothing. It was like my entire body was shutting down.

In a sudden moment of clarity and a flash of conniving intent, I shot out of my position like a cobra and snatched the phone from the cushion just as the light faded. I quickly pressed the screen, and thankfully it lit back up again. It looked like I wasn't locked out, yet.

I had so many ideas on how to continue. I had Evelyn's phone. I had evidence. I had ... well, I had power, now. I could do anything I wanted.

Well. Not anything. But the possibilities seemed bright with the phone I had in my hands.

In the end I settled for responding to Jett ... politely.


Sry lost my phone 4 a sec. Where r u?


I pressed the "send" button hesitantly and half-heartedly, and after I saw the little green bubble I instantly regretted and relished the moment. Oh, my Lord, this was going to explode in my face.

It actually didn't take that long for Jett to respond [which made me annoyed, because that instantly made me think that he's super obsessed over Evelyn and thought about her all the time and all that crap]. I literally jumped when the little alarm sounded that notified that there was a new message, and I hungrily looked it over.


Lol nice. Im @ the mall. U coming?



Could u pick me up? I want to c u


Ugh, I thought to myself as I sent the message. I hoped I wasn't being too ... I don't know, just too ... whatever. Mushy? Gushy? Cheerleader? Oh, wait. I rolled my eyes at the screen as it jangled again.


Aw, sure babe. B there in 20



Kk,


I began to write, and then just as I was about to send it, I hesitated and, swallowing my disgust, added a "<3 u" at the end. I shut my eyes for a moment, asked myself What are you doing? before I pressed the "send" button and tossed away the phone for good this time before flopping onto the carpet and breathing to the ceiling.

"What are you doing?" I whispered aloud to myself.

"What's the dear?" mom called to me.

"I said can you drive me to Evelyn's ... please?"

♣ ----♣---- ♣

"I -- hey," Evelyn welcomed me, and I smiled faintly and forced myself to give her a quick peck on the cheek before striding inside.

"I -- hey!" Evelyn repeated, although now she was more accusatory than anything. Like "oi, why are you coming into my house like you own the place?"

"What're you doing here?" Evelyn asked me, her voice strained but her face pleasant. I glanced at her and threw her perhaps the most fake feeling smile I'd ever worn. Apparently Evelyn was too distracted or too damn stupid -- God, what was I turning into? -- to notice, but I reached up and placed my palms on her face an asked innocently, "What's wrong? You look stressed."

"Stressed? No," Evelyn scoffed -- a bit too quickly, I noticed. Did she always do that? I never thought that before. Then again ...

"I thought I'd just come over for a sec," I continued casually, slipping off my tennis shoes and shaking out my sock feet. "Why, are you going out?"

"I -- yeah, actually," Evelyn said. "I was actually going to the mall in a second."

"Oh, I'll come with you," I shrugged easily. "It's been a while since we've gone out together, right?"

"I -- oh, my God, could you -- I really want to go by myself today, kind of, okay? And I have this orthodontist appointment and I don't think -- "

And then the doorbell rang.

Suddenly my heart was pounding harder than ever, and I glanced towards the door more sharply than I would've liked. Evelyn didn't notice though. She didn't have any idea who it was -- and I remembered that it was me that sent the text to Jett, not Evelyn. Still, she went to the door unsuspectingly and wrenched it open, clearly not in the mood to amuse any more surprise house guests.

Behind her, time seemed to slow down for me as I watched, weighing my options. I could leave right now. I could get out of this right now

"Jett!" I heard Evelyn exclaim -- in both surprise and what seemed like panic -- from the doorway. She was mostly blocked from my view because of the open door.

"Hey, you ready?" an [admittedly] attractive voice asked from the other side of the doorway. Damn it.

"I -- I mean, yeah, but why are you here?"

"What do you mean?"

"What do you mean 'what do you mean?" Evelyn demanded. "Weren't you suppo--"

She suddenly stopped in the middle of her sentence, and although she didn't turn around I knew she was aware that I was listening.

Oh, my God, I thought to myself. My head was actually starting to ache -- or was it my imagination? I was beginning to tremble, although from adrenaline or fear I wasn't sure. My heart was beating out of my chest. I could actually feel it rattling my rib cage.

"Evie?" Jett asked. Somehow the fact that he used that nickname -- my trademark nickname -- I strode forward with purpose and wrenched the door open even further. In the doorway stood a broad shouldered, shaggy haired brunette who didn't look like he could put two and two together as he saw me standing there.

"What're they doing here?" Jett hissed as if I wasn't there. I screwed up my face, and on complete impulse I wrapped a hand around to Evelyn's head and jerked her towards me to give her a single, long kiss.

"That's what I'm doing here, j-ck-ss," I snapped before shoving Evelyn away and shouldering past Jett, who was too surprised to react. As soon as I was on the driveway, however, I could hear the resounding shout from the doorway: "I was in competition with some f-g?"

♣ ----♣---- ♣

"I hope you're happy," Evelyn spat at me as I shut my locker with a resounding bang. I glared at her dourly before pointedly turning my back and striding away from her.

"What did you think that would do?" Evelyn demanded, keeping her voice low but clearly attracting attention, anyway. It seemed like wounded - hearted Jett blabbed to everyone about what a b-tch Evelyn Steward was.

"Everyone hates me now!" Evelyn whined to me, stepping right in my path so I couldn't continue. I impatiently tried to sidestep her, but she wouldn't have any of it. She forced me to stop in my tracks and glared at me, tears beginning to pool. "You've ruined my life."

"Stop being so f-ck-ng dramatic," I sneer at her. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Her life was ruined? Then why did she cheat in the first place? And what did that mean about what she thought about my high school social standing?

By now a noticeable crowd was beginning to gather. It wasn't that they stopped and stared -- or, that is, they didn't try to stare. Everyone tried to be super subtle about watching us. They glanced over shoulders, used locker mirrors, casually took their time walking from Algebra to Physics, but it was clear we were the latest source of entertainment. I stubbornly kept my glare away from the spectators and up at Evelyn's accusatory look.

"Don't try and make yourself look like the victim here," I continued, not bothering to keep my voice down. Evelyn glanced around shiftily at the others and was about to try and sush me when I plowed on -- louder -- "You cheated on me. You lied to me."

"Do you know how lucky you are that you had me as your girlfriend?" she hissed at me, and I nearly slapped her across the face. To stanch the temptation, I balled up my fists and dug my fingernails into my palms before shoving them into my pockets. "Do you know how lucky you are that you were with me? I put up with all of your sh-t, avoiding you everyday in school while all of the other guys flirted with you, and all you have to say is what a jerk I am?"

"You made everything explode in my face!" Evelyn exclaimed, her voice cracking and her voice rising.

"It was going to explode whether you did it or not! Were you ever going to tell me that you were f-ck-ng Jett Brenner behind my back?"

There was a small murmur that rippled through the crowd as the conversation became more heated. Undoubtedly they were nodding their heads and talking about what a ruffian I was, but I felt like they were probably creating crap about Evelyn, too.

What are you doing?

"Well?" I demanded as Evelyn kept quiet. Still she didn't answer my question, and after what I thought was ample time to formulate a response I gave a few curt nods and said, "Right. Okay. Goodbye, Evelyn." This time when I when to walk around her she didn't stop me, only stood there ... dumbfounded.

"And just to clarify," I shouted to her from the other end of the hall, "I'm dumping you."

I'm a jerk.

♣ ----♣---- ♣

"I know you're home," Evelyn called through the door. I ignored her, staring at my bedroom wall from my bed as another round of pounding knocks echoed through the hallway.

"Open up!" Evelyn shouted. "It's cold!"

"Go away!" I snapped -- to my regret. There was a pause on the other end. Obviously she was reveling in her triumph. After about a full minute of lack of response, however, I began hoping that she had gone away for good. Instead, I looked up to her sour face grimacing at me from my bedroom window. That's what I got from being on the ground floor, I guess. I nearly fell out of my bed in shock.

"What the hell, Evelyn!" I shouted at the window, to which she responded with impatient raps on the pane.

"Go away!" I repeated, but predictably she didn't do anything but rap harder. Eventually, when it was clear that neither of us were going to give in to the other, so Evelyn settled for shouting through the glass.

"You were right!" Evelyn said, her voice somewhat muffled by the window. I felt my brow pucker in surprise but I didn't turn to acknowledge her, afraid that she was just lying again.

"I was wrong," Evelyn continued, "I was stupid, I was manipulative, and I was probably the worst girlfriend ever." Evelyn paused, as if she thought that I was going to forgive her and open up the window, but when I didn't say anything she continued, "I broke up with Jett."

"You mean Jett broke up with you," I snorted, unable to keep myself from commenting. Out of the corner of my eye I saw some swishing of blond hair and assumed she was shaking her head. "He spread around the rumors when he was drunk off his -ss, apparently." A stole a glance towards her and a quick eye roll revealed how much stock she put into his story. "He said that he would tell everyone he was joking if I stayed with him. Stupid, right?" This time I gave her a full look, turning my head to face her while she scoffed into the glass, fogging it up. Then she straightened up again to meet my gaze evenly and steadily, silently asking me to forgive her. Not that she had asked for it. Still ... this was probably a huge step for Evelyn, admitting she was wrong. Sighing a little to myself, I slid off the bed and unlocked the window, sliding it up so we could talk through the screen.

"Cool," Evelyn grinned. "Your neighbors were looking at me weird. They heard me shouting. Could you let me in through the door?"

"No."

"...Right. Yeah. You probably don't want to see my face."

"Not really!" I smiled sardonically.

"I --" Evelyn noticeably hesitated, shuddering a bit as she tried to say something and no sound coming out. Speechless. A speechless Evelyn. In any other situation I would've laughed. Now I just stared at her with zero expectation in my eyes, zero signs that I was welcoming her to continue.

Evelyn shut her eyes for a moment as she tried to summon up something before she continued on, "I want to -- to try this again."

I stared at her disbelievingly, my eyebrows shooting up behind my bangs and an "I'm sorry what" smile plastering onto my face.

"Hear me out," Evelyn begged. In response I seized the top of the window pane and snapped it shut before she could continue. But I couldn't stop her shouting through the glass, so I opted to exit the room and retreat to the bathroom, which had zero windows. I thanked God mom was working overtime again.

"Please!" Evelyn shouted, her muted cry for attention reaching me even in the bathtub. "Just give me a chance! I love you!"

"No," I murmured to myself, "you don't."

♣ ----♣---- ♣

The year came and went without much more event.

Evelyn, of course, was basically disowned from the food chain, ending up on an even lower rung that I was. She was a cheerleader gone wrong, but her b-tch legacy remained, after all. So that's all the people on the lower levels out. They were glad she was suffering. And she was also a cheater [and therefore, apparently, a sl-t] -- and cheated on Jett Brenner [I thought this was wrong, since technically she was dating me first -- although no one paid attention to that] with me. Well, everyone knew about me. Or at least, they thought they did.

So basically, I was replaced as the school pariah with Evelyn, which I found incredibly poetic. I guess God does exist, yeah?

And of course, I did my best to avoid her in the most obvious way possible. It felt good for a while, I couldn't lie, but after a few months it got kind of tiring. By the end of those months I stopped sticking my nose in the air, but I didn't start talking to her, either. I mostly acted cool around her. I mean, it's hard to keep the fire of hatred going for that long. It was taxing on one's energy. So I guess that's the reason why, when she called me in the middle of summer, I didn't immediately hang up, although I was seriously tempted to.

"Hello?" I mumbled into the receiver.

"You answered," Evelyn breathed in relief. "Wait! Don't hang up. I ... can we talk? Please?"

"You're on a phone."

"In person," Evelyn clarified, exasperated.

"Now?" I grumbled. "I was just busy doing nothing."

"Since when were you so cynical?" Evelyn sighed through the phone. "Fine, I'll talk to you here.

"Look, I know that you dumped me and ... I've had some time to think."

I shut my eyes for a moment to prepare myself.

"I know what you're going to say, but hear me out for a second. I -- I mean, you're like the best thing that's happened to me, and I don't know why -- okay I do know -- I wanted to be everything everyone thought was awesome, and to do that I ... tried to get rid of you, but I didn't completely cut it off with you and it's because I loved you, and --"

Evelyn prattled on and on about how hard it was for her and how much she loved me and how much she wished she could change time, but I was quickly running out of patience. I was done with all of this. I couldn't handle it.

"I want to get back to--"

"Hell no."

"I -- "

"No."

"Could--"

"You're an idiot."

" ... Right, you done?"

"Never, dearest."

"I know that you're not open to it ... but we've had so many moments .. I mean, how long were we together?"

"About two years."

"Two years and two months."

"Are you trying to impress me?"

"Kind of. Is it working?"

"No."

"Maybe one day?"

"...I shouldn't say yes," I responded after a moment. Admittedly, my heart leaped from only what I could describe as exuberance, and I hated myself for it. What was I doing? I should've hung up like twenty minutes ago. But I couldn't deny that Evelyn and I had ... a connection. And for a while that worked. And no matter how much I was at loathe to admit, I was half-hoping we could be together again. Go back to the old days before high school and caring about wearing a cheerleader outfit and being the weird loner.

"That's not a no!" Evelyn pointed out, apparently unable to keep the glee out of her tone.

"I think ... " I held my breath for all of two seconds, mustering up whatever strength I needed for this moment. " ... Not today. Not ... for a while."

"Oh."

The line was filled with a crackling silence, and I had the terrible feeling that Evelyn was on the verge of sobbing straight into the receiver. As it was, I could already hear some shuddering breaths that genuinely seemed to have been attempted to be stifled, and I felt my heart break. I quickly grabbed some duct tape and sealed it together again. I needed to just hang out for the next two minutes, and then I could bawl like an idiot.

"Just ... maybe. But that's a big maybe, Evelyn. It'll be hard to trust you again, you know that, right?"

Silence.

"I ... think I still do love you," I let out. It was like swallowing nails. "But ... I mean, it's over. It'll never be the same. It's done. We're done. "

More silence.

"I'm s--" I began, then caught myself. There was nothing to apologize for. Nothing. And I still had to remind myself of that. So instead I cleared my throat and said quietly, "Bye" before I hung up and flung the phone wherever. I heard it clunk on the wall and clatter onto the floor. And then the tears came.

Okay, thankfully I was a bit more decent with the time on this one. Still, I feel like I put in too many timeskips and the events went a bit too quickly ... I guess there's a limit to how much I can do in one forum post? ^^''
Anyways, I purposefully kept the gender ambiguous. Or at least I tried not to. I didn't mention a name, nor did I refer to the narrator with "he" or "she". I do have an idea of what gender this person is, but I think if you try and gender-bend with all of the way the protagonist is referred to, I think you'll find that it's actually perfectly fitting for both genders. At least, I hope so.
ANYWAYS. I would love to hear what gender you thought this person was. I think I leaned towards one specific gender, but knowing me I probably did the opposite of the one that I meant. Please post on the thread! I'm going to accidentally delete your comment if you PM it, I know I will -_-

Requested by Goldh31. I hope you don't hate me too much for taking so long! ><

[eden .]

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WARNING: contains mature themes that may not be suitable for all ages. Reader discretion is advised.

For the longest time, the only thing I could do was cry. Scream at God and the sky to say why it was me. Why me. I would lock all of the doors and wail, lament. I must've lost my voice so many times. I don't even remember if I cared. Still I demanded answers. But God stayed silent. And I hated Him for it.

♣ ----♣---- ♣

"No, mom, I'm having this baby," I insisted, my voice hardening as I gave her my final word on the matter. In response, my mother practically slammed her fork into the plate, making a harsh clattering noise, before shouting at me, "You are not! You will get an abortion that is final! How are you supposed to support the baby?"

For once I didn't have an answer, so I stubbornly chewed on my meatloaf like it was the most delicious thing I'd ever tasted in my twenty years.

"You don't know, do you?" mom snorted, settling back into her chair and shaking her head condescendingly. "Christ, you don't have a care in the world! Did you even think any of this through? What could've possibly made you think this was going to work? What logic was there? What was the logic?"

"I loved him, mom!" I shrieked, near hysterics. With a sharp intake of breath, I try and take the words back, but of course it's too late now. My face flushed and my body trembling in rage and grief, I sit there in furious defiance, glaring at my mother as if challenging her to say something--say anything--before I rose out of my seat and stormed off to my room, ignoring my mother's demands to get back there and sit down instead of running away from all of my problems like a child.

I crashed into my room, slamming the door closed behind me and flinging myself into my bed before wailing, the wave of emotions uncontrollable and unfathomable. In the back of my mind I realized that this was just the hormones talking, that I wasn't actually losing it, I was just pregnant.

Yeah, just pregnant. At twenty, when I'm still in school and I barely have enough money to live on my own, right now. There was a reason I was still living with my mother, after all. And I certainly wouldn't be going to all those classes when I have morning sickness and can't even listen to a lecture on subatomic structure without bursting into tears. Not to mention I'll have weird cravings, cramps, have to rework my wardrobe and everything would change for this one thing in my stomach--

No, not thing. Abruptly, I sit up, sniffling back my tears and contemplatively putting a hand on my abdomen, which was still pretty flat. I wasn't far along, after all, but the pregnancy test didn't seem to be wrong. I actually tried it twice more, I was so paranoid. And somewhere along the way I thought that, if at least one of them came out negative, I'd be able to get Liam back. That he'd come back and we'd be a happy couple again and we'd laugh about this entire pregnancy thing like it was all a bad dream.

But all of them came out positive, and Liam was long gone. I shut my eyes as I felt them rush with moisture again. Damn it, I hated crying. It made me look all gross, and it was worse knowing that I actually wasn't sad, it was just stupid hormones.

Or I was just making an excuse. Either way, I didn't want to cry. I cried enough already over that jerk.

The problem was that I still loved him. Something in me still clung to the hope that he would return, that he would just show up at my front door and that he would embrace the baby as calmly and coolly as he had everything else with a smile. I grimace and squeeze my eyes tighter, shaking my head to brush off these thoughts. He wasn't coming back. I had spent at least a day in my room snapping it to myself, chanting it, crying it, doing just about everything with the phrase to try and convince myself that it was fact. Not that it really worked. Maybe that's why I was so adamant about having the baby in the first place.

My mother had a point. I didn't have enough resources or time to devote raising a baby. And I wasn't exactly a responsible young woman. I mean, I was pregnant. That kind of spoke for itself, didn't it? I gave myself a blubbery sort of laugh. But to abort the child? Throw it off and away? It wasn't that I was completely against the thought of abortion. Actually, I was an advocate of it. But...this was Liam's kid, too. Half of this child was going to be Liam.

So what? I ask myself harshly. What, are you just going to have this kid because you think Liam will suddenly see his face and say to himself, 'Oh, my God, Andie, I was completely wrong. Things will be fine. We'll make it work'? Or that when you see the kid you'll see Liam, instead? Is that the only reason you're going to go through with this? You're just going to use the baby for your own reasons? Can you get any more selfish?

I shouldn't have to be arguing with myself like this. I decided that I was going to have this baby and that was that. Why did I need to justify myself for my own decisions ... to myself? No one was going to tell me that I was going to lose this baby. No one was going to make me abort it.

♣ ----♣---- ♣

I had to admit, I didn't think it would be this hard.

Or disgusting.

On the fourth week of running to the bathroom and throwing up in the toilet in the middle of the night, I half considered caving to my mother's not-so-subtle jabs to abort the baby simply so I wouldn't have to go through with this stupid morning sickness [which, incidentally, didn't happen exclusively in the morning]. And I was having these stupid cravings, already. Wasn't that supposed to happen later? Of course, I never really did much research on this sort of thing. Another mistake, I supposed, that my mother could use as part of her arsenal.

Sighing, I flushed the toilet and went to the sink, swirling some water in my mouth a couple of times to rinse it out. Gross. I wasn't sure how much of this I could take.

♣ ----♣---- ♣

It was kind of embarrassing going into maternity shops and being so obnoxiously young. Like, it wasn't like I was a teenager or something, but it was kind of clear that I was pretty young to be shopping in maternity. I turned a few heads, but of course when I went to meet their eyes they looked away. Well, then.

Sniffing a little, I sifted through some of the shirts they had for sale. None of them were really my kind of thing. They were actually kind of drab, kind of plain and not really stylish.

You're being stupid, I snorted to myself. They're not meant to be stylish, they're made to be functional. When your stomach is all bloated and heavy, fashion isn't the first thing that really comes to mind.

Frowning, I picked out some shirts that weren't that bad [I mean, there were choices that were definitely worse] and went to the register, holding my head high and acting like I belonged in that store. Which I did. I just don't think some of the other ladies and couples really understood that.

The couples. That was another thing entirely. As I waited in line, I couldn't help gazing at some of the pairs of to-be fathers and mothers that were no doubt properly married or engaged. I thought with a pang that it could've been Liam and me looking at some of the adorable little baby clothes in the back corner, or Liam holding all of the clothes and rolling his eyes like the good sport he was while I piled more into his arms. It could've all been so much different. So how did it end up like this?

"Miss?" the cashier called expectantly and somewhat impatiently from the register, and I jumped to attention.

"Sorry," I said, stepping up to the counter and passing over the shirts.

"No problem," the cashier responded, scanning in the clothes and telling me the price. I took out one of my mother's credit cards and passed it to her. After the transaction had been made, I stepped out into the mall.

I could easily smell all of the greasy mall cafeteria foods down the hall, and my mouth immediately watered. Only a few months ago would I have insisted we went to some lighter, nicer restaurant instead of going to some oily food court.

Oh, I used "we", again. Who did I think I was referring to? Liam and I? Shaking my head, I inexorably found myself striding with rising confidence to the food court.

There was a pretzel stand at the very edge of the court, and since I wasn't that hungry I decided to go for that one. Of course, I chose the saltest pretzel there was along with some cheese dip and a slushie, and I already felt twenty pounds heavier just by taking the bag of food. But when I sat down and opened it at a table, I wolfed it down like it was the first meal I'd had in, like, a week.

Pregnancies.

♣ ----♣---- ♣

I was determined to prove my mother wrong about my irresponsibility, so that same day I picked up a pregnancy book. What to Expect When You're Expecting. Heh. Cute.

To my surprise, it was actually a lot more comforting than I thought it would be. I thought it would just, like, spew all of these numbers at me and all of these doctor terms that I wouldn't be able to understand. But it was actually talking more about worries and concerns about women that were pregnant, and -- as weird and awkward as it was -- it was kind of relaxing to know that others had the same problems I did. All of the uncertainties definitely weren't because I was irresponsible. It was because ... well, because it was natural.

I guess for the entire pregnancy up until that point, I thought that everything I was going through was unique to me because I became pregnant out of non-traditional means. I guess I thought that meant that everything I was doing I was doing wrong because of a mistake that I'd made.

A mistake? Is that really what I still thought of it? I wasn't sure. Frowning internally, I continued to read past the first trimester into the second, the third, and by the time I had finished I was convinced that it wasn't a "mistake" at all. It was ... I don't know, it's really hard to describe without sounding dorky or something. Like, reading that book kind of made the group of cells in my belly human. Okay, yeah, I knew that it was going to become a baby, but it was weird to think about, having something growing in my stomach. Like. By all logic you know it's a baby, but you don't really make the connection that's it's alive until yo ucan actually see it, you know?

I don't know. Maybe I'm rambling.

Anyways.

That was the first time I bothered thinking about the name.

♣ ----♣---- ♣

Rationally I knew that looking at names before I even knew the gender of the baby was probably going to be a way more tedious task than I already knew it would be. Still, I went to the internet and searched for baby names for the rest of the night, staying up and munching on dried oranges and sipping on lemon tea. There were so many names that sounded so beautiful and some other names that sounded disgusting but had really nice meanings ... there were some that were, like, one hundred years out of date and some that were so painfully ghetto that I actually snorted into my tea a couple of times.

I was way too excited about this baby. What had happened? I read a book and suddenly I was acting like I had just read the Bible and I had to do my best to spread the word of embryos? I smiled to myself tiredly. I was sure this high was going to wear off as soon as the next wave of sickness came in.

Right on cue. Cringing, I shot up and fled for the bathroom.

♣ ----♣---- ♣

When I actually started, you know, getting bloated, my first instinct was to curl up under the sheets and cry about all the years wasted, all the diets that were for nothing. It kind of crept up on me without me even realizing it. One day my stomach was as flat as a board, and the next it was round and bumped and looked kind of like a backwards camel hump.

Because instead of being on my back it was on my stomach.

Okay, I'll shut up now.

It was like a weird downwards spiral for me. The first time I had to put on a maternity shirt because my other shirts were too small was almost demeaning for me. It was like I was putting on dead cow skin or something. It wasn't something that I should've been ashamed of, and I knew that, but it didn't really make me feel better.It was like I was admitting that I was going to get stretch marks and never be able to enjoy a nice stomach ever again. And that's possibly the stupidest thing to worry about, but it is how it is.

So that afternoon, I walked out with my baby bump and tried to act like the most self-assured woman in the world.

I failed.

♣ ----♣---- ♣

I think the moment that I was really excited -- like, actually assured that if I don't have this baby I would actually die -- was when I first felt it kick.

I decided a while ago that I wasn't going to have an ultrasound so I wouldn't have to scrap all of the cool names that I had found all at once, so for a while the only indication that the baby was actually, like, there was the fact that my stomach was progressively getting larger. My mother had long since resigned herself to sulking and shaking her head and sighing whenever I was in the same room with her -- loudly -- but it wasn't like she could do anything. I was definitely not going to abort the child at this point. And when it kicked, that was definitely ...

Well. The kicker.

Haha. Did you see what I did there?

No?

Okay. Well.

I was super jubilant about it, and the moment I felt the little thing moving around I was almost giddy with happiness. For a moment I didn't believe it had happened until he -- or she -- kicked again, and I excitedly called over to my mother to come over quick. My mother might not have been the most supportive of my decision, but she was the only one in the house with me all the time, and that gave me little choice as to who I wanted to share all of my baby problems with. So we had achieved a stiff but accepting relationship that admitted that no matter how much we disagreed with each other, our stubbornness would probably kill both of us. So we worked with each other.

"What is it?" she frowned as she approached.

"I think he's kicking," I grinned, staring up at her while my hands were over my belly button. My cheeks were aching, I was smiling so much. "Oh, my God, he kicked again. Mom, he's kicking."

"Yes, dear," my mother nodded a bit testily, "that's what babies do." Still, my happiness was infectious, and she sat on the couch next to me and placed a small, wrinkling hand over my own, and for a moment I wondered to myself when my mother got ... old to me.

My mother didn't congratulate me or anything when she felt the baby kick -- she was way too proud to admit that she was excited for the baby now as much as I was -- but she couldn't help the small smile that spread across her somewhat weathered face. I felt my eyebrows turn down into a frown, trying to remember when my mother got all of those wrinkles. She wasn't that old.

"Mom?" I finally spoke up as the baby settled, her hand still over my two. As I called her, she jerked to attention and withdrew her hand, the moment now lost, and I think we both realized how much we missed each other.

"Yes?" she prompted me, clearing her throat.

"I think I'm going to go back to school after the baby is born," I said in a rush before shutting my eyes and waiting for her to blow up in my face.

"I see," was all she said, and I nervously opened up my eyes again. My mother looked strangely calm while she questioned, "So who's going to take care of the child?"

"I was hoping ... you could?" I asked, cringing a little to show I knew what I was asking of her. She didn't look surprised or angry, though. Just really, really tired.

"I mean," I added hurriedly, regretting even bringing it up, "I can just wait until the baby's older and go to school after they're old enough for daycare. It's fine. Whatever."

"You're serious about this, aren't you?" my mother asked suddenly, her eyes narrowing and her head cocking to the side as if it's the first time she had seen me in a long time. I paused for a moment, swallowing before looking down at my round belly.

"Yeah. I think I am."

♣ ----♣---- ♣

I think the anesthesia made everything a bit surreal to me, but I was able to string together everything the doctors were saying -- I think -- while I was kind of out of it. I mean, I had just delivered a baby, so I was kind of worn out. I was panting a little in the bed, my head thrown back into the pillows as I tried to rest a little.

The doctor and nurses were yelling, shouting at each other as they were moving around, finishing up, and it seemed like something was wrong. I wasn't quite sure what. Did something happen? But I distinctly remembered that the doctor announced that the baby was out. That I delivered the baby. It was all fine.

"The baby," I finally chocked out. "Can I--?"

"Hold on," my mother patted my hand, her face creased with worry, and I frowned at her as the shouting of the specialists began to climax before they began wheeling a cart with a wrapped up bundle away from my bed.

"What's--?" I began before something clicked.

The doctor and nurses were all ordering each other around the monitors were beeping around me, my mother was murmuring things into my ear, but...

The baby.

It wasn't crying.

Oh, God.

No, okay, no, there was a distinct lack of annoying, shrill baby noises, okay? It definitely wasn't crying. That was bad. That was bad, right? What did that mean? That meant--that meant--I scrambled for the answer, frustrated that it was taking so long for me to string this stupid question - answer thing together. It shouldn't be taking me this long, I read a freaking book on this--

"Andie, calm down," my mother ordered me firmly, pushing me back down into the sheets without me realizing I had come up in the first place.

"The baby," I whispered harshly. "The baby, what--?"

"The doctors are working on it now," my mother assured me. "It's going to be fine. You need to rest."

I tried in vain to look around my mother at the doctors working on the baby as they put their heads together, muttering things before a nurse rushed in and said that the room as ready.

The room was ready.

Room. The room.

Instantly, the cart with the baby -- my baby -- vanished, pushed out of the room to the other room for the doctors to poke and prod him, to mess with him, to do stuff to him, and all I could think about was that I had to see him. I was the only one that could possibly save him. He was my baby. He was my child. He was mine. No one else was allowed to touch him.

"They're trying to save him!" my mother shouted over my own, and I paused. I hadn't realized I was screaming. Oh, my God I was going insane.

♣ ----♣---- ♣

I could tell by the way they were walking in that they didn't have good news for me. Their heads were hanging, they looked genuinely regretful that they weren't able to do whatever they were trying to do, and they looked really nervous, really sorry, simply destroyed.

Yeah, well. It wasn't your baby.

"Miss Andie," the head doctor was saying, "I'm -- so sorry to tell you this. Your baby ... your son. He didn't make it."

I didn't say anything. I just stared at him, and I don't think I was really making an expression, you know? It was kind of just ... blank shock. No, not even shock. Just ... blank. Nothing. It was kind of like a mask of calm, I guess, just barely keeping in the hysteria that was getting very close to clawing off this doctor's face.

"Your baby ... he was turned backwards in your uterus," the doctor continued, trying to justify his mistake, trying to blame me, "so when he was delivered he inhaled some fluid. He didn't come out fast enough. He had drowned before we were able to deliver him successfully. I'm sorry," he repeated, shaking his head like he was at a loss.

"I'd like to see my baby, now," I said with disturbing calm, lifting my arms expectantly.

"Oh, Andie, no," my mother murmured to me, placing her hands on my arms and trying to push them back down. "You need rest. You'll feel better in the morning and then --"

"My baby, if you please?" I shrieked over my mother's protests, and my mother backed off. Clearly that first attempt was really just to say it. She didn't really expect that I'd listen.

Well, she'd been in my position once, too. I guess she'd must be imagining what I must be feeling. Good. Maybe she could explain it to me later, because I wasn't really feeling anything. It was just kind of...

White. I was feeling white. There was nothing there. And I guess I was kind of cold? And ... there was some sort of blandness. Like I was lacking something. I should be feeling something else. I should be feeling anything, shouldn't I?

Somberly, one of the nurses picked up the baby from the cart that was wheeled in. It was bundled up in neutral green blankets, and it was disturbingly still. Well, that didn't mean anything. He was probably sleeping. He'd had a hard day.

I accepted the baby with anticipation, although instead of the happy, giddy nerves that I was expecting, all I could feel was dread. It was hanging on my like heavy stones in my stomach. I didn't want to see this baby. I didn't want to look at its face. Because if I look at it and see that it's -- I mean, if I got that confirmation ...

But I would never be able to live with myself if I never saw him then and now, so without giving myself a chance to reconsider I glared right at his face.

He could've been sleeping.

His eyes were closed and he had an absolutely peaceful look about him. Someone had wiped him clean of all the blood and nasty fluids and stuff. The umbilical cord had been snipped and was sticking out at his belly button. He was still kind of red and his skin was really wrinkled, and I noticed that he had a lot of hair on his head. I traced the back of my hand from the side of his head down his side. Over and over I did this. His skin was so smooth. He felt so soft.

"He looks like his father," I smiled softly, glancing up at my mother, who was watching me with a chocked expression. Looking at her was a mistake. I felt the tears beginning to fall down my face, the drops splattering onto the baby's face. He didn't make any movements. He didn't make a twitch. I wiped the tears from his face, forcing myself to pause my fingers under his nose. No breath.

I hugged him closer then, hunching forward and bringing up my knees to curl up as I rocked back and forth, wailing and screaming and feeling the most disgusting and ugly as I'd ever felt and not caring and all and hoping that the baby would come back to me and if I was forever fat and my stretch marks would never go away and I would have to work my fingers to the bone everyday that would be fine, that would be okay, because I would have him with me and that would be all that mattered. That would be all that mattered.

I shouted until my throat was hoarse, chocked for a little while, then went back to shrieking again, crying over someone that I'd never met but had known for all of my life, crumbling over losing this boy that I'd seen only once ever, and if you've ever felt like you've been given the best thing in the world only to have it torn away -- painfully -- before in your life, multiply that feeling, that feeling of injustice and betrayal and disappointment and bitterness and anger, multiply it by ten, by one hundred, by one thousand, and maybe you'll be close to knowing a shade of what I was going through at that moment. That devastation, that feeling of abandonment ... I never even knew that a human would be able to feel that, to feel something so infinite and cold and still survive.

The doctors and nurses made no move to stop me, only stood there awkwardly as they listened to me. My mother tried to pry the baby from me once or twice, but I only shouted unintelligibly at her and wrenched my arms away, insistent that I keep him, that if I just hug him for a bit longer then I'm sure he'll come back. I'll just stay here. I'll just stay here forever if I have to. Forever is nothing.

And I cried.

I cried and I cried. And I cried some more. That's just all I could do. That's all I could manage. I just sat in that hospital bed and sobbed out a sea, rocking back and forth with the baby held against my chest and feeling him grow colder and colder.

I wasn't really crying because I felt like my time was wasted. I was crying because I would give all my time in the world. I wasn't really crying because I was mad at myself. I was crying because I was mad at everything. I wasn't really crying because I felt like no one loved me. I was crying because for the first time I felt like someone really did love me. Unconditionally. And I was going to give it all back. I was going to shower them in love. Everyday. All the time. Always. And all of those fantasies, all of those days I had spent in my room reading all of those silly little pregnancy books and imagining holding him, feeding him, going to school and pounding my head into the desk because it was so annoying and coming home to kiss my mom on the cheek for being so awesome and holding my baby and acting like this was all I'd ever need because it was true, that I would do the entire day over and over again to just see him a few times a day, that I'd do anything to just see him once, that I knew it was all for him and one day he'd grow up and I'd watch him be an annoying little brat and try and back talk me and I'd remember when he was such a sweet little boy and before I knew it he'd be moving out of the house and I find myself missing all of the frustrating puberty years and I'd grow old and he'd wonder when I got all of those wrinkles and suddenly he'd be married and be having a proper family because I'd be very careful to tell him about all of my mistakes and how I didn't regret having him but I do regret my lack of responsibility -- all of those memories I was going to make were just killed. They died along with this little scrap in my arms and I was never going to get them. I was never going to see them or get them back and just thinking about them made me cry harder.

Because for the first time, I had been loved.

This also took me way longer than it should've. Gah, I'm sorry, Bristle! I was waiting for my muse to really kick in before I tried this one out because this would be such a foreign experience for me.
Okay, just so you know, I've never been pregnant in my life, so I have no idea if this is accurate or not. Or like, how accurate it might be. That's why I skipped around a lot, and it also would've been way to long if I made the story cover all nine months of pregnancy.
Anyways. This story is deathly depressing. You'll notice a lot of run on sentences at the very end. Those were actually on purpose, if you didn't catch that. Andie is so devastated that her thoughts are kind of running into each other and jostling around while she's grieving. It's coming out all in a rush and she's not quite sure how to ... like ... process it.
I don't know. I was trying to rush in the last moments because I was trying to give that sort of rushed feel, you know? Kind of like a scattered feeling like "what the heck's going on", but in Andie's mind it all makes perfect sense.

requested by bristle. I'm so sorry I took so long! ><

[eden .]

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WARNING: contains mature themes that may not be suitable for all ages. I'd probably rate this as OT [ older teen, 16+ ], but since it is CS, I had to censor/tone down some things. but anyways. you can't say I didn't have this fancy little warning thing here. after that ... well.

He could feel the victim convulse, his body twitching and his throat making this horrible gurgling noise, this garbled version of a desperate plea for salvation.

Good luck.

Shaking in anticipation, the perpetrator dug his fingers in a little more just because he could. He could actually feel the warm, sticky blood, the soft tissue of the intestines and the ripples going through the man's body as he struggled. The perpetrator could feel every thrum of the heart as it vibrated through the body. The perpetrator could smell the sweet smell of the blood and could almost taste its rusted flavor. The perpetrator could feel heat rush through his body, his cheeks flushing and his chest and shoulders heaving as he panted, his mouth opening a little as he swiped his lips with his tongue. With a preparatory gulp, the perpetrator tightened his grip and gave a giant heave with his arm.

What came bursting out from the victim's abdomen was not an intestine or an organ [although there were profuse amounts of blood at the force of the perpetrator's yank that splattered all over the very expensive floor]. What came out was a silvery, almost translucent something that was tinged with a sickly yellow shade, the tendrils spreading around like blood veins in an arm. The perpetrator's fingers were dug so far into its surface that the fingers could be seen inside of it, poking into its end as he continued to pull at a consistent force. The opaque thing was stretched out like foggy putty, the shape becoming thinner at the center before widening out the closer to the victim's yawning stomach it got, the end of it disappearing into the bloody mess of insides. It trembled with the tension of the perpetrator's strength, desperate to hang on, to stay with the victim, but with a disgusting sucking noise, the end in the man's stomach snapped out. It was a bit like a rubber band whose energy was being released after being stretched out too long, the crack short and disruptive in the otherwise dark and silent room.

Well, almost silent. The victim was kind of still making these kind of wet little whimpering noises.

The silvery blob was beginning to struggle in the perpetrator's uncomfortable grip, seeking to return to its original owner. It squirmed and rippled and at one point it made small tentacles in protest as the perpetrator began to unceremoniously shove it into a glass jar. He swore if it had a voice box it'd be squealing or something. Jesus, these things just don't give up.

The struggle to get it into the jar was over, and the perpetrator rolled off the victim, who was now definitely dead [or just about to be, at the very least], and lied beside him on the plush floor, feeling the little threads ticking his ear. He stared up at the dark ceiling for a moment, letting himself relax, before glancing at the blank expression of his victim and bursting into quiet tears. He hated it. He hated all of this. It wasn't that he was sorry that he'd killed the guy. He'd gotten over murdering people a long time ago. He was just disappointed that it was over, that the rush was gone and he was left alone to do absolutely nothing with his time. Nothing ever really gave him the same high as feeling the life beginning to ebb away from someone, feeling them convulse underneath him as he pinned them to the floor, feeling that power, that control, knowing that he could take away life as easily as God had given it. It was like he was a god himself.

Not that he had started out like that. It was more of an acquired taste, if you wanted to make an analogy. It's kind of like coffee. When you're a kid you dump a ton of sugar into it. When you're in college you just take it straight black because you kind of don't have time to make it all sugary and you really need that caffeine boost. You learned to like it because the alternative was too inconvenient.

Yeah. Inconvenient.

Anyways, once all of it was over, he wouldn't need to do this anymore. He would have other things to occupy him.

Shaking himself out, the momentary tears dried up on command and the perpetrator rose from his lying position to put a hand on his large sports bag, where he could feel the many jars he'd collected over the last few days. This should be enough. This should be fine.

With a new sense of anticipation and excitement, the perpetrator jumped to his feet, feeling giddy. Grinning, he began to stride towards the door and pushed it open, walking into the damp and heavy August night air before giving a loud "WOOP" and jumping, punching the air. He has enough. He'd be able to finish, today.

It was somewhat anticlimactic that today was just like all the other days. When he first started, he was sure that today -- this last day -- would be special somehow. That he would wake up that morning and sense that it was going to be an incredible, fulfilling day. All his movements would be charged with energy, the sky would be clear and bright, and everything would go right for him. Something, something would tell him that today was the day.

It was just the opposite. Today he had been late for work -- again -- and skipped over breakfast, instead seizing a banana before he raced out the door and clambered into his car. The sky was gray, cloudy, and basically was as dreary and bland as ever. His boss gave him a nice lecture before he went back to filing papers. Got a few paper cuts. Had some lunch -- in his office, again. He never ate with his colleagues, their mundane conversation and incessant whining drove him up a wall. It was the usual sort of day.

But now. Now. He let out another cackle out of sheer excitement, his jubilation infecting his step, his posture, everything, as he practically skipped over to his car. Doing a little jig with his legs upon opening up the driver door, he threw the sports bag into the passenger seat before getting in himself and starting up the engine. Oh, this was so exciting. How else was he supposed to describe it? He'd never be happier in his life.

Humming to himself, he tapped out a random rhythm on the steering wheel as he drove through the abandoned streets. Well, it was pretty late. Not a lot of people were out at four in the morning. At least it made it easier to drive around. Still, he was prudent to stay well within the speed limits and stopped at the red lights. No sense in getting into trouble or an accident because of bad driving skills. How was that for a way to go? Ha, ha.

The drive seemed to drag on forever, which he completely understood, since he was so excited, but that didn't really make the trip better. He nearly crashed right out the window when he arrived home, stopping only to seize the bag, the jars inside clattering against one another. Thankfully, he actually did have the sense to stop and open the car door like a sane person, but it took a lot of self control.

Like. A lot.

He burst into his apartment, not caring if he woke up the entire building, and went up the stairs two at a time [the place didn't have its own elevator]. Why he wanted to be on the very top floor was a mystery to him. It just took him that much longer to get to his home and shove the key in the lock before stumbling in and slamming the door behind him with a bang. Distantly, he heard someone shouting something about telling the motherf-ck-ng -ssh-l- to shut the f-ck up because normal people are actually trying to f-ck-ng sleep.

Yeah, whatever. He leaped through the living room, knocking over some vases and kicking aside dog as he went, ignoring its high pitched whine with a slight pang. Sorry, Balto! He'll get to you soon. He's just so excited right now. Forgive him!

Kicking open the door, he entered the extra room that was essentially empty, the walls stripped of wallpaper and the wood flooring scratched, faded, and falling into disuse and neglect. Along the floor, painstakingly dripped on after hours and hours of nights and days, was the wax outline of a circle with a star within it [more commonly known as the pentagram]. Along the points where the vertexes of the star met the edge of the circle were five separate, perfectly spherical jars placed in a fitted base where the glass sat perfectly. Inside four of these glasses were two blobs similar to the ones in his bag, circling and knocking against the glass in agitation. Because of the time that had passed, their previous opacity had darkened to a rotting black color, the colors that had been there when they were fresh practically neon against their darker backdrop. The fifth point at the top spike of the star had its own glass sphere, which was empty. In the center, suspended by some unknown force, was a man almost completely naked except for the bed sheet that was tied around his waist [which had been placed on him later, out of common decency, you understand], the arms eagle spread, wrists ringed with a poison-purple circle throbbing as if with a heartbeat. The feet, poking out from the end of the white sheet, where over one another, the ankles bound together by a similar, single purple anklet. The man was limp, seemingly lifeless ... basically, totally dead.

No, like, actually. He was dead.

Sweating now, the only one that was actually alive in the room scuttled around, taking out his jars and carefully depositing a new blob into each glass sphere. The other two in each sphere sluggishly swirled around while the newer, third one whipped about, tried to escape, butted against the walls of its cage. Yeah, you do that, bro.

At the fifth, empty sphere, the man placed the last blob he had in his bag before rubbing his hands together. Okay, let's make sure he got it right. The star was all fine, and so was the ring. He'd measured it out with painstaking specificity. And four of the jars had three souls in them, and this one that he was standing at was one.

Oh, what's that? Souls? Oh, yeah, those blobs are kind of the souls of the person.

Yeah, kind of lame, right? He was disappointed when he saw a soul for the first time, too. He figured it would be more...

What, shiny? Pretty? Not blobby?

Clapping once and satisfied that all the preparations had been made appropriately, he departed to the kitchen, where he grabbed a lighter and the gasoline underneath his sink, along with a brush that was supposed to be used for spreading sauce or something. Whatever. He rushed back into the first room and began dunking the brush into the gasoline before painting over the wax meticulously with the stuff. The acrid smell wafted up his nose, but he ignored the uncomfortable feeling. He had to finish this today or he'd go insane. Like, he couldn't put this off any more, that's how impatient he was, now.

Finally done, he went back to the gasoline can and evenly dumped the remaining contents into the glass spheres, taking care not to let the blobs out, before shutting them again. Okay, he should be ready.

Taking the lighter, he went to one of the balls with three souls and lit the contents alight. The blobs silently writhed as they felt the heat of the fire, but he paid it no mind, continuing on to the next one and setting that one on fire, as well. It was in this way that he continued, leaving the glass container with the single soul for last -- as per the ritual. With that last one burning in a satisfactory manner, he touched the lighter to the wax circle and watched as the entire pentagon rose up in flames.

Now that there was more heat and the ritual was taking place, the glass began to melt. Well, that was okay. That was supposed to happen. In reality, he was mostly paying attention to the guy that was floating in the air, who seemed to give no indication that he was rousing.

The room was filling with an ungodly stench, the blobs beginning to crawl out and flop onto the floor only to burn away into ... well, he wasn't quite sure what it was. He didn't even know souls could burn. He was just following what he was told.

He must've sat there for eons, huddling in the corner and staring at the corpse, the fire making him sweat and the fear and terror that it wasn't going to work making him tremble. Dear God, it didn't work. He must've messed up somewhere. There must've been some mistake --

And the flames went out. Boom. Just like that. One minute they were alight, he blinked, and then they were gone.

The lights in the room had shut off as well, which he thought was kind of cliche. But oh well. The flames going out was a good sign, he knew. He shifted a little, breathing heavily. Come on. Come on.

The body gave a twitch.

Yes. Yes! That was it. That was the fighter he knew. He rose from his crouched position, leaning against the wall for support as a full on spasm overcame the corpse. It jerked, it writhed, it vibrated and trembled and looked like it was going through some sort of seizure or attack before falling more limp then ever. Then, with a echoing, empty howl that seemed to rock the entire building, gray, clouded masses shot straight for the body, pouring into its mouth, its eyes, its nostrils, going on forever and ever like some sort of deathly stream before that too, ceased.

And everything was still.

And then the corpse flopped onto the floor, the bounds around its wrists and ankles forgotten.

That was kind of anticlimactic, too.

Sighing, the man stepped forward, wondering if it worked at all. He admittedly wasn't sure of the specifics of what would happen. He kind of winged half of it. But, like, something definitely happened, right?

With a gasp, the body on the floor, shot up, chest heaving, eyes bulging, sweat pouring off his body and his hair sticking to his head.

Oh, so it did work! Cool, excellent. That was good.

"Baine!" the man shouted in glee, bending down to help the other up and clapping him on the back. "You're alright! God, you had me worried. For a second there I thought you were dead!"

"Col?" Baine asked thickly, his throat unused to speaking. He rubbed his eyes, blinked furiously, and rubbed them some more, leaning heavily on Col's shoulder. "What happened?"

"Like, I said, I thought you were dead!" Col laughed. "But of course you weren't. I mean, you aren't. You're here, aren't you?"

"What?" Baine frowned, gaining his senses quickly considering he was just resurrected from the dead. "No, I was sure I was dead. No, I was definitely dead. The bullet wound was right ... " Baine stumbled away from Col, touching his temple and feeling through his matted hair for the bullet hole that he'd put in his skull. Nothing.

"I stitched that up for you," Col said brightly, grinning. "I didn't think you'd want to wake up with something like that. Had to dig out the bullet, though. It was kind of disgusting," Col added, wrinkling his nose before quickly amending, "It's not like I minded, though. It wasn't your fault."

"Not my fault?" Baine repeated incredulously. "Col, I was definitely dead."

"But you aren't," Col pointed out, holding out an expectant hand. "Come on. You must be hungry, right? You've been out for a while."

Baine glanced at the hand but didn't take it, instead looking back at Col. "Col, what did you do?"

"What do you mean?" Col simpered, tilting his head a bit too far to the side. Baine narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

"I swear to God, Col, if you did the resurrection ritual..."

"If I did that, then you would've had to have been dead first," Col said, bobbing down and back up again as he said the word "dead". "Come on, Baine. Seriously? Let's be a bit reasonable here."

"You did, didn't you?" Baine demanded, stepping forward. "Didn't you?"

For a moment it seemed like Col was going to deny it again -- or rather, avoid saying that it was or wasn't him. Scowling, Baine turned around and threw a hand up in the air.

"Damn it, Col! Are you saying you killed people?"

"Only people that were dying already!" Col whined, trying to show Baine that he wasn't some cold hearted murderer. If they were going to die in a day or two, then what was so wrong about shaving off those few days? Not like they were going to do anything.

"Oh, so you did kill people?" Baine shouted, rounding on Col, who felt himself shrink.

"I just thought--"

"Thought" Baine repeated. "Thought? Col, dude, I killed myself. It's called suicide. That means that I don't want to live anymore. What made you think I'd welcome this" -- Baine gestured to his newly reanimated body -- "especially in exchange for lives of others?"

Col opened and closed his mouth for a little bit, feeling like a fish gasping for air. This wasn't how he had imagined this conversation was going to pan out. He was expecting hugs, smiles, thanks, laughs, jokes, happiness.

"I just ... I mean, I missed you --"

"Oh, you missed me?" Baine snorted. "Well, that's fine, I guess. Just kill, what, thirteen people, suck out their souls, and just let me walk around with them inside me for the rest of my life? Whatever. God, why are you so clingy?"

"I'm not clingy!" Col whined, stomping his foot a little.

"Oh, yeah, just followed your older brother everywhere. School, outings, college, work, for God's sake! Why don't you just grow up?" Snarling, Baine whirled around again, striding out the door and kicking random things to vent his anger. "What made you think I wanted to come back? Why did you think I'd be happy? You thought I'd be happy to see your face again? Huh? Well, I'm not, so you might as well kill me again because if you don't I sure as hell will!"

For a moment Col was dumbstruck. Why was his brother so agitated? Wouldn't most people appreciate being brought back to life?

Col followed after Baine in a daze, putting a hand on the door frame and asking pitifully, "So Baine ... you don't like me at all for what I did?"

"Of course I don't!" Baine scoffed over his shoulder.

"And...you want to die?"

"Yeah, well, being suicidal, committing suicide, then coming back to life knowing that you've just been exchanged for thirteen other lives isn't exactly uplifting," Baine drawled out brutally, rolling his head around and pirouetting to widen his eyes at Col in a patronizing way.

"...I see."

♣ ----♣---- ♣

The sun shone through the windows as it reached its apex, momentarily blinding Col as he was roused from his sleep. Shaking himself, he blinked and took in a deep sigh, running a hand through his hair. Looked like he was going to be late for work. Again.

He took a moment to take in his surroundings, still a bit groggy from last night and not really remembering the exact details before he fell asleep, he'd been that bushed. It looked like he was sitting comfortably on his couch, legs stretched out onto the coffee table in front of him and his right arm draped across and over the couch's. No wonder he felt so stiff. He cracked his neck and rolled it around, trying to stretch out some of the kinks.

In due time, Balto meekly padded over, stubby tail between his legs as he tentatively began to lick Col's right hand fingers. Smiling a little, Col murmured, "Oh, yeah, I guess I kind of forgot to feed you last night, huh? Sorry, boy. I got kind of distracted."

With another, hefty sigh, Col got up and grimaced as his back cracked a little. Wow, he'd really slept on that wrong. He bent backwards a bit, getting a few more cracks, which was oddly satisfying.

Balto, in other news, was whining at Col's feet, now licking his toes and the ends of his pants. Col laughed. "Okay, okay. Be patient." Shaking his head, Col went over to the kitchen, scooping out some dog pellets for Balto and watching the dog race over to the bowl and hungrily gobble up the food. What a nice life. Chuckling, Col headed over to the bathroom to get ready for the new, boring, plain old day, stepping into the shower to begin to scrub off the drying, crusted blood from last night's squabble. Maybe Baine was happy with Col, now that he'd granted his wish.

Col certainly hoped so.

Okay, so, I guess the ending of this was kind of rushed.
To be honest, this song was actually a huge challenge for me. I wasn't quite sure how I should really depict a concept for it. I listened to it tons of times before I actually settled on an idea, much less a plot. And then this story happened, and I was like "FFFFFFSFFWWWWWWFSSSSSS HOW TO EXPLAIN". Anyways, if you listen to the song it'll [hopefully] make way more sense, although the Satanic ritual and stuff was all kind of incidental.
I was really unsure of how to go about this. IDK MAN IDK.
ALDKFJALJFLAF;LKAJ;SD
so kudos to Smamm for picking a really challenging song! no, seriously, I got stretched on this one. I was like "wat do". Even now I'm pretty sure I didn't explain some things enough. augh, god, halp.
anyways, yeah, so, fun fact: "Col" essentially means "black" [specifically, "Coal" or "Dark-Featured"] -- FALLING INSIDE THE BLACK, Y'ALL -- and "Baine" means "White" or "Fair". I was debating switching it around so the serial killer was "White" and the guy resurrected was "Black", but whatever.
Another fun fact: while the total of the spirits used was 13, the actual pattern was 3 + 3 [6] on one side of the top point of the star, which had 1 soul, and another 6 on the other side: 616, which was the old [and widely accepted INCORRECT translation, although some scholars would argue otherwise] translation of the numbers of the beast in revelations, now being 666.
Yeah, I did some research.
I'M NOT A SATANIC WORSHIPER GUYS.
I THOUGHT I'D GET THAT OUT THERE.
I'M DEFINITELY IN A SATANIC CULT I SWEAR.
LIKE SERIOUSLY
I'M NOT
OKAY

requested by smamm. I'm so sorry I took so long! ><

[anchor QUITTING]

do you think you could do moments by one direction? i don't know i you're a fan or not, and if you're not, could you just skim over the lyrics and judge off that, not the fact that it's by one direction? thanks. :3
by the way, i love your writing style; you're an amazing author. maybe you'll even be published one day!

[eden .]

wow I'm surprised you found this thread XD
I'm currently being a jerk and doing slow work on another request, but as soon as I finish, I'll do yours c:
I'm not a huge fan, but I think I'll survive XD

OMG THANK YOU SO MUCH YOU'RE TOO KIND JUST STOP.
I'm glad you enjoyed the stories c:

[anchor QUITTING]

thanks for that. :3

[eden .]

hi guys!
sorry, no update yet. I've been swamped with stuff. x.x

however, I did write a short story for a writing contest. I know a lot of you might've voted already, but I'm hoping that I could get a few more! the top ten most voted will have to opportunity to be judged, and the winner gets 1000 dollars and a reading by an editor.
so yeah. huge deal.
you do have to make an account, but it's safe.
if you want to check out my story, it's here.
to be comfortably in the top 10, I want at least 200 votes. that's not really a large number. the two leading have over 400 votes, and the top 4 over 300. |:

anyways! any help would be awesome. thanks!

[king_bear]

Well, I truly have no idea either if you like this kind of music or not, but, if you've got some time to spend, could you try to base a story off Frozen, written by Delain, or maybe Bittersweet by Within Temptation?
That would be awesome <33

I love your writing, I haven't read everything, but it's good. Better than mine, however xP