Brutal Precious

“Alright, I think I feel sleep coming on. Going on, actually. I’m sleepwalking right now. You’re talking to a not-awake person. Ooooh!” She makes a creepy noise and then coughs. “Uh. Right. So. I’ll see you around, James Bond. Try not to shoot anyone you don’t have to. Shit hurts.”

“I could walk you to your dorm, if you’d like.”

“Nah, I’ll be fine. Ears like a hawk. Except hawks don’t have ears. Do they? I dunno! That’s why I’m in college. Goodnight.”

Isis leaves, and I remember, with painful regret, what it’s like to be cold again.

-9-

3 Years

50 Weeks

0 Days

People are way too dramatic all the time.

Just look at Hollywood – there’s drama around every corner. And kale. Hollywood really loves kale. And like, babies. God forbid science ever makes a baby out of kale within five hundred miles of Los Angeles, because then it will be war, with Gucci guns and heavily armed limo drivers and I would put all my betting money on Vin Diesel and The Rock, who would obviously team up and become the ultimate kale-baby rescue team, with me as their outfit coordinator slash witty sidekick.

“Isis, I feel the need to inform you you’re being weird out loud again,” Diana says, picking a daisy and putting it in my hair.

“Having friends who love you for who you are must be so cool,” I muse. Diana laugh and picks another daisy, weaving together a chain.

“I’m just glad you’re talking to yourself again. You seemed kind of down the last few weeks. Even Yvette noticed it.”

“No,” I act shocked. “Our very own block-headed, emotionally-stunted goth grump? Noticing how I feel? Preposterous.”

“You haven’t been eating.”

“Debatable. Some very enlightened yoginis consider air food.”

“You stay up all night.”

“Studying! For mid-term!” I protest. “Unlike you, some of us have to prepare to get our asses kicked.”

“And you’ve been hanging around with –” Diana frowns. “Well, with people who don’t really seem your type.”

“Oh pish posh,” I wave. “Ryan’s a perfectly nice guy.”

She stares at me expectantly. I throw my hands up.

“And John, and Tyler, and Kieran, and Erik! They’re all nice guys!”

“Nice guys you’ve been making out with.”

“Can you blame me?” I ask. “I mean, seriously, can you? Have you even seen John’s abs? And Kieran’s Ducati? A freakin’ Ducati,” I lean in and whisper seductively. “Duuuucaaattiiii.”

Diana frowns. “I just thought…what happened to that guy Yvette told me about? Model McFarter, or something. The one we saw you talking with at the concert?”

“Who?” I ask airily, inspecting my fingernails.

“You know who,” She glowers. “Dark blonde, really neat blue eyes, tall. Made you laugh.”

“I had a flu in my throat,” I correct. “That was coughing, not laughing. Remind me to never take you to comedy club.”

Diana sighs, and puts the finished daisy crown on my head. “We’re just worried, that’s all. You’ve done a total one-eighty, and it’s…it’s just scary. I mean, if you like going to the frat parties and making out with a new guy every night, be my guest. More power to you, girl. But…”

I smile and slap her back. “It’s nice of you to be worried about me. But look at me! I’m a big girl. I’m huge. I can take care of myself.”

Diana knits her pretty lips together, but before she can say anything Yvette comes up from behind her and pounces, wrapping her arms around Diana’s shoulders.

“Surprise, motherfuckers!” Yvette crows, then looks around to make sure no one is watching before pecking Diana on the cheek. “Hi, sweet thing.”

Diana flushes. “Hey, you.”

I keel over in the grass. Yvette sniffs under her armpits.

“I don’t smell that bad, do I?”

“I’m dead,” I rasp hoarsely. “From the cuteness.”

Yvette goes red. “Shut up! You wouldn’t know cute if it bit you on the ass!”

“It’s true.” I laugh. “I’m not all that cute!”

Diana frowns. “You are plenty cute.”

“Well,” I fluff my hair. “We’ll let the ladies and gentlemen at the Phi Omega house tonight decide that.”

“You’re going to another party tonight?” Yvette sighs. “Shit. Remember to be safe, dumbass.”

“Remember to eat my ass.” I pause thoughtfully. “I take that back. I’m not into that. I don’t even actually know what I’m into yet! But I’m pretty sure eating poop is not one of the things I will be into in the foreseeable future.” I see Yvette glaring and throw my hands up. “Okay! Okay. I’ll be safe. I promise.”

Hanging with Yvette and Diana is fun, but there always comes a part where they stare into each other’s eyes a little too long, or their fingers lace together too tightly, and I instinctively know I should leave. So I make a little excuse about getting ready for the party, and wave as I head for my dorm. They are obviously in love. Even Yvette’s paranoia at being found out doesn’t stop them from being publicly and purely in love. Diana seems less paranoid, but is careful just for Yvette’s sake. It’s cute and a little gag-worthy but most of all, painful to watch. Every second I watch them touch is every second further the darkness drills into my head. No one will ever look at me like that. No one will feel that deeply for me. No one will treat me that tenderly. No one will ever love me like that.

Ugly.

Ugly ugly ugly.

Not even Jack.

Not even the boy who got the closest, the farthest through my bitter shell. Not even the boy who stood in the doorway of my heart could bring himself to take that last step.

Something made him turn back. Something in me. Something wrong within me. And I’ll never know what it is, because I can never ask him. I don’t even see him often, anymore. I catch glimpses of his face in the hall but that’s all I permit myself to look at, and for mere seconds. Anything else is dangerous. Anything longer would mean a closet, and quiet, and tears, and more darkness, more holes I tear in myself so the darkness can crawl inside and live there like it always has.

My mirror makes me look a little taller. It also makes me look like I’m about to cry, and I really don’t need that again. I put a smile on instead and rummage through my closet. I pick a black skirt and long black socks. My fingers glance over the pink blouse, and I pull back like it’s lava.

The memories are the worst part.

Jack’s smile, his voice saying I was beautiful, the way he wrapped his arms around me in his bed, his breath on my neck. His smell, mint and honey. His rare, sonorous laughter. Our conversations, our fights, our kisses, the way his hand grabbed mine under the fountain water for the last time –

I swallow nausea and bury the blouse under a hoodie. I pull on a slinky red shirt instead, and brush out my hair.

He came so close.

But in the end, he ran away. Like they all do.

I pucker my lips, applying pink gloss. It’s my fault, really. I was stupid for thinking Jack was different from any other guy in the world. They want things that are easy. They want girls who are cute and fun and experienced. None of this angry, bitter, sarcastic, virginal nonsense. Who I used to be was just too much work for Jack – for anyone! I don’t blame him at all for turning tail. I certainly wouldn’t want to be faced with the daunting task of loving someone that difficult.