My heart is getting soft, dark spots on it.
chapter three    𓃦    american teenager.
                    

"You coming to the rave later tonight?" Francis says, hunching forward over the table to ask him. Her hair bounces as she does, a multitude of chokers clinging around her neck and wrist as she sways.

Ajani looks up, hand frozen over food. "What?" It comes out harsher than he means it too but he only looks at her. She doesn't seem to mind it, crossing the table and taking a seat next to him.

The King Dominion cafeteria buzzes with chaos, a cacophony of voices and clattering trays echoing off the high ceilings. Long tables filled with students from various cliques stretch across the room, their chatter and laughter mixing in a symphony of youthful energy.

     The fluorescent lights cast a harsh, artificial glow, reflecting off the dull, linoleum floors and the metallic surfaces of the serving stations. Posters of past students, some now legends or notorious figures, adorn the walls, a constant reminder of the school's dark history.

"The rats—that's what you are right? You're with us," she glees, "I'm Frannie." She holds out a hand gloved by fishnets under her uniform.

"Uh...Jani." He shakes it hesitantly. "I'm sorry, you said a rave?"

"Ye-Yeah, like a massive party with loud music, crazy lights, and everyone just dancing and having a good time," Frannie explains, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "It's kind of underground, not exactly school-sanctioned, if you know what I mean. But it's where we all let loose, forget about this place for a while. You should come!"

Ajani lets his fork go, nods at the other side of the room, curiously asking, "will he be there?"

Frannie follows his gaze to Marcus, lost in a conversation with the others at his table. "Who, Marcus? He's always there, why?"

"He doesn't seem like the rave type."

Francis laughs, shakes her head. "Only God knows what he was doing before here—before us. You should have seen him, he was just..." she lowers her head, suddenly serious. "It wasn't a secret he was willing to do anything to escape living. Bu-But we're proud of him, y'know?"

When Ajani doesn't speak, she clears her throat. "So, have you ever been to one?"

He considers his words before deciding on what he should say, "I've been to a few." He's been to many. He can remember the late nights out in San Francisco with acid keeping him alive as he crams into rank smelling clubs like it was yesterday. Mostly because it really was yesterday. He clears his throat, "and..uh, yeah I'm coming. What's the adress?"

Frannie takes a slip of crumpled line paper from her pocket and fishes in her other for a pen before bending over then down to scribble at address. She hands it to him, grinning. "Then I'll see you then." She stands and walks back to the other side of the cafeteria, leaving him alone at the table.

     Ajani pulls at a stray loc, twisting his finger around his new growth and finding himself satisfied once twisted. He looks at the paper, checking to see if he would know the adress. Harrison street it close to where Alejandre's store is so he could figure out his way. He always has, and he refuses to let the privilege of having a home soften him up anyway.

He slides a piece of meat from the fork and between his teeth before biting into it, groaning at the good taste.  When he looks back up, Marcus is staring back at him, sat on top of the table with a plate propped on his lap. The boy's face twitches and he smiles, all knowing, like he understands something that if Ajani looked far enough with himself, he'd understand too.

     He looks down again, dropping his fork and picking up his plate before dumping it in the nearby trash and walking out of the room.

At three-twenty-four, Ajani is in a fitting room down at the Freperie Rebelle—where Jani usually finds himself picking up clothes at when he has the bucks to do so. The store is grimy, vibrant murals stretching the walls no matter what room and stenciled anarchist symbols along side them.

     In the dressing room alone, political slogans plaster the vibrant deep red walls, honing him in on what is happening of the world.

He undresses, finding it fairly easy to fit on a pair of cheap leather bottoms which he assumes it's because how cheap it is. He turns in the mirror, finding his eyes trailing to that of the curves in his brown hips and hoe they crash down into his torso and then legs.

Ajani doesn't mind the way he looks often; but often times when he stares too long or too hard, he starts to see things that he would hate about himself if he did mind. But when he looks at his face—the face that his body is sewn onto, he always seems to sigh, all knowing.

Ajani tries on a shirt next, the fabric soft against his skin, but the fit is off. It clings in some places and hangs loose in others in a way he finds awful looking. He frowns, adjusting the shirt repeatedly, but nothing seems to make it sit right. The frustration builds, each tug and pull at the fabric a reminder of something he cannot place.

     He pulls it off swiftly, throwing it to the ground before snatching up another. This one is white with cut off sleeves and a heavy punk slogan stenciled across the front. He likes this one better—like it's enough. He removes his clothes and dresses up again, bunching the clothing under his shoulder and walking out into the store.

Alejandre waits for him at the store like he promised he would yesterday evening. He is holding a bag full of Jami's unofficial items that he left at the store for the other to hold while he was in the streets.

"Where you heading?" He says, lifting a brow at Jani's presence. He collapses against the counter like he always does and looks up, smiles. "A rave," he says, "so much shit when down today. I-I mean after I left the cops chased me down an-and then this guy saved me and told me to come with him so I did—"

"Woah, woah, woah. Slow down, Jani. You went with a stranger?! He could have been a psycho!"

I'm a psycho, Ale! He wants to say but instead shakes his head, continuing, "he took me to this school with all these kids and that's where I met Master Lin and—"

Alejandre busts out in fits of laughter, hunching over before walking over from behind the counter. "That's enough, Jani. I got to go pick up my pop's car from the shop and you apparently have a rave to get to," he sneaks behind the other who is still confused and Ajani follows.

"I'm serious, Ale. I mean my uniform is outside on that dumpster over there!" He points out the window and Alejandre follows his gaze. His nose sticks up. "Uniform?"

Ajani doesn't say anything, just sighs and walks past him, plastic bag in hand. "I'll catch you later, probably tomorrow if I can. Afternoon, most likely—"

The other catches Jani's hand, stopping him. He looks up to find Alejandre's gaze firm, without a hint of his usual light hearted expression. "Listen, Jani...Have you gotten yourself into some shady business?" Alejandre's voice is steady, but the concern is evident.

Ajani shakes his head, a small smile playing at his lips though he knows it does not reach his eyes. "No, Ale. I'm just enrolled somewhere. A place for kids like me." His stomach curls in at itself at those words.

     Alejandre lets out a sigh of relief, releasing his grip on Ajani's arm who instantly takes a step forward, grabbing his arm again. "I'm fine—everything is fine. That's what I was trying to tell you!"

"You'd tell me if something was wrong, right?"

     Ajani swallows hard, his throat dry. "Yeah, I would."

Even though Alejandre is nineteen, two years older than the other, he feels that Ale is so much wiser beyond his years; feels that he could go to him in the instant if he needed or ask, which he rarely did but he knew he could which was what mattered.

He smiles, letting him go before stepping out the door, leaving his friend alone in his store. "Bye, bye, see you tomorrow!" This time he does wait for him to respond, and when he does, his usual, warm, teasing tone, Ajani walks down to the dumper, grabs his uniform and head toward Harrison.

𓄚

"Welcomeeee!" Francis, drunk, throws her arms around Ajani as soon as she spots him in the warehouse that smells of booze and sweat. He tenses but excepts it anyway. "Yo," he says, untangling from her before she grabs his hand and drags him off into the crowd.

Bodies in tight fit fishnets, leather and mesh nudge up against him, squeezing him even closer to the girl who holds him firmly until they are in a wider spaced room and he is able to breathe comfortably. Francis eyes dart around before spotting a group of teens dressed similarly if not, more punked out than the others dancing in the background.

When one of them—Cleopatra spots the two, she waves then over. "Cleo! There you are girl I was looking for you," she says, dragging Ajani over who doesn't protest, sighing to himself.

In a glittering mirror behind the redheaded girl, he catches a glimpse of his face. A face caked up by bold eyeliner and a heavy lip line, piercings jabbing out of his uneven skin. His hair is tossed up into spiked buns on either side of his head revealing his overgrown undercut.

He catches glimpse of Francis, lost in conversation to Lex who had Petra around his arm. Something in his flushes—envy maybe. He wants to be like—look like her, have her mannerisms. Francis is cool, spunky.

He is brought back to reality when a hand cups his shoulder and spins him around. A boy, taller than him with a straight nose and spiked up green hair. He grins drunkenly at the boy who scowls, smelling his sour breath. "M-Mah friend... has a... has a quessshion...," he slurs.

Ajani takes his hand off his shoulder, crossing his arms. "Yeah? Well tell your friend to fuck off," he seers, going to walk the other way.

"You...You some kind of...lady boy?" He shouts at the boy who freezes at that word. His body goes rigid—stiff. Throat drying, he turns around, hands balling. Francis and the other rats are already telling the scum to back off but Jani doesn't care. Charging, his hand hooks around the strangers neck before his other cracks him in his jaw.

When the boy curses, he lets go, letting him fall back before crashing into a wall. Wiping the blood from his mouth, he pulls out a switchblade from his demin vest, looking the boy up and down in a raw expression that would, some years ago make the smaller boy's legs go out. But he holds his ground, lips spreading out into a grin. Know, people have gathered in. Closing them into a circle though the music still goes on.

Something hot and violent builds up in Ajani, working up his adman and shaking him to his very core. It spews a comforting heart to his already cold body. "What? Can't take a punch?"

The boy with the spikes bares down his teeth, coming for the other—"you fuckin' fag—" he is pushed back by a foot which connects deep into the crevice of his open chest and kicks him back up against the wall, crumbling him. He winces, dropping the switchblade and letting it skitter across the ground.

Saya stands center of the circle, looking down at the boy with a blank face. She looks up, turns to Ajani, "You okay?"

Startled and disoriented, he doesn't respond. Instead, he backs away, weaving through the crowd and slipping into the next room—the bathroom. Once inside, he shuts the door behind him and stumbles into a grimey yellow stall. When he opens it, he finds a boy crouched on the floor, a Walkman in his ears. The boy jumps at the sight of him.

"Shit! You scared me," the boy exclaims, pulling down his headphones. In the light he can make out a newly familar face. Marcus Lopez staring up at him with those dead eyes. He moves to get up from the floor.

Ajani, trying to stop himself from frustrated tears turns away—away from the other. "Wh-Why are you at a rave if you only come into the bathroom to listen to music?"

Marcus shrugs, standing in front of the boy now, "Francis started convincing me to show," he says. His voice is softer now, boyish without the added roughness of the academy. When Ajani doesn't answer, instead looking down because the tears still flow, Marcus mannerism changes. He seems awkward now which in turn, makes Jani cry with the added stress of embarrassment.

"What's wrong? Did something happen out there?"

"...No," he tries, voice cracking. Ajani doesn't cry in front of people—not even Ale. So for him to break like this in front of a stranger is even more of an issue. He wipes his eyes with his palm, cringing at the silence. "S-Sorry, I'm such a mess," he breathes out, looking even farther away from the boy.

Marcus nods to himself, "do...do you want to sit on the floor and talk?"

Ajani tries his best at a laugh, "hell no, knowing me id probably just cry harder," he jokes. But he knows that he is being serious; that it is a truth only disguised as a joke.

Marcus shoves his hands in his pockets, looking away himself, "maybe that's a good thing, y'know? They say if you let it all out you'd feel better."

"Yeah, well letting it all out hasn't gotten me anywhere in life before so..." he collapses against the wall, shutting his eyes.

He can feel Marcus's eyes on him and his face twitches, trying to pretend his is relaxing himself into a buzz of emptiness.

"Look, I know you're new at the academy—it has to be hard especially with a background like yours. I get it. I-I mean less than two years ago I was homeless too. I understand you," he sputters to which Ajani laughs, getting in Marcus's face with a pointed finger.

"What you get? Yeah, you were homeless, but you ain't nowhere near understanding me, you here? I'm black, queer, and nobody gives two shits about where I'm at. Just out there in the real world you got an advantage, Lopez! I'm not even allowed into certain places to even get a fuckin' meal because of who I am...I..." he goes quiet, twisting away and down to the ground. He rests his head in his lap and exhales. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap like that—"

"No, you're right. One hundred percent. And I should have taken that into consideration," the other cuts off, too sinking down to the ground.

Jani pulls at the bands in his hair, letting his locs fall down before he shakes his head, looking up at Marcus who seems to have a staring problem. He looks away again, clearing his throat. "...so, what happened out there?"

He squares his shoulder, "nothing serious. Got asked if I was a 'lady boy'. Nothing I haven't been asked before. I guess it was the timing of it that got me upset," he says honestly.

"Timing? Were you thinking of something before?"

He thinks back to Francis; of how he'd envied her. How he wanted to be her. "...yeah." His voice is horse. Marcus doesn't answer, only slides his Walkman out from under the stall and puts it in his lap.

Swiftly, he opens the cassette player and reveals the tape inside. "The Smiths: louder than bombs. Great album," he says, passing the tape over to Jani to stick his nose at.

"Yeah, I've heard of them. When I go into stores they play that one song, it goes like 'in a river the color of leaddd'," he sings,

"Ahh, this night has opened up my eyes. Good song," the boy nods, grinning almost goofily.

"Yeah, well I don't listen to them a whole lot," he shrugs, "I listen to cool shit like hmmm..." he thinks of the music he's picked up over the years—in stores, on the streets, even reaching before his tainted past. "Death is pretty good—it's a band. A really fuckin' great band. The creators of rock n' roll."

"First of all, The Smiths are cool, and second, I know who death is," he grumbles, taking his tape back almost dramatically.

"Oh, shitttt. So you do know some good music."

"I don't like how you're insisting The Smiths is bad music," he retorts.

"Oh, dear. Are you getting heated? And besides, I never said they were bad. I knew a song after all!" He pleads, comically.

"So does half of America and all of the United Kingdom!" Marcus rolls his eyes.

     They both laugh then and Ajani falls back again, resting his head against the stall to look at the bathroom ceiling. He feels high with this much emotion over taking him so fast. The envy, and then rage, and then sadness, and now he is laughing. It is like a buzz that is threatening to consume him if he lets it. Like his mind is begging him to stick down to the comfort of it.

"I think somethings really fucked up in my head, Lopez," he mummers, eyes not leaving the ceiling.

     "Isn't that why you're here with us? At the academy?"

He's right, it is why he is there. But it isn't something that he wants to embrace. His doctor, Doctor Magnolia has him diagnosed for all types of shit he doesn't look into. He doesn't have the luxury of getting better, even when granted luxury. Cause where he is now, he will be praised and encouraged to be the way he is. Come broken, leave broken but with a double ended sword.

     "Yeah," he looks down, looking over to Marcus. "I guess so."

Authors note: Jani this chapter 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭:

Word count: 3104; unedited.