Cherish could think of one benefit which arriving to school on the back of Harper's bicycle afforded her- no Ari to beat her into submission with hair ties and makeup. Then again, that was the only benefit and when Harper stopped pedaling, she dropped off the bike dramatically, hugging the ground in relief.  "I wish I had a car," Harper muttered moodily, rubbing his shoulder as he locked up his bike and then walked into the school.

"Well, I'm sorry!" Cherish replied, indignant, "but you are so the worst driver around! I wouldn't get into a car with you if you were in the passenger seat!"

"Ha. Ha." Scowling, he examined the bright red marks left on his shoulders, as a result of Cherish's death grip. "If you had tied up your hair, maybe I would have been able to see something!"

"Aww, does wittle Harper need someone to kiss his booboo better? I could go find Ari, if you want!"  Seeing the blush creep across his face, she laughed, evading the playful punch he threw in her direction.

But, it was Harper's turn to laugh when Cherish jumped right into the arms of a tall lanky guy with well coifed black hair, and consequently, Ian.  "Ian! Hey!"

Ian didn't look at them, nor did he reply to Harper's greeting, choosing instead to push forward as if they weren't there.

"What's up with him?" Harper curiously asked the tall guy, who only shrugged.

"See ya around, Harp," he drawled lazily and disappeared into the crowd.

"What'd you say to him yesterday?"

Cherish avoided the accusatory comment, and was slightly bothered that he thought she'd had something to do with it.  "He's very annoying," she rationalized more to herself than Harper.

"What did you say, Rish?"

Cherish pondered for some time, wondering what she should tell him. It wasn't like she was about to spit the truth out to him, that would be much too hard. Instead she took a deep breath, hardened her face and gave him the bluntest answer she could. "I told him not to talk to me because I'm here to learn, not to make friends."

Dumbstruck and gaping like a goldfish, Harper watched Cherish walk away and turn into their History class. When he finally entered the room, he stared at her in disbelief, "Seriously? You said that? You??"

Deliberately ignoring him, Cherish reached into her bag, pulling out a notebook and organizing her pens neatly along the top of the desk. Don't think about it, she warned herself, black pen, blue pen, red pen, now highlighters, blue, purple, pink, orange, yellow...

"You really said that to him? But I thought you would like him! He's just like Le-"

Cherish cut him off, suddenly angered, "Yes. I said that, and I was serious. If I wasn't already friends with you and Deals, I wouldn't be too interested in talking to you to either."

Taken aback and equally as angered as Cherish, Harper left her for a seat at the front of the class, his back stiff with aloofness. Cherish watched him with tears in her eyes; it hurt her just a little to watch him walk away. She was sure one day she would regret it, but for now she blinked the tears away and refused to deal with it all. No one knew why she'd moved here, no one but her father and mother, and now, in a way, some of the kids in her art class.

She had, in fact, liked Ian. She had, in fact, wanted to be his friend. Which was the exact reason she pushed him away. He was a carbon copy of the personality and spirit of her Len; her Len who was gone. Sucking in a shaky breath that threatened to tear her apart she gripped the edges of her desk and trained her eyes on her open textbook, willing her mind to focus on the words. She could do without friends- even without Harper, who had been somewhat a constant in her life- if she had to. Her sole mission right now was to finish school and get the hell out of Toronto.

-.-

Her phone buzzed somewhere on her bed, announcing some sort of message. Cherish looked up from her book to glance at the screen, surprised to see a text from Jeb.

Jeb!

The name echoed painfully in her mind, because no matter what, his name was always followed by Len's. She shoved the thought aside and picked up her phone.

How are you?

Blinking at the words for a while, she was unsure what to say, unsure whether to even reply. That was when she caught sight of his display picture, and tears sprung to her eyes. They were perfectly made up, their hair an amazing feat of pomade and hair glue and their eyes dark with blackout lenses as they smiled into the camera.  They looked so very much alike, more so in this picture than was normal because Cherish's dark tan complexion had been powdered to look pale like Len's.  She remembered that day; Jeb had taken the picture for the catalogue on their website. He had convinced them they needed no models other than themselves, his exact words being,

"No one will ever be able to sell your clothes like you two can!"

And, of course, being them, it didn't take much more than that to turn them into the 'fucktastic' models of ChokeChainHearts. The picture had been taken two years ago, and was a testament to Jeb's genius with a camera, the moment spectacularly captured on a piece of film. It mocked her now with its happiness and laughter; it mocked her in her pain.

Cherish and Len, wide eyed and grinning guiltily while looking up into the camera above them, little fangs delicately denting their bottom lips, a dark red liquid smeared down their chins and throats. It had been Len's idea to dress as vampires for the shoot, and all the models, their "Malice Dolls" had been equally dressed.

While the other dolls were being photographed, the two of them had snuck off with a bottle of tequila, taking turns sucking down the contents of the bottle. She remembered the moment in which Jeb had found them; after sneaking up on them, he held the camera up over their heads and called their attention.

"Hey Jeb!" Len had giggled, dropping the emptied bottle to the floor, pretending she had no idea what it was.

"What are you two doing?"

"Nothing..."

"Wait, is that mine?"

Being caught was not so bad they knew, because all they had to do was look at Jeb in that practiced pouted way of theirs and he would melt.  He snapped another picture of them. "For proof," he had muttered, "proof that you two owe me!"

They had been wearing some of their beautiful creations, but Jeb had cut out the rest of the picture, leaving only their devilish faces. Cherish stared at the screen, angry that Jeb would make her look at the picture of living perfection where there was now only death. Tossing her phone aside, she went back to her textbook. She let herself melt into the monotony of her Biology homework, the redundant work erasing all other thoughts from her mind. It was not long before the buzzing sounded again- repeatedly. Sighing, Cherish slammed shut her books and yanked her phone up again.

We miss you Cherish.

He must have figured she wasn't there, or that she was ignoring him, because she was soon bombarded with messages.

You didn't have to leave.

It wasn't your fault, babe.

We need you, Malice, don't leave us, k?

It wasn't just Jeb, as she had first thought, but all of them, even the ones who had blamed her. And, Good God! Their display pictures! The pain it caused her developed into a large lump in her throat and she gasped for air, her hand balled into a fist, so hard her knuckles were white.

All pictures of their Malice Doll models, namely the Terror Twins, Len and herself- all pictures that bought hot, stinging tears to her eyes. Pictures of Len and herself dancing on stage at a concert- the band had been completely surprised at suddenly having to share the spotlight. Pictures of Len and her kissing with their wide eyes and raised eyebrows teasing the photographer. Pictures of Len and herself among the other girls, posing randomly as they advertised their clothes. Pictures that made her want to smash her phone onto the table repeatedly and then fling it out the window. As she read the messages, she took in their altered usernames too, finding her anger rise with each new blip.

Love you bitches says: come back, Cherry

Sleep peaceful Hellene says: are you doing okay?

Cherry Helle forever says: how have you been?

Lost my Malice Dolls says: I love you Cherish, don't forget that.

Death took the Terror Twins says: I can't lose you too, Rish.

Every single one of the names had a "R.I.P. T.T." at the end of it, and Cherish felt herself growling. She was not dead! She was not dead, at least, not yet, and they were already telling her to rest in peace! How dare they diminish Len's memory? In a rush of hatred towards them all she blindly tapped out two words, poking the keys hard, infuriated.

Fuck you.

-.-

She was content to avoid people all day, being in a lousy mood from a horrible sleep the night before. But when Ari wanted her to join for lunch again, she conceded, somewhat defeated. Harper didn't look at her, turning the volume of his music higher as he poured into a textbook. 

"He's got some test, I think," Delia offered between sips of her drink which she then held out to Cherish, "Want some?"

"No thanks."

"You know, Ari's right, you do look like a car mechanic. Is that all you have in your closet?"

She cracked a grin at the comment, allowing herself to see the humour in it. She and Len had spent too much of their time in the garage that Jeb had worked at since he was 15.  "But, Deals, didn't you know I am a car mechanic?"

"Sitting around in a garage while you watch all your guy friends fix cars doesn't count."

"I never sat around and watched- I did stuff!"

Her words must have been louder than she thought, because it caught the attention of one of Ari's friends. "Like what?" he asked, waggling an eyebrow at her, "Will you do stuff to me?"

Cherish's brow furrowed in annoyance and her lip curled in disgust; this was why she hated most guys. The beginning of a shiver started to run along her back, but was quickly replaced by startled amusement at her sister's reaction. She watched as Ari stood and thunked him on the head with her lunch tray repeatedly, accenting her words with the plastic thwacks.  "Don't. you. ever. talk. to. her. like. that!"

She shook her head at her sister's sudden bout of protectiveness, as she quashed the uneasy feeling that had risen at his words. She turned back to Delia who was laughing outright at the blond pretty boy.  "Anyways. To answer your question, Deals, yes, this is all I have in my closet."

"Mmmph," Delia swallowed her food quickly, "What happened to all those awesome clothes you had? And the CCH stuff?"

"Left it at home."  Her words were matter of fact, no emotion, just a shrug accompanied by a half-ass explanation.

"I did that once- I left all my shit with my friends because I didn't want to move, and so my dad had to keep driving me back to get my things. My parents were pissed! But it was only, like, 30 minutes away, so it wasn't a huge deal or anything. Not like Montreal... So, you didn't really wanna move here, huh?"

"Not my first choice, no." Cherish muttered, but biting back her urge to sound completely rude, she added quickly, "but, hey, at least I've got you guys and I'm not completely lost."

Delia nodded, a wide grin on her face, "So why'd you move again? Your mom, or something like that right? Ari started to say something earlier but then she stopped. I guess she figured you would tell us."

"She's really thoughtful that way." Cherish said, glancing at Ari, knowing full well it would change the subject.

"I know, eh? Your sister's the greatest! I mean some of her friends aren't always very nice, but she's always so..."  The conversation about how cool and nice and great Ari was continued out into the hallways, and in true Delia fashion, the girl was still the only one talking. Not that she noticed.  "You know once, that meathead Stan was bugging me- he took my board and he tossed it into the street, and it got run over, and I didn't have the cash to get a new one and I was so mad and- Oh hey Seven! He's so cute don't you think? What was I saying?"

There followed a strange awkward pause that Delia didn't seem to notice, "Yeah, Seven's cool, I don't know why they call him that, though- I have no clue what his real name is. He's one of Ian's good friends, they're always together, if I didn't know any better, I'd say they were- ... well- you know, but Seven's very into girls, if you know what I mean? Ian's quieter, well not with me, but most people find him annoying, so he doesn't bother. Sometimes though, if he really likes a person, or thinks they're cool, it's almost like he's trying to talk their ears off!"

Cherish paused, embarrassed, and Harper gave her a smug smile. They had reached her English class at the exact moment Delia chose to say those words, and none other than Ian shoved roughly past her to enter the room.  "Oh hey! Ian!"

He turned to look at Delia, his face a slight mix of anger and embarrassment. Cherish could tell he was forcing it as he smiled and waved, "See ya later, k?"

Needless to say, English was more than uncomfortable as people thought Cherish and Ian were friends and left them to sit beside one another. Feeling bad for the rude way she had spoken to him two days ago she looked at him apologetically, unable, though, to bring herself to say anything.

-.-

Art was a class Cherish could spend entire days in, scribbling randomly on paper. She loved the way that she could pick up a pencil or marker and sit in front of a paper and her mind would just take control. Her favourite thing to draw was people; emotions, personalities and secrets. What made a person was the way they dressed and wore their clothes, the way they carried themselves, the way they looked at you, they way their eyes sparkled or glazed. She loved tearing people apart on paper, tearing them down detail by detail, until she had her own copy of them. Sitting in the art room, she listened to Ms. Dalton speak as she doodled absently in the sketchbook in front of her.

"Last class, you guys got a break from the assignment we've been working on because of our new student, but today we continue! Today, we focus on pain, so, you know the drill, I want you all to look up, straight ahead, and draw the person you see."

She flitted over to Cherish to explain; having been two weeks late entering the school Cherish was unaware of the concept behind the class' first project.

"Sorry, Dear, I do understand that this might not be the best subject for you to focus on today, so if you wish, you may focus on something else. What we do is draw the person across from us, or the first person we see, and we try to convey that emotion through them."

Cherish nodded silently and turned her eyes to her page, a scrawling scribble mocked her with its twisted lips and twinkling eyes. She turned the page roughly and looked up, right at Ian's friend Seven. As she hadn't really bothered looking at him in the hallway earlier, she could only assume it was him, though the large tattoo across his collarbone that read "S.E.V.E.N." only confirmed her suspicion. She felt her lips twitching as she resisted the urge to yell something stupid about his tattoo across the room and pressed her pencil to the paper. Glad that it was his reflection in a mirror that she looked at and that she wasn't forced to stare at him, she examined him closely.

He wore all black, though not quite in a trendy way. His button up shirt was close cut to his body, with fine red plaid lines crisscrossing the black fabric. The sleeves were rolled up and the top buttons undone to reveal the top edge of a white tank top. His pants were tight fitting at the top where his shirt was tucked into them, and straight cut down his legs, rolled at the hem where his all black Converse sneakers stuck out. He reminded her of many of her friends back home and she couldn't stop the smile from spreading across her face, though the thought bought with it memories she didn't want.

It didn't take her long to detail his outfit, being something she was used to doing so quickly for her and Len's clothing company project. She was tempted to draw a hat on his head, for no other reason than she wanted to. He wasn't wearing one, of course he wouldn't be, someone who had immaculate hair like his wouldn't put a hat over it. Though close cropped at the sides, along the center of his head, it was longer, like it had been a mohawk once. It was combed back neatly, flat and close to his head, except for the pompadour at the front of his head, perfectly glued into place with pomade.

With his body and outfit done, she settled herself into a comfortable position, leaning onto the desk to begin filling the little details that made him him. His large light eyes were deep set under his heavy brow, and slightly glazed over as he stared at the wall drumming on his sketchbook instead of actually sketching. His nose was long and straight, and his pout prone lips were wide across his kind of square jaw, his chin slightly pointed.

The longer she spent detailing him, the more she found herself thinking he wasn't a bad looking guy- definitely not. He obviously took care of himself, but not for anyone else, as he didn't seem to care that he looked like he was in the wrong place, not to mention decade. She chewed on her lips thoughtfully as she doodled the ink that was etched into him.

Delia said he was very into girls- I could see why girls would be very into him. What kind of girls is he into? Quite obviously not girls who look like they work at a body shop stuck under cars all day!

She caught herself soon, realising that she was wandering from the subject of pain, a subject she should have easily been able to focus on.

He's probably into girls who take good care of themselves, like Ari. Alas, Cherry, you will never have a guy like that!

Ian popped into the mirror beside him, nudging him to attention with a headbutt to the chest and again she realised what she was doing and buried her face into her book.

What the hell am I thinking? I don't need this, not now! And besides he's Ian's friend and Ian hates me, and if Ian hates me, then he will too, so there goes all chance of... Argh!! He's probably a horrid pig anyway.

Slamming her book down, she flipped the cover shut and closed her eyes, leaning her chair back so it rested against the ledge behind her. She brought her knees up and propped her feet on the edge of the desk to hold herself in place, arms folded up behind her head. She remembered all the days Len and she would spend talking about guys, even when Jeb was around.

"Hey what about him? Isn't he hot?"

"What where?"

"Don't look!" Len reprimanded whispering loudly.

"But, Len, how am I supposed to see him if I can't look?"

Len rolled her eyes, as even Jeb laughed at Cherish, shaking his head, "Use your peripheral vision! God, Cherry!"

"Oh fine, but where is he?"

"Behind Jeb."

She focused her eyes on Len and tried hard to see the guy,

Feeling as if she were being watched, Cherish frowned, coming out of her thoughts. It took her a moment to remember that she was in the middle of her art class and in light of the assignment, someone probably was watching her. She quashed her urge to glare around the room threateningly and sank back into her thoughts.

"In the red plaid shirt, he's kinda weak looking if you ask me."

"Cherry!"

"What?" she asked confused.

"That's Jeb!"

"Oh, sorry," she turned to look at Jeb and in doing so caught sight of the guy behind him. Turning to Len with a wide grin she nodded exaggeratedly,  He is SO!"

"You girls!" Jeb pouted, looking at Len in particular, "As if I'm not even here!"

Playfully smacking his arm, she blew a kiss at him, "Whatever, Baby, I know you do this with Iggy and Cash so don't even start with me!"

"You know, she's right, Jeb dearest, I do recall hearing an argument about hot girls the other day, in which your gorgeous girlfriend wasn't once mentioned."

He turned a bright shade of red and gaped at Cherish, "You weren't supposed to mention that!  Bitch, you promised!"

"But, you forget that my loyalties lie elsewhe-"

"Okay class, times up, please set your book down on the main table and we can all have a look."  Ms. Dalton's voice came as a startling surprise, and Cherish let her chair fall forward with a loud bang. Lazily grabbing her book, she opened it and tossed it onto the table as a few other people lay theirs neatly beside their friend's books and talked. Leaning on the edge of her desk, she crossed her arms over her chest and examined all the other drawings.

She wasn't surprised when she saw one of herself, drawn with a dark blue pencil, looking like a half drowned dog, sitting in a ball on the floor while scribbled sheets of rain fell around her. She wasn't surprised to see that beside the first one was another picture of her, carelessly sketched in pencil with the words, "death," scratched into the paper. She figured as much; people would focus on her because of why she'd moved; no shock there.

What did surprise her though, was the picture at the end of the table, another one of her, scrawled roughly in red and black pen ink, laid out in a grave, arms folded over her chest, her hair strewn all about, a small black tear escaping her closed eyes. She looked up, but could see no one proud to admit the work was theirs and so she lowered her gaze and glared at the paper. Soon enough, unable to bear looking at herself in a grave, she moved to look at the other pictures and almost laughed when she saw Seven paused above her book, staring as if in awe at it. He touched the page, too engrossed in it to care who drew it. Absently, he pulled at Ian's sleeve, "Woah, Sev! That's so fucked up man!"

He nodded, too shocked to say anything, his eyes absolutely glued to the picture that had him stretched out and shackled to a table, bleeding from every visible tattoo, his veins bulging out in stress.  "Yeah," he finally muttered and felt around for his book which Ian eventually handed to him, as he was unable still to take his eyes from her picture. When he looked up, his eyes washing over the crowd of people around Cherish's book, she lowered her eyes to examine someone else' picture. Seven struggled with shoving his sketchbook into his bag as he glanced at the drawing one last time, and grinned.

"Fucked."

*The chapter titles are all Rockabilly songs; it is Cherish's favourite kind of music. Title song is by The Quakes.