𝐋𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐀𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐬

Memories and mistakes lead back to humanity. Shouldn't that mean something? Feverish nights have woken me up, quivering as my own life plagued me in my sleep. There's dream land, and then the land of nightmares. Sometimes they can be worse than real life. In real life, you can get a sense of clarity. Even if running won't fix your problems, you can at least hide for a bit.

In nightmares, you're trapped in the confined space of your mind. It restricts your movements, your thoughts, and stretch of possibility. That's why I say that dreams are worse. Your brain betrays you in these moments. If you try to scream, you go mute. If you try to cry, your tear ducts poof away. If you try to run, your muscles lose power.

All the circuit wiring burns out, and the lights darken. It's strange to see the bizarre creativity the mind can conjure up in your sleep, but never when you're awake.

Horror movies, comedy films, coming of age motion pictures are written out in beautifully revised detail with eccentric thought out plots. But as soon as you wake up, the film tears and the screen fails. Just like that, all memory of it vanishes.

It's worse when you have nightmares about people you have once loved. Because sometimes it curves your perception on them for a while. Even though you can recognize that it's fake, it's curved nevertheless. But what about nightmares when they're just the retelling of a real event? 

Bad memories insist on leaking back in to take the spotlight. So then your view on that person can't be curved anymore when it's already happened, right? The mind can be so insanely cruel. This is the exact type of thing that has a hold on me in this night.

♕︎♕︎♕︎

My eyes slowly peel open late in the night, succumbing to the inevitable plague of cotton mouth and dizziness whirling around. I press a hand into the firm mattress, pushing myself up to grasp free out of the late night haze. I don't know what exactly had awoken me. Maybe a sound or a dream that has already slipped my mind- oh.

The pieces of the puzzle all converge together into the beautiful, tragic image; An image of a boy who drank slushies to give himself brain freezes as an alternative for cutting and cocaine, as ridiculous as that sounds. My droopy eyes drift over the room which is filled to the brim in bluish moonlight. I catch the glimpse of my alarm clock -- only 8:26... oh. I must've fallen asleep after school.

A record scratch flickers through the air from my left. Naturally, I jolt my focus towards the sound as my record player starts emitting that song.

When I was just a little girl,
I asked my mother, what will I be?
Will I be pretty? Will I be rich?
Here's was she said to me.

Able to relax after discovering the source of sound, my confusion heightens for the question of how it began playing on its own.

Que será, será
Whatever will be, will be
The future's not ours to see
Que será, será
What will be, will be

Shaking terribly, I advance towards it to make the music cease, but to my concerned horror, the tune dwindled down on its own. I pause again, and look to the sound of a shuffle from somewhere in the abyss of my room.

A fist of terror clenches my guts and intestines when my eyes carve out three figures standing in the corner with my vision still adjusting to the darkness. Brain fog gone, I zip back against my bed frame with a loud thud, nearly colliding with the back of my head.

"What the fuck..."

My lip curls uncontrollably when shadows emerge from the corner. A heightened fear drips into my stomach like seething acid, threatening to tear my organs apart if I don't jump into action. To no avail, my body sits in stubborn silence, utterly motionless. An ultimate betrayal.

Those things emerge out of the darkness into the blue spotlights from my bedroom windows. I slump forward when a knife of awareness finally stabs me, heaving as if my muscles had been fighting against the restraints of my body the whole time. I'm met with pale faces, whitened eyes, and unforgettable eye bags that are the hue of a bruise.

Heather Chandler. Kurt Kelly. Ram Sweeney.

My body stiffens considerably, but I relax in their unfamiliar presence.

"Heather...?"

Her face is motionless with sagged features like she's been dead for longer than she is. The three of them each lift their left arms, ending at lazily pointed fingers, and trail up to a certain area of the wall behind me. My eyes narrow in uncertainty, but my gaze follows past the direction of their pointed gestures.

I stop at the sight of my window, and when I do, the metallic sound of a ladder being propped against the sill scrapes the air. I feel my body lunging forward, jumping into action for my mind. Like instinct, I automatically lock my window, not bothering to steal a glance below.

Jason Dean is coming.

Think, Veronica, think. My mind spurs, but my thoughts fall short. He wouldn't really be out here to kill me- right??

A memory trickles into my mind - a vision of my body pressed against the closet door with him banging from the other side. Each jolt reverberated through my chest as I held myself there, yelling back at him.

"JD, please. You're drunk!"

To which at the time, he replied, "I'm still sober enough to kill you, darling. Don't push your luck."

Don't push your luck.

Backing away from my window, I squeeze a fist to my lips in deliberation, not minding the ghastly figures no more than a few feet to my right.

My entire body jerks when a sound rakes the air -- an indicator that my record player has started back up. The song resume its cheerful sound to juxtapose this fucking trip.

When I grew up and I fell in love
I asked my sweetheart, what lies ahead?
Will we have rainbows day after day?
Here's what my sweetheart said.

I stare in horror, my feet planting roots into the carpeted ground.

Que será, será
Whatever will be, will be
The future's not ours to see
Que será, será
What will be, will be.

I turn to the ghosts, a newfound helplessness dwelling in some part of me. As a last resort, I raise my brows in a saddened question at Heather as if to convey a message. I didn't want him to give you liquid drain cleaner.

In response, her jaw falls slack. I feel my skin tighten around my body in horror when blue liquid spews from her mouth like a fountain, coating her chin. She'll be coughing up that drain-o for literal eternity.

"I'm sorry," the whisper spills out of my numbed lips. I've gotta be tripping on shrooms. I'm done for. When my mind rests on that admittedly dire conclusion, I am once again perplexed to see them pointing to my bed, just as wordless as before. My brows knit hesitantly, but I still glance to the side with caution. I see my bed sheets, and for some reason, that's all I can focus on.

"What?" My voice is fragile like glass. In response, their dead, empty eyes meander up to the ceiling fan with their pointed fingers. A light bulb flickers on in my brain. He won't kill me if he thinks I'm already dead.

"Holy shit," I whisper, eyes widening like dinner plates. I quickly look back over to face the hallucinations that resulted from my adrenaline. To my dismay, they've already vanished into thin air. Nothing more than a slight fog lingering as a residue of their being. Swallowing down my astonishment, I grab the discarded bed sheets. Let's see how he reacts to a suicide he didn't perform himself.

Now I have children of my own
They ask their mother, what will I be?
Will I be handsome? Will I be rich?
I tell them tenderly

Que será, será
Whatever will be, will be
The future's not ours to see
Que será, será
What will be, will be

My hands go to work, fervently trying to recall how to tie one of these. When people say something goes by in a blur when it's complete chaos, this is what they mean. My window shatters in the nick of time, right after I had dropped down, my neck hanging limply from a noose as my body swayed. Shards twinkle, strewn across my floor to wedge into every crevice and corner of my once pristine room.

"Sorry for coming through the window," Jason Dean's coy voice purrs. "Dreadful etiquette, I know."

He saunters into the room with such a foreboding stature before noticing me, and a silence follows. An unmistakable sigh breaches the air -- the sigh of a chuckle as JD paces, running his fingers through his hair in uncertainty.

Finally settling himself in the center of my rug, he throws his hands up in bewilderment.

"I can't believe you did it," he muttered, sickly astounded by what he walked in on with my body swaying.

"I mean, I loved you." Those words sound more annoyed than anything.

I feel the cold tendrils of fear snaking their way around my throat to cut off my airways at the thought of what he will do next.

"Well- I came up here to kill ya," JD, now officially irritated, taps the barrel of the gun to his palm at the inconvenience. I can't talk. A barrier in my throat keeps the words from breaking through.

"But first, I was gonna try and get you back with my amazing petition!" JD declares, his thin veil of humanity withering away. The sound of him shuffling through his pockets tickles my strained ears. After moments, he pulls out a piece of folded paper.

"It's a shame you can't see what the fellow students of ours really signed," he shakes his head solemnly, holding the fake petition out in front of himself. He slowly descends into madness, talking to a 'dead' body.

"Alright, listen," he inhales, preparing to read what was a facade of his little fake petition about God knows what.

"We, students of Westerburg high, will die." He glances up at me once. "Today, our burning bodies will be the ultimate protest to a society that degrades us."

The moon makes his pale skin glow with a tinge of blue, carving his nose and jaw line as he paces while reciting the letter.

"Fuck you all." He spits the last line spitefully. Chuckling, he looks back up at my body.

"Not very subtle, is it?" He arches an enigmatic brow, impeccably casual for seeing the suicide scene of his ex girlfriend. I answer with whatever his mind convinced him that my body said.

"Yeah, well, neither is blowing up a whole school, I guess." JD folds it back up and shoves it into his trench coat pocket once again.

"Talk about suicide pacts, eh?" He snickers, nudging my frozen leg. Jason laughs harder as I swing back and forth very slowly from the sudden force. Walking away, he does a quick 360 scan around my bedroom to familiarize himself with the surroundings.

"When our school blows up tomorrow, it's gonna be the kind of thing to infect a whole generation!" He takes another beat to let his mind make up my response, and he nods in agreement.

"It's gonna be a Woodstock for the 80's!" He throws his hands up critically, still pacing back and forth. Coming to a halt, he digs in his shirt pocket for a single cigarette, placing it between his lips. He squints at my body in perplexity.

Problem?

"Yeah, but, Veronica..." He breathes heavily as his mind riles him back up. "We could've toasted some marshmallows up together!"

You sick fuck.

"I knew you weren't really cut out for this sort of thing." He stops to think again.

"But! I found your old poetry book," he says casually, like all he just said was idle blabber. The sounds of flipping paper hits my ears. That fucker really does have my notebook.

"It's really cute." There's an inhale from his end before my own poem is read out loud.

"I was alone.
I was a frozen lake
But then you melted me awake
Now you're crying, too.
You're not alone
And when the morning comes
We'll burn away that tear
And raise our city here.
Our love is God."

His eyes look at my swaying body when he concludes the first stanza. I want nothing more than to break free and scream at him in blatant frustration. The true pinnacle of ferocity claws at my heart.

Why are you doing this?

"Veronica, isn't it obvious?"

It's a poem that you're reading too deeply into.

"This all could've been game changing for us!"

Why can't you just be a normal human being??

"We could have had something better than the typical lover romance if you would've cooperated!"

JD throws his hands up with every moment he screams at my body.

It's over, JD. Over.

"I guess our Bonnie and Clyde days are over."

Damn right.

He gazes down at the paper, creasing the edges.

What are you doing now?

I never receive an answer to the unspoken questions, and he simply continues reading like the written words are the Holy Grail, a bible to be taken literally. All it is, is some scribbled words I jotted down in literature class to lighten the burden of feeling bored out of my mind.

"We can start and finish wars
We're what killed the dinosaurs
We're the asteroid that's overdue.
The dinosaurs choked on the dust
They died because God said they must.
The new world needed room for me and you
Because I worship you.
I'd trade my life for yours.
They all will disappear
Then we'll plant our garden here.
Our love is God."

JD drops the poem to the carpet while I keep my tears at bay, unbeknownst to him. My hair curtains over my face.

"Our love... is God, Ronnie." Silence marinates in the pulpy air before an impatient call slices through unexpectedly.

"-- Veronica, dinner!" My mother. She's oblivious to the scene in my bedroom. JD perks up at the sound of her voice.

"What, do you want a written invitation? Come to the dining room, it's your favorite!"

"Shit." Cursing under his breath, JD slips out of the gap where my window used to be, having nothing to close behind himself. Perfectly silent. It's a miracle in itself that he didn't noisily crunch the glass scattered the floor with his shoes.

"Veronica!" My mother is growing more annoyed with my lack of answers. Her stomps up the stairs echo down the hall.

"Veronica, I-" My bedroom door swings open, sucking to the wall like it always does when she storms in.

I've never witnessed someone freeze in place quicker. Devastated, she gasps in shock at the body hanging from the ceiling, the shattered glass, unable to make sense of it all. Gasping a few times, she begins stammering out mindless words. I stay, unsure of whether or not JD is still lingering outside my window.

"I-- I should have just-- I should have just let you take that job at the-- the mall." I can hear her becoming more distraught, and cracks stab through her words. 

"It's just that-- that I was af--afraid of you coming home late at night-- and-- and I-"

I lift my head up suddenly, making my hair flip back out of my very much alive face. She stops mid-sentence with a twisted up expression that I can't quite describe. Ignoring her shell-shocked gape, I strain to reach my arms up, pulling my head out of the noose before untying the safety rope around my waist. Seeing this all unfold in front of her, my mother's face crumbles more and more like her world has come crashing down around her.

I fall down onto the bed with a grunt, breathless from undoing all the knots.

"Hey, mom," I say casually, cocking my head to the side. "Why so tense?"

She stares at me, mouth agape as I stand up and walk past her, kissing her cheek. 

"Is that spaghetti for dinner?" I ask curiously.

♕︎♕︎♕︎

My eyes flutter open, revealing the shelter I made all around me and itchy sand under myself. I was only in my shelter. A mere dream infected my mind while I slept. Groaning in irritation, I hastily rise up and dust the sand off that clings to my skin.

Languid crawls of daylight pull me out of sleep. It leaves me with a lingering sense of dreariness. This morning, I'm greeted by killer stomach pain. It comes in small stabs in my lower abdomen. I groan mentally. God, please don't tell me.

Slowly, I walk outside my shelter. Roger was approaching as I was trying to leave, and stood in the exit, blocking the way out. I probably wasn't as disturbed or even concerned as I should have been.

"Uhhh, hey?" I slink my way past him, my heavy breathing didn't cease as the voices remained in my ears. I bump into a tall mass. Jumping back, I quickly come realize it'd only been Jack standing in front of me.

"Morning, Chickadee." I stare at him blankly. His smirk drops as he notices.

"What's the matter?" A strand of hair gets pushed behind my ear. I shutter through a shaky sigh at his touch, cupping my cheek. Moving away, I stammered, "Nothing." He looks at me questionably.

"Weird dream," I explain shortly and push past him.

He starts jogging to keep up with me. "Well, did you sleep alright?" Jack looks at me in question. Too civil to be normal. The ploy is still being upheld. I shrug nonchalantly.

"I slept all night if that's what you're asking." I fling my blazer over my shoulder -- it's still damp, but good at keeping me cool in the hotter temperatures of the day.

"Did I make you mad or something?" He presses the matter. I swallow hard and turn my head slightly to him. 

"No, Merridew."

"Are you PMSing? Is that what girls do?"

I shoot him a dark glare. "No," I respond, my voice dropping lower. 

"Then who made you mad?"

"You, if you keep continuing," I shot briskly. "I agreed to make out with you on the occasion, not to be your friend." 

"Yeah, because you think you're too good for everything."

"Jack. Have we ever been the most friendly to each other?" I reason. He stops to think.

"No," I continue for him, not allowing him to actually consider anything. 

"Now like I said; leave me alone and stop following me like some desperate puppy. I'll see you if I need you." 

"Don't act like you're not the one looking for the arguments half the time with your uppish self." He hollers indifferently. I throw myself around to look at the impeccably rough looking boy.

"I'm the one looking for arguments?" I practically laugh, a crazed smile tainting my lips. "When have I started a fucking thing??"

"You're starting something right now," Jack gestures to the onlookers beginning to pick up attention. My jaw hangs open as I let out a disbelieving scoff. 

"Then leave me alone??" I countered hypercritically. Barking a groan of frustration, I try to speed off. 

"Why don't you tell me what the hell's wrong with you instead?" Jack calls after me. I am physically unable to let that go unanswered, and my face can't conceal my whirling emotions. I look at him with my mouth hanging open, searching his face for a glint that could prove he's being serious. 

"I think I should be the one asking questions." I lean into my hip. "What's wrong with you?"

He gives me a strange look, and my mind can't tell me if it's him playing dumb or not. Trying to decipher what Jack is thinking is like trying to tell the twins apart.

"Don't look at me like that!" I stamp my foot in place. "Seriously, why are you acting so worried about me all of a sudden? Where is this coming from?"

The air is tepid after yelling at him, and my frustration swells under his neutral expression. I already agreed to this situationship. Is that not enough? The baiting with fake formalities and favors makes it all the more disingenuous. 

"Where's what coming from?" His head tilts to the side innocently. "I asked how you slept. I can't ask how you slept?"

My eye nearly twitches at how fucking stupid he sounds. 

"You never ask me how I am!" I explode.

"Fine, I hope you had a terrible fucking sleep! Is that better?" He throws his hands up. 

"Thank you!" I shriek and turn on my heel.

"God, Veronica!" He laughs. "You are so annoying to be around!"

"Then STOP being around me!" 

I need him to be done playing with me. The constant pestering and insults before the sudden fake kindness- then him trying to make me seem dumb for questioning it. 

I hate him. I fucking hate him. I hate him and his stupid catch questions, and his gaslighting, and his back-and-forth between himself and Roger which always came across as so heavily demeaning. I hate him and his fucking smile. I hate him. Jack Merridew brought out the absolute worst in me.

"Vera, is it because we made out?" He starts chasing after me. "C'mon, we're arguing like a married couple-"

"- Don't say that!" I halt in my tracks, holding up a finger. "Us doing that was supposed to be for fun," I turn my frame to face him, though I'm startled to see how close our chests are. Jack nods in agreement, and crosses his arms.

"Yes, it was supposed to be for fun. You're the only one who's taking it seriously, so what's your deal?" 

"My deal is that I don't like how you're acting suddenly nice!" I retort critically, pinching the bridge of my nose. 

"It was for fun, so please leave these little fake kind gestures out of our mutual agreement, because it feels so forced and out of character. This fake attitude of you being worried about me is fucking stupid."

Jack turns his head slightly. "So you really think that I-"

"- No. I hate you, you hate me, can we please leave it at that?"

"Oh! So you're speaking for me now, huh?" He presumes in contemptuous disregard, laughing, flabbergasted at my response. 

"No. Hell no. I like you."

"Oh, fuck off," I roll my eyes and stroll away. 

"Vera, cut the fucking tantrum and act like the University student you are." 

That makes me laugh, not out of true amusement. Holding up splayed a hand as if it will lead me to a comprehensive thought, I can only widen my eyes in complete denial of this whole interaction. 

"You're insane!" 

Am I seriously some game to him? What is he getting out of this? Like actually, what?? 

"What, did you make a bet with Roger or something?"

Jack visibly pauses as his face contorts in complete bewilderment.

"Did I what??" His exclamation actually sounds genuine, though it's not any more convincing.

"Can we just do 'this' without being fake to each other?" I refer to the mutual agreement.

"My God, just say what's wrong with you." Jack grabs my elbow.

"I'm just--" My eyes squeeze shut as I massage my temples. "--trying to adjust to this."

He stands and watches me, waiting for me to say something else. My throat feels full of spiderwebs, and the sun persists to beat down on my scalp. Swallowing the dryness, I reluctantly let out a breath and looked him in the eye. The prospect of him wanting to be genuinely nice now seems incomprehensible. Nothing feels real. 

"I don't know, Jack," I motion exhaustively, and try to tie my hair back. 

"It's just too much right now, and for you to suddenly act like this is just-" I cut off my own words with a groan as my hair got caught around the scrunchie. I yank the hair tie out of my hair before attempting again.

I'm left inwardly seething with my confusion over Jack coupled with the heat that's tightening around my skin, making the droplets of sweat drip tauntingly. It edges the annoyance evermore as Jack maintains a blank stare.

"I just want to keep these little out-of-character gestures out of our situationship thing."

Right when I think I've successfully tied my hair back, I feel my nerves twitch at the realization that I left out an entire strand of hair at the nape of my neck. Cursing, I rip the scrunchie from my ponytail again. Jack's blank expression is progressively growing more amused.

"And now can't get my stupid fucking hair to cooperate." My chest feels ready to explode with wildfire of frustration gripping me.

"You need some help there?"

"No." I shot, utterly irritated now. Jack doesn't let me make another pathetic attempt of pulling my hair back when he took the scrunchie from my hand.

"What are you-"

"Sit down." He cuts me off.

"No, I can do it myself!" I snatch it back from him.

Jack rolls his eyes, and firmly grabbed my shoulders. In a swift motion, he spun me around and forced me to sit down on a rock with a harsh plop. Reluctantly, I keep quiet, thinking through a million curse words.

His arm unexpectedly extends out past my shoulder with an open hand, motioning me to hand him my scrunchie. My brown eyes flicker from my hand to his at the offer. I begrudgingly give it to him and allow him to start pulling my hair back.

The feeling of his fingers gliding through my hair leaves a burning sensation that I'm not familiar with. He did so with ease, not too rough, but not overly gentle, either.

"All done." He taps my shoulder. Embarrassment lingers in my stomach but I stand up anyway.

"Thank you," I force my words out.

"Don't mention it." He answered dryly. So much for leaving out the kind gestures. I speak again pedantically.

"Why must you always torment me with your constant ups and downs?" My vacant tone is utterly leveled, run flattened to the Earth with no inflection of emotion to offer. Jack snickers away, not catching the fact that I'm being dead serious. 

Another moment goes by, both of us standing in silent anticipation. I arch a brow, looking at him questionably. Jack doesn't pick it up, or maybe he does, and is enjoying the prospect of leaving me to stew in painful silence. 

"Kay bye?" I flash my eyes indignantly. What does he want me to do, fall to my knees and applaud? 

"Don't die." The playfulness leaks back into his voice, and I see him flash a wink in my peripheral vision.

"Let's hope I do," I grumble bitterly.

At that, I start walking away to go meet Simon who is tending to Benson, cooling his forehead with a wet cloth. A rush of exhilaration thudded in my chest as I felt Jack's contemplating eyes gluing themselves to the back of my head.

"Hi, Simon," I say softly, and awkwardly shuffle to sit a few feet away due to my slight discomfort with the old man. "Hello," he answers kindly, showing a small smile. I stare at the man as he groaned and coughed.

"His fever isn't letting up," Simon informs, snapping me out of my observations. The guy is deranged, and he's supposed to be our only adult. The injury devalued him to that of a baby, so we have to take lead.

"God, why me?" I say to myself, cursing this whole situation. Simon gives me a reassuring look. 

"We'll pull through this."

I nod, still unconvinced but keeping some hope. "Did you sleep well, Simon?" I ask in regards of his solemn state. Putting down the damp cloth, he turns to answer me.

"I don't sleep much, but I don't need to." He explains without a fret. I frown at that information but take his word for it. 

"Was your sleep alright?" He asks me.

"Yeah, not bad."

We watch the old man -- how he rambled nonsense about things he could see, begging no one in particular. It's most pitiful seeing that Simon cares more about him than the other boys could ever fathom.

"Captain Benson was always nice to me," Simon blurts, sighing thoughtfully at his memories. "He was good to all of us -- especially when he could still think and comprehend things, of course."

A bucket of silence spills. Once it stops pouring and is empty again, Simon speaks up as a thought dawns on him. 

"There was this one moment in school, during meal time- I normally sat by myself. Jack and his friends were always the loudest ones in the room." 

The boy shifts his seating position, staring distantly in thought. 

"One time Luke got up and came over to me, shouting things like he always does. So now of course, everyone was looking over." 

The muscular organ in my chest begins to flex painfully as Simon drones on. I can feel my face twist in concern, like moulding clay. The topic of this subject is veering the way I anticipated. 

"He was saying so many derogatory things, making jokes. Stuff I would never be able to repeat. He slapped my tray off my table, and it made a loud crash. Everyone laughed." The boy's expression falls deeper into an inflicted look of anguish. 

"Captain Benson came over and yelled at him." He pauses. "I didn't want him to do that. Captain Benson silenced all of them, and then I knew they would blame me for getting in trouble. He was the only one who came over to check in on me." 

The sympathetic strings of my heart stretch to their limit. His words pluck them like a harp and illicit melancholic music. 

"He kept apologizing to me, but he never did that for anyone else when Luke or Jack picked on them the same way. I know they look at me different. I don't want to feel that way anymore. But still, he was the nicest person in that school." 

"I think the nicest person is you, Simon," I interject softly with a reassuring curl of the mouth. His tensed face softens momentarily in regard to the comment. Once he acknowledges it, his words trek on. 

"He slipped me another meal later that day since I didn't get to eat then. He would slip me extra meals a lot since I hated eating in the cafeteria at meal time." A chuckle escape his somber lips. 

"He'd always slip it behind his back casually, and wink before leaving every time I'd try to object. He had no real reason or obligation to do that, but he did anyway." 

The old man laying before us stirs again, perking up a brief glance of attention. Seeing he's okay, the conversation carries on.

"Sometimes I hated when he'd do that. I knew it was because he saw me as the weird, lonely kid who needed extra attention." He looks over to me.

"I didn't want the extra attention, and I didn't even want to be in military school. At the end of the day, though, he sometimes made things feel easier. I can only hope to return the favor." 

Simon peers back down at Captain Benson, and I contemplate his words. I think about the rest of the students, and how no one ever stood up for him. Ralph, the twins, Robert, and Tony. They were bystanders- they are bystanders, sitting back and watching the strong pick on the weak. And I, in all my high school teenage-clique glory, was the same person. The Heathers were like piranhas. If they sensed blood, they'd swarm and bite. 

I can't help but think about all I let them do. Betty Finn and Martha Dunnstock - people who I used to call my friends - the way I betrayed those girls as I watched Heather hurt and torment not only them, but so many others. Jack and I are not completely unalike, and that thought alone singes my brain to charcoal. 

"I'm sorry that this is something you experience so often," I speak up. "People who treat others like that don't deserve to be friends with someone as kind-hearted as you." 

The boy keeps his head low, not answering my words for once. My lips form a sorrowful line and I ponder about what else to say. 

"A lot of people can relate to you. You're not alone. I promise." I reach out to grab his wrist comfortingly. 

"It's okay to feel different. It's okay to be gentle in a world like this. Don't ever lose that trait, Simon." 

The thoughtful-eyed boy finally peers up through his fallen curls. A tranquil smile flourishes across his face with an understanding nod. He doesn't need to say anything. We both understand. Content with the exchange, Simon minds another low groan from the old man, and he reaches over to grab something.

I watch him retrieve a fruit, peeling the skin back and pressing the exposed half to Captain Benson's bloody lips, urging him to eat. As I watch him feed the delirious former staff member, it fully hits me; The extent of Simon's admiration for the man. Benson was like a lifeline for him.

I purse my lips in contemplation. How is he different? I've never had many teachers or staff that I could consider to be great mentors. Then again, I would only see them for a semester, one period a day.

"I'm really sorry, Simon," I mutter again, this time in regards to Benson. 

"He's lucky to have someone like you looking after him." 

"I hope that he can be nursed back to health," Simon sighs, patting Benson's shoulder. I don't say anything. Instead, I'm surprised to see Simon handing a fruit to me. I take it and show my appreciation.

"Oh. Thank you," I say gratefully. "Have you eaten yet?" 

"Yes. I've been up for a while."

Thinking for a moment, I start checking the surrounding area, suddenly alert. 

"Do you know if Ralph's eaten?" I question distantly. Simon screws up his face to think.

"I haven't seen him all morning, so I wouldn't know."

I sigh, debating to stand up and find him. 

"Simon?" 

He looks up at me in a faint surprise. "Uh-huh?"

Hesitant at first, I finally drop the question. 

"Does Jack ever talk about me?" I settle myself again, peeling off the thick skin from the orangey fruit.

"Like- does he say bad stuff?"

"Yes," he answers admittedly. "But it's mostly to the other guys who also say things." 

"Ralph?" I push, offended to think that he could say such crude things after gaining each other as friends. However, Simon shakes his head, making me feel relieved. Then, I frown. 

"So- does Jack ever initiate anything bad or good about me?" 

Simon thinks again. I understand that he doesn't typically pay attention to the other students. Maybe it's a happier life that way.

"Normally it starts when someone questions him about you, if that makes sense."

Intrigued now, I scoot closer to Simon. 

"Bad or good things?"

Simon glances over to Benson momentarily at a loud cough, but I hardly mind it.

"It used to be unkind, if not completely unpleasant." My interest is piqued. "He doesn't talk much about how you look anymore, though. It's more like he's ranting now." 

He begins fiddling with a loose string on his shirt.

"Pretty much all of them talk about the girls they're talking to," Simon bobs his shoulders, generally speaking.

"Except Ralph," he quickly adds. "I noticed he's been writing to the same girl for as long as I can remember. I think he knew her and she might've moved away, or maybe he's the one who moved away from her."

Simon plucks the loose string from the hem of his shirt and wraps it around his finger as he drones on.

"I'm sure he misses her."

Sitting back, I try to process those thoughts, filing through them all.

"Is there an issue?" Simon inquires worriedly. "With Jack, or something?"

Sighing, I ultimately shake my head, dismissing it. 

"No," I respond, feeling a flood of guilt in my chest for dragging this boy into my questioning.

"No, just never mind it, Simon. I shouldn't have asked. I'm sorry for dragging you into my mind like this." As I finish the sentence, a harsh gust of wind blows over to fan our faces. I welcome it.

"And also-"

"Don't worry," he confirms my unsaid request. "I won't tell them you asked."

"Thank you,  Simon."

We smile at each other and look down. Moments pass by as I unpeeled the whole slippery fruit. Hesitant and pausing multiple times, my teeth bite down on the overly-sweet flesh. The quiet boy picks the fruit up and holds it to the still-blabbering mouth of Benson, who is consistently speaking nonsense. It is truly pitiful to see what can become of a man. 

His head injury reduces him back to the stage like that of a baby. A cultivated someone who used to stand as a pinnacle of admiration, held in high regard by many students. As Sigmund Freud believed, our psyche is divided into three parts that fall into equilibrium. 

The Id is said to be the most primitive part of the mind. It thrives off the instant gratification of our most innate human needs, instantly present at birth. It's simply our yearn for pleasure and sustenance. Our superego determines our sense of morality and critical thinking, moulded by our environment for what is considered right and wrong. 

Then the ego; what is developed as we interact with the external world. Our sense of judgment and tolerance. This is supposedly what keeps us in balance. Needless to say, any strip of rationality or symmetry Captain Benson had once possessed has since been removed, regressing him back to a premature state of mind, and perhaps leaving him at a point of no return if we don't get rescued soon. 

Still chewing my fruit, I look over to see Piggy in the distance, hobbling around after some little ones running away with his glasses. I chuckle quietly and look at Simon.

"I think that's my cue," I point over to the sight. The boy makes an apprehensive face, and I hop up to walk over to the situation.

"Guys! Please-" Piggy clasps his hands together, entirely flustered. He quickly takes notices my amused approach. 

"They're just so fast!" He exclaims, coughing a few times from the thickly hot air. The shrill giggles of the kids are heard in the background. I look over to them, and decide to kid around with the boy.

"Oh, noooo," I say in a prolonged, bored tone. This encourages them. Piggy sends me a pleading look. 

"Please. Doooon't," the words slur in the lowest volume, but I can't maintain a straight face.

"You think this is funny?" Piggy quizzes, squinting at me. 

"A little bit, yeah," I nod, giggling at the younger kids. I look over at the stout boy to share the humor, but my expression immediately falls when I realize he's truly in distress without having his glasses. Piggy only drops his hands and groans inwardly as his chest continues to heave. Realizing my error, concern flashes over my face. 

"Hey, breathe, kid." I put my hand on his shoulder. 

"It's my asthma- I need my inhaler." 

I shake my head. "No, it's not. You're just giving yourself a panic attack." My hand gently pats his shoulder before pulling back. 

"It's okay, I'll get your glasses back." Regaining self-awareness, I flash the boy a cool look to calm him and casually make my way over to the little ones. It's Peter and Percival. One of the twins is in the vicinity playing a separate game with Maurice and Tony. 

"Hey, guys!" I say joyfully, resting a hand on my hip. The little ones stop and eye Piggy intently, who is wheezing many feet behind me. 

"Hi," Peter acknowledges in suspicion.

"What're you both doing?" I ask, pretending to have interest. Their faces light up. 

"A game!" Percival chirps. I drop my jaw melodramatically.

"Ohmygosh, I love games!" I put my hands on my chest to please them. They start grinning widely. 

"Do you wanna play?"

"Pssh!" I wave them off, forcing a touchy chuckle. "That's very kind of you to offer, but you don't have to."

They both frown, peaking their want for me to join in. 

"Pleeeeaaasee?" They whine, jumping up and down.

"Hmmm," I dragged out, rubbing my chin. Their hope grows, and I dramatically relent. 

"Why not?" I shrug. They burst out into cheers, throwing fists in the air.

"So, how do I play?" I query, bending down to be at eye level. They hold up my objective; the glasses.

"Keep these away from him," Peter points a harsh finger in Piggy's direction. The geekish boy takes on an offended look. I nod in exaggerated comprehension.

"Ohhhh, okay!" I say, keeping the theatrical tone. "Can I be it, then?"

They nod openly, and hand them over. I show a gracious smile.

"What if we spice it up some?" I suggest in a hushed whisper, bringing them closer. They lean in curiously.

"How about you guys go guard those rocks over there-" I point to the left. They glance at it momentarily. 

"That can be our base. I will keep the glasses away from Piggy while you guys create the fortress to stake our club in. Sounds like a deal?"

They seem to like this idea, and nod with full trust in my proposition. The two boys happily skip away, and I bring back the promised prize. Piggy blabbers many thank you's.

"Yeah, yeah, no problem." I answer him, laughing softly. The two boys were now up and invested in another game with Mikey and their other friends, saving Piggy from any more of a tirade. One of the twins - I can't be sure which one - is still sat on the ground by Tony and Maurice. We proceed toward the three boys, and I squat in the sand to be level with them. 

"Hi," I greet stiffly, unsure of a proper approach. They each respond in their own short greetings, looking unimpressed with my efforts. Disregarding, my eyes flicker over to the twin. 

"Eric, is it?" 

"No." 

Silence follows the statement as he looks at me blankly, cemented awkwardness filling my chest. I click my tongue in mild discomfort as Piggy rocks back and forth on his heels, stuffing his hands in his pockets, and only aiding the unpleasant nature. 

"Lovely," I answer in a short syllable, recovering from the cringworthy backfire. 

"Where's your brother?" 

"He's hiding." 

My knit brows convey confusion. 

"Uh, why is he hiding?" 

"Because," Sam says simply. "I told him to hide while I count to one-hundred."

"Oh, so you're playing hide-and-seek," I begin to nod in understanding.

"No." 

I catch the implication by a hook, squirming under his gaze. Pressing my lips into a forced line, I nod in strained acceptance. Great. I drop that topic and turn my attention to their game etched in the sand. 

"So, what's this?"

"It's like a guessing game," Maurice speaks up. "Someone draws a picture line by line, and we have to guess what it is before they finish the image." 

"Interesting." I mutter vacantly, gazing at the unintelligible scribbles on the ground. 

"What are you drawing now?" 

"I can't tell you," Tony grins. "You walked in mid-game." 

"Right." I make a tsk sound through my teeth.

"You can watch if you want," Sam says, uncaring. "I'm getting bored anyway." 

"Uh, okay." I nod along. Tony continues his drawing, one sketch line at a time like Maurice previously explained. Perhaps the sand is too thick to make out legible images, because this drawing is not possibly within the realm of what can be deciphered. 

"Is it a clock?"

"It's gotta be a ninja turtle!" 

"Is that a... baby bottle?"

"A scarecrow?"

"Bald eagle!"

"Is it supposed to be a smurf?" 

"Darth Vader!"

Literally what the fuck is this supposed to be?

Maurice and Sam take turns making a guess as Tony's drawing progresses along, each loose estimation more incorrect than the last.

"Oh, is it Alf?" Piggy chimes over my shoulder.

"No! You're all wrong." Tony explodes, looking at his friends begrudgingly. I can't help but let out an amused hum through my close mouth.

"What the hell is it then?" Sam exclaims back, clearly given up. 

"George H. W. Bush!" Tony declares matter-of-factly. Him and Maurice snap to attention and begin reciting the pledge of allegiance. 

I wrinkle my face in confusion and gaze down to the nonsensical squiggles, repressing judgement. 

"You really captured his eyes." I mumble.

"Whatever, I wanna play something else!" Sam groans. Well, I've had my fix for today. Tapping my knees once, I rise up from the ground, dusting the course sand off. 

"Do you know where I could find Ralph?" I look at Piggy. He briskly pushes up his glasses and points to the shelters. I see Ralph trying to build one of them on his own. I thank the boy and make my way over.

"Need some help there?" I call over to him breezily. Ralph looks over his shoulder with a helpless smile. 

"Kinda. Yeah."

I speed up over and aid him by heaving over some foliage to add to the roof. "Why are you the only one trying to build?"

Ralph shrugs. 

"Simon helps, but he's watching Benson at that moment. No one else will cooperate. Even with the written schedules."

I frown that this. 

"But- you never ask me. I could step off from what I'm doing to help." 

"Don't worry about that," he dismisses. "You're needed at your other positions. I can't pull you from those."

"Well," I sigh. "You could ask me when I'm on breaks. I don't mind."

"I'm trying to do the opposite of that." He rubs a hand over his face in exhaustion. "The whole point of the meeting was to make things more fair. To have everyone pull their own weight. I can't enforce their wrong behavior by keeping the same five people working." 

"I'm sorry." I offer a sad smile. "You're doing the best you can." 

Ralph doesn't answer, and I don't expect him to. I start tying off corners and where the walls meet. Ralph is cutting away the extra matter with his knife.

"Can I just ask something?" He blurts, almost wincing like he's mentally berating himself. I look at Ralph curiously and nod before turning back to my work.

"I know that you and Jack are together now," he states. Those simple words drop ice as all my joints and muscles freeze up.

"Oh..." I drill into the work in front of me with widened eyes. Softening my rigid stance, I look at him with defeat, making us both backtrack.

"No, listen-"

"Ralph, I promise Jack and I aren't-"

"I didn't say it-"

"-And Jack and I aren't even together, so would it really be an issue?"

"I know you think no one knows about you two, but it's a big open secret-"

"What do you mean? Know what?"

Ralph runs his fingers back through his hair before looking at me tiredly. 

"It's not an issue," he exhales. "If you are together, I'm actually happy for you both, but I request that you don't let each other get distracted from what matters."

I bite my cheeks in embarrassment for the outburst. 

"And what's that?" I ask softly.

"Rescue."

"Right." I blink in place. 

"You're one of the only people actually doing what you're supposed to do," he carries on. "I'm not mad. I appreciate your help, so don't think I'm critiquing your work ethic. I just don't want it to change. Jack is very influential when he wants to be."

I don't know what else I'd expect him to say. Swallowing, I quickly try to take back what I slipped up

"I'm sorry."

"Veronica," he chuckles. "It's fine. You're completely fine. Don't take this as me accusing you of anything. I'm not. I just wanted you to be reminded of what's important if you and Jack are going to be running around together-"

"-We're not together," I correct. Ralph takes on an exhausted look.

"You're not together," he affirmingly repeats in spite of me, though seemingly unconvinced.

Ralph thinks for a moment. "If you need to ever just... take a moment, then please do what's best for you."

My chest tightens in guilt, and my emotions switch over abruptly to a sort of dreariness. I curse the strong emotions hitting me like a pound of bricks out of nowhere. Exhaling through my nose, I press my hand to my abdomen as it ached.

"Thanks, Ralph." I manage to say weakly. We start finishing up the shelter currently being worked on.

♕︎♕︎♕︎

That night, I decided to lay on the beach and stare up at the illuminated night sky that was tied together with the ghastly blue hues. My shoulder blades gently dug divots into the sand, parodying the waves thundering in the background. They fold over each other with a roar, anything but neatly, yet beautiful.

Stars are so much brighter here with the lack of light pollution, making even the diamonds on my rings seem dull. The sky lacks chemtrails from planes, contrary to how the sky looked back at civilization. In a way, it's disheartening. It made the idea of rescue seem like less of a possibility knowing that planes rarely flew over.

I remember the day Jack played with my rings. How he massaged my palms and cuticles, sliding the rings down my fingers to rearrange them. I think about the ring he gave me -- the makeshift one from his dog tag chain. The small stainless steel beads. My thumb feels it sitting on my knuckle, turning it, my fingers then flexing into a fist.  

Too caught up in scoping out the constellations and recounting events that led up to this day, I barely notice Jack coming to lay at my side. I don't pay him too much mind, though.

"Hey," he greets in a usual happy-go-lucky tone, combing his fingers back through his floppy yellow hair. I don't answer him as to not flare up my renewed temper; an injustice most girls face.

"Anything new happen today?"

I shake my head wordlessly.

"Well that's a shame," he teasingly jests. 

"I, for one, found this cool bottle."

He holds up an unlabeled, green glass bottle that was likely for some kind of alcohol. My eyes flicker to it before resting back on the sky as Jack continues his rambling.

"It washed up on shore today, so we can add that to the list of cool things that've happened so far, yeah?" He nudges my shoulder to try and rile me up. Again, I don't respond. There's no energy for me to even pretend to act faintly interested. Jack makes a face of contempt before staring down at the glass bottle in his hand.

"So I'd say this day has been pretty successful," he mumbles before dropping his excited act, setting the bottle down. Jack lays back against the lumpy sand to join me in stargazing.

"You've been kinda distant today." He speaks up. A bitter smirk of detestment pulls at my lips as I shake my head. 

"Can you blame me?" I question. "Be real, Jack, you quite literally make it a point of your daily schedule to torment me." 

"If you consider that my highest level of torment, I got a big surprise for you that you ain't gonna like."

With no energy to argue, I roll my eyes and don't continue to push.

"And besides," I continue stiffly. "I'm not distant." 

Doubt radiates from his arrogant stature that I douse out of my mind. Can't quite say that I fancy the idea of chasing him away or nearly ripping his head off over a little hormone change. He begins talking away again, not having a glimpse of my razor blade sharp demeanor.

"Ralph finally sent all those snot-nosed brats to bed," he sneers. I purse my lips and ignore him. 

"I'm telling you, if one of 'em disappears one day, don't come asking me about it, cuz I swear-"

I hear a pause beat in the air as my coldness finally registers to him. A coldness that does not include me yelling or marching off scornfully. 

"Are you okay?" Jack lifts his head like he's wildly thrown off guard by my lack of energy.

My eyes drift down from the sky and I tangle my fingers tighter over my stomach.

"I feel like shit."

"Cow shit or dog shit?" He attempts to tease. I set my jaw and shoot a daring look.

"Charming."

Jack turns onto his side, his upper left lip stretching up condescendingly. Breathing heavily to contain the pressure in my chest, I hum to indicate that I notice his drilling staring. Meanwhile, I try to decide whether or not I enjoyed his presence, especially considering the increased sense of loneliness I feel here at night.

"Did someone say something to you?"

You.

I shake my head.

"Did I say something to upset you?"

Obviously. 

"No. You're fine. I'm fine."

His eyes linger on my face, like his brain for once can't pick up on my ambience towards him. It's taking him an extra second to read me.

A burn swells along my waterline like a seething venom, and a knot tightens somewhere in my stomach. An aching bite of tears. God fucking damnit. I press my tongue to the roof of my mouth and pray that the tears will suck themselves back into my ducts. I can sense a softening in his face as he studies me for a moment more.

Jack's lips part open as if he's considering saying anything at all while my eyes burn holes into the abyss above us. Ultimately clamping his mouth shut, Jack lays back down.

Just then, I feel him take my hand in his gently. It was slow, like a distant prodding at first. Then, he slid his fingertips across my palm, sending spasms of tingles through my bowed spine. He gives me a tight squeeze as he laces his fingers through mine. Stunned, I feel my chest pounding in renewed intimacy. Thinking for another moment, slowly, I give in and curl my fingers around his own. I bite the insides of my cheeks to keep my chin and lip from quivering.

"You're a pretty bad actor for a female, my chickadee." He nudges me with his elbow. My face hardens

"Please," I say rigidly. I feel my elbow bend at his next movement. One I don't expect.

Jack kisses my knuckles warmly. It has the capability to send raucous throbs up my arm to mingle through my deprived nerves.

The compassion still feels like an odd adjustment, but I don't really mind it so much -- at least not right now. My harsh edge that stiffened my dark exterior began to erode for him. I then look at Jack questionably, only for him to act like it never happened. It makes me almost want to forget about the events of this morning, though I don't reckon I'll be able to let that go anytime soon.

"You should work on those acting skills," he lifts a cheek. A warmth envelopes my chest for the feeling of someone holding my hand. I force a smile and gaze back up to the endless sky, trying to sort out the constant fluttering sensation which battered within my stomach - Trying to comprehend the pounding in my chest that made my skin heat up the way it would when I laid out beneath the sun. It's all so...

Oh.

Oh.

I like the compassion.

No, it's not any true liking. Trust that I'm not impossibly dramatic like those manic characters in romantic indie films. I know what it is. I always feel more emotional at night. More susceptible to giving into any dash of comfort. Jack just happened to be here while in a state of vulnerability, and he just happened to be feeling bipolar again, meaning he wasn't being entirely infuriating. 

I spent all that time scorning Jack for his fake kindness and the ploy of emotional attachment now to just realize that I want the same thing. Gentle comfort. Perhaps the reason I rejected his motives and questioned his intentions so much, was because I knew subconsciously, despite the disingenuous aspect of it all, that I yearned for it.

There's no doubt in my mind that Jack baits me with niceties, but we crave emotional connection to some level. By morning I will feel sobered by the effects of tonight.

My last boyfriend was an obsessed killer.

And Jack is just so -- presumptuous. 

Get your head on straight, and don't misplace your priorities, I mentally scold myself. 

Jack and I want different things. I can't stand the idea of this situationship without having an emotional connection. Jack is fine without it, but he knows I'm not. That's where his little ploy comes into play. He uses it just enough to reel me back in before smacking me in the face with the usual mental torment. I have to cut it off.

My lips part in a ghosted gasp. It'll be gone by morning, I remind myself. This is my usual cycle of craving soft company late in the night. I will indulge myself for now, just till morning. We lay on the sand in silence until the sleepiness picks away at us, and we part ways into separate shelters for the last hours until sunrise.

♕︎♕︎♕︎

♕︎♕︎♕︎

Until next time?