This story contains explicit sexual action between two high school females (and other people). If you're under legal age, or if this isn't your cup of tea, please look no further. Though inspired by true events, this story is a work of fiction. Some of the names have been changed to protect the innocent and the guilty. This story contains material that some might consider unnerving, so this warning is for you. And for those who are looking to get a cheap high, this is not the story for you. I like to think my stories are little more than skin deep. This is a work of fiction and therefore any resemblance to any persons living or dead, real of fictional, or any events, past or present, are entirely coincidental.
If you're familiar with this story, then I believe a little explanation might be in order. Ever since I posted the last chapter (five years ago?. . .damn) I really didn't like how I ended it. As a matter of fact, I originally rewrote this story to be printed as a novel. During that time I fell in love with how that version ended. Now, taking into account that I still get emails from readers of this tale, I feel that I can't keep it from you any longer.
I can only hope you like it as much as I do. Questions, comments, concerns, or compliments are always appreciated. One last note: Thank you to everyone who wrote in to me on this story. You really have no idea how much that means to us writers.
Chapter One
~Des Moines, Iowa~
Misty found herself sitting in her bedroom staring at the boxes randomly stacked on the floor. Most of her non-essentials were packed away, leaving her with a room of white and pink walls and an empty closet. Her dresser was already sitting in the moving van that's been parked in the driveway for the last week, as was her bed, her TV, and most of the house. The teenager just took a moment for it all to sink in, both the excitement and the sadness. She was moving back to her hometown of Kennview and a lot of her old friends, but at the same time she's leaving behind a lot of memories. None the least of which was her girlfriend.
Misty felt a tear fall from her eye and wiped it away just as quickly. She looked down at the two pictures she still hadn't packed away. One was of her and her now-ex-girlfriend, Tabby, standing cheek-to-cheek, holding Misty's National Cheerleading Runner-Up trophy. Misty remembered just how proud she was of her girls that day, and how much her parents were proud of her. She'd never seen Tabitha so happy, even when they shared their first kiss.
She looked over at the other picture. That was the one that struck a deep chord in her gut. It was one that her cousin, Diane, had sent of an old friend of hers when they were kids. Misty's aunt took that candid shot at the state fair eight years ago, the year after Misty and her parents moved out here to Iowa. Diane had been best friends with the other girl in the picture, Annebell, ever since they were born, and it shows in that picture. They both looked so full of life, so youthful. Standing in line for twenty minutes to ride that cheesy excuse of a roller coaster, they didn't have a care or worry in the world. According to Diane, not much around town has changed, but that has.
"Misty! Phone!" her mom called from downstairs.
Misty set the frames in the box and bounced out of the room. She skipped the last two steps, landing with a thud. Her mom tossed her the phone and went back to finish packing.
"Hello?" the raven-haired cheerleader asked.
"How's my favorite baby cousin?" Diane nearly shouted.
Misty made a sound of annoyance. "Yeah, by like two minutes."
"So, tomorrow's the big day? It sucks that you won't make it in time to start the school year with the rest of us," the older one complained. Misty could see the fake frown on her face, and giggled at the thought of it. "What? I thought you liked hanging out with the cool kids."
"Yeah, as if," the brunette shot back. Misty caught sight of the boxes littering the living room. The realization of the move hit her anew. Diane's voice became a jumbled mess of static. Her dad emerged from the black hole of the van and waved at her.
"Misty! You listening? Hello?"
"Yeah," she said blinking. "What was that?"
"HA! You're so a blonde in disguise."
The cheerleader frowned. "Am not."
"Lie to yourself enough it eventually becomes true," her cousin teased. Diane took a breath and asked, "What I said was: are you ready for the big day?"
"What 'big day'?" Misty asked, feigning confusion. "Did you miss your baby cousin that much?"
"Hell no!" Diane shot back. They both laughed a little before the older one repeated, "So, are you nervous about moving back?"
Misty looked up at the ceiling. "Yeah, I am actually. It's been so long that I don't think anyone will remember me."
Diane scoffed. "Yeah, like you were memorable."
"Shut up. And yes I was. The boys couldn't stop talking about me, remember?"
Diane made another humored noise. "Like you were ever attracted to them, my little lesbo-cousin."
"Ow!"
"Hey, just sayin' it how it is."
Misty paused. The image of her pictures circled around in her head. "Do you think they'll have a spot open for me on the squad by the time I get there?"
"Psst, hell yeah they'll have a spot," Diane said. "They might even kick someone off just to have you on the team. It seems like every time you make a team you guys make it to the Nationals."
Misty smiled. "True, and we win something occasionally." Misty paused again. Her hands were shaking at fearful rememberance to the hints her cousin has given her throughout the years about the other thing on her mind. "I've got something to ask you. Do you remember that Annebell girl?"
"What about her?" Diane answered a little too quickly. Her cousin reared back at the harshness of her tone.
"Well, I was going through my stuff and I found that picture of the two of you together and I was wondering --"
"Misty don't," Diane cut her off. "That was a long time ago."
"But you told me all those stories. Do you have any idea what they meant to me?"
"Yeah, but trust me, she's not the same as she was back then. She's changed somehow. Ever since she came out of the hospital she's been a completely different person. The Annebell Amera that I grew up with doesn't exist. She isn't worth your time, Misty. And besides no one likes her."
"I don't care, Diane. I love her. . ."
~Kennview, the Cumberland Plateau~
Three weeks later...
Six on a Wednesday night. The sun was fully set and the late autumn night air had already taken hold. Annebell Amera walked up the sidewalk to her house, huddled underneath her coat. She looked at the all-too-familiar silver Shelby Cobra parked in the driveway. She's seen that car before, at least seven times. It meant that her mother had another one of her "special" friends over. She let out a sigh at the thought and pulled the key from her pocket. The hinges creaked to announce her arrival. Anne made a mental note of fixing that tomorrow. The house was dark, nothing new there.
Anne sighed again and looked around the living room. On the walls, where old family portraits used to hang, one could see the drywall and plaster peeking through the holes. Shattered glass was still lying against the floorboards. Scattered randomly around the room were dents and much larger holes, some going all the way through to the other side--courtesy of her mother's drunk rage. The ripped-up carpet was stained by several different bodily fluids of several different people. The hinges creaked as she shut the door. On second thought, Anne mused, forget the hinges.
Anne shimmied out of her coat while trying to ear out what her mom and 'friend' were doing in the next room. When she heard her mother start calling out to God, she let out a snort. "Right, God..." she thought out loud as she flung her backpack across the room, landing near the dining room table.
"Oh God! Fuck me!"
Anne chuckled again and knocked on the door as she passed. She knew from experience that meant she was in for a long night, why not let her mother know she was home? A good mother always knows when her only child is home, right?. Anne pondered that for a minute then let it pass, laughing inwardly at the ridiculousness of the idea.
The teenager got to work making herself some dinner. At least the kitchen was in decent shape. The walls were stained from old grease splatter and the plaster was peeling, but all of the appliances worked. The tiles were coming up, but they were all still in one piece. As she prepared the ingredients, the teenager thought back to a time when she would beg her mom to help. Her mother, Katharine, was always happy to oblige. Her daughter had a natural gift when it came to cooking. She even fancied the idea of sending her culinary school once she graduated, an idea that Anne used to find appealing.
The two of them spent countless hours in the kitchen. They discussed recipes, techniques, what schools she would go to, or just any other random topic. Anne remembered thinking of the kitchen as her sanctum, a place for mother-daughter bonding. But now... Anne slapped herself out of the memory. It was a waste of time to think of such ancient trivia. Since her dad and brother were murdered six years ago, Anne barely recognized her mother. Whenever they spoke to each other nowadays the conversation often ended with something being broken.
The brunette whipped herself up a new recipe she thought of during calculus today. Apple-braised grilled chicken with sauteed cashews and carrots. Pretty simple recipe, but the clean-up would be a bitch since the glaze burnt to the skillet. Oh well, Anne thought. She plated up her dinner and put the dishes in the sink to soak. She sat down at the table and tried a bite. Not too bad, she thought nodding. She quickly stashed the recipe in one of her backpack pockets.
Just like her normal routine dictated, Anne ate as she did her homework. Despite that absurd noise coming from her mother's bedroom, she managed to enjoy her dinner and get through all of her Advanced Placement courses' assignments. In fact, she used her mother's not-so-subtle ecstasy to her advantage, as she often did. If she could tune THAT out and still get it done, then she isn't doing that bad.
Once Anne finished the dishes, she retired to her room. If one could call it a room. The only furnishings were the small bed and meager dresser. Her walls were barren and, just like the rest of the house, bereft of anything that would indicate that someone actually lives here. No pictures, no posters. Even the curtains were the lifeless color of flat gray. Anne merely dwells here for nothing in this place has any semblance of life. Prison cell would be a more accurate term.
She sat on the floor and prepared her lesson plans for tomorrow's class. As part of her business class, she decided to be a tutor for the middle school. It wasn't the best money in the world, but it paid the bills. Twenty dollars per child per week. On average of about four hundred dollars a week. Not bad for a seventeen year old working two hours a day. That is until you take into account that she pays to keep the lights and heat on, the water running, and the roof over their heads. Anne never once asked her mom where her paychecks went. Truth is, she didn't want to know. Long ago she resigned herself to the fact that that's how it was going to be and there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it. Her only joy in this world rested in the corner opposite her bed.
Her brother's guitar, or, as Anne liked to refer to it, her best friend. Just like cooking, Anne was a natural at playing. She even helped her brother and his band come up with some material and even lent her talents to a couple of tracks, both guitar and vocals. But anymore it served as the only way for her to keep her brother's, Jason, memory alive and well. She has several books of poems and songs tucked away in her closet that she's written over the years about whatever was on her mind at that moment. The neighbors complain about it, but every so often Anne would set the amp in her window and just play her heart out. Jams and riffs that she would come up with on the spot.
Anne looked at the custom Kramer, and decided, "Not tonight." It was already nine-thirty and she had to get ready for bed. She went to the dresser and pulled out what she wanted to wear tomorrow. She changed into those clothes and fell back on her bed. Outside, the man got into his car and drove back to his wife and kids. Normal night so far. Anne listened to him drive away, then started counting. Her mother should be coming through her door in three. Two. One...
Katharine threw her daughter's door open, the door knob leaving another indentation on the wall. "You've got a lot of explaining to do, you little skank!" she shouted before taking another swig from the bottle of rum. Her body was half-slumped and her words were slurred, but Anne has seen worse. "Do you have any idea what time it is? And you come barging into my house like you own the place. Where have you been all fucking day? Going around town with your legs open? You waiting for... for someone to, to make you his whore?" Anne just laid on her bed, looking up to ceiling. "Answer me, you little bitch. You happy for what you did just now? I was just about to cum when you knocked on that door..."
That did it. That was when Anne cracked a smile. Oh how she loves to piss this woman off. When Kathrine took another drink, Anne used the pause to speak up. "Yes, my sweet, mother," she said in her most darling voice, "I am very happy for myself." Anne looked over to her mother and instantly changed her tone. "I'm curious, though, did he have a problem getting off? I mean, he wasn't as loud as last time and you were ten seconds late tonight."
"Don't you fucking sass me you ugly slut!" Kathrine pointed with the bottle. "If you were looking to ruin my night, you did. I had to cut it short with the best fuck I've had this week."
Anne sat up and glared at her mother. She kept that smile on her face, but her tone became icy. "My fortunes are improving if I picked the best to ruin. But you have me at a loss, why do you use the word 'short' so easily?"
"Just die already!" Anne's mother threw the now-empty glass bottle at her. Calmly, Anne raised her right arm to block it. The bottle shattered against her wrist without so much as a flinch from the teenager. Anne held her arm near her face and rolled her fingers. Her eyes narrowed into wanton hate.
"As easily said into a mirror, my sweet mother."
Kathrine slammed the door shut, causing the frame to crack. She heard something else in the living room shatter, then another door slammed. Annebell laid back down on her bed resting her head against her left hand. Just another day in the life of Annebell Amera. And, according to the clock on her dresser, it ended before ten. "Mom's getting soft on me," she mused before drifting off to sleep.
The next morning's routine before school was nothing special. Anne's walk to school--all five miles--was spent in the waxing hours of the sun; she's always enjoyed the rising sun and the beautiful colors it displays. Exactly why though, she couldn't say, but once the sun was fully over the horizon all of that beauty dies, and Anne's discontent for everything else living grows.
The morning bell rang. To all of the other students it was the sound of a new day, one filled with the promise of boring classes and even lamer teachers. A time to awaken and mingle with friends and classmates. But to Anne it's her mental death knell. Once that bell goes off, all of her emotional functions shut down. Once that bell goes off, Annebell Amera becomes the "Bitch of Kennview High School".
The student body moved as a disorganized mob through the halls. Some going straight to class, others stopping by their lockers first. All going about their own business in their own way, with one exception: they all moved aside whenever the Bitch would walk by. Some do it because they're afraid of her, others because they simply don't want to be seen near her. Then there are those who would like nothing more than to just beat the living shit out of her. Anne's always chalked that up to her mom fucking either one--or both--of their parents. However, whenever she caught sight of the band geek clique, she suddenly had to go to her locker.
Her first two classes of the day were not her favorites, especially on days like today when all they were doing was watching one of those cheesy educational videos. Anne decided to use that time to get a few poems/songs written. By the time both of those classes ended she had amassed over ten projects to take home to Kramer.
As she walked through the chaos of the hallways to Calculus, Anne played the songs in her head over and over again tying in the lyrics as she saw fit. People cleared a path for her, even though she didn't realize it; being hated can have it's perks too. She never once thought of the upcoming class of lectures and work. Besides, she knew that she could teach the class better than that old crone anyway.
Anne took her place of honor at center stage in the front row. She knows that Ms. Warren can't stand the sight of her--thanks to mommy dearest--so the look of disdain only served to humor her more. The rest of the class filed in as the seconds counted down.
With her homework and notebook on her desk, Anne dared a look at the door; a gnawing need to stare at the door held her attention rapt. She couldn't look away--and she tried. She felt her heart skip several beats when the bell rang. And it wasn't from the noise.
A vaguely familiar girl appeared in the doorway. A bit taller than herself with smooth hair of ebony and skin so fair she looked like something from her dearest dreams, an angel that somehow lost her wings and now lives among the mortals. Anne's eyes followed the girl to Ms.
Warren's desk, and not because she looked good. Curiosity has a Siren's voice, and until it's answered you just keep swimming.
The old crone escorted the new girl to the front of the class, Anne almost laughed at how they looked together. She thought about how the old teacher must have looked back in her prime and decided she didn't come close to her new classmate. The humorous grin on the Bitch's face earned her a sneer from the teacher; it's never a good thing to see Annebell in a good mood, let alone smiling like that. Ms. Warren whispered something in the angel's ear, pointing to one of the empty desks at the back of the room. She shook her head, nodding to one next to "Miss Hell-on-Earth".
Rolling her eyes the Ms. Warren made the introduction. "Class, this is Misty Thomas. She's just moved back to our little town from Iowa, so make her feel welcome." It didn't escape Anne's notice that she looked directly at her when that last word left her mouth. Misty took her chosen seat, though a surprising one that had many snickering, and the lesson went on as usual.
Well, as usual as it could be. Students would talk, teacher would bitch and moan. Teacher turns around, students would pass notes. Teacher assigns homework, students' turn to bitch and moan. Nothing out of place so far, but something in the back of her mind kept Anne thinking that this was no ordinary day. And when that bell resounded over the class, Anne had no way of knowing that her life would soon be heading in another direction.
Lunch time, Anne's favorite time of day. The loathsome creatures she considers beneath her--everyone at the school--are too busy filling their ears with the useless bullshit known better as gossip. And in so doing, they leave her the hell alone. Just as I like it, she thought to herself as she stood in line.
Today was taco salad day, her favorite. Personally she thought of it as the only thing remotely edible in this building. She's been known to literally fight her way through the crowd for this stuff. So every Thursday people moved aside to let the Bitch through. Anne found herself standing at the front of the line with a strange little smile on her face, unnerving everyone; she simply didn't do that.
Anne ate as she read back over her work from earlier, tweaking it as she saw fit. Satisfied with it for now, she turned her attention to her Physics text. Only a few words into the next page, Anne felt a presence across the table. She looked up in time to get an eyefull of someone's tits. Rather good looking to say the least, she thought. Her dark eyes rising farther north, the Bitch's gaze stopped at the eyes of the new girl, Misty Thomas. Without a response of any kind, Anne went right back to her book and food. It didn't escape her notice that a certain group of people were looking at them and whispering.
"Hi! I'm Misty," she said that bubbly voice of hers, her hand reaching across the table. If Anne heard the girl, she gave no sign. She just kept reading and eating. After several moments of silence, Misty pulled her hand back. "So do you have a name or do you just not talk?"
Anne kept any sarcastic answer to herself, remaining silent. The only movement she made was to turn the page of her book. Mistaking her silence as an opportunity to chat, Misty said, "You're in Physics, too? So am I. What other classes do we have together? English? History? --"
Anne slammed her book shut making the brunette jump. "Presumptuous, rude, arrogant, and most definitely less intelligent than she looks." Misty was aghast, Anne went back to her reading. People around snickered and whispered amongst themselves. Misty blushed in embarrassment; however, she kept her resolve. Moving a lock of her long hair behind her ear, she leaned over the table. On the floor one of Anne's poetry books lay opened. Without thinking, Misty began to read it--and was quickly saddened by the lyrics.
Again, the cheerleader jumped. This time from Anne slamming the book onto the table. Misty retreated back into her seat, earning even more jeers from her fellow students. She looked into the girl's seething eyes, the power of that look taking hold of her soul, twisting it away from whatever delusion she might have had just moments ago. "Don't. Ever. Do that. Again," Anne growled each word. Misty gulped. "Leave."
"No." She countered weakly.
Anne cocked an eyebrow, not in anger but curiosity. The fear on the new girl's face was amusing, but her resolve, however small, had the Bitch interested. "People will talk about you, Miss Popularity Contest. Your status among those worms with which you mingle will become even less than the bad joke they pretend to be."
"So," Misty barely got out. "I've heard about you, you know." Anne remained motionless. "What do you think they say?" The Bitch didn't respond beyond reopening her book. "Don't you have anything to say?" A tear escaped her eye.
Still reading, Anne said, "I believe I've said everything I care to say to you, Misty Thomas. Leave."
"Are you always this mean? I'm just trying to be nice to you."
Anne let out an annoyed sigh and closed her book again. She took a bite of her food, keeping eye contact with the shaking girl. "Your generosity is wasted; I don't need your concern." Anne looked at the people watching the scene. A toothy, deviant smile spread on her lips. Suddenly, Anne and Misty were left alone.
"Pathetic roaches, each one them has the heart of the chairs on which they sit." She looked back to the mortified cheerleader and said, "I asked you nicely, did I not? Leave." Misty held her ground, though her pleading eyes betrayed her resolve. Anne grimaced. "Suit yourself," she said and went back to her lunch.
"Please, Anne, don't you ever say anything nice to people? I've heard so many nice things about you -- " Anne's snort cut her off. "What?"
"Now that's funny," she said around her taco salad, pointing with her fork.
"Why?"
Anne swallowed and let out an exasperated sigh. "You come over here, uninvited, and expect me to tolerate your scrawny ass. Funny. With delusions floating in that sweet little mind of yours, you expect anything less than my reputation. Funny. To even think I care about what these witless worms say about me?" She nodded her head towards the cheerleaders' table.
"Hilarious! Now, please return to whatever rock from which you crawled and rid me of your stupidity."
Misty felt her heart sink, her brain went numb. "I just want to be your friend, Anne."
That did it. Anne burst into a side-splitting laughter. Misty jumped back in her seat, scared stiff by her response. People were looking back at them to be sure that they heard Annibell Amera actually laughing. Indeed she was, so hard that tears were falling down her face.
"Thank you," she said after a short while, "I haven't laughed like that in a long time."
Affronted, Misty said, "I'm serious, Anne."
"So am I!" she yelled back at her, slamming her right arm on the table. The unusual thud made the cheerleader gulp. "In case you didn't get the message the first three times, I'll say it in a vocabulary more suited to your level: get the fuck out of here."
"Diane was right. .
."
"Diane doesn't know shit! But tell her I said hi." The dark heart nodded once again towards her table. "My lunch is getting cold. Go away and let me eat in peace," she said more softly, but not without the venom.
Misty rose to her feet, defeated. "I guess I'll see you in class then," she sobbed. Anne gave no sign that she heard it. Misty's walk back to Diane's table was filled with people looking and whispering. She heard several people say "new girl" and "dumbass". But it was Diane's choice of words that hit her the hardest once she sat down. "Told ya so!"
Anne continued reading until the bell rang; she never gave a second thought to her encounter with the new chick. Just another preppy cheerleader looking for a fix, she thought, so I fixed her.
Anne's next two classes, U.S. History and English, went by just as she thought they would. She turned in her homework and listened as intently as everyone else in the class, which is to say not very much. Although her English poetry assignment kept her amused until the bell rang--dark poetry is her forte.
Physics, the last class of the day. Anne took her seat and got her stuff ready for the class to start. As she finished flipping through her notebook, she happened a glance at the door. Her heart sped up, her breathing became hoarse. She looked up at the clock: one-forty-four. Misty walked through the door just as the bell rang. A pang of guilt coursed through Anne upon seeing the newbie. And she cursed herself for it.
The next five minutes was an exact carbon-copy of what happened in calculus. And once again, Misty took the vacant seat beside the Bitch rather than the one the teacher, Mrs. Boresly, pointed to. She flashed the mean girl the shyest smile imaginable. Anne rolled her eyes. The other students didn't do anything but stare.
All throughout the lesson Anne felt a pair of eyes watching her. She would take a sneak peak to her right, but Misty would be listening to the teacher or writing down notes. She glanced around the room only to find more of the same. Whenever the ominous struck her, nothing could be held accountable. And whatever was doing it gave her the creeps. Finally the bell rang to end the Bitch's unease.
"Remember to have chapters nine through eleven read for tomorrow," Mrs. Boresly called out over Anne's saving grace.
She didn't even bother packing up her stuff; she had to leave that room. Her heart was racing and those eyes followed her once again. She walked back to her locker with her head spinning.
Literally. Was it guilt? she thought, shaking her head.
Ridiculous. Panic? If so, what the fuck for? One good thing about being seen as scum of the earth is that when you have a mild freak-out, people don't notice the difference.
Anne stopped dead in her tracks. She did a double take to make sure she was seeing it correctly. A note was protruding from the door of her locker. That's a first. Nobody ever cared enough to write her, if even to say "Eat shit and die". She inspected the paper for anything suspicious. Safe so far. She unfolded it, ever so carefully. Skipping to the end, a low, maniacal chuckle escaped her lips. "Should have known,"
she breathed.
"Dearest Annebell, You were wrong. Diane knows more than you think. And so do I. Please let me be your friend. You could really use one. My number is at the bottom. Call me.
Love,Misty"
Anne read it again. And again. "Impudent witch," she sneered, "she has no idea what she's in for." For reasons Anne didn't know, she folded the piece of paper just as she found it and slipped it into her coat pocket. The mad brunette pulled out what she needed for her lesson at the junior high school, leaving any thought to the letter behind.
Once again Anne arrived home to a familiar car parked in the driveway. She stopped and looked over to her mom's window, sighing and shaking her head in shame. The silhouettes told the story of what was going on inside. The only difference this time: Anne knew exactly to whom this car belongs.
Her guidance councilor, Mrs. Baker.
The girl felt another piece of her soul die off as she walked up to the house. Anne decided to make up a microwave dinner tonight. Her homework was done in a flash, all the while listening to what was happening in the next room; her hatred for that woman grew with every passing minute. It wasn't too much longer that she was finished and in her bedroom. Anne looked to the corner of her bedroom and smiled.
"Tonight is a good night," she breathed, setting the amp in the open window. She wrapped Kramer around her neck and flipped the switch on. She closed her eyes and let the strings sing.
What came out was a piece that both delighted and infuriated. The main riffs portraying what Anne was thinking in the moment, while the solos took on the air of confusion and desperation. She began to sing some lyrics of one of the poems she wrote down earlier today. Once she finished the song, she just kept playing her heart out, perhaps hoping for someone out there will hear her plea. Little did she know the kind of impact this song would have on her life.
Across town, Misty sat at the dinner table with her parents. Her house, though lavish in decor and luxurious in appointments, was still filled with boxes from the move. One of the first things her father set up was the dining room table, made of solid mahogany and topped with authentic china, along with the chairs. "Families are made in the bedroom, but gather at the dinner table," he often joked.
Tonight's dinner was light, seeing as how the kitchen was still in disarray. Living in that small apartment before they closed on the house didn't help. Misty listened to her parents talk about their days. Usual stuff for a psychiatrist and an M.D. New patients they have, old patients not wanting their medication, government restriction, the whole nine yards.
"How did your day go, sweetheart?" Misty's mom asked.
Misty shrugged. "Ok I guess. Met a bunch of new people."
"Did you make the team?" her father inquired.
"Yeah. Piece of cake," she said with too big of a smile. Her parents looked at her, waiting for the teenager to go on. "The team here would get smashed by the girls in Iowa. I don't think they even know what competitive cheer is."
Her father just gave her a look. "How's Diane?"
"She's good. Going out with some nerdy kid. I can't think of his name."
"Well, at least that's one way I can tell you two apart," he said, holding back the laugh. Misty looked up from her plate and cocked an eyebrow. "She has a GUY holding her arm."
Misty reached out and smacked his arm. "Not cool, dad." Even his wife gave him that look.
"What?"
"Why always with the gay jokes?"
"You opened the door to them when you opened the closet," he laughed and this time her mother snorted too. Misty was damn-near punching his arm by this point.
"What's that?" she asked, coming to a sudden stop. "You guys hear that?"
Her parents paused and listened. "I don't hear anything honey."
"C'mon mom, listen. . . is there a concert somewhere?"
"Not that I'm aware of, but then again I just moved here."
Misty just gave the woman a snide look. She got up and went to the front door. Standing on the oversized porch, she listened to some sad guitarist play his heart out. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around her body. The cool bitter air was a good metaphor for the music that blared over the town. Her parents stood in the doorway and watched their daughter. She swayed with the music. And just as suddenly as it began, the music stopped. The cheerleader felt a tear linger in her eye, wanting more. But none was to come. She locked up all the sorrow from the moment and went back inside, thinking it a good ending to her miserable first day back.
Anne awoke the next morning to a seldom occurrence. No poorly fucked, drunken mother alarm clock. After how she went to bed last night, she half-expected her to come in with a gun. Once Mrs. Baker left, complaining of the noise, Katharine kicked Anne's door in and started berating her like usual. "Fucking whore!" she screamed, standing nearly naked. "Turn that fucking thing off. You'll never be anything like your brother."
Anne felt the sting of that. "You're right, mother," she said, holding back her anger somehow, "I'm going to be better." She set her only friend back into the stand while her mother started laughing.
"Ha! Ha! Hehe! Oh my, you're more fucked up than your father was, giving you all of his attention."
"You mean more fucked up than you are," the guitarist answered quickly. "I don't know where you get off on thinking shit like that. Maybe it's from all of that alcohol and cock that goes into your mouth? Words can't express how depraved you really are, my sweet, sweet mother."
The fury in her mother's eye was undeniable. Katharine's response was to throw the closest thing, a textbook, at her daughter. Anne caught it without much effort. She took a hard step towards the teenager, then stopped just as quickly. Anne held up her right arm, her palm less than an inch from her mother's face. Coldly, Anne glared at the woman as if daring her to get any closer. For another minute their eyes remain locked in a battle of wills. Katharine blinked first; she turned around and left the room, slamming the door behind her.
Anne fell back on the bed, a tear slipping down her cheek. Not from what her mother said, but from the frustration. Anne's always hated herself for not being able to summon the courage to hit her.
Tonight was the closest she's ever come, and that tore her up even more. "What do I need to do?" she sobbed to no one. "What do I need to do to get away from this... thing?" She was out a few minutes later, still cursing her cowardice.
Anne sat on the edge of her bed, thinking about how much better she felt today. She changed and got ready for school. She decided on a pair of black jeans and an old Metallica t-shirt. She left her hair down as usual. Lately she's been thinking of dying it a deep red, been never got around to it. Deciding everything was in order, she threw on her black leather trench coat and cotton gloves and headed out.
She decided to get to school early and get some food then. The sun was still asleep when Anne's feet touched the sidewalk. Just like every other morning, just like the sun, she shined a light on the other side of herself--her past. The fight with her mother last night brought up a few topics that she's only recently thought about; her brother, Jason, and his devotion to his music. If it wasn't for him, Anne wouldn't have a friend to lean on. Her father, devoted his time equally to building his career and his family. She always thought he did well, never denying Anne a thing; he was at every special event, came home early on her birthdays to bake the cake, however horribly; he always put his children first. Then one day her world came crashing down, leaving her a wounded survivor.
The brunette forced herself from thinking about it. She wasn't there to help them and doubted she would have been able to. She couldn't even take care of herself that day. She always thought they were the lucky ones--they didn't have to live with the constant reminder, or the memories. She did. And that mom-thing didn't make it any easier. Ever since then, Anne couldn't care less if that woman fell over dead. And hoped that day would hurry the fuck up and get here.
The school was in sight, thus ending Anne's serenity. The sun was more than halfway over the horizon, extinguishing the light in her soul. The bitter darkness manifested in her daily transformation. With every step she took, the more she hated all life on this planet. In yet, something in her gut was telling her that this day was going to be... oddly different.
After finishing her breakfast, Anne reached into her backpack and pulled out one of her notebooks. She found the song she sang last night and started making some changes to the lyrics. Add something here, rearrange the wording there. When she finished, however, she still wasn't happy with it. The teenager let out a frustrated growl and tore it up. After throwing the wadded up paper ball across the cafeteria, she jammed her hands into her coat pockets. Anne's sudden fury stopped. She pulled out a particular piece of parchment, one that she thought to give no mind to.
Misty's note.
She read it, re-read it, studied it even. She looked for word usage, sentence structure, emotional characteristics, anything and everything one puts into their writing. Though the small amount of words made it hard, what she found surprised her. "Hmm, at least she's honest," she mumbled. "Dimwitted, but honest." Then she saw her signature at the bottom.
From what she's learned about forensic analysis, the way in which someone signs their name is just as telling as the words hey choose. In this case it was the decorative pattern of the "M", "T", and "Y". Coupled with her own skill of art and poetry, something clicked on inside. And it scared the living shit out of the scarred girl.
Anne got through her first two classes just like she always does, by getting her work done early then turning her attention to her poetry and art. She decided to take one of the poems she wrote awhile back and turn it into a picture. She was only a few hours into the project, so there wasn't much on the paper; true art can take weeks to finalize.
With the ringing of the bell, she rolled out of the classroom and into the hallway. She gave no thought to the people around her--they could go to hell and die for all she cared--but the person standing by her locker gave the teenager pause. The Bitch recognized her immediately, but made no motion to see what she was doing; she would wait to see what happened afterward.
The solemn female idly walked to her locker, whereupon the door was taped another note. Anne let out a sigh. She noticed the handwriting right away and decided, what the hell. She opened it and began reading.
"You were wrong, Annebell Amera. I know more about you and your mother than you think. Please let me talk to you. Please call me tonight, or give me your number. I'll see you soon.
Love,Misty"
The Bitch let out what can only be described as an evil laugh. She startled herself by the cruelty of her tone. She folded it up, shoved it in her pocket, and got out her texts for the next few classes. "She'll learn soon enough."
Calculus passed by without a word spoken between them. Not a glance, or simple grin. Anne, sitting next to her wants-to-be-friend, felt the difference in her energy, and that made her smile. Twenty-four hours ago, she was filled with that weird bubbly excitement, but now there was nothing but dread and hopelessness. Just the way Anne likes it.
Misty watched Anne sit down at her table with hardly anything. She was standing in the opposite line, a better spot to scope her out, or so she told herself. Pity shot through the cheerleader seeing her sitting at her table, all alone, eating only a bag of Doritos. She shook off the unpleasantries they shared yesterday and started the day anew. Today will be different, she kept telling herself.
"Hello, Annebell Amera," she said standing across from her again. "Mind if I join you today?"
Shrugging and without looking up, she answered, "I see your manners haven't improved much, but it's a free country."
Misty set her tray down and fell into the small seat. "Anne, please, why do you act this way? Is it because your father and brother are dead? Your mother's a deadbeat? Or are just scared?"
The Bitch remained silent for a minute. "Is the interrogation over with, Misty Thomas?" Anne asked, unmoved by the concern in Misty's voice. "If so please be so kind and keep your mouth shut whilst I enjoy the few minutes of the day that I can." Misty was taken aback by her outburst. Using the pause, Anne thanked her.
"Anne, what is the matter with you?" Misty nearly shouted. Anne closed her eyes and let out a huff. "You used to be so nice. I just want to be your friend." Anne's expressionless face did nothing to comfort the worried teen. "I know about your condition. I'm here for you."
Anne let out a cynical giggle. "Gathering personal information before engaging in conversation; clever girl. But you have me at a loss.
Explain to me, if you would please, my 'condition'."
The taller girl blinked, confused. "Well, I know that you were raped and beaten, I believe you suffer from post-tramatic shock."
Anne's turn to blink. "I do? Wow, how did you know? Did Diane tell you that? Or was it our resident gossip queen, Jennica? Oh, please tell me, nobody tells me anything."
"That's not funny, Anne," Misty said, suddenly feeling aggressive. She glanced down at her food; suddenly it lost it's appeal.
"For once, you are correct," Anne slammed her right hand on the table, "It's not funny. It's hilarious. Are you not going to laugh at your own jokes? No? Then allow me."
"...Anne, stop it. Stop. Anne shut up!" With that, Anne stopped laughing, only to have her expression turn back to it's normal icy look. "Anne, I beg you, talk to me about you. I want to hear everything from you, not some cheap-lipped gossip queen."
Anne cracked a smile at her choice of words. "I must say that I admire your resolve, Misty, but unfortunately for you I'm quite disinclined to acquiesce to your request. But if it's any consolation, you know how to put a smile on my face.
Now, be gone and join your little 'cheap-lipped gossip queens'. Once they've told you all about me, then we might be able to have a conversation, albeit one that will undoubtedly lower my I.Q. points."
Misty shrugged off the sting of that last part. "Don't look now, Anne, but we're having a conversation."
"Playing on the conscience of your conquest is normally a tactic that works, but not on me." Anne lost any semblance of humor. "Remember, I don't have a conscience. To people like your little gang, clique, harem, call it what you will, people like me are insects; insects to be squashed on sight. So why shan't I hold you in the same regard? People like that, like you, hypocrites, make me sick."
Misty, ignoring the tears welling in her eyes, studied Anne's face. She saw her mouth twitch and her pupils narrow. "Who hurt you, Anne?" Her answer was a blank stare. "Anne, tell me who hurt you. That kind of contempt can only come from a past pain."
"Just like I said. Hypocrite," she sneered. "You sit there and tell me you know about my condition, and then have the audacity to ask me something like that with that feigned concern on your face? Fuck you."
The taller cheerleader looked back over her shoulder. Diane was watching her, shaking her head. Everyone else at the table was carrying on like usual, but she had a feeling as to the subject of their conversation.
"By the way," Anne said, getting Misty's attention, "I don't own a phone. I'm sure Diane told you as much." Misty shook her head. "No? Pity. Well, like I said before, once you know more about me then we can have that conversation."
"I won't know what you won't tell me," she prompted.
"You know something? You're right."
The bell rang. Anne gathered up her things without looking at the teary-eyed teen. Misty was the first one to the trash can. She slammed her tray a little harder than necessary against the side and into the dish window. She walked to her locker without saying a word to anyone. The troubled girl let out an aggravated sigh as she stared into the cold metal.
"Something bothering you?" Diane asked. Misty's silent slam was her answer. "I hate to say I told you so. . ." She stopped at her cousin's askance look. "I did, didn't I?"
"Did you hear that music playing last night?" the cheerleader asked, avoiding the topic. Diane just tilted her head in confusion. "It was so beautiful, filled with the sorrow of broken hearts and promises. I've never heard anything like it before." Diane continued to look at her baby cousin like she'd finally lost it. "You live three houses down from me, I know you heard it!"
"No, I didn't. What's your point?"
"My point is," Misty huffed, "that you told me Anne is an excellent guitar player. And after everything you told me about her, about how she used to laugh, talk your ear off; or how she would come over to your house just to see you smile, that kind of personality doesn't go away over night."
Diane's expression turned worried. She placed her hand on the brunette's forehead, which was quickly slapped away. "You sick or something? I also told you about how after her dad and brother died she came back totally fucked up. Rumor has it that she was raped and beaten. The Annebell Amera that I once knew is also died that day. What's left is just some bitch in her body."
"Don't call her that! That's what everybody says and I'm sick of it." Misty's eyes grew watery as she ran her fingers through her hair, frustrated. "I know that there's more to her than that. There has to be."
Diane rolled her eyes. "Whatever," she said as she walked off to her next class.
Misty watched her go, fighting back the urge to scream. She opened her locker again to get out the books for her afternoon classes. Stuck to the inside of her door was the picture Diane sent her so long ago. She ran her finger tips over the photograph and tried to smile. It didn't do much good. A tear escaped her closed eye. "Damn it," she said bitingly, slamming her locker shut. The cheerleader wiped away the estranged drop only to have another fall. She cursed herself again and headed off.
Thank you for reading the first part of what will become an overhaul of my first story. I still can't believe it's been five years. Since then I've got plenty more work on here to keep you all entertained, plus I can recommend some of my personal favorites from other people if you like. I look forward to hearing from you all.