If I Didn't Hate You ...
By GrungeGiRL
Disclaimer: No, I don't own Bus Life. It belongs to John Marley. Smelly, I know. I would like that head goth. Oh yes I would.
Summary: A Bus Life fic. The head goth discovers his new found feelings for the skater girl ... well, you have to suffer to achieve, I say.
A/N: Nothing to tell you, but I find it kind of cute when the head goth calls himself the "naughty boy!" Teehee -
There are some days you'll wake up, and the place you call home will cave in, the flowers will wilt and grey, and everything around will evaporate to shit. As for the rest between the lines, destruction occurs over the littlest incidents, and it's much more worse than the commotion itself.
Well, to me, I suppose. I, Gavin Black, for sixteen years, have always been a little on the doubtful side. It's all been down to my childhood As a little kid, I was never read fairy tales, and the closest story to the likes of them was about an old women who lived in a crooked house all by herself, and the more lonely she got, the more sadder she got, until she became so unhappy she disappeared.
I can't really blame her. I had experienced this often, 'cause I was always the ''naughty boy.'' When I did the slightest thing rude, like put my elbows on the table or ask about newly discovered mature content, my father would whack me hard across the face and shove me in the attic.
I was terrified, at first. ''Thump, thump, thump, thump.'' My heart would go at this rate every second. I was never too sure about the distorted shadow lurking by, or the old eyeless puppet my dad adored dearly. But I was relaxed by the obscure classical music that softly howled and whimpered and sneered in the background. It penetrated my thinking, as it sounded so beautiful. So I never minded getting into trouble because I knew I would be able to listen to music I liked most.
My father liked it more, though. He, as the neighbour's would claim, was a ''crazy man.'' He adored obscure types of music, and injected all sorts of substances into his arms, like washing liquid and wine, and sometimes Mum's blood. He quoted most lines out of Willy Wonka and The Chocolate Factory and Wizard Of Oz, his childhood favourites, and owned a metal corset. Everyone found him a freak, but we relied on him strongly.
But not all geniuses last forever. My father ... well ... ummmmm ... fuck, I ... ummmm, he ... oh, shit ... he killed himself! God, it's ... well, even hard to say. He took ... painkillers. An ... overdose. And ... that ... well, that was ...
No, please don't make me talk about it. It was bad enough I didn't cry at the time, so don't make me now ...
I bet people wonder why I look back so much. Well, hell, not everyone is blessed with a ''positive future!'' You can't blame me.
Now, in the present, life has never been better. Mother's so distraught by Father's suicide, she's not been up and about, so it's no wonder she receives a Giro half the bloody time. My little sister has never got a proper education, so people pick on her, reckoning she's a spastic, and hell, they don't even KNOW HER! As for me ... I am now leader of the school's most infamous clique (ie, The Goths), a scapegoat for the more fortunate and the reason people think that ''fag'' is a kind term to use.
Yes, life is sure as fucking sweet.
But why am I going on about this shit, you ask? Well, I'll tell you. I'll tell you all right. I'm telling you all this ... because it's not relevant anymore. It doesn't seem to matter. It just isn't that bothersome ... and I don't know why.
It all started when I was on the 217 bus on my way home from school, and this skateboarder chick (her name's Hayley and she comes from America) went up to me, and said, ''Uhh, hey, dude, do you have a black eye?''
Of course, Hayley isn't that smart, so I explained, ''No, it's black eye make-up.''
And she said, ''Yeah ... well, if it is a black eye, I don't think you should ... like, get it. Cos you kinda get enough as it is.'' And she turned away to talk to her mate Speeder.
And things have been like this ever since. Why do I feel ... lighthearted? I'm not even a light person! I'm DARK DARK DARK! Why do I quiver when I heard her American drawl? It's not really a pleasant voice to hear. Why does my guts turn into a mashed up mess when she catches my eye? It's not like it's happened before. I've never been attracted to her loud, boisturous attitude before, or her wild skateboarding antics ... or her far apart icy blue eyes ... or her pointy nose ... or her long choppy, feathery dark brown hair ...
Shit, I'm getting carried away. You can even see that! I'm not even good looking. I have to hide under white foundation, black eye make-up, dark lipstick and lots of hair spray to darken and spike my hair up. And my face is all weird and thin anyway.
From what I know, Hayley'll probably prefer someone like Rick. He's the stud of the school, what, with his gelled blonde hair, thin face, emerald eyes and straight nose. Fuck, he looks like the kind of Angel you'd see in Heaven. But that's unlikely, because I don't believe there is a Heaven really.
My friends Mona and Sabrina (two loyal members of my Goth gang) haven't found out, thank God, but if they did, I'd be in for it. The thing is, our Goth gang is kind of rivals with the Skateboarders (Hayley's clique). Oh shit, sounds like ''Romeo & Juliet'' here. I've never been too pally with Hayley before because of this. It just seemed like a rule to dislike the Skaters. The Brainy Kids, however, are tossed to the side because they don't exactly have a role in this war. I kinda think Mona and Sabrina think I should like someone with a whole lot of meaning and depth, who takes things seriously, which is sweet, but the only kind of women that are closest to that, is them, or that bunch of loud, rock-chick groupies who go on about how hot Ville Valo is, which is all right, but isn't my idea of attractive.
Hayley hates being groupie-like, from what I know, and prefers to be individual. Which I've been finding completely understandable. And others think I'm starting to become obsessed ...
Oh shit.
Till then,
Gavin Black