Nothing she had ever done had affected her like this had.
Reaching home, the events of the day still swirling through her mind like a maelstrom, she slowly entered the house she shared with her mother. She was scared of herself right now. She didn't know why she was feeling what she was feeling. Maybe she was finally growing a conscience.
Somewhere along the line the plan had gone wrong, and the consequences were bothering the shit out of her. Nazz felt genuinely disturbed. A group is only as strong as it's weakest link, and right now she felt like she fit that quota. Which wasn't great for her, not if she wanted to keep on the other member's good sides. Entering the hallway, she realized that trying to immerse herself in distractions was not going to work, not this time, she could tell. Not that that was going to stop her from trying. Pushing open the door to the bathroom, ignoring the slight creak of the hinges, she set to work. With her schoolbag safely deposited by the front door she could begin her routine without worry of distraction from her mother when she got home. First, the tub was filled with steaming hot water infused with just the right amount of vanilla bubble bath, next, she got her razor. Glaring down the instrument, she knew she'd already made the choice for herself. Bubble bath would sting on cuts. Not today.
Sliding easily into the water she let a sigh of frustration escape her as her body was submerged into the therapeutic concoction. Why, oh why praytell, was she still involving herself in things like this? Nearing seventeen years of age, she should be able to distinguish between positive and negative influences, and yet here she was! Contemplating whether or not to skip the bath and go straight into the selfharm to get her mind off things? Feeling intense regret over her involvement with particular people at her highschool and their absolutely barbaric actions? What was she even getting out of this?
Oh yeah, that's right.
They had blackmail against her. How could she possibly forget.
Wrinkling her nose at the vile taste her thought's bitter sarcasm brought with it, she slunk even further beneath the water level in her innocent white bathtub. It was so easy to stain things that were white. White skin, bruised and battered, the colours of pain evidently displayed as a sickening rainbow while the body attempted to heal itself. White clothing, the entire load of laundry purposefully sabotaged with a single red-dyed garment so that the whole damn thing turned pink in colour, a gesture of mocking towards a scared boy's sexual orientation. Let's not forget the white papers marked with sharpie, attempts at the required 'academic excellence' for classes crushed into the ground with two strokes on the top of the page spelling out a failing grade.
White was a pretty colour, sure. But it was weak and subjective and easily changed by outside forces, and she hated it for that. She hated it because it reminded it of herself. It reminded her of everyone who's life she had had a helping hand in making more difficult. Not that she was going to name names, but she knew for a fact that she was at least indirectly responsible for the grief of a lot of people, and that was enough to drive her to hate herself.
She shouldn't have trusted Rolf. As soon as he got wind of her secret, of course he had to inform Kevin. Nazz had her own suspicions about their relationship, but in her current position she wasn't really able to judge, let alone voice her observations. She'd come to learn that once Kevin heard something he could use to his own advantage, there was no way it was going to go by unacknowledged, no fucking way. And if he heard of something being spread around that impacted him negatively? You'd have to sleep with one eye open. He hadn't been the same after his father's company went bankrupt. Behind the doors of his house? Her shudder was legitimate as she even ventured to imagine what went on behind those walls that had twisted him into something so full of ire and vengeance.
Yet this was the situation she had gotten herself into. Similar to how Eddy sometimes threatened Double D with revealing to the other kids what was under his hat, she mused with a grimace on her pretty face, Kevin now had control over her. He knew her secret. He had her in his vice grip, and there was no way she would get out of this unscathed. Either she followed and aided him in his reign of terror, or he let the entirety of the cul-de-sac know what she'd tried to keep hidden, even from herself, practically since she was a child.
If she was stronger she would be able to break free. This was a catch-22 and she despised herself for not taking the high road and coming clean by her goddamn self. It was the lesser of two evils – she was tired of others suffering for her personal cowardice.
Crying silent tears while massaging pomegranate conditioner into your hair isn't something that most people make a habit of, but for Nazz it had become part of her near-daily 'routine'. Aromatherapy was supposedly a thing, and she was milking it for all it was worth. Like a horrible crescendo her self-loathing had snowballed into something uncontrollable, but hell if she wasn't going to try to rein it in.
Thing was, there was no gay-straight alliance club at her school. Peach Creek wasn't exactly the most liberal-thinking of places when it came to the rights of the LGBT+. Peach Creek wasn't the most liberal-thinking of places period. The adults scoffed at the humanitarian rights movements sprouting across the country and their children learned from their caretakers. And, as we all know, children have the potential to be a violent, cruel bunch. To say her true colours would not be accepted with open arms would be the understatement of the century.
At least once they'd all gotten to higher grade levels the rivalries between the various cliques had died down. The two most prominent rival groups from their childhoods, the Eds and the Kankers, had lowered their boundaries and as such been somewhat assimilated with the other children of Rathink Avenue. Everything was more complex now than the few groups they had strewn together in their days of youth – it was like a war between countries had been disbanded and now everyone was left to choose their own affiliations, make their own alliances, their own enemies. It was all a convoluted miasma of con-artists and backstabbing and innocent people being left to rot and die. Ah, highschool.
Nazz twirled her finger languidly through the bubbled surface of the bathwater, then sighed from deep in her lungs and leaned backwards into the heat of the sweet-smelling liquid, submerging herself up to her neck, bent knees poking out of the foam like two identical beach islands with sand the colour of peach tea. A large gulp of air refilling what had escaped with her sigh and her eyes squeezed closed as tight as she could, Nazz slipped her head beneath the sea of vanilla. Though long evaporated into the sauna-like air of the bathroom, she felt comforted in feeling like, should those rivulets of tears still been present on her face, they would have been washed away, conjoined into the miniature waves surrounding her. Aromatherapy was nice, but being safe and enclosed in the warm blanket of a nice bath was a huge comfort to her as well. The strange echoes of sound vibrating through the water were so different than the harsh sounds of dry land. In real life she was a prisoner. But when she was underwater? She felt like a fucking mermaid. A mermaid who everyone loved. A nice, pretty, kind, helpful mermaid princess who did everything she could for her subjects to make them happy. Not someone who worked to ruin others lives for her own selfish reasons. God she hated herself.
And just like that, she was back on dry land. Peeking her face out of the water she ran her hands through her dirty-blonde hair, trying to work the conditioner out so she could towel off and leave. Her Gilette was looming in the corner of her mind and she was not doing that tonight, no sir.
What she was doing, though, was practicing her violin. As a villain she supposed she was entitled to have an outlet, and classical music for her was very much that. Music was like math – it was logical and the more you practiced it the better you got at it. But unlike math, it was easier to express emotion through the medium. When she was sad and felt like she was empty and awful and hopeless, she played her violin and let her sorrows escape through the notes. But when she was angry or felt like she was going to commit arson, she would work out for a little bit, do some exercises, go for a jog. That brought a slight grin to her lips, though somewhat strained. Being a human felt so weird sometimes, emotions were baffling to her. At least now she could handle them better than when she was younger? She'd have to take that small comfort to soothe her mind and keep her on track. She wasn't at school right now. She was away from the people who had control over her. Now that she was alone, she was free. And she intended to make the most of the time she had before her return to the battleground tomorrow morning. No one was going to bother her, her mom wouldn't be home for at least another hour or so. That was plenty of time to have the house to herself. She was without charge, she was alone, and she was safe.
For the moment.
Her brain wouldn't let her forget, and it nagged at the back of her mind.
Having slipped into more casual and comfortable clothing while she pondered, she was ready to unload her anxieties. Unlatching her violin's case and setting it in the proper position came almost as second nature to her now – she'd been doing this a lot lately.
With her window open and a breeze making its way into her room, she closed her eyes. Adjusting her hold on the bow, her memory kicked in and she began to play, sound of strings as soft and as soothing as the brush of wind against her face.
Breathe in. Release.
Freedom.