5o shades of green
he wears the smell of blood and death like a perfume
there is fire in his eyes
and ice in his veins
but you love him anyway
for he is a star
burning with the light of a thousand suns
(and your world is dark without him)
.courfreyacc
Nine years of therapy, a crappy apartment, single as shit, and hardly the energy to make a cup of coffee. This might describe some hip young woman from a trendy TV show devoted to the deterioration of the mainstream idea of adulthood. Or, much more likely, the young woman half hanging out of her bed wishing there was an instant cure for a morning after drinking a box of wine alone. This young woman was April O'Neil.
And, in her mumbled words, she was; "so fucking done."
She practically fell from bed emerging with the elegance of a bulldog placed on ice. Dawning an oversized sweatshirt and her dark red hair in a matted bun, she pulled on a pair of cheetah print pink fluffy slippers and slumped to her kitchen. It was Sunday morning.
She flippantly looked through her phone scoffing at a man's text that read:
Anthony 8:46pm
Hey April, I can't make it tonight. Something urgent came up at the office. Know you'd understand x
She opened Facebook and felt a part of her soul die as the first post was about her close friend Grace and her new diamond ring followed by the caption; "I said yes… duh."
April turned away from her phone and stared disgustedly out the window to the city's skyline. It was always her dream to have an apartment of her own in the city. Even though she did share one at the moment with her roommate; a spacey girl she was somewhat friendly with named Taylor. The draw of the skyscrapers and lights had quickly lost its allure to April. The world had changed vastly since she left Manhattan at age thirteen. She supposed the quiet suburbs where she had spent her most recent years had somewhat made her forget everything that bothered her about city life.
"I should have bought a lottery ticket, yesterday," she sarcastically mused.
She smirked before turning to twitter and quickly posting the remark to her thousands of followers.
Sure. She ran a popular blog that touched on subjects ranging from the new Urban Decay eye shadow palette to the growing threat of that strange clan roaming the streets.
She also found success in her YouTube vlogs with a channel titled Pretty Smart: A Beauty Guru with Brains.
Maybe she sold out or maybe she lured in viewers with a tutorial on the OPI nail polish Lincoln Park After Dark, before fitting in a solid eight minute rebuttal on Councilman Dan Gregger's comment on how the Foot Clan is nothing more than exaggerated gang reports.
Either way, she made a living off it. And landing an internship at the channel 6 newsroom certainly helped matters.
Even though she fully realized she was at the bottom of the totem pole, it didn't stop her from chasing stories she knew mattered. Her blogs were often featured on the news site and made quite a splash among fellow newsmongers.
She was going to make it big as a television news reported. With Barbara Walters as her inspiration and Katie Couric as her long time #wcw, she knew success was on the horizon. It was only a matter of time until she found the story that escalated her into realms of reporter glory. She finally felt she was onto to something with this bizarre Foot Clan. The only problem was it wasn't yet getting the coverage she believed it deserved.
After brewing a cup of coffee and pouring the steaming liquid into a quirky mug depicting a turtle wearing wayfarer styled glasses, she was reminded of a much dreaded therapist meeting. Those never went so well after a disappointing boy situation. Those were always the sessions that brought up her father and her childhood. And, oddly enough, a bizarre obsession with turtles.
Suddenly, the low humming of her phone caught her attention. She groaned as Vernon's name and face popped into view. A coworker who, all be it creepy, was good for eventual networking. He was higher up than her at the office and had accompanied many big names into stardom. Having someone like that who (albeit occasionally) stared at her chest, seemed like an okay enough person to have. It was a small price to pay for the man who one day could be at her side on sight.
She slid the screen and answered with the illusion of being a non-hungover individual.
"Hey A-Dawg, wut up?" came his raspy voice.
Her free hand rubbed her forhead, "Oh just coming back from a jog. You?"
"Lucky. I'm at the office. Hey I just heard that Richard guy is having his 45th anniversary dinner party tonight. Would you happen to be free-zoes?"
She gawked in awe of the word free-zoes.
"N-" she resisted her gut instinct. Network April. She said to herself. Network.
"I would happen to be free, Vern... Actually. "
"Awesome! Could I pick you up at six?"
She narrowed her brow, "should I- this isn't like a date, is it?"
"WhaAAT? No, no, no, Aprizzle. Date? Pfff!"
She blinked "Oh okay, I was just wondering…"
"I mean unless, idk you wanted it to go in that date-like direction, I wouldn't mind, come to think of i-"
"We can discuss the news on the Foot Clan, and that new victim. Get some work done," she spat out quickly trying to cover his awkward bumbles.
"Uh, sure. I guess."
"So six o'clock right? Okay, I'll be ready then. See you later, Vern."
He could hardly get out his goodbyes before she hung up on him.
She stared slack jarred to her phone.
"Well, shit."
"The turtles are an –"
"An urban legend told by boy scouts around the fire, I know. Besides, where did those boys even build the fire? Central Park? Is that legal?"
April knew the drill. She knew her therapist made her repeat the words daily. That they weren't real. That her father never mutated baby turtles she named after Italian Renaissance artists. That her father wasn't even a scientist. That he was the manager at the Walgreens Pharmacy three blocks away.
That's the thing when you have a mental break in your teens, she realized, they all want a piece of your brain... And they want to know if your mother was a crazy bitch. Thank you Freud.
They wanted to know why. Why did she have open conversations with an invisible turtle named Raphael? Why did she wake up crying that the fire killed her father? That he was still alive? That the turtles were still alive?
And, when that infamous low-quality camera phone picture of a masked turtle-man wielding nunchucks made world wide news - a thirteen year old April was Instantly and forever changed. Even though it was widely passed off as a prank, she knew she was right. And it fucked her up bad.
When she turned sixteen, she learned how to tell people what they wanted to hear. Something she has been doing ever since. Sure, she no longer needed the help like the little girl with crippling social anxiety and a world inside her head did. She needed it like the twenty-two year old woman who thought it was a good idea to eat three day old Taco Bell.
"I'm sorry. I know of your previous sessions, in fact I'm sure you're aware of how infamous your case is among budding therapists."
"What?"
"Oh, you're completely textbook, girl. Big time."
April contorted he face in confusion as she sat across from the young doctor. She wasn't her usual therapist since Doctor Vale was out on maternity leave. She never did like this sub Doctor Gallway much. She was small, with bleached hair, dainty glasses, and always seemed to make a sour smirk like she had just sucked off a lemon.
Or, that's how April saw her anyways. The troubled young woman crossed her arms as she sat on the comfortable arm chair, her long hair needing to be washed as it still sat in the same bun from that morning.
"So slap me on the cover of 'Therapists-r-us'. Crazy turtle girl married in the sewers of New York to actual turtle. Witness to Harry, the guy who you yelled at for going through your garbage last night."
"And how would that make you feel? Would it give you some sense of contentment?"
April eyed the woman for a long moment.
"Yes."
Doctor Gallway smiled, "You always were a funny one."
"I thought I was the pretty one," April mockingly grumbled with a pout.
"So let's get back to this Vernon. If you wouldn't mind."
She looked over her shoulder, "He's a dong."
"Excuse me?"
"I don't know the guy's like forty-something. He obviously likes me and I'm wondering if I should just throw caution to the wind and date him. Give him a chance. Even though his name is Vernon."
"Maybe that's all anyone needs."
"That's what I gave to Anthony last night."
"From what we've discussed about that man I thought we came to conclusion he's at a different point in his life than you? And that you didn't make your feelings for him clear enough."
"So men presume they can stare at me as they please, flirt when it suits their mood, but never plan to take me out? To have a conversation with me?"
"Men think much differently than woman, you know."
"As much as I understand the logic... I was stood up and I still want to cry about it. A lot."
"A completely healthy and normal reaction."
"The two things I could only strive to be."
They both shared in a small laugh before Gallway glanced at her watch. Seeing that they only had a few more moments to spare, she gathered the courage to ask a burning question of hers.
"I- I know this isn't relevant of even, uh, very appropriate," she began carefully plucking her words, "but I've been dying to know- to ask…"
"Yes...?"
April's mind raced. Possible questions ran through her mind: "Did you truly see your father burn before your eyes? Do you remember the names of the men from that night? Do you believe in aliens? Do you have many sexual fantasies about turtles?"
Gallway bit her lip and adjusted her glasses before asking her question in a whisper.
"Is that your natural hair color?"