Title: Cross My Heart, Hope to Die
Synopsis: Fred Krueger decides to invite his crush to the senior prom and in doing so, experiences the first heartbreak of his 17 years of life.
Rated: M for mature themes and coarse language.
Disclaimer
This story was based on the Freddy's Nightmares television show episode from the late 80s to the early 90s. I do not own Freddy Krueger, Howard, Denise Charlotte, Cindy, Or A Nightmare on Elm Street.
The Psycho. The Girl.
Denise Charlotte didn't even have to try. The girl could dress herself in a brown paper bag but to me, she'd still be beautiful. But you know, like everything, the unpopular kids don't get the privileges. They don't get noticed by the upper classmen. And you know, I was one of those kids-not the popular, the unpopular. Do I give a fuck? Well, not really. But do I give a fuck about Denise? Yes.
I laid eyes on Denise for the first time when she strolled into my English class, and I mean, I don't ordinarily pay attention to trivial details- but I did pay attention to her. It was like everything shuddered to a stop in the class, the world, and it was just her and myself. But she didn't notice me. She gave a flirtatious half wave to her latest heartthrob, potential man candy. In all probability, the only popular male she had yet to conquer. He was one of those I'm-playing-hard-to-get chumps, but you could tell he was real attracted to Denise. And who wouldn't be? She was the leggy blonde with deep eyes you'd never get bored drowning in, and lots of hair I wanted to run my fingers though. I can't help it, I'm a teenage boy who just wants to get laid. I doubt I ever will though, unless you count mom. Afterwards, I was taken out of her custody. Heck, I know I'm a sick fuck- they could of just flat out told me that. But no, they chose to use other words. Mentally Disturbed. That is a fancier way of describing a sick fuck. I mean, it's not like anyone has ever liked me.
Shit. I hate when I start the self pity. I try not to, but sometimes it just comes over me. That's when I turn to the knife. You probably don't have a clue what I'm thinking. You would never understand even if you tried. You just have to feel it- that sensation...that deadly good sensation of the sharp razor blade plunging into bare flesh. Watching the darkened red blood slowly and carefully seep out of the wound.
I bet if Denise knew, she'd think I was even crazier.
So it was that day she walked into my English class, took the seat in front of me where my eyes bored into her skull the entire period. It was either that or concentrate on the Shakespeare bullshit the teach' was feeding us.
I'm not stupid, I have my own life to be concerned of. Not some long dead guy that made up words and was proclaimed to be one of the greatest writers of all time. Greatest writer my ass.
Denise had been chewing on gum, she wasn't making it subtle either- but no one cared. Not even Mr. Higgins. The dickhead teacher who liked to play a little game called Make Fred Krueger's life a living hell. As long as it was Denise Charlotte popping away at the piece of fruity flavored gum, it was nothing to get worked up about.
I could smell the frigging scent of her perfume all the way to my desk. It wasn't too much, not a big cloud you couldn't even breath in...it was just, nice. Simple and damn nice.
I had watched as Denise turned around- my way. I yearned to run my hands through my hair, golden blonde, (not a bad colour at all, and hell, maybe Denise agreed) and give her one of those Elvis Presley grins, those grins that drive the ladies wild. I hate the guy, but he's definitely not famous for nothin'. The looks have got to play some role in his popularity. Well...I guess that makes me one ugly mother fu-
Never mind.
Instead of the blindsiding Elvis grin, in its place I did nothing. Just stared wide eyed and she smiled. I was practically blinded. Those teeth were fucking white. White pearls under perfect, luscious red lips. I coulda' grabbed her and pressed mine to hers. Wagged my tongue right through...
"Do you have a pencil I could borrow?" Munched on her gum some more, and grinned again.
I didn't. I didn't have a fricking pencil. I handed her my own. My one and my only pencil. Sure I'd need it to write notes for other classes, but I never bothered with notes anyway. I don't study for tests, I don't read over my notes. She deserved the pencil more than any other being.
"Hey...thanks. What's your name again?"
"Freddy..." I managed to say. She nodded a polite gesture, winked (along with my pounding heart) and turned back to face the front.
"My god, Dee..."I heard the catty yet deliciously wanted Marla Dimples. The name fit her like an old shoe. She had massive dimples along with perfectly defined cheekbones. On the contrary, she sure wasn't my kind of girl. She was a bitch. Pure and simple. A bitch that deserved a painful way to get buried six feet under. "Who will you be talking to next? The janitor?" Marla sneered my way.
"Why?" Denise asked. The innocent one of course. The one in her crowd that didn't know about me. I felt my face burning red with pure wrath and maybe a pang of sorrow.
"It's Fred Krueger, he's psycho."
Denise glanced my way, then back to Marla. "Oh?"
"I'll tell ya later 'kay , babe?" Then Marla turned to face her boyfriend Trevor, in the desk next to hers. Yeah, the whore could pretend to be in love with Trevor Stoyles, but everyone knew she was fucking the captain of the basketball team. It was hardly a secret.
The English class episode had been a week ago. Since then, Denise hadn't more than glanced my way. I reasoned Marla had informed her about my reputation. In my frank opinion, Marla could stab herself to death, then rip her own heart out and eat it. Marla may have been good friends with Denise, but no one was as closely tied with Denise as Cindy. Cindy and Denise were like the stupid comparison of peanut butter and jelly, the sun and the moon. Both pretty, but both very different, both best friends. I hated Cindy. Didn't know how Denise could manage to have anything in common with the girl.
Of recent days, all anyone could give word of was the senior prom. You know, all the hype that goes with the clichéd school event. Girls talking about their chiffon prom dresses, secretly envious of each other, but trying to hide it. The guys bragging about who they planned to do after prom, not actually carrying about the prom itself.
It's stupid, all very stupid. But I still had an idea. An idea that I wasn't sure I could ever manage to go through with, being that the prom was in two weeks. Two crummy, long weeks.
I think I'm going to ask Denise Charlotte to the prom.
