Disclaimer: I don't own The Faculty or Casey. I only pretend I do. This
work of Fan dribble is meant entirely in fun. Dont sue!
It must really blow to be you.
*****
I can't believe that it's been a week. Only one short week since killing the queen and saving this town, hell saving the world, that my life has already turned to shit.
My parents sent me to a shrink. So much easier to deal with than the truth. Nope, there's no such things as aliens. Our little Casey just dreamed the whole thing. So what did I do when the doctor asked me about the aliens? I did what the rest of the town did. I went into denial. I told him that I made it all up to get attention. Now, the only reason I'm still seeing him is because he's convinced I have low self-esteem. Maybe I do. I mean, there's only so many times a guy can get beat up. If anything the beatings have gotten worse. Oh look! There's Crazy Casey, life's eternal little loser. We better pick him up and rack him into the flagpole again. Shit, if I was any more intimate with the flagpole I'd have to ask it if it wants to make a commitment.
That's not even the worst of it.
My Mom was cleaning out my room the other day. She found an empty pen in the pocket of one of my jeans. Then she has some doctor friend of hers who works at the free clinic tell her what those traces of white powder in it were. I was in deep shit as soon as I got home from school. Dad started yelling before I even got a chance to nurse the nosebleed someone had given me on the bus ride home. Mom just cried and kept saying "I knew it" over and over. To tell you the truth I don't know how it got in my jeans. I probably droped it in my pocket in the locker room after the second time I did Scat. I've never done it again after that night. I really *really* wanted to but I know that drugs are bad for you. Plus, Zeke's out of the business. They wouldn't listen to me. I'm not on drugs! I couldn't even tell them the whole truth. When my Dad asked "What are you doing with this?" I just stood there gaping like a fish. What was I supposed to say? "Gee Dad, I'm not on drugs. I just did it once so that I could fight the aliens." Oh yeah. That sounds *not* crazy.
So, here I am locked in my room, only after Dad throughly scoured it for any pens. I wish I had someone to talk to. Delilah already stopped speaking to me. She told me that being around me reminded her too much of what happened. She still talks to Stan every day...bitch. I hear she's going out with Gabe. I tore down my pseudo-shrine to her the day I heard that and burned the pictures. Stan is too busy with his studies to talk to me outside school and too worried about his reputation to talk to me inside it. Stokely and Zeke are the only ones who act like any of this really happened. I need to hear someone else talk about it just so that I don't feel like I really have lost it. I'd call one of them now but Dad took my phone.
I should have let the fucking alien take over. I thought I was gonna be a hero! Maybe have my face on a couple magazines or get interviewed by the local news! Something! This is some fuckin' gratitude. Sometimes I wonder about what Stan said that night, when he wasn't really Stan. Was Marybeth right? Could it really be like that? No fear? No pain? Would it have really been a better world? ...I doubt it. Once Stokely told me that it was only half right. There wasn't any fear or pain but there wasn't anything else either. She didn't have love or hate, or free will. They all had to do what Marybeth wanted. It all seemed very Borg to me. Stokely laughed when I said that.
I need to get out of here. I try the window. Fuck! It's nailed shut. I knock on the door. "Dad? Mom? Is anyone there?" I call out. I really hope someone is home. I wouldn't put it past them to leave me here. A few moments later I hear feet coming up the stairs.
"What is it son?" My Dad's voice answers.
"I have to go to the bathroom." I really don't but I just need a change of scenery.
"Hang on." he says. I near his footsteps go down the hall. There are a couple thuds and bangs. Great, I realize that he's searching the bathroom to see if I hid drugs there. I can hear my Mom say "check in the tank." My life really blows. A few seconds later I hear the lock click and the door swings open. Dad walks with me towards the bathroom, his hand has a deathgrip on my arm.
After I close the bathroom door, I hear a thump and know that my Dad is leaning against the door. I slide down against the wall and just enjoy the fact that I'm not in my room. My eyes fall on my Dad's razor that resting on the edge of the sink. I stand slowly and walk towards it. I should be worried that Dad might think I'm taking too long but part of me doesn't care anymore. If Dad caught me trying to slit my own wrists that'd only mean more therapy sessions. I have to laugh at that. I pick up the razor and really think. Should I? ...No. I settle instead on a shave.
After I'm all shaved, I shut the tap and knock on the door. Mom takes me back to my room. I try and walk extra steady so that she won't think I've got shakes from being in withdrawl. She hands me my dinner. Once the door shuts, I hear the phone ring downstairs and I listen. You can learn a lot about what your parents think about you from what they tell their friends. My Dad's voice is oddly lower than usual as he talks and I have to strain to hear. "...can't come to the phone. He's grounded. Fuck! I threw the plate of food down on my bed. I'm not hungry anymore. It really sucks to be me.
It must really blow to be you.
*****
I can't believe that it's been a week. Only one short week since killing the queen and saving this town, hell saving the world, that my life has already turned to shit.
My parents sent me to a shrink. So much easier to deal with than the truth. Nope, there's no such things as aliens. Our little Casey just dreamed the whole thing. So what did I do when the doctor asked me about the aliens? I did what the rest of the town did. I went into denial. I told him that I made it all up to get attention. Now, the only reason I'm still seeing him is because he's convinced I have low self-esteem. Maybe I do. I mean, there's only so many times a guy can get beat up. If anything the beatings have gotten worse. Oh look! There's Crazy Casey, life's eternal little loser. We better pick him up and rack him into the flagpole again. Shit, if I was any more intimate with the flagpole I'd have to ask it if it wants to make a commitment.
That's not even the worst of it.
My Mom was cleaning out my room the other day. She found an empty pen in the pocket of one of my jeans. Then she has some doctor friend of hers who works at the free clinic tell her what those traces of white powder in it were. I was in deep shit as soon as I got home from school. Dad started yelling before I even got a chance to nurse the nosebleed someone had given me on the bus ride home. Mom just cried and kept saying "I knew it" over and over. To tell you the truth I don't know how it got in my jeans. I probably droped it in my pocket in the locker room after the second time I did Scat. I've never done it again after that night. I really *really* wanted to but I know that drugs are bad for you. Plus, Zeke's out of the business. They wouldn't listen to me. I'm not on drugs! I couldn't even tell them the whole truth. When my Dad asked "What are you doing with this?" I just stood there gaping like a fish. What was I supposed to say? "Gee Dad, I'm not on drugs. I just did it once so that I could fight the aliens." Oh yeah. That sounds *not* crazy.
So, here I am locked in my room, only after Dad throughly scoured it for any pens. I wish I had someone to talk to. Delilah already stopped speaking to me. She told me that being around me reminded her too much of what happened. She still talks to Stan every day...bitch. I hear she's going out with Gabe. I tore down my pseudo-shrine to her the day I heard that and burned the pictures. Stan is too busy with his studies to talk to me outside school and too worried about his reputation to talk to me inside it. Stokely and Zeke are the only ones who act like any of this really happened. I need to hear someone else talk about it just so that I don't feel like I really have lost it. I'd call one of them now but Dad took my phone.
I should have let the fucking alien take over. I thought I was gonna be a hero! Maybe have my face on a couple magazines or get interviewed by the local news! Something! This is some fuckin' gratitude. Sometimes I wonder about what Stan said that night, when he wasn't really Stan. Was Marybeth right? Could it really be like that? No fear? No pain? Would it have really been a better world? ...I doubt it. Once Stokely told me that it was only half right. There wasn't any fear or pain but there wasn't anything else either. She didn't have love or hate, or free will. They all had to do what Marybeth wanted. It all seemed very Borg to me. Stokely laughed when I said that.
I need to get out of here. I try the window. Fuck! It's nailed shut. I knock on the door. "Dad? Mom? Is anyone there?" I call out. I really hope someone is home. I wouldn't put it past them to leave me here. A few moments later I hear feet coming up the stairs.
"What is it son?" My Dad's voice answers.
"I have to go to the bathroom." I really don't but I just need a change of scenery.
"Hang on." he says. I near his footsteps go down the hall. There are a couple thuds and bangs. Great, I realize that he's searching the bathroom to see if I hid drugs there. I can hear my Mom say "check in the tank." My life really blows. A few seconds later I hear the lock click and the door swings open. Dad walks with me towards the bathroom, his hand has a deathgrip on my arm.
After I close the bathroom door, I hear a thump and know that my Dad is leaning against the door. I slide down against the wall and just enjoy the fact that I'm not in my room. My eyes fall on my Dad's razor that resting on the edge of the sink. I stand slowly and walk towards it. I should be worried that Dad might think I'm taking too long but part of me doesn't care anymore. If Dad caught me trying to slit my own wrists that'd only mean more therapy sessions. I have to laugh at that. I pick up the razor and really think. Should I? ...No. I settle instead on a shave.
After I'm all shaved, I shut the tap and knock on the door. Mom takes me back to my room. I try and walk extra steady so that she won't think I've got shakes from being in withdrawl. She hands me my dinner. Once the door shuts, I hear the phone ring downstairs and I listen. You can learn a lot about what your parents think about you from what they tell their friends. My Dad's voice is oddly lower than usual as he talks and I have to strain to hear. "...can't come to the phone. He's grounded. Fuck! I threw the plate of food down on my bed. I'm not hungry anymore. It really sucks to be me.