Ace of Clubs, New Endeavor
In retrospect, Josh and Metis had gotten together rather abruptly. A punch in the face, an English project, and before anyone knew it (give or take a few months), voila! There was another new couple in town; they were so sweet it was like they carried magical cavity powder and could make dentists cry just by stepping within a ten mile radius.
Really, it just resulted in a lot of creepy fangirl stalkers, as if Mr. Perfect Quarterback didn't already have enough of those. Oh em gee. Some guys dared to date outside their high school stereotypes. How absolutely groundbreaking.
Okay, so maybe a few months wasn't exactly a short period of time, given the rapid rate of hookups and breakups at their age, but Charles had always been a long term thinker, a "slowly plot your way to world domination" kind of guy. A few months, real time, seemed kind of fast when compared with all the eons in the history books he read.
They were standing together now, Charles and May, in their caps and gowns, clutching their new diplomas. All around them, their classmates cheered, cried, and said their sappy goodbyes. He couldn't help the wistful expression that slid over his face for just a second as he realized that slow and steady didn't win jack shit for his heart.
"Your angst!face is showing, and you were way zoned out like you were on Tatooine." Metis' familiar voice snapped him out of his reverie, "What are you thinking about?"
"I'm thinking that the dance squad's new outfits make them look like cheap burlesque go-go strippers. They've got their retro all mixed up. Odette would be horrified."
"No, what are you really thinking, asshat?"
"I'm thinking of ways to use MySpace to tip the upcoming election in favor of the UK's Independence Party, thereby fostering anti-EU sentiment. Then, as more nations start to pull away, the EU will slowly crumble, making it so much easier to bring Belgium to its knees."
"…Liar. Though I at least get a lifetime supply of warm Belgian chocolate milkshakes under the rule of Charles the Nihilist, right?"
"You can be my Secretary of WoW. Get your stupid jock boyfriend to be my hulking secret service bodyguard and we'll see about the milkshakes."
At the mention of Metis' personal sack of muscles, his best friend mumbled an excuse about going to make sure Josh hadn't been swallowed by a gaping maw of fangirls, wibbly lovestruck smile stretched wide across his face. Charles scoffed as Metis flounced off to see loverboy, all the while pretending not to be jealous.
Jealous? Why would he be jealous? It wasn't like May was such a good catch. He was a total spazz. And emo. Hot Topic emo, even. And they'd only been best friends for eight years or so. And they'd only shared a few hundred secrets, a few thousand hours of lying on the couch tangled together in laughter and sore thumbs, and about a million tasteless jokes. Seriously, they'd only been there for each other every single day since the Dawn of Time. No big deal.
…Who was he kidding? It was graduation day and "Charles and May" were no more. Honestly, it hadn't been "Charles and May" since the day Josh savagely punched his way into their lives with his bare hands. Josh, who Charles had every reason to resent, but didn't.
He was definitely not going to be the crazy jealous ex turned ax-murderer. It wasn't even like they were ever together, excepting those glorious five seconds of smooth warm lips and alcohol. Not for the first time, Charles cursed the fact that Metis had chosen a time after Josh had fallen in love with him to experiment with his best friend. According to Hollywood, the BFF fuckfest was supposed to occur before the potential love interest entered the scene. Or on the rebound, but that would require Metis getting hurt first.
Not for the first time, Charles cursed himself for being such a sap and slyly pushing Metis to get together with his rival in love. Why did he have to do it? Why couldn't he have let May remain oblivious and kept the sweet dumb boy all to himself for just a little while longer?
Because Josh was a pretty nice guy, for a jock. Because he wanted May to be happy. Because when you love someone, you want what's best for him, even if it hurts you. Because when you love someone, you have to let him stay or go of his own free will. Or something like that. Nietzsche wasn't a very good guide in matters of the heart.
Charles could see that Josh and Metis were good together. They were strong in a way that they weren't when they were apart. Sadist though he might be, Charles didn't ever want to see Metis in pain. He didn't ever want to see Metis lose that stupid shit-eating grin, or that aggravating innocence. Metis was oblivious to how everyone felt about him unless it was shoved right in his face – everyone being Josh (until it was shoved right in his face) and Charles (still oblivious) – and Charles would protect that with everything he had.
For Metis' sake, he would ignore the dull ache in his chest and surround himself with his own barbed wire personality of sarcasm and scathing wit and subtlety. (Metis was never good with subtlety.) There would be no sign of discontent on his face. He would be happy for them.
Charles glanced over at May and Josh…and Jay. The lovebirds looked so radiant that sparkles and rainbows would shoot out of their asses any moment now. Jay, however, was looking back at Charles, fidgeting uncomfortably. He would bite his lower lip, scuff his shoes on the ground, and reach back to ruffle the strangely short strands of his hair.
Jay looked like he wanted to come over and say the things they'd never gotten around to saying, like he wanted to apologize, and also like he wanted Charles to apologize. Maybe they could finally lay the what-ifs to rest.
Charles, meanwhile, tried to beckon Jay over without saying a word. In the short time that they'd spent together, Jay hadn't come across as particularly bright, regardless of the strange attraction that lay between them. It was too much to hope for that he would pick up the meaning of the message Charles was secretly beaming into his mind with the slight squint of his eyes.
Stupid high school romances, he thought. Stupid love polygons that aren't supposed to exist outside of trashy romance novels.
While Jay looked like he was finally heading over for some closure, Charles thought it was better that this whatever-it-was between them remained unsaid. Better that than to have it become an emotionally abusive farce of a relationship, with Jay too much of a coward to stand up for himself, and Charles too much of a coward to stop slurping up Jay's pain like an all-you-can-eat buffet of deep fried misery, and when all he really wanted was Metis, Metis, Metis.
With Jay too much of a coward to say what he meant, and Charles too much of a coward to say what he meant.
Fucking stupid high school romances, he thought. You're all dead to me, like God. He hadn't read Nietzsche in a while. Maybe tonight he would curl up with a copy of Beyond Good and Evil and take his comfort from the whelk he stole from biology class. At least whelks didn't give him any shit.
Jay stopped in front of him and an awkward silence immediately ensued. Before the nervous boy could muster up the courage to say something, Charles started digging in his pockets for a deck of cards. Jay, puzzled, was taken off guard when Charles dropped the ace of clubs neatly in his hand, accompanied by the usual cold, malicious smirk.
This sentiment, in Charles-speak, was the nearest equivalent to a "Hey, I still hate you. I see you've grown a backbone, though. Don't tell anyone, but I'm secretly proud of you for finally getting over me. Maybe someday you'll be strong enough to stop being such a stupid smoker poser doormat attention whore who can't do anything without his posse. Good luck, you know, with your future and stuff." Charles was all about the subtlety like that.
Jay merely gaped back, unattractive "Huh? Guh-wha?!" noises sputtering from his pretty poser lips. His angry posse was starting to crowd around him, ready to defend their Poser King from the big, bad, ego-bruising Charles, when Charles sauntered off without a backwards glance, hollow smirk still firmly in place.
Cliques and wildly colored hair and and conforming to non-conformity? Please. Charles had never had time for that, and he wasn't about to start now.
The world was waiting. It was time to grow up.