"Men and women, women and men – it will never work."
-Erica Jong
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Chapter X: The Y-Chromosome and Its Match
Oh man, oh man, oh man. It's funny, actually. He regrets it afterwards. He regrets it. That never happens. But hey, here he is – head in hands, going 'What the fuck did I just do?' But he feels bad. He feels bad because he thinks he's actually starting to like her. But shit. Would she ever cave? Did she even have a sex drive?
After the second time trying, she'd had a complete military shut down. Iron doors slamming shut and there was no way he was going to get in. Again. And hell, doesn't that piss a guy off? Doesn't he have the right to be pissed off? Blue balls can make a boy really, goddamn irate.
So he called Ashley. Ok. Not the idea of the year. But it happened. Oh, it happened alright. A couple of times. She must have been dry of action too – he'd never anticipated her willingness. But willing she'd been.
And was it worth it? Well, no. What the fuck is this after-effect of … guilt? It's not like he's married to the other one anyways. It's not even like they're officially going out. Hell, she has another fucking boyfriend, what's he feeling remorse for? Hard to say, really. Feelings are funny things – that's why he's avoided them before.
He could've just … but he doesn't want to think about what he 'could've just done' instead. He hasn't resorted to a porn magazine in like … forever.
"See? Much better than what she's got to offer."
"Fuck off, Ashley. Get out."
She's pulling on her low-cut shirt, "So I suppose you haven't gotten around to her pants yet, hm? I bet you haven't even, like, touched her."
"I'm working on it." He closes his eyes, lights a cigarette, inhales, relaxes. Just a little bit.
"Are you hoping it's virgin paradise or something? So you'd actually have, like, accomplished something with all this waiting?" Snickers, she's zipping up her jeans now – he can hear the metal teeth snapping shut. At least she let him finish first.
"She's no virgin."
"Oh yeah? That sucks. For you." Silence. She's on her departing note now. Finally. "How much longer are you going to like, wait?"
"What's it to you? You running out of business?"
Ashley clicks her tongue and stomps furiously to the door, "You won't lay her. Like, ever. She's just one big, fucking Ice Queen. And I'll make sure the school knows by Monday."
He's yelling at a slamming door now, "No one will ever find your fucking body if you do, Ashley!"
But Monday rolls around and he might be lucky or something because nothing happens. It's stagnant as shit. Not that's he's particularly disappointed. A thousand soulless bodies offering themselves as usual. Prostrating themselves before their one true God. That's him. Yeah, it's a pretty sweet deal.
Irvine grabs a mushroom-cut-haired kid and shoves him into a locker, "Get better glasses, four-eyes."
"What the fuck was that for?" He finds himself asking.
"Why the hell not? He should've moved out of my way." Squall rolls his eyes but doesn't reply. Sometimes, it's best not to because it makes them ask, 'What the fuck is up with you today, man?' And he's not in shape to be answering that question. Not even with his usual, 'Whatever'.
And even when he goes to take a piss he can't enjoy the simple pleasures of solitude. God. Urinating alone. Shouldn't that be a healthy requirement? Of all the luck, Zell pushes into the bathroom, "Yo, wassup?" He doesn't answer. Hope the idiot will get the point. And what a wasted hope it is.
"So, did you study for the lit test at all?" He unzips his fly, stations himself at a spare urinal, "Hm? Hey, man?"
"Zell, I'm taking a piss. Shut the fuck up."
"No, man, come on – this is like, guy bonding time." Squall finishes off, goes to wash his hands, "Did you study with Rinoa? Eh? Eh?"
"What the hell gives you an idea like that?" He can't believe he's actively participating in this conversation. With Zell.
"Aww, come on, man. Everyone knows you've got like, the hots for her." Zell is joining him at the sinks, "Ashley totally told everyone you called her name in bed, is that true?"
He stares at Zell in the mirror. "What?" And honestly, it's really the only thing he can possibly think of saying right now.
Shutting off the flow of water Zell wipes his hands on his jeans, "Ashley … she was telling everybody how you two got together yesterday and stuff. And that you called out for Rinoa when you guys were making like the bunnies."
Squall is sent toppling off the edge like some road-kill, projected from a shovel and into the huge dumpster of finished failures at life. A big, bright screen blinks. Game over. Game over. Game over. And this gives birth to lots and lots of anger. He shoves Zell against the grimy, white-tiled wall of the bathroom, "WHO THE FUCK IS EVERYBODY?"
Against the plaster and ceramic of 'i fucked ur mom' and 'stephanie e. good pussy', Zell pales lightly, "Uhm … I don't know, man. Everybody is everybody, why're you getting pissed at me, I'm just the messenger, man. I'm just the messenger."
"Shit, Zell!" Squall yells, kicks the side of the counter, "Shit! Shit! Shit!" He slaps Zell in the side of the head, "Is the hamster still alive in there?" He points to his own head for emphasis, "Is it? Not drowned in excess water or anything? FUCK, ZELL! Hello? Is anybody IN there?"
"Yeah, man, okay." The blonde whispers softly, shrinking to the more physically fit alpha-male, "I just don't know what you want me to do."
"Shit! God, shit! What am I supposed to do now? Huh? What the fuck am I supposed to do? Now, now, the guys are going to rag on me about it… the … Corealie is going to rip my balls off and feed them to … like … puppies and unicorns and shit … and like, Chris … Chris is going to be a nice, big, motherfucker about it and like … her, yeah, she's never going to talk to me again!" His arms fall to his sides and he turns away, still swearing and snarling.
"You could like … apologize and stuff, man, you know? Like … uh … if you like her and stuff? You know? And like … no one else matters, right?"
"Your hamster is dead, Zell. Your hamster is just … it's dead. Shut up."
"Okay, man. Sorry."
Squall takes out a cigarette from his back pocket, sticks it between his lips. Running his hand through his hair, he searches himself for a lighter, "Open a window, idiot." Zell scrambles up to push open a dirty, difficult window then rummages his own pockets for a lighter to offer. Squall accepts and the two boys lean on the different walls, smoking.
"Uh … look, man, I … gotta go. Good … luck and stuff."
He hears the swing of the closing bathroom door so he stands there. For an hour. Skipping class. Smoking cigarette, after cigarette, after cigarette until this one little stub is his last dosage unless he can high-tail out of here and now that he thinks of it, why doesn't he?
As those thoughts cross his mind, the bathroom door sways open to produce a flock of guys. And then suddenly, he wants to die. Chris at the head of the pack, they move in, "Well, well, well, if it isn't Mr. Squall Leonhart. Christ, man, you get more popular everyday."
"Yeah, sucks to be you." He stomps out the butt of the cigarette on the grimy floor, "What are you fellows doing here together? Come to touch up your make-up and jack each other off?"
"Shit no. We'd never go behind your back like that. In fact, we were looking for you. When it gets too dangerous, you hightail into hiding, huh?" Chris sneers and offers Squall another cigarette.
"What can I say, I like my thinking space. Oh, fuck. Sorry … umm … how can I explain this … you know, thinking … when stuff goes around … in your head? Do you … sort of know what I'm talking about?" He doesn't take up on the offer, barely even glances at the extended hand.
Chris takes back the cigarette, slips it in the back of his ear, "Thinking? Shit, man, what're you? A fag? Are you going to start writing nice poetry too? About how you want to fuck Rinoa Heartilly so badly but she just won't let you? That's sad, man, that's sad. You even lied to us about it."
"Oh, go fuck yourself, Moyer."
"No, man, you go fuck yourself." He shows Squall his middle finger, as if trying to prove a point, "God, you think you're pretty hot shit, king of the fucking universe, yeah – I'm surprised you haven't raped the bitch yet, aren't you entitled to it, Mister Personality of Riversi-"
Squall isn't even conscious of it. It just happens. The fist plummeting into Chris' gut. It just happens. "Don't push it!" As the words leave his mouth, two of his guys are on him, pushing him back against the dirty wall.
"Hey, chillax, man, chillax!"
"No, I'm going to kill him-"
"Chill the fuck out!"
But it's beyond that point now. Squall shoves the two boys off of him walks towards the door, "Next idiot with a smart comment dies. Is that clear?" Chris slowly looks up at him from the floor, breathing deep, painful breaths. The pack only nods slowly as the real leader storms from the bathroom.
Even through the door, Squall can hear Chris spit, "What a load of shit."
Smoother than the L.A. weather
That's how he holds himself together
He is colder than the winter
I wrap my coat around to better
Counteract his charm attack
That leaves me hungry
Well, I'm no saviour
But I tried to save you
It's awkward. Trying for once to get a sliver of what the great gossip is about this time. She's never really attempted such a feat before but now, it feels like her duty to know. Corealie finds her at her locker, staring deep into her messy closet of notebooks and loose-leaf, "So, guess what I found out?"
"Eric isn't taking you out for ice cream because he actually got lucky with Tamara, Jen and Marissa at the same time last Saturday and now you're angry and finally realize that he's a no-good sleaze-ball and you shouldn't waste anymore of your time?" Well, that's what she's been hearing anyway.
There's a silence. "Um. No, unfortunately, this concerns you."
"I certainly hope then, that it doesn't also concern Tamara, Jen and Marissa."
"Are you actually joking today, what is wrong with you? No, seriously. This is serious, Rin."
"Really? Are you really serious? That's good, because I'm seriously pissed off. I've had a bad fucking weekend, what do you want?" Corealie pauses for a moment; it's just like whiplash where you can't really help the lagging recovery time, "Yes, that's right. I just said 'fucking'."
"You're not going to be okay." It's mumbled, almost inquisitive.
"See, now, that's what I keep saying. But no one believes me."
"Well, congratulations, Rinoa Heartilly!" It's like a total twilight zone as she reels around to narrow down where such a comment could have come from. She is wearing her lightly-streaked caramel hair up today, in some kind of complex bun-like style. The raven-haired girl almost wants to inquire about it but the fact that Ashley is even speaking to her is too weird.
Plus, Rinoa Heartilly is in no mood, "Huh?"
Ashley and the four divas behind her all robotically raise their thin, blonde eyebrows. Corealie nervously attempts to clear the dust, "She means she's unsure as to what you're referring to. Sorry, she's not used to speaking dumb broad. She was just trying to be polite, right, Rin?" The performer is not what she usually is today.
"Was that supposed to be funny?" Ashley smiles, biting her glossy lower lip as her eyes open wide, "That's too cute." She turns back towards the shorter cousin and repeats, "Congratulations. He's really into you. In fact…" She pauses, the blow is coming "He actually wishes he was really in you." She giggles at the oh-so-clever pun and ventures on, "You really should have heard him howl your name in bed yesterday."
"Who?" She is stalling really, to recover from what feels like a lead pipe smashed across her face. Almost touching the non-existent wound, she wonders why it's her stomach that's twisting and turning and leaping. Or why she doesn't taste blood but this awkward dryness that makes her mouth dead inside.
Ashley is blatantly staring now with a big 'what the fuck' across her face, "Are you stupid? Your boyfriend!" She puts air-quotes on the word 'boyfriend'.
"Yes, I'm asking which one. Which one nailed you?" She seems calm, collected. Seems. And in her ruse, she even manages to surprise the bitch. But she has no time to feel proud, even seeing Ashley with her jaw askew with nothing left to say yields no feelings of victory. Rinoa will be sick as things crawl underneath her skin, peels her apart, she's even perspiring and feeling so small. So tiny. So insignificant. So betrayed.
"Squall Leonhart." Ashley manages to recover but her answer is uttered in an almost awkward reverence, "You are such a cock-tease." She speaks the last part with no malice, only strange admiration.
"Yes, I do that." Rinoa replies numbly, "I like … teasing … cocks. It boosts my ego. And I won't get HIV. So … it's like a double-whammy." Her improvisation fluids are leaking. She doesn't know if she should run into a bathroom stall to cry her eyeballs dry or if she's got enough energy left to pin-and-needle her way through the day.
But the pain is so real.
Corealie is beside her, her breathing shallow.
"Yeah." Ashley replies, "Well. Anyway, just thought I should like, let you know." It's odd. Seeing her kind of back down slowly, letting the mighty Princess drench herself in some sort of insecurity.
"Well, thanks." Rinoa almost whispers, "I sure appreciate it." She turns around, slams her locker and locks it.
"I'm sorry." Corealie mumbles under her breath, "I … wanted to get to you before she did."
"Not that it would have made a difference." And she can't believe what she's got next.
Funnily enough, he doesn't show up. He's missing the exam. Good. Hopefully, he'll even fail the class and have to take it again. Or something. But she may as well have skipped too. Concentration is impossible. And short essays? With quotes? It all requires thought. Knowledge.
Between train wrecks of thoughts, she writes. Bullshit but it's better than what's on Squall's nonexistent paper. And really, who's there to care when that bell rings? Amongst the five full pages she's written, there must be something worthwhile. Maybe. And she thinks the worst is over. That really nothing else can go wrong when she leaves the classroom and heads over to the caf.
It's like the curtain is slowly pulled to reveal a silent auditorium. She is the first player on stage so they await her, holding their applause until she is worthy. Fantastic. Soon, she hears footsteps on the wooden panels of the stage floor and she knows she is not alone. "Rinoa." Her name melts into the ambient noises, clacking of trays, mindless conversations that drift downwards to leave room for their dialogue. Is everyone tuned in yet?
"Hm?" Eye to eye with the enemy. Cobalt. Copper. Cobalt. Copper. Who is colder? Who is stronger?
"I need to talk to you." She's not sure what to make of him. He looks … a little more frayed than she anticipated. The rage flickers for a minute. If only for a minute. Then she sees her cousin rising from a lunch bench. I don't need you, Corealie. Not this time. ' … and now you're angry and finally realize that he's a no-good sleaze-ball and you shouldn't waste anymore of your time?' Yeah.
And the entire world is watching them. She's on stage – she wonders how Corealie does it – and the audience is listening attentively. So attentively. And they know her lines by heart so one faux pas can turn those roses into heckles. She can slip so easily. Oh, so easily – onto her ass and off the stage, into the tearing crowd of people who want their money back. The freshly waxed floor is her bane. But the show must go on. She proceeds warily, "What do you want from me … exactly?"
He's getting a little irate now, "Well, what did you hear?" Running his hands through his mess of a hair-do. Gnawing on his lower lip.
"Umm. That you … slept with Ashley. And that you mentioned me. At some point. During that." Classy. Impressive that she can hide this sick feeling of treason so well. You slept with her, you goddamn jerk? Why are you such a dick? If you weren't interested in me, why did you take me out to dinner and hold my hand and ask if you could kiss me? Is it just because I didn't want to? You're such a prick. You're such a prick, Squall Leonhart. I hope you get syphilis. And all this with a small smile on her face. You're a wonder, Rinoa. Or a psycho.
"Well, it was a fucking lie." He snaps at her viciously.
She thinks about this for a silent moment. Then hesitantly, "Well … which part?" She finds herself incredibly clever so she grins and raises an eyebrow.
Which part? He hadn't thought of that one. It was only instinctive to deny everything. Of course he had slept with Ashley. The part about calling her name? He's not quite sure. But he is sure she can tell how obviously he's taken aback. He can also hear a couple of snickers from behind him. You little bitch, were you Ashley's fucking protégée or something? Did she fricken' spawn you? So what does he do? Wage a war on her? Ridiculous. "Does it matter?"
"Just a bit. Just a bit." She says and her hand demonstrates her point with the index finger and thumb barely apart.
"I want to talk to you alone." He's on repeat. Like a desperate idiot. Next thing he needs is flowers. And yeah, poetry.
"No."
"What?"
She stifles a laugh, "No. I'll call you when I feel like it. See you around, Squall."
Standing-fucking-ovation, bitch.
Take back everything you ever said,
You never meant a word of it.
You never did.
She said "Alright, alright, slow down."
Oh, no. Oh, no. We won't.
'Cause I regret every word that I said to
Ever make her feel like she was something special,
Or that she ever really mattered
Did she ever really matter?
Author's Notes: Say 'hello' to the worst chapter in existence. Feel free to consume and belch it back out in your reviews. It's very shameful.
I know there was something important I ought to say but … no.
Lyrics featured in this chapter: "Charm Attack" by Leona Naess and "Slow Down" by The Academy Is.