I like this chapter. The main point of it was to show that no one's perfect, no matter how amazingly kind they are. Another thing this shows is how things go to hell when there is a failure in communication. It also explains how Nicholas's character is and how he's also changed ever since he met Shelley. (Because he really has.)

I would like to mention that I hated the end of this chapter. I really could have written it better. At first I had four paragraphs of inner monologue, and I realized that would shoot her up from a minor character to a main character, and the main characters are really supposed to be Stan and Shelley. So I changed it. Maybe I shouldn't have... I don't know. Oh well.

The title of the chapter is after a song by Siouxsie and the Banshees. Oh God, it's great. I demand you go listen to them. Now. Her voice is so gorgeous...

Enjoy, my lovelies.


"Hall of Mirrors"
Chapter Twelve

On Sunday he showed up on her doorstep, drenched in rain and sleet and snow, but he could have cared less. All he cared about was talking to her. He wouldn't let their relationship turn out like Shelley and Kevin's. He couldn't, wouldn't, let her hate him. He promised Thorne and Peter he'd get her back, and he he knew how to do it.

She opened the door, suddenly going stiff slightly, in surprise. She took a breath and opened the door wider, glanced outside at all the sleet falling down heavily. "What are you doing here?"

Nicholas took a breath and stared her right in the eye. "We need to talk."

She glanced back at the house, then back at him. Her parents always understood her; her mother was a saint, practically. She'd told her mother everything: about Stan being gay; about how she had to protect his image; about how she had gotten so violent because Bebe had hurt one of her friends. Her mother simply smiled and told her it was alright. She had honorable intentions, and as long as she was sorry for causing so much damage, it was alright. She wasn't mad. That was one of the reasons she became sick of being one of the Goth kids. She was sick of treating her mother like trash and calling her a bitch, when her mother was one of the kindest women in the world. She was understanding, accepting and always wanted what was best for her.

That was why they wouldn't care if she had friends over; they knew her reasons behind the fight and knew she had good intentions behind it.

Her cheeks flushed slightly when she looked back up at him, tall and dark and soaking wet. She didn't want to let him in, he'd just try to brain-wash her again and she couldn't take it anymore. But he was beginning to shiver slightly from the cold.

"What do you want to talk about?"

He looked down at the ground, then back to her, staring at the empty space above her head, at her forehead, at her feet, finally resting on her nose. "Please…"

She frowned and took a step away from the door. Ugh, he had to sound so pathetic and desperate, didn't he? He just… Ugh. She couldn't stand it. Ugh, just ugh. It was bad enough she wanted Thorne and Peter to come back and instead she'd yelled at them and said she hated them, but it was even worse that more than anything she wanted Nicholas to come away from all of that dark shit. For just him to realize he was being stupid.

He walked in, and immediately went up the steps to her room. She grimaced, knowing he would practically faint at the sight.

He almost did, but then she came up behind him and laughed, asking him if he was surprised. Hell yes he was surprised, but he couldn't tell her that! He couldn't tell her how he had expected her room to be the same–dark, dim and messy. Now it was light, pristine and…and…way too cutesie. Gone were the skulls on her bookshelf; gone was the deep violet paint job on her wall; gone, too, were the numerous posters of Blauhaus and Skinny Puppy and other dark posters. Instead, he was met with light-grey walls with white stars dotting them. Instead of the black drapes over her window, there were purple ones, with a pinstripe pattern going down them, making them look longer than they really were. Instead, there were posters for mainstream bands, like Linkin Park and Breaking Benjamin, Jimmy Eat World and…and…what the hell were those Pink CD's doing on her bed? Was she listening to them?? Listening to Pink!? The skull-kitty pillow was still there, but it was joined by a few other pillows that looked like they came out of a candy factory–all yellow and pink and light green, with little chocolate-coloured cats on them–and a stuffed elephant that looked too cute to be alive.

He took a breath and shook his head. "I expected this much…"

Henrietta pushed him inside and sat down on her bed, waiting for him to tell her what he was doing here. He glanced around the room, afraid to touch anything. "Where… What about my…coat?"

Henrietta laughed and jumped up, taking it and tossing it to the floor. "I'm still the same person. I just have different interests now…" She stood there in front of him, staring at his chest. He was much, much taller than her, and she always felt like a dwarf in comparison. After a moment, her smile faded and she just stood there. A moment later she simply looked up at him. He was staring down at her, clenching his fists, which were hanging by his side, closer to his back than toward her.

She took a few steps back, gave a small cough. "So…why are you here? You said you wanted to talk…"

She sat down again and looked up at him, preparing to counter any manipulative points he could throw at her. After what felt like a long time, he glanced away. "…I miss you."

This was completely unexpected. She froze, and her mouth opened, gaping. Well, what was she supposed to say to that!? She closed her mouth, turned slightly pink and glared at the elephant on her bed. "That won't work. I already told you. I'm not going to go back to any of you…"

He swallowed, his voice almost breaking. "Look, you don't have to come back to me, but at least do it for Thorne and Peter."

She quirked a brow, pursed her lips and eyed him with a simmering expression. "Oh? So it's no longer about you, is it?"

He shook his head. "There's no point in begging you to come back to me. I already know you hate me. I'm sure you blame me for how Peter and Thorne have acted. I'm sure you blame me for everything."

She glared and stood up. "Blame you? Hate you!? Don't you see!? You're arrogant; you're rude; you're obstinate and childish! You act as if you know everything and that you're the only one that matters in this world! Of course I fucking hate you!! You're sickening; I can't stand being near you anymore! It's suffocating!"

He took a step back and smiled, lightly. "Yeah, I figured you thought that…"

She didn't stop; she merely ignored him and went on. "And what I hate the most about you is the fact that you seem to think that we all have to like the same things you do! That we have to like certain music and dress a certain way and act a certain way and…and I'm fed up with it! I can't do that anymore, not after I realized how much of a tool I'd become!" She glared at him, crossed her arms over her chest. "So yeah, Nicholas. I do hate you…"

He stared at her for a while, going through a whole multitude of emotions: first anger; then disbelief; haughty denial; hurt; sadness; guilt; and finally back to indifferent. "I'm not like that anymore, though…"

She burst out laughing. "Fuck yes, you are! Don't try to deny it!"

He stared at her, trying to make her see it was true, trying to find something that would prove it. "I'm hanging out with Shelley Marsh. She likes Iron Maiden and Prince and dressing up in rockabilly outfits and wearing glitter and…and… Well, I've… I find her attractive, even though she doesn't dress like us. I've made out with her; I don't hate her; I don't care if she likes any of that…"

Henrietta's face fell, and she stared at him, trying to process everything. He was hanging out with Stan's sister. He'd made out with her; he didn't hate her. He'd made out with her. As in kissed, possibly with tongue. A surge of anger filled her chest, making her eyes narrow.

"What the hell are you getting at? Are you trying to piss me off? Are you just using her to get to Stan?? Why the hell are you even bothering with her!? You hate people like her! You're obviously trying to get to Stan through her! So that somehow I'll suddenly go with you because Stan's getting hurt or something! You're using her, right??"

He stared at her for a long moment before he shook his head. "No, I'm not."

She slapped him across the face, having to step up to her tiptoes just to get enough force for it to hurt. "You fucking liar!"

He took a step back, gave her a hurt look. "I don't see what's so hard to believe about it. You used to trust me before. Why can't you take my word now?"

Henrietta clenched her fist and stormed over to her dresser, pulling out a skull-shaped candle. She showed it to him then threw it to the ground, letting pieces of it break off and scatter all over the ground. "Because everything you've ever said to me has been a fucking lie. People who don't dress like us aren't 'conformists'; there's more to life than wallowing in darkness; and you don't give two shits about me!"

He glared. "I…WhatOf course I fucking care. Why else would I be jumping through hoops just to get you back with us!? Why else would…" He trailed off, refusing to give her that satisfaction. That he'd actually kept the CD. Kept that CD with mainstream crap on it. Even if he only really kept it because it was the only thing he had left to remember her by.

She laughed. "Exactly. You don't care about me, or Thorne, or even Peter. You only care about one person, Nicholas. And that person is you. The only reason why you care so much about losing me is because you can't stand to lose a friend, not because you care about us. You just don't want to lose a friend, someone who makes you feel somewhat adequate. Makes you feel happy. If you cared about me, you'd want me to be happy. And I'm happy here. I'm happy listening to Linkin Park and Pink and Jimmy Eat World, and dressing in colours and smiling and laughing and writing stories about happiness rather than death. And you want to know how I know you're really using Shelley? Because when it comes right down to it, all you're really doing is replacing me, aren't you?"

He glared at her and clenched his fists, refusing to believe anything she said. He knew how he was, and she didn't know shit about him. If that's what she thought he actually believed, then they had had a serious failure in communication.

She simply smiled, looking pleased with herself. "Have you introduced her to Thorne and Peter? She's well on her way to becoming part of your group now, isn't she?"

Nicholas seemed angry for a long, long time, and Henrietta simply gave him a smug smile, knowing she was right. However, Nicholas's face changed, and now he was the one being smug. "I don't give a shit if she's going to become a part of our group. Did I ever make out with you, Henrietta? Well, no, I didn't. I don't make out with friends, do I? Shelley's just a girl I'm interested in dating."

Henrietta smiled, but he could tell she was at least a little bit put off by that. She smiled and nodded her head. "Good for you, Nicholas. Say whatever you want to rationalize it."

All of a sudden, a jingle of "Big Girl", by Mika, began to ring, and her face dropped. She looked around, finally spotting her cell phone on the bookcase behind Nicholas. She dashed to it, flipped it open, smiled. "Hey, Stan. Yeah, I can talk…"

Nicholas watched her, watched how her smoky-lidded eyes danced, how she bit her lip a little and started checking for dirt underneath a black-painted nail with a white tip. Her eyes drifted over to him, and she smiled. "Actually, no. I'm not alone. Would you rather I kick him out so we can be alone…? I've been wanting to hear your voice all day, babe…"

She turned around and laughed, whispered something he couldn't hear into the phone. He glared, getting angrier and angrier with each passing second. He clenched his fists, clenched his teeth, stared down at the ground and tried to calm his head. It wasn't doing him any good; he could still hear her talking to him.

Her voice dipped, becoming low and seductive, slow and more annunciated. "Yeah, Wendy put up a fight, but I managed to hold my own. Oh, and did you see what I did to that blonde bitch's face? I heard from Kenny that the entire left side of her face was swollen and blue… What? …" She giggled. "Of course I did it for you… Yeah… I know you've been wanting that for a while… I'm just saving up for some sexy lingerie… No, I refuse to do it until I buy a pair you haven't seen yet… Oh, wait, Stan, babe, hold on one sec…"

She turned to Nicholas, glanced at the look on his face, bit her lip hesitantly. She finally decided she'd do it, and tapped him on the shoulder. He looked at her, his eyes smoldering with every ounce of hate in him. She looked somewhat freaked out at the look in his eyes, but she swallowed the lump in her throat and motioned at him with her hand. "That Skinny Puppy CD I let you borrow? You can keep it. I'd rather listen to Nine Inch Nails, anyway…"

He didn't say a word; he just made a sound that resembled a bull, half enraged, half pained, and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. As he stormed out of her house, ignoring the questions her parents were asking, all he could think of was how much he hated Stan. How he was a self-righteous douche bag, how even his sister was a total bitch, despite those seldom moments where she seemed to shine. Those moments when she was apathetic, uncaring, smoking, pissed off with a very contained anger, much like Henrietta had always had.

He didn't want to even try and get back Henrietta anymore. All he wanted now was to ruin Stan, to make him go crumbling to the ground, to hurt everyone and everything he knew. And he would, starting with that bitch of a sister.

––––––––––––

Henrietta stared at the door for a long time, until Stan started calling her name over the phone and asking if she was still there. Tears welled up in her eyes and she nodded her head, though she knew he wouldn't have been able to see it. "Y-Yeah…I'm here…"

He asked her if she was okay. "Yeah." She nodded her head again, telling herself she was.

All the while she stood there, staring directly at the Skinny Puppy poster on the back of her door. The engraved "NINE INCH NAILS SUCKS ASS" below it, the pictures of her favorite band plastered around that single phrase, to prove that Skinny Puppy really was better than anything, even if the music sounded somewhat similar.

Lying. Who was lying? She was, of course. No, what she had been saying was true all along. She was just telling what was out in front of her. Nicholas was a manipulative asshole. She cared more about the group than he ever could. No, than he could ever care about her. And that was obvious; if he cared, he would've realized what the fuck she had meant with that CD. He'd know everything; he'd know what she was trying to tell him. He'd know why she was trying to change them, why she was trying to change him. He'd know it was because she cared too much to let him destroy himself with that kind of attitude. He never opened up; he needed to open up. He couldn't open up until he saw how flawed his logic was. Until he realized why she was doing this, he wouldn't be able to tell anyone how he felt, what was bothering him.

Of course, she wasn't aware that he already had opened up. And to someone he normally wouldn't bother with, in fact.

Yes, she cared about them. She cared about Peter, and Thorne, and…Nicholas. She wanted them with her; She wanted them to stop being so obstinate and change with her. To realize there was more to life than wallowing around in perceived torment. She needed them, and because they weren't there, she was miserable. She didn't want to be alone in this. Sure, she knew Raven and his friends, but that was not good enough. Raven, no, Stan wasn't good enough. She needed her friends. She needed Nicky, but all she wound up doing was push him away. Was she even trying anymore? All she did was yell at them because she was so tired of trying to change them. She was so angry all the time because she was so miserable.

"This isn't me," she realized. "This isn't the me I like. This isn't the me they like. Of course they won't change for this. I'm not the same Henrietta anymore. I'm just angry and vindictive, petty and jealous, tired and– Why am I rejecting them like this? They haven't said anything about me changing. They just want me to talk to them. They just…

"Oh God, I'm the one that's blind. They didn't give a shit whether or not I liked different things until I started to ignore them!"

Stan wasn't convinced; she could tell by the tense silence ringing in her ear. After a while the tears started falling and she shook her head.

"No, I'm not. I'm lying…" The words invaded her head, twisted her stomach sour, filled her lungs and suffocated her, chewed her up and spit her back out. "I'm miserable." And then, "I'm no better than him."


I'm fairly sure the next chapter is dealing with Shelley. But I haven't had it planned out yet, so you'll have to be surprised, won't you?