Disclaimer: I do not own School of Rock. BLAH-de-BLAH.
The glossy-paged photo album stared back at her, with it's smiling faces and silliness. She couldn't believe, that once, she was happy. It seemed a very distant emotion to her now, happiness, and one which she did not comprehend. Looking from picture to picture she saw one when she was only three, face smeared with chocolate cake and grinning widely at the camera. Then another when she was five, fuming, stomping on the dress someone had got her, wearing her comfortable jeans. Then when she was ten, wearing the clothes Billy had designed, refusing make up as he tried to tackle her down to put some on. She didn't know how any one could have snapped that, what with her arms flailing all over the place.
However, there was one picture, not stuck into the album, which was just pressed between the pages. The one where Katie and Freddy were hiding behind the clothes rack from Billy. Freddy's eyes were wide, if she remembered correctly, scared what hideous outfit Billy would force upon him. Katie could not bring herself to smile at this memory. It was as if, all the happy memories had been sucked out of her.
For some time, she thought of—just ending her life. But she knew it was a selfish thing to do, leaving her mother alone. Who would look after her then? Her father had left them, just got up and left without so much as a goodbye or a warning. But the thought had always been so tempting, not because of revenge against Freddy and Vanessa, but to relieve this heavy burden on her.
Sometimes, she would pick up her dusty old bass and just strum mindlessly, her eyes empty, staring out of her window. Mostly when it was raining. She would just strum to the beat of the raindrops falling.
She kept her distance with everyone, trusting nobody, except her mother. But even her mother learnt to keep her distance away from her daughter, to give her space, as they call it.
"It's okay," her mother had said, "I know you teenagers need space." But that was far from it, Katie wanted some sort of relief, to talk this all out, to have someone there to let her cry on their shoulder. She had to resort to self-harm, and no one ever found out. She was clever enough to know not to leave any blood on the blade incase she would infect the cuts.
Katie was snapped out of her reverie when the phone suddenly rang. Who the hell would be calling at this hour, she fumed to herself, as she picked up the phone.
"Yes," she answered, "Hello?"
"Yes, hello," the person said, "Is Katie there, please?"
"This is her," she replied annoyed.
"It's me, Katie, Freddy, remember? Well I just wanted to—"
She slammed down the phone. She had nothing she wanted to say, or hear from him. Maybe it was jealousy, or regret, or just plain vengeance that he could not see how messed up his bitch girlfriend had made her. Him being all innocent, and knowing nothing of how miserable she was, just added to the anger.
To her annoyance, the phone rang again, but her mum was quicker to pick up. She heard a shout from downstairs, "Katie! It's for you," her mum yelled. Katie pressed the flashing button and picked up the receiver.
"What do you want?" she exclaimed.
"I just wanted to talk to you," he said sheepishly, "About—the other day, you know, when you confessed."
She winced, she should have never opened her big mouth.
"It was," she said distractedly, trying to think of something, a lie, "all just a charade. I can't believe you fell for it." She rolled her eyes at the lame excuse that came from her mouth.
"I know you're lying," Freddy said, lowering his voice, "And you know it too." He took a deep breath and began ranting, "What's with you lately, you've been so distant to everyone, especially me. I mean god Katie, what do you expect me to do, welcome you with welcome arms, I was so shocked, and in front of Vanessa too. She feels very competitive, you know?"
The more Freddy spoke, the angrier and hurt she got. Lately? She had been like this for more than three years at least, and she didn't plan on shouting out her feelings to him, especially with Vanessa around. The whole reason she was avoiding him, was because of her. It was Her fault. Always Katie took the blame, Vanessa was the angel.
"If you only knew," she whispered, tears streaming down her face. She slowly put down the receiver, not noticing Freddy's response of "what the hell are you talking about?" The click of the tone dial and the beep, made Freddy's voice disappear.
She lay down on the bed, curled up, grasping her teddy bear, Mr. Snuggles. Wrenching sobs wracked through her body, but no sound emerged, only tears. She wasn't expecting on having someone burst open her room door and confronting her.
It was then that thunder struck, and her door opened, giving her a fright. A tall boy, with a bright yellow raincoat stood at the foot of her bed, his eyes pleading for an explanations for all her shenanigans.
"Get out," she said her voice filled with rage, "get—the—fuck—out—of—my—room!" She picked up random things and started hurling them at him. He did his best by blocking the objects with his arm.
"I want you to talk to me about whatever is bothering you," he said, "Why aren't you getting along with Vanessa?"
"Why?" she yelled, "Isn't that obvious already? And I do not need someone like you to help me."
"What the hell are you talking about," he shouted, fed up, "Vanessa has been perfectly nice to you—"
She cut him off, "Nice? Nice is far from it. Whatever happened to that slap? Did it just slip from your mind?"
"She was probably jealous, didn't want competition," he replied confusedly.
"Jealous is right—just—Freddy how long have you known me?" She asked him truthfully.
"Nine years—" he answered.
"And Vanessa?"
"About one."
"Do you remember the last time I laughed or smiled," she asked nearly choking on the pressure of sadness welling up in her throat, "Do you?"
"Of course," he said indignantly.
"Tell me," she said, "When?"
"Well—" he thought hard, then his eyes lit up, "At the Battle of the Bands, yes! That's it." He smiled smugly at her.
"That was five years ago," she replied with a sad face, "See what lately has reduced me to?" She slipped the long-sleeve upwards and showed him the cuts. She saw him flinch.
"Vanessa?" he said, his throat dry, "She wouldn't do this to you."
"She didn't do it," she said dangerously, "But without a shadow of a doubt she could have been anyway."
"I know you and her have a spat," he said cautiously.
"A spat, is not something I refer this to," she said, "Bullying, hurting, pressure till one needs to resort to self-harm, yes."
"You're lying," he said, "You're just jealous of her. What we have. All you are is a—a freak."
She couldn't believe what Freddy was saying, when she was finally confessing all of this, when she thought he would understand.
She turned her head away, "I thought you would understand. But you're just like her. She's changed you." She looked at him sadly, " You're not even the same Freddy I grew to love."
He looked at her just as his words had described her. A freak. Her eyes, filled with pain and longing, he couldn't bring himself to look into them. He turned away and left.