Fandom: Victorious
Title: Point of View
Chapter Ten: Hello
Point of View: Cat Valentine
Escaping my father's and Remi's vile words, I run out the door down the hallway. Heals, clicking against the hospital titles, loudly echoing off the walls in the silent hallway. I must get away; I need to get away. Air is a must to cool my pounding heart, which has sent cascades of sweat flowing down my face. Leaving me with a sickeningly hot sticky feeling all over my body which feels like fire ants have crawled onto my skin biting and feasting on my tender skin.
Why can't anyone accept me as I am? Why does everyone want me to change or let me grow? Stumbling, I feel my heel catch on one of the steps propelling me forward with such force I can't grab the railing in time. I was paralyzed in shock as that sudden rush of gravity took hold of me until I hit the wall hard, feeling as though my life had just flashed before my eyes; for a few moments, I was left struggling to catch my breath. It hurt. Oh, God, it hurt. The fingers of my left hand were the first to feel it, and then my palm and wrist, all in the space of a second. You can't imagine the pain if you've never had your arm slammed into a concrete wall right on the funny bone. There's nothing funny about the damn thing. My fingers are millions of tactile nerves sending panicked damage messages to my brain, feeling as if they had exploded and been replaced with howling agony.
I collapsed against the wall letting my head drop to my knees, which curled up to my chest. It's like I'm struggling to swallow down my still-beating heart. How is it beating some days? I am never sure. Sadness is a numbing emotion. Complete hopelessness converted into tears that rained down my face at lightning speed—mixing with the snot, which I tried to sniff up but couldn't manage to do so without feeling as if I would be sick. I feel like I have no control over it. It's like my body has taken over. I wonder briefly in the back of my mind how much snot a person can make. Because I had no idea I had that much inside.
How can my dad be so cruel? He is supposed to be my protector. My strength; instead, he has become my kryptonite. Does he hate me that much because I am a girl? There's no point to anything anymore. Why do I bother even trying when nothing I will ever do will be good enough to make his approval? Would he even notice if I disappeared?
If Remi views me with disdain, how do the rest of my peers see me? Is Jade wrong? Do they see me as a spoiled rich girl with no real issues or a child who never grew up? Why is my life such a burden? Am I the real drama queen-the most minor things send me into a panic attack. I bet my parents regret having me. These thoughts crowd my brain. My breath feels hot as short puffs of air escape my hot lips which I can feel are nearly pursed, slow and shallow breathing almost staccato in rhythm agonized. When I can finally push myself up to a standing position, my legs are shaking; my heart is thundering inside the containment of my chest walls.
Slowly I grab the wall allowing it to pull me along to the exit, which is only a few feet away now. A breath of cool air tickled the back of my neck, making me tense in anticipation before relaxing again with a sigh. In the fresh air, my lungs expand as if on automatic refill, and a sense of calm comes with my chest rising. As I breathe, the image of waves gently rising over wet sands comes to my thoughts, with the sound of water and the song of sky-borne birds. I'm nineteen miles from the closest beach, but the image helps me to calm down and stop crying. I'm outside, away from those monsters. I'm safe; I can see Jade with one of her cousins, Mazie Rae Rollins. She's fifteen. They are sitting on the swings whispering. I don't want to disturb her; she seems happy. A rare trait for Jade these days.
Night has fallen across the city of Los Angeles like a blanket. The pale crescent moon shines like a silvery claw in the night sky. Where a dusting of golden stars sprinkled across the vision for miles upon miles. A cool breeze blows from the east, making me shiver slightly. The playground area is empty because of the late hour, so it's ours for the having. I glance over when a burst of sound pulls my attention away from the glorious night sky.
Three teenage boys were moving with a vigorous beat the second they started moving, most of my jitters melted in the joint swells of music and pleasure. I know all three boys. The first boy Chase Jagger Reagan is fourteen years old with a sense of style I envy. He knows he has a swagger and isn't afraid to work it, popping his arms as he grinds to the beat. He was wearing a rainbow-colored cut-out tank top that featured a taco ridding Cat eating a slice of pizza. Chase has the top tied above his belly button where a sliver ring glitters from, and a pride flag dangles. His washed-out blue jeans are tight but give no restriction to his ability to pop and lock. Chase prefers the name CJ; he likes to say he has a confident charisma and gets people moving, so the nickname fits him.
CJ moves in perfectly timed coordination with his two buddies, the steps flowing between them like sighs slipping against a silk pillow. Their breaths are short and trembling; I see the laughter glitter in their eyes. On CJ's right is his identical twin brother Aaron Jameson Reagan, or AJ.
AJ's style is different than CJs, like night and day. AJ is sporting baggy athletic shorts of royal blue and a grey graphic t-shirt with the playboy bunny on the front smoking a cigar. The words "I don't read for the articles" are scrolled above the bunny. AJ's hair has a tousled look, wavy towards the right side, where two silver studs glitter from his ear. Above his gorgeous cyan eyes, he glitters an eyebrow ring on the right side. AJ's sleeves are rolled over his shoulders, revealing a recent tattoo on his bicep, an orange ribbon with two names tattooed on the sides, and the dates of his friends' births and deaths.
Gun violence. When will it end?
"Another bad day in America, tragedy hits home for the families of these sixteen victims in the latest mass shooting. I shiver to remember the news story from a few days ago, hearing the shocked voice of the local newscaster Kane Leon as he reported live from New York City. Right here in New York City, only ten feet from where I stand at Lincoln Center, where two hours ago, students from Manhattan children's Performing Arts School were performing a Christmas Concert to benefit the foundation Hope's Light, a childhood cancer organization. Eight of those children are hospitalized in critical condition, and fourteen will never return home to their families. In addition to the eight hurt and fourteen killed, two teachers died as heroes trying to get the children to safety. There's no known motive for why the seventeen-year-old Gino Rodriguez, the shooter, opened fire on the students."
Shaking myself out of the memory, I focus on the third dancer. Fourteen-year-old Noah Porter Benson. He strained against invisible binds as the music changed tempo; Noah is a ballet dancer hip-hop isn't his forte, but he keeps pace with CJ and AJ, who excel at hip-hop. Their feet slice across the rocky pavement, making it look like their bodies are melting with the breeze to become one. Hands are clapping loudly, startling a cat that has taken to chasing a chipmunk in the grassy fields. Both animals scatter; the Cat lets out a pissed-off hiss as he flies up a tree.
Noah is the taller of the three boys; at almost 5'3, he's already taller than my five-foot frame. These boys represent everything beautiful about male dancers; they are strong, graceful, and phenomenal. I've been in this industry long enough to know what a person likes to do as a hobby or a career has little to do with defining their sexuality. Many think a male, specifically in ballet, is gay and, therefore, not "manly ."They tend to label the dancers before getting to know who they are. Society has done enough with male dancers, scrutinizing them based on what they wear in the classroom or that they must wear make-up onstage for the performance.
Society and culture are not seeing past the tights or the make-up; instead, they see it to scrutinize the male dancer, to belittle him. Noah's body is long, starting from his muscular toned legs, which are clinging to his dark blue jeans; his physique and weight are perfect for a dancer's body. I am excited to see the incredible long extensions Noah's legs make as he spins and leaps. His almost mouse-brown curls bounce as he moves, and those blue eyes pierce my soul.
CJ wears his hair in a crew-cut fashion. He looks stunning among his blond hair friends. All three boys are dancing and singing to the Empire State of Mind song by Alicia Keys.
"Grew up in a town that is famous as a place of movie scenes
Noise is always loud, there are sirens all around, and the streets are mean
If I can make it here, I can make it anywhere; that's what they say
Seein' my face in lights or my name in marquees found down on Broadway."
Even if it isn't all it seems, I got a pocketful of dreams
Baby, I'm from New York
Concrete jungle where dreams are made of
There's nothin' you can't do
Now you're in New York
These streets will make you feel brand-new
Big lights will inspire you
Hear it for New York, New York, New York."
The boys clap and bounce as they perform for the camera. I can tell the dance is ending by their complex fast, paced footwork. When they finish, Noah looks into the camera, breathing a little heavily as he grins. "Thank you to all of you watching and supporting. It's been a hard over the last week. Today's video shows the world that we love our favorite city, even with the trauma we've been through." All three boys look into the camera and point to the lens. "Hear it for New York, New York, New York."
"Don't forget, if you are new to our channel, hit the like button and subscribe; we have videos coming at you daily. I'm Noah, these are my friends AJ and CJ, and we are…." All three boys shout out. "Lightning Force."
I've known the boys my entire life, even if we have never met in person. Jade talks to her cousins daily via Facebook, video chat, Instagram, and good old phone calls. We have weekly dance sessions online where we make videos and post them to our social media. The boys have a secret page their moms are clueless about where they post these dance challenges and dedication videos along with original covers.
CJ and AJ wave to me as they run off to the building. "We'll stall for you, Noah, while you upload." "Thanks, guys." Noah takes his cell phone and heads over to the bench. I join him, seeing Jade still talking to Mazie.
"Hey, Cat. It's nice to meet in person finally." "Yeah." I sniffle to clear my nose and wipe my eyes. "Are you okay?" "Been a rough day, sorry. I must look like shit." Fumbling in my purse, I pull out a tissue and wipe my face blowing my nose. "No, you look beautiful as always." Noah's comment is soft but impactful. I feel a heat rush to my face my lips press together. "Aw, thanks. That's sweet, Noah." He shrugs, typing up a caption as I sit next to him. "How have you been holding up since the shooting?"
"It's not easy. I want to learn to forgive the kid who did this something must be seriously wrong with him who wakes up in the morning and decides yeah, today's the day I am going to shoot up a children's show? No one in their right mind. Everyone wants to blame his parents for where they went wrong raising him; could it have been prevented? Is there anything anyone could have done to stop a shooter from indiscriminately killing others? His mother posted online a few weeks ago, worried about her son's anger issues, but she was also a passionate defender of gun rights. Can we say parents are directly responsible?"
"If so, where does that leave the issue of mental health? His mom has a history of bipolar, but because of the judgment, she's faced in life. She refused to see her son's life moving in a dangerous direction, so she didn't take him into treatment. Had he received therapy young, could this have been prevented? Her husband left years ago, barely paying child support. She remarried, but her new husband was so focused on working and raising their young daughter Skye. So, Laurel was left to her own devices; if you are trying to reach your child and they're floundering, and you love them, you are looking for what you can bond over." Noah's voice never raises in anger, but there's a hint of astonishment and resentment in his despondent tone.
"It's devastating that she allowed it to be guns, but that was the motivation to bond; if she had chosen therapy, would my friends be dead?"
"I don't blame her, but I am not a parent. I blame the mental health system and society for casting such a shadow of shame on mental health that most people would rather live in pain and fear versus getting the help they need."
"Your mom blames her?"
"Yeah, my mom and my aunt Amanda. Along with half the nation."
"You're correct, though, Noah. Today's society has made Mental Health a joke. It's stigmatized. My brother Sutton is seventeen and has been slipping through the cracks for years. My mom watched her best friend, Jade's mom, Caitlin struggle with depression and anxiety for years. She was so ashamed she hid it from the world and turned to drugs and alcohol. I don't understand why there's such judgment. The person with mental illness has an illness. If you had been hit by a car and were lying in the street, would I ask why it is so hard to pick yourself up and get to the hospital? No, of course not.'
"Yet despite seeing Sutton's demeanor change over the last few years, my dad refuses to accept he has a mental illness. My mom has seen it and tried to get him help, but my dad refuses. He cancels appointments and buys him rewards like a new car or a gun and tickets to a game. He tells him he needs to toughen up. There's nothing wrong with him."
"I'm sorry, Cat. I can tell you love your brother."
"Yeah. I do a lot, but it's hard to support him some days when I know he understands he's sick, but he refuses to tell dad he's wrong."
"I'm scared he will snap one day and hurt himself or someone else. Sutton has a temper, and he lashes out. It can be anything that sets him off."
"Has he ever hurt you?" I nod sadly, feeling a few tears slip over my eyelids. Noah reaches over and wipes them off my cheek. "I'm sorry, Cat. You are super sweet; you don't deserve to be hurt."
"Story of my life, Noah. My dad treats me like a baby. He won't let me grow up, so he won't let me date, and labels me as a slut because I wear a dress above my knees. Meanwhile, my brothers have free range to wear anything they want to go anywhere with whoever they want. I am the only one who has a curfew even Rylee has no curfew."
"Yeah, I get that, Cat. My mom treats me like a baby too. She tracks my cellphone, makes me lunch, cuts my sandwiches into dinosaur shapes, and writes embarrassing notes in my lunchbox, like have a good day, sweet boy or be good boo-boo. Learn something important today. She kisses me in public and wipes my face with the finger she just licked. She tells everyone she meets embarrassing stories about me, like, can't she get it? No one wants to hear about when I took my diaper off in the grocery store. NO ONE. Or I pulled my you-know-what out in public when I was three because she wouldn't shut up with this man she met on the street, even though I told her I had to pee a hundred times. So, she freaks when I pee against the building."
I laugh, burying my hands into my hands, feeling a rush of tears, this time from amusement. "Omg, Noah, that's horrible!" "I know. Aunt Amanda doesn't restrict her kids like this. She lets AJ, Mazie, and CJ stay out late if they tell her where they are going and keep their phones on. My mom, pooh, No. I must be home by seven. No expectations unless I am with a grown-up she knows and trusts."
"It's strange how every set of parents has different methods, isn't it?"
"Yeah. I envy CJ, AJ, and Mazie. Aunt Amanda took Mazie to get birth control when she was twelve; she sat the boys down and gave them a safe-sex lecture by the time they were ten. AJ's been having sex since he was twelve! She walked in on him, sleeping with a classmate. She didn't freak out because she saw he had a condom on and knew he was responsible. AJ took the girl beforehand to get tested at a clinic he made sure he got consent. Aunt Amanda wasn't happy he was sexually active that young, but she saw the paperwork and accepted it. I remember her saying don't fool yourself into thinking your kids aren't having sex because they are, and they will. It's better to prepare them instead of shielding them and learning the hard way when it's too late the dangers because they aren't prepared."
"Your mom?" Noah lets out a snarky laugh. "She'd go all bad-ass-Benson on me if I even suggested kissing a girl or a boy. My mom accepted I am bi-sexual, but the idea of me even dating sends her into a spiraling frenzy that takes days to recover from; talking about sex? Ha, forget it. I'll die a seventy-year-old virgin before she lets me out of her sight."
"Sucks, huh?"
"Yeah, I'm fourteen! I have hormones. Don't get me wrong, Cat. I am respectful. It's not like I want to screw everything which moves. I want a relationship with meaning. I want to fall in love, but I want to experience life like a normal teenager. Time is short none of us are promised tomorrow. My friends Mason and Isabella are dead. They will never get to make mistakes or take another test. They won't get to kiss someone or experience the joy of making love. They died innocent. I don't want to die without experiencing life."
Noah's expression is heartbreaking. His eyes are looking up toward the stars. "Do you wonder what happens to us when we die? Do our faces become stars in the sky? Can we look down on the ones we left behind?" "I think Mason is already in heaven. He isn't wasting time dancing among some silly stars. He was always full of questions and never afraid to ask, so I am sure he's already bugged Jesus into letting him be traffic control for the newly arrived angels."
"Mason sounds like quite the character." "Yea, he was a handful, man."
"A boy who spent most of his time in the principal's office for talking too much in class or being a clown. Isabella, well, I don't know where she is. She loved to dance, but she hated the nighttime. She feared the dark. I hope wherever she is; there's plenty of light now."
Inching my way to Noah, I take his hand into mine, feeling the sadness seep through every word. I deeply long to help him forget his sorrow and remove his fears. I couldn't look at him like that; I had never looked at him like that before. He is my best friend's cousin best friend. My heart was beating so fast I couldn't get a decent breath. His head, just seconds before, had been full of unasked-for thoughts and was now buzzing with anticipation. I can see it through his restless leg, which bounces—feeling his breath on my cheeks. He watched my eyelids flutter, then close. Then our lips met.
"What the hell is wrong with you, Beck!" Jade's scream snaps me back, pulling us apart. Noah's heart is pounding as hard as mine. I can hear it within his ragged breaths. "You slept with my cousin, and you're blaming me!"
"Because you never listen to me, Jade! Something always makes you freak out; a girl compliments my hair. I'm cheating on you, or Tori invites me to her house because the gang is there. I want to go to her house to spend time with our friends, but YOU never want to go because I'm cheating on you with Tori. Even though I have never even so much as kissed Tori."
"Liar! You kissed her on her first day of Hollywood Arts!"
"She kissed me because you pissed her off! Not the same."
"You kissed her back!"
"I was acting!"
"Listen to yourself, Jade! You are so damn stubborn! You refuse to listen. Nothing makes you happy. Ever! I planned a romantic night for you with candles and roses."
"Because you wanted to have sex! I wasn't in the mood; I am not your sex doll Beck! I have feelings, and you never listen to them!"
"No, you have secrets, Jade! Secrets I am tired of keeping for you. I didn't sign up to live a life of lies and half-truths."
"So that's what this is all about, Beck?"
"Yeah. Jade. I guess it is; it's what all our fights are about because you are so paranoid; HIV stigma is rooted in fear of HIV. Many of your ideas about HIV come from the HIV images that first appeared in the early 1980s. You don't even try to give people a chance to accept you. You are so damaged from your mother's fears that you never let yourself live!"
"You betrayed me! Don't you dare turn this around on me! You gave me your word, Beck! You swore you loved me! You promised you would be loyal to me."
"I'm not a fucking dog Jade!"
"No, you're a fucking traitor!"
"You." Her voice shakes as she backs up slowly; the pain of his words is like fire burning her soul. She winced. It made me cringe watching her physical, visceral reaction. The pain blew up in her head with a terrifying blankness. I can see her sway and hear the tiny whimper. It is sickening. She started to quiver. The pain acted like a hot, sharp knife, covered in salt, slicing through her skin and into her muscles and bones as though her leg had been frozen and a bolt of lightning had struck her body from head to toe. I race forward to catch her as she stumbles back. "You think I am damaged?" the mortification and distress in her voice bring tears to my eyes. "You are so wrapped up in your world, Jade. Once again, it's all about you! Get over your daddy issues, Jade. Not all men are your fucking father!"
"Why are you bringing my father into this, Beck? He has nothing to do with it!"
"He has everything to do with it, Jade. Your parents are the reason you are so damaged. Go ahead, Jade, cry because I am making you face the truth. You are so damn scared to face the reality of your life. You hide. You lie. You expect everyone else to go along with your twisted reality."
Beck is inches from her face. I can feel his breath hot and angry. I can smell the tequila on his words. "Well, I am done, Jade. You keep me on a short leash. I can't hang with my friends; I can't have friends who are girls because you are so jealous and insecure. I'm going crazy when I'm with you, and you are going crazy when we're apart. Because you don't know how to trust, and you want some commitment. You are obsessive and aggressive. It's too much to handle. You need therapy, Jade! Because yes, I think you are defective, like a butterfly with a broken wing. You want to fly but can't, so your body and mind are useless."
Crack! Like a nutcracker cracking the outer shell of a walnut Noah's foot lands a perfect kick straight between Beck's legs. Beck collapses, groaning as his hands fly to his jewels. He can't speak; the pain is too fierce. Noah doesn't give him a chance to speak anyway.
His voice is lower, almost a growl, as his clenched fists raised. "Only another man can know how much that shit hurts, and only a real man would deliver a kick to another man's nuts—an act of Disrespect. My mom taught me a real man always respects a woman. It would help if you learned that word- respect- cause on the streets of New York, we have a word for creatures who disrespect women. Pussy."
Jade is leaning over Beck's crumbled-up body. Jade hisses in a low growl. "In case that wasn't clear enough, Beck, we're over. For good. I never want to see your lying, cheating, comminatory, malicious ass ever again!"