I've received some requests to further the Mind of the Beast past just Fitz because, let's be honest, the rest of his friends (Bianca and Owen) aren't really discussed much. So this is my further attempt to get into the mind of one of the other bullies, Bianca. And maybe, truly, you'll see that, like us all, she's misunderstood. Please give it a chance; I would truly appreciate it.

I just hope you understand why she feels what she feels and does what she does.

Because, really, isn't that one of the real essences of living?

The Mind of the Beast

It's Bianca, you whore.

It's not Slut, it's not Ms. DeSousa, and it's not Young Lady.

It's just Bianca.

I see the way you're looking at me. You watch my hips sway left to right. You watch as I strut, moving left foot to front and then the right. Your eyes follow my hand as I wrap a red manicured finger around one of my black curls. I pout my pink glossed lips and you squirm. You fold your hands and stick them over your lap; is this you praying? Or just a cover-up? Because I already know what you're thinking. You just want to hook up with me.

They all do. I'm your weakness; I'm your triple pirouette- I'm what you want, but you don't have.

I'll take you to the boiler room and I'll show you what disgrace is. I'll show you what shame is. Drew, do you feel this? Do you feel me? I'll be your dirty little secret haunting your life. I'm going to ruin you because you let me ruin me.

You let me run my hands along your chest. You let me unbutton your jeans. You let me have you.

But you didn't think that maybe this was a test. That maybe, deep down, Bianca DeSousa was actually looking for a future charming. Someone to finally say no, we'll wait. Someone to finally say that I'm gorgeous and that what turns you on is my personality.

I'm not as different as most girls. I want someone to want me for more than sexual gratification and eye candy. I want someone who will take all of this baggage I keep hold inside my locker heart and tell me I'm still wonderful...

And I almost had someone look deeper, past my glamour surface.

But, no.

The Freak? You disgust me. Even more than I disgust myself.

Lie.

Because, Freak, I envy you. Deep down I effing envy you. Because you're one step closer to living than I am. Even though you're hated, and even though you may hate yourself sometimes, you have the courage to be you. You can be you.

You're willing to put yourself out their on the line and take all the criticisms and the hate because you know that deep down it's true:

"Be who you are and say what you feel. Because those who mind don't matter, and those who matter don't mind."

But that isn't true for me. I remember when my mother read me that quote when I was younger. She read it off her computer screen, and then wrote it out in black Sharpie on the inside red flap of my favorite Dr. Seuss books. She was my favorite person in the world.

Still is.

She was a dancer, just like me. She was a cheerleader for her university. She was the best, I know she was. But then she met my dad, and my dad made the rules. He wanted her to be his. So like a cage, he captured her and stuck her in glass house. Well, a broken house. He got her pregnant with me (unknowingly to my mother). And my mother, who grew up with a single mom, wasn't going to let me end up like her.

So she married him. To her death.

I say that because six years later I came home from elementary school with a Dr. Seuss book in my hand to see my mother's unconscious body on the floor.

She was dead. Drug overdose.

Because of him.

You see, she hated him. Just like I hate him.

I hate him because he won't let me be me.

He won't let me be me in the sense that I am...

Gay.

He would never accept me. And I know that because he took one look at Adam and said, "All gays should die."

That's me.

I'm going to end up just like my mother; I'm going to die because of him. Because if it wasn't for dancing, I wouldn't have a release. And once I lose dancing, I lose everything.

I lose the one fragment of myself that's still truth.

That's still me.

Don't you give me that look. I know you can't believe it. Me, hoe-bag, a lezzer? Truth.

More truth? I'm really just effing angry.

Oh, dear Princess Alli, let down your fake extensions! Don't bat your fake eyelashes at me, it just turns me on more. I like your fiery personality, the way you glide your hips and saunter in your heels. You're sex, just like me. I just want to take you to the boiler room.

I would take you and I would kiss you. So hard that you would know that I care deeply about you.

I wouldn't push you for sex, though, like the guys push me for. I would want us to wait; I would want our relationship to grow. I would want to be your everything, just like I know you could be mine.

I'll be the half to you.

You be the half to me.

I'll be whole, for once.

I'll brush your cheek and you'll give me that smile that you give only to Drew. But, my vixen, I know I could show you more.

But damn, girl.

That starts to get difficult when all we do is fight. It's just all a facade for me. I promise. I'm afraid that, regardless of my darkest secret of wanting to have you as mine, that if I didn't bother you to death, we would never talk at all.

And that would be my death.

Until then, this is all I can think to do. This...this show I put on for you.

I am woman. I am bully. I am Bianca.

Now move, bitch.

END.

Please Review! All thoughts are welcomed with an open mind. This was just my own personal hypothesis to the actions of Bianca, perhaps you have your own ideas?

With much apprecation, I thank you for reading. I hope you find some more of my work just as thoughtful.