A/N: Read and watched Ready Player One. The book was awful. The movie's tolerable. Idk if I'd recommend either of them tho. I mean, they both have a lot of references towards the 70s/80s eras so if you watch/read it for the Easter Eggs, then, yeah, it's worth it.
I also watched Stand By Me for the first time. BIG SAD! Chris Chambers my child! And I watched The Edge of Seventeen again. More coming of age movies written and directed by women pls!
And, yeah, after watching the biblical masterpiece that is Thor: Ragnarok a few months ago, I had to mention that song.
Warning: I shouldn't have to say this bc I already wrote the warnings in the first chapter but(!) depictions of child abuse, domestic violence, depression, etc. It was very hard for me to write.
His head was in overdrive lately.
School was finally at the home stretch after thirteen long, grueling years. Sandra had the graduation date marked on the calendar tacked to the fridge though she probably wouldn't show. John didn't even know if he'd show. He hadn't paid for the cap and gown yet. June seemed so far away but it'd pull up like a speeding car if he wasn't paying attention.
Just imagining Vernon's expression as the vice principal shook his hand and congratulated him made John think sitting in a plastic chair and uncomfortable clothes for over two hours might be worth it. He hadn't crossed Vernon's peripheral since those first few months of school. Vernon was busy hounding the other slackers. Dennis and his wannabe gang were missing him, no question about it.
Spring wasn't close to starting but summer also dawned on him. Dustin would occupy his time, John knew that much. And he'd keep practicing even as Dustin yelled for him to shut up because it was too loud and too noisy. It bothered him whenever he tried to watch new episodes of Voltron: Defender of the Universe.
John tried not to smile. Hopefully, he'd be better when summer's heat came. That was his goal.
Hanging out with Allison when he had some free time wouldn't be a bad idea either. She was cool, always down to do anything. Brian could come, too... If his mother let him off the hook. He'd be spending summer whirring through a mountain of scholarship applications and taking extra credit courses at the local college to get a head start for his coming senior year. John felt a tinge of sympathy for the kid. Brian was only sixteen. A life full of nothing but numbers and formulas and paragraphs full of run-on sentences as entertainment couldn't actually be fun... Then again, neither was being constantly on the run and the row.
But when August came around... John didn't know. He just didn't. He'd been stubborn enough to follow two of Sandra's rules but that one weighed on him ever since Christmas. Could he actually get a job with his record? Was college even a choice for him? John made a sound instead of a laugh, and raised the volume on his Walkman. The remainder of Led Zeppelin's "Immigrant Song" blasted through his earphones.
Going with the flow was his thing. He didn't like rules. He didn't like structure. And, for the most part, John didn't like adults telling him what to do. Doing what he felt was right was how he survived for so long. But John dreaded the thought of being completely alone on the polluted streets again. He thought he was done with that life after getting a taste of normalcy.
And Claire? God, he really wanted to see her again… Preferably before the summer.
Once the final bell of the school year rang, she'd hop into her Trans Am and probably head to the airport. Don't all richies vacation out of the state—sometimes the country—for the entire summer? She'd go to some cloudless, sunny place like Malibu. Or Palm Beach. Or Piedmont. She'd try to get an even tan by the poolside of the Four Season hotel. Some jockstrap might get lucky and rub lotion on her skin.
That mental image made John contort. That shit shouldn't matter. She can be with whoever she wanted. He did like her, that didn't mean he owned her. A person isn't property, they can't be owned. Just because he turned down her invitation out of some last minute sense of chivalry didn't mean she couldn't find someone more suitable for her needs.
Fuck. Why did he have it so bad for a girl he barely scratched the surface with? This wasn't like him at all.
John came back to Earth, realizing the song playing over his earphones. "Photograph" by Def Leppard. God, no wonder he was thinking of her. John pushed the headphones off his hair, letting them sit on his neck. He stopped the Walkman, wishing it could also stop his trail of thoughts.
There was just something about her, something about her trapped him. He couldn't explain it… Or his perpetual hard-on for this chick was getting way out of control. The second sounded more believable.
There were too many thoughts left unanswered, and more he kept thinking of the longer he let his mind wander with no dead end in sight. He needed a cigarette so fucking bad. He never realized how much nicotine kept him sane until he disposed of them a week ago. Dustin said he smelled funny and John didn't like that. The headaches were so bad he wanted to throw up and the coughing made his ribs ache. He thought it'd never end. But he made a promise and intended to keep it. He would not relapse.
Shoving the door open with his shoulder, John was greeted with a blast of the still arctic weather. His bare fingers tingled in his pockets along with his nose and toes. He should be grateful it wasn't snowing like the anchorman reported but John wasn't happy. At all. Wasn't spring supposed to start in March? The weather was mocking him. God had a sick, twisted sense of humor just like his old man.
A black spot amongst the colorful cliques caught his attention. Allison was kneeling in front of a bush in the makeshift garden. Her brows furrowed in such concentration John almost felt bad for interrupting.
"Say, Al…" John sat on the bench, sliding the strap of his guitar off his shoulder and leaned it against the concrete. "You're a girl."
John was still learning the pitches of her squeaks. By the neutral tone of this one, he guessed she was agreeing. Or saying a greeting.
He slid down until his neck perched comfortably on the edge, staring at the endless blue sky. "You ever give yourself up to a guy you barely know?"
"All the time." Allison replied cheeky. "I told you, I'm a nymphomaniac."
Brian's horrified expression flashed through his mind. It almost made John laugh. "It's a serious question."
"No." She answered honestly. "I wanna be in love when I do it."
John groaned, his sight almost disappearing from how hard he rolled his eyes. Girls and their romantic fantasies. Why didn't he see that coming? That, or abstinence. Though, it was hard to picture Allison as some religious nut like those obnoxious Jehovah's Witnesses that knocked almost every Saturday morning. He kind of wished they'd gotten a Rottweiler instead of Flower. A big, menacing dog could scare them off.
"What was that for?"
"Been working on my impression of those little sounds you make. Did I get it right?"
"Is it a problem that I'm waiting, John?" Allison asked, her tone laced with something that was a first. Annoyance.
"I just don't think sex should have anything to do with love." He replied calmly, his palms up. "The two shouldn't intermingle."
"That's your opinion."
"Guess it's a good thing we live in a free country, huh, Al?" Allison didn't respond. He peeked. Her back was still to him. Her annoyance was still lingering, John could feel it. "So... You really wouldn't put out right away—even if you were attracted to him?"
"No."
"How long would you make him wait?"
"I'm not making him wait." She replied. "It should be a mutual decision. I wanna be comfortable. I wanna reach some kind of compromise... I don't think it's right to conform to one side entirely."
His brow quirked. "But what'll happen if he only stuck around the entire time until you gave it up?"
"Then I'll deal with it, if it ever happens."
John shifted, propping his foot on his knee. That wasn't an answer he was expecting, and neither was his next response, "I just don't wanna see ya get hurt."
"Thanks." She commented after a long pause.
"I don't mean it in a bad way."
Allison made another one of her sounds but he wasn't sure what it meant. Still, John took it as a sign to drop it.
The breeze made him want to nap before homeroom. Though the cold could fuck all the way off, it did help him fall asleep easier. That's why his best sleeping was done in class. He didn't have dreams during the day.
Maybe exhaustion was the reason he'd been thinking so much. All the sleepless nights were finally catching up to him. The last time he'd gotten a decent sleep was two weeks ago. Everything else were naps during school. The only reason he was passing was because of Brian. There was just no way for his mind to shut off.
John decided to sit up. Sure enough, there was a bird's nest within the bush Allison was sitting in front of. Painting scenery in its natural habitat with no alteration was her favorite thing to do.
"What about the future?" He asked, placing his forearms on his knees. "After we graduate? After summer?"
"Scary."
"Why?"
Allison decided to sit on the dirt patch, crossing her legs. She was wearing corduroy pants instead of her trademark skirts. And they fit. John didn't think she owned a single pair of pants, or a single item of clothing, that wasn't two sizes too big until now.
"Because you never know what'll happen. Who you'll meet. Where you'll end up."
John scoffed. "You think something bad's gonna happen to us when we get outta here?"
"I'm thinking of all the possibilities."
"Isn't that the fun part, though?" John stretched his arms across the top of the bench. "Not knowing what's gonna happen to us in ten, twenty, thirty years from now?"
"It depends who you ask."
"That's why I'm asking you."
Allison stayed quiet.
He wished Brian were here. He was crammed in one of his early morning club meetings. John could imagine all the things Brian would say.
Brian's whole life had been planned out the night his parents decided to conceive him. He'd known his major—neuroscience—since he was seven. His parents expected him to be accepted in places like Yale, Oxford, or Cambridge. Brian already knew what kind of girl he'd marry, how many children he'd father. Brian even knew what he'd be making for lunch tomorrow. A mundane life, full of rules, expectations, and structure.
"I think..." Allison started hesitantly. "I thought the idea of not knowing was fun for a time… But to keep living it every day after graduation? I don't think I can. I need a plan."
"Why's that?"
"I want… stability. I'd rather know what's gonna happen than to live and guess my next step." She paused. "I'm not sure if I told you, but I tried running away. Once."
"Shit." John said. "That bad? What happened?"
"I came back."
His face fell. "Obviously."
It was a while before she spoke again. "I did it to get my parent's attention."
"I can tell they're shitty."
"My home life is… unsatisfying." She said carefully. "It's… It's not like yours used to be, but I'm glad I'm graduating and going away, far away, from them."
"I think I'm starting to see some things aren't a competition of who's got it worse." John admitted, recalling his encounter with Claire's empty palace and Brian's entire life. "Did they do anything while you were gone? Who found ya?"
"Same thing they do every day. Nothing." Allison shrugged nonchalantly though there was the slightest tremble in her shoulders. "I was gone for a whole week. They never noticed, they didn't care. I came back on my own accord because... I honestly don't know. I ran out of places to go, I guess..."
He closed his eyes, and exhaled. "Shit, Allison."
"Don't feel sorry for me, you don't even feel sorry for yourself." She said, her voice croaking with emotion he didn't mean to get her into. "I'll never do this to my kids."
"You want 'em?"
"I dunno yet."
His brows furrowed. "Then, why'd you say that?"
"Because having kids isn't... simple. I'm only seventeen." She replied. "I can't bring children into a world when I don't even have the means to take care of them. I don't have the money, I don't have the ability... It's just not in my cards now or any time in the near future."
John ran his tongue over his teeth, thinking of his mother. She'd been ready at nineteen to start a family. He wasn't sure if his father was. Something told John no. He was seven years her senior and John guessed he needed kids because of his biological time clock ticking away. That picture perfect moment of hers lasted for a few years, until things she wasn't for happened.
"But don't all chicks wanna have families? Be moms someday?"
"One doesn't speak for all, John. But, yeah, I guess I'd like to be a mom. Someday. Maybe."
"You got a reason for being so indecisive?"
"I'm not being indecisive." She said hotly. "There's just other things I wanna do. Not every person wants the same things at the same times."
John made a sound. "Can't really argue that one."
"I wanna travel." She said after a long pause, her voice wistful and full of childlike hope. "There's so many places I wanna see. I wanna go to the ocean, go to the country, the mountains! Afghanistan, Israel, Africa… I wanna know—I wanna see what the rest of the world has to offer. There's just so much I wanna do, there's so much to learn that I can't know by being stuck and tied down in this place…"
"I dunno." John said out loud with a quirk of his mouth to the side. "This place isn't such a shit-hole to me."
He didn't realize how long he'd been mindlessly staring at her back until Allison turned around.
"Because this place is your home."
His parents usually argued about the two B's—bills and beer.
John was in his room, burning the tips of his hair with a lighter he'd stolen from the general store when he heard the front door open. His mother was home like clockwork, three minutes past five-thirty according to the cracked screen of his alarm clock. His mother's footsteps were feather-like. She never wore anything other than socks at home, like him. Still, John could hear everything through the thin walls.
His father passed out during the Sunday football game. The announcers were jabbering about a ten yard penalty over the hysterical crowd, mixed in with his father's obnoxious snoring. There was a rustling of a plastic bag, and keys set on a table. The house was safe, for now.
The fridge gave its suction noise and glass clanked. That could only mean one thing. Beer. She bought him more beer, John thought bitterly.
John learned years ago to stop hoping for food. The right to eat was earned, not given for free. So he learned to take carefully. Maybe he could avoid pudding for dinner again if he wasn't home later. His secret stash was running low. Jeremiah might be able to give him something. His parents always had left overs and were nice enough to give it to him.
His mom closed the fridge as gently as possible, starting her trip through the hardwood floor of the hallway. No matter how careful and light it still gave away little creaks—evidence that it'd never been properly installed many years ago. She tried telling his father about it, though it ended quickly with: if you have a goddam problem, fix it yourself or get my know-it-all son to do it. She never spoke about it again.
The silhouette of her feet stopped in front of his door, lingering. Why? She didn't care about him, unless… Oh, shit!
John put out the flame but he couldn't put out the smell. A sense of dread tingled through him, watching the light grey smoke disappear in the air. What a stupid fucking idea! Burns lingered. His mother never hit him but it didn't matter. She'd tell his father like the good little girl she still tried to be. Stupid, stupid, so fucking stupid!
He was so relieved when she walked away. John carefully exhaled. She probably had suspicions about whether he was home or not and John didn't want to blow it.
She probably wouldn't be home for long. She came and went just as often as John, probably way more. After the third time, John started to feel like she left him to his father's rage intentionally.
John switched from sitting on the floor to laying on his bed. He didn't bother to get under the covers. Sullivan might have something up his sleeve though John didn't feel like doing anything tonight. He just wanted to eat and sleep after that. But he started to think, maybe, sleeping in a cell was the safest place for him.
Sleep took him within a few seconds. Sometimes, John wished he could sleep forever, never wake up. Things might be easier.
"What the hell is this?"
His father's stomps on the hardwood made the darkness of sleep rush out of him. John laid still, facing the ugly, cream colored spot he hadn't covered up yet.
"What're you talking about, Johnathon?" His mother responded.
"What the hell is this?" He repeated.
"… It's the beer you wanted."
John peered over his shoulder. His door was closed, though it might as well not be. He carefully rose, taking out the socks he kept under his pillows and put them on his hands. Maybe it was the childlike curiosity that'd never leave but he placed himself on his floor, crawling to his door. He reached up and turned the knob as slowly as he could.
He opened the door just in time to catch a glimpse of the beer can as it whisked past his room.
"Watch your tone." He warned. "You know I don't drink this piece of shit brand."
His father's back was to him, his arm outstretched purposely trapping his mother in their room. John didn't need to see his face to know he felt mighty. Beer always made him feel superior though John thought it made him look dumber than normal. That's what it was supposed to do, anyway.
His mother's weary eyes leveled his face, her lips parting in fear. "What do you mean? I bought exactly what you wanted—"
He should've been used to the sound of his father slapping his mother, but it still always made John jump.
"Don't fucking talk back to me, Joan. I warned you." He wagged his index finger in her face as she held her reddening cheek. "Try again. What did you make me drink?"
She breathed shakily. "It's... It's Bud Light."
"It doesn't taste like it." He said. "Did you check the expiration date?"
She gnawed on her lip, forcing the water flooding her eyes not to come out. "Yes. And I bought the cans, just like you wanted. I put them in the fridge a few minutes ago so they're not cold… I did put a few in the freezer. Maybe that's why it tastes off."
His father huffed, leaning on the wall and crossing his arms. "So, you remembered the beer but not lunch? You left me starving, Joan. That's not good. The least you could've done is leave me money to buy a pizza."
His mother froze. "No… I… I left you a sandwich in the fridge, on the top shelf. Tuna with Swiss and little mayo."
"Where is it?"
"It should be..." His mother trailed off uncertainly, and could only repeat what she already said softly, "I left it in the fridge."
"It's not there, Joanie. Where is it?" He asked again, more gravelly this time.
His mother swallowed. "I... I don't know what happened to it. Maybe... Maybe John ate it."
That was just like his mom to throw him under the bus when she didn't want to deal her mistakes. John wasn't sure how he felt about his mother these days. She navigated a very thin line between dislike and the same hatred he harbored for his father. He definitely didn't get his backbone from her.
But John didn't want to hate her. He couldn't let go of what she used to be, and held onto foolish hope that she might still be around. But that part of her died right around the time of his father's stroke on the hospital table. John had to stop holding onto memories, however sweet they'd been.
His own urge to run kicked in. John's chant twirled through his mind like a carousel. They don't know I'm here, he doesn't know I'm here. All it did was stall his panic. Still, he should get out while he had the opportunity.
The window was wide open, his shining beacon. All he needed to do was dash and dive for it. His house was only one story and several feet above the grass. But John was frozen, body glued to the floor. Why couldn't he move?
"That little shit hasn't been here all day." His father retorted. "He got school. What we should do is make him quit and get a job. He's fourteen already, practically a man."
"But it's the weekend..." His mother insisted. "There's no school on Sunday's."
Another slap, harder this time. "Stop lying to me, Joan. You already lied a few days ago about the electric bill. I missed the game because of you."
"I'm not lying." His mother replied weakly, her arms and legs trembling. "I saw him just a little while ago."
"Where?" He challenged.
Her muddy eyes darted to his door, and his blood turned cold when she locked eyes with him. "He's right there, right in his room."
Everything happened so quickly. The window was suddenly shut, and locked. He had no where else to go, no where to run, no escape. Dashing out the door was pointless, his father would catch him. He couldn't outrun him.
"John?" A thin, muffled voice, sounding so close yet so far away, asked.
It was useless, everything he thought of was useless. Nothing was going to ever save him. He was so fucking stupid. He deserved to get beat.
John still hurried, crawling under his bed. The door almost popped off its hinges as his father made his way inside.
"Why're you hiding, Johnny?"
His father gripped his ankle tightly, popping John right out like it was no big deal. His face was purple with rage, his eyes wide, and wild, and bloodshot. All over a sandwich he didn't even eat though John was starving.
He grabbed a fistful of John's shirt by the collar, holding him at his level. John was on the tips of his toes. His father's breath reeked of alcohol mixed with nicotine, so much it was suffocating.
"Did you eat my sandwich, you piece of shit?"
"No!"
John couldn't even register the pain as his father threw him to the floor and struck him with a fist. He was pretty sure the back of his head hit the hardwood. He heard the sickening, familiar sound, and when he opened his eyes, his father's long face was nothing but a blur of purple.
"Don't you lie to me, too." His father threatened, meaning every single word. "I should kick your ass out for all the trouble you cause around here."
"I'm not lying, asshole." John managed to mutter though his cheek tingled through the adrenaline.
John blacked out.
When his eyes cracked open slowly, the ceiling wasn't his rooms'. But it was too blurry to tell. All he could make out was the blinding, yellow light all the rooms in this place had. A light wave of heat came from somewhere off to the side, and there was a coolness of his cheek on a tile surface.
"So, you thought you could get away from me, Johnny?"
John didn't answer. His head felt so heavy. There was this annoying ringing in his ear from the side his father hit. He tried to move but couldn't, his body felt like deadweight. John blinked, the definition of the white and grey starting to unfold. His head was against the counter. And he was staring at the stove. That's where the heat was coming from.
There was a hand in his hair. It tugged hard, hard enough to rip his hair right from the follicles. The stench of alcohol hung heavy all around him again. He didn't know if God existed anymore, but he prayed for an end. Any end.
No where to run, no escape.
"Where would you go, huh?" His father asked rhetorically. "Tell me. What family would ever want you? A know-it-all like you that can't keep out of trouble?"
John couldn't answer. He did wonder where his mother went. He wasn't sure why he secretly yearned for her help. She didn't care about him anymore.
"Remember where you come from, Johnny." He said close to his ringing ear, feeling a searing pain on his hand. John grit his teeth to keep from crying out though he felt something rolling down his cheeks. "Remember who you are. You're a worthless, good for nothing, goddam freeloading son of a bitch."
He really wished his father would just do it, just kill him and get it over with. It's what he wanted, he never had to say it. It was in his words, in his expressions, in the states he left John in. One day he was going to snap and do it. And John would finally be free from all the pain, all the misery, all the loneliness. He'd no longer have to spend another day living in fear.
But that would mean his father showing mercy. He'd never. He loved causing misery.
"John, come on! Wake. Up. It's not real." That voice from earlier said. "Whatever you're imagining isn't happening. Wake up!"
John wasn't sure why he still fought despite it all. His arms moved though he couldn't control them, and there was some struggle going on he couldn't register.
There was nothing to fight for. There was nothing going good for him. All he really wanted to do was be laid six feet under already. That's what he told himself. But there was an actual fire in him that couldn't be put out no matter how much his dad beat him within an inch of his life. He was scared to die. Maybe it was a bunch of bullshit—all that shit they said about how life would get better. Still, John wanted to find out. He had to. There had to be something more than this life.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" His father put him in a chokehold John was all too familiar with.
"Stop it." John managed to say.
"Stop what, Johnny?" He squeezed harder. John gasped for air, but his father covered his mouth with his sticky forearm. "Speak up, son."
If his father didn't kill him now, he would after this. Insanity must run through the Bender family. John moved his head just a little bit to the side, biting down on his father's arm. Hard.
His father let out a yelp, releasing him. "You mother—"
John only had time for a cough before he found the will to crawl. He didn't know where he was going, he just knew he needed to get as far away as he could. But all he did was stall his father, and that wouldn't last. He was standing, while John's head was still a mess.
His father caught him, dragging him across the floor like a rag doll and back to the kitchen. John was nothing but a toy that his father could toss and twist whenever he saw fit. His father yanked him to his feet again, throwing another punch that knocked John out again.
"John? ... John, wake up! John! You're safe! Come on!"
Even in the darkness, John could hear his fathers slurred insults. He was spewing his regular shit about how stupid he was for thinking he could ever leave without his consent.
The heat of the stove was getting closer again, so close his ear was starting to radiate. And, soon, it became unbearable. When John realized what his father was trying to do, it was too late. A scream tore from John's throat.
John's eyes shot open, bolting awake. The overhead fan light nearly blinded him.
It was so hard to breathe, his chest felt like it was about to implode. John clutched the cushion of the couch seat, struggling to calm down. That didn't happen, he's not here, he doesn't know you're here. It's not reality anymore.
"John?"
His eyes slid over, meeting tender green eyes. It was Sandra's voice he heard.
He didn't expect her to be home yet. She called around four to say she wouldn't be home until past midnight. It couldn't be midnight yet. He couldn't have fallen asleep watching The Love Boat, leaving Dustin unattained for more than two hours.
"Is... Is he..."
"Breathe in and out, honey." She reached out, but John ripped away before she could touch him. "Take your time."
John tried to follow her statement, breathing in through his nose and out his mouth. "It's... fine..."
"Dustin's okay, if that's what you were wondering. It didn't seem like you left him by himself for too long."
His eyes squeezed shut. "I'm sorry, Sandra."
"Don't be." She responded gently. "I shouldn't have put so much responsibility on you. You're still just a kid."
"I'm not that much of a kid."
Sandra looked to the staircase. "Can you hang out for a few minutes? I'll be right back."
John nodded. She gave him a sad, little smile, before hurrying to the stairs and out of his vision. He almost threw his head back, hoping it'd hit one of the metal brackets but he didn't. Instead, he put his palm over his eyes.
Fuck. How could he mess up? Just how fucked up in the head was he that he couldn't stay awake around Dustin? What if Dustin got hurt? Or the house caught fire? God, Sandra was going to eat him alive when she came back and that was the last thing he wanted.
Nobody should've ever found about his nightmares. Nobody. Nobody needed to have the slightest inclination that a guy like John was weak enough to let his sleep be plagued by some bogus that only happened to children. Only children would be in this crippling state, so scared to go to sleep and relive it.
"Good news." Sandra's voice cut through him, descending the last step. She changed out of her scrubs and into one of her fuzzy robes. "You didn't wake him."
"Was I really that loud?"
"Yeah." She sat on the lone couch, her couch. "You've been at it for a solid five minutes. First it was mumbling, then it escalated. You're a pretty heavy sleeper, too. I was a considering pouring water on you."
John lowered his head in shame. He ran a hand through his hair, scratching his itchy scalp. He was sweating and hot and uncontrollable. He rolled up the bottom of his T-Shirt, wiping his face. He didn't know what to say but he was shocked at how calm she was.
"What were you dreaming about?"
He decided not to lie. "My parents. Well, my old man."
She nodded understandingly and didn't push for more. Sandra seemed content only knowing the gist of things.
"Common?" John nodded numbly. "How long?"
"Since November."
Her business persona was momentarily broken, eyes widening. "That's almost three months!"
"I know."
Her mouth parted, slipping right back in. "And when you wake up are you able to go back to sleep?"
"No."
"How often do you get a full night's sleep, John?"
"Not often." He said. "Dustin used to come to my room sometimes. But I think I scared him away. That was the only time I could actually sleep. Flower, too. I think I might've knocked him over a few times too many. He hasn't been around my room in a while."
"Honey..." Sandra sighed, rubbing her temples expertly. "You should've told me. I can get you help."
"I don't need help, Sandra." John said gruffly massaging his ear. "I told you, that shit's for crazy people. I'm not crazy."
"You're not." Sandra agreed. "But there's no shame in admitting you have some issues to work out and finding solutions on how to deal with them. Your frequent nightmares aren't normal, and neither is your lack of sleep. There could be a lot of contributing factors causing it that we don't know about. Is it because you're stressed? Trauma? Medical reasons?"
He laid back in the midst of her pondering, crossing his arms and getting his head comfortable on the arm rest. "You think I'm a freak, don't you?"
"No." She said calmly. "I think you're a kid who's seen too much fucked up shit but you're denying the help you really want out of some stupid sense of faux, teenage man-pride. John, you're the text book, classic example of someone who's crying out for help."
"I don't fucking need help." He insisted tightly. "Guys don't ask for help, they take care of it."
"It's been three months, how's that working out for you?" She questioned sarcastically.
"You just don't get it." John clenched his jaw.
"Then help me understand it." She pleaded. "Who says guys don't ask for help? Your friends?"
"No. My old man."
Sandra's mouth shut, she blinked several times. "Why does your father's opinion matter? You're not with him anymore."
"I..." John stopped. He'd never been completely open with anyone without the antics and the drama, and John didn't know how or where to start. "I still feel like he's around. Like my shadow, like a ghost I can't shake off."
"Is that what you dream about?" She asked in a hushed tone. "That he'll find you?"
"Sometimes." John breathed uneasily. "Sometimes it's about things he didn't get around to doing. Sometimes it's the things he did do... Would you ever tell him I'm here?"
"Never."
He let his shoulders slack. "When'd you last speak to him?"
"About a year after the accident." Sandra looked to the staircase, rubbing her chin. John could see the wetness pooling in her eyes. "If he ever called… I wouldn't know what to say to him… Probably nothing good."
"I'd pay to see that."
Sandra's lip quirked up. "No, you wouldn't. I'd go to jail for first-degree murder."
"Jesus."
"Any man—any person—that purposely hits their family to the point of bleeding shouldn't live." She rubbed her finger under her nose. "I don't know who he is but that's not my brother. What happened to him?"
"He blames it on a lotta things. The gallbladder surgery going wrong. His job letting him go. And me."
Sandra took a moment. "And Joan? She's… Joan's just as bad as him, isn't she?"
The roll of his shoulders was slow and dragged. "She doesn't hit me."
"It wouldn't matter if she did." Sandra quickly wiped away the leak from her eye.
"I really am fucked up, aren't I?"
"No, honey, it's not you. It's never been you. It's them, there's something wrong with them." Sandra said through grit teeth. "Johnathon's turned into my grandfather, a little boy who loves causing misery to those around him because he can. I hate them. I wasn't sad when my grandfather died and I won't be sad when your father goes next—and I pray to God it's soon."
He studied her, studied her wobbly tone as she spoke about them. "You'd say that about your own family?"
"Yes." Sandra replied, her tone matching her dead-set, wet eyes. "Blood means absolutely nothing when it comes to violence against your spouse and child. They're evil, absolutely evil. My grandpa didn't deserve to live for as long as he did, and neither does Johnathon."
John didn't know what else to say. What more could he say without every little thing he'd kept inside for so long trickle out? How could he begin to say how lost he felt? Was it safe to agree? Was it safe to tell her anything else? He didn't think so, not with how passionate she was right now.
"John?" She said attentively. She'd been studying him for some time while he lay in wallowing silence. "You are their kid. There's unfortunately nothing in the world that can ever take that away... But you don't have to be them."
"I'm not sure I know how to be anything else." He blinked as the popcorn ceiling blurred into a smooth surface. "I dunno what parts belong to me and which parts come from them."
Sandra suddenly giggled after a long stretch of silence. She'd been thinking about something. John squinted at her. "What the hell's so funny?"
"I just remembered something you once did." She still smiled. "You remember that birthday party you had when you were six?"
"Little bits."
"Well, at the time, I was dating this guy." She pronounced it in a French accent. "He was one of those prissy momma's boys. Spoiled, wouldn't wear anything that wasn't designer, spent more time looking in the mirror and talking to his mother on the phone than with me… God, he was a total drama queen."
"Seems like you got a type." John said. "Wasn't Liam kind of a queen?"
Sandra scoffed, waving her hand in front of her face dismissively. "Anyway, he came late to the party 'cause he got lost. Right when he saw me, he went for it. It was my fault I didn't give him the right address. And when he saw what I was wearing? God, he caused a huge, huge scene, throwing his arms everywhere, trying to get up in my face in front of everyone, asking how can I be such a 'careless little woman'. I was so embarrassed! I think I started crying. And you..."
John's brow quirked at her abrupt giggling again. "Don't leave me hanging, Sandra-Dee."
"You ruined his suit." She said after she calmed down. "You ruined his expensive, flashy, all white Hugo Boss suit and brand new Calvin Klein tie he bought a few days before and specifically for that party."
"… How?"
"Your friend, Jeremiah, gave you a slingshot. I dunno why his parents decided that was an appropriate gift for a six year old but whatever, not my business. You decided to test it out since we were at the park." Her smile hadn't faltered. "So you picked up dog shit and flicked it at him—not once but several times—from the playground right across from where we were arguing."
John felt the bubble of laughter and covered his mouth. "I really don't remember that."
Her smile faltered. "Probably because it came with repercussions."
He cleared his throat though he was still giddy. "I don't think I regret it."
Her smile was pinched. "You said didn't mean to do it, that his suit reminded you of a bulls eye somehow, but... I'm pretty sure you knew what you were doing. You were too smart to think anything less. Normally, I wouldn't find it as funny as I did but… You were a kid, and he was an adult who acted like the worst kind of child. We broke up a week later, over something unrelated to that but it might've been a factor."
John licked his lips. "At least now I know where I get my dislike of bulls comes from."
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Oh-kay." Her eyes darted around in incredulity. "Well, what I was trying to get across with that story was how that was all your own. That belongs to you. You were a funny kid even if I only saw you that one time. You still are sometimes. I don't think either of your parents have a humorous bone in their body."
"I dunno." John deflected. "Pretty sure my old man's got a sense of humor. I think I got it from him."
Sandra frowned. "You're not him. There's parts of you that are from him, but you're not him. You don't have to be him unless you choose to be him."
"You only know some of it, Sandra." He said. "I only show you certain parts."
"Okay, then tell me. Show me the rest of it." John shook his head. "Why not?"
"Because almost every adult I've ever known thinks of me as poor, white trash… I can't handle you thinking the same."
"Don't take this the wrong way, John, but do you give them any reason to think anything else of you?"
For the first time in a long time, he thought about George. Steady and sturdy George who's kindness John did nothing to earn. Did George think of him like this, too?
"Can't say I do." He replied, thinking of Vernon, too. "Why bother when this is all I'll ever be?"
Sandra sat, twisting her lips. "Honestly, John, I think it'll be good for you to speak to a stranger. It's not that I don't want to help you, I just don't know what to say to help you. I can't get through to you because you won't let me through the barrier you have up. Just promise me three sessions. Just three. If you don't like it, then tell me and we'll… I guess we'll figure something else out."
His answer came strangely easily. "Okay."
Allison threw her pile of composition books on their lunch table.
Her sudden appearance startled Brian so much he choked on the apple juice he'd been sipping. John hid his smirk by chewing on the last bit his granny apple before chucking it in the garbage can.
"I have a project." She announced, sitting in her usual place next to Brian. "Sorry."
Brian cleared his throat, his cheeks tinged in embarrassment. "No, you're not."
"I am." She insisted.
"You aren't. You both have a hobby in freaking people out for your entertainment." John gave a nod of approval. Brian shook his head, exasperated, and cleared his throat again. "About the project… Do you, uh, need any help?"
"It's a partner project for Economics."
"That totally blows." John commented.
She fished out a plastic zip-lock full of Capt'n Crunch. Pouring some onto her palm, she ate right out of it.
"Did you get to pick?" Brian asked, taking a bite of his peanut butter and jelly sandwich with the crusts cut off. "Most of my teachers let us pick."
"You've got Honors and AP classes, though." John commented.
Allison shook her head, swallowing. "Assigned."
"With who?"
"Andrew Clarke."
There was that fucking guy again. John couldn't escape from hearing about him as much as he couldn't stop thinking about Claire. What was wrong with this world? Next thing he knew, he'd turn into a prep if he wasn't mindful.
Brian paled, pulling his lips into a tight line. John's head titled at Brian's brief apprehension.
"Oh, uh." Brian stammered. "Well, that kinda sucks."
"Why?" Allison asked curiously, probably noticing the same thing John had. "He doesn't seem bad."
Brian stared at his half eaten sandwich he wanted nothing more to do with. "I dunno... Most of the jocks are... They're the same."
"How? He was nice to me."
"Well, that's good." Brian covered up with an honest smile.
"Spit it out, Big Bri." John blurted.
Brian face fell. He gulped, placing his sandwich back on the foil. "What, uh, what do you mean, Bender?"
John stared intently. "What're you not telling us?"
"Nothing! It's just, uh..." Brian's cheeks reddened, eyes bouncing to both their faces. "It's... Well... You... You guys really didn't hear about it? It was a pretty big deal last year... People still talk about it sometimes."
John placed his head on his palm. "I haven't been here all four years, dork. And I can count on one hand the amount of people I actually give a shit to talk to."
Brian's smile was pinched. "Allison? You should've heard about it."
Allison shook her head slowly.
Brian frowned, debating. "Well, okay. So, um, last year, Andrew taped Larry Lester's, uh, butt cheeks together."
John wanted to laugh, but Brian's face was enough to make him cover his mouth with his palm. Larry must've been Brian's friend judging by his dejected expression. Allison mulled on her lips, studying every inch of Brian's face. His head was lowered like it'd been all his fault, like he could've prevented it somehow.
Claire's words ran through John's mind. Andrew was supposed to be a good guy. He may've been a sport but he was supposed to be one of the good ones. According to her and the first morning he saw her, Andrew was in the office because he saw something he deemed wrong and tried to fix the problem. He wantedto believe her. Claire seemed like an honest person—even if she'd been a little tipsy—who had everything to lose if she lied. But Brian was here, telling him the opposite.
"How did it happen?" Allison asked softly.
Brian shook his head, still refusing to meet their eyes. "I dunno. I've heard a lot. They say some of his skin ripped off. But I, uh, I haven't spoken to Larry..."
"What do you mean?" Allison asked. "Aren't you his friend?"
"Yeah, but I think he moved." Brian tapped his fingers. "His house went up for sale about a week after the whole thing... I wanted to go over but my mom wouldn't let me. She, uh, didn't want me to be associated with that kind of notoriety."
John took his palm away from his mouth, his nose crinkling in thought. If only his mom knew Brian openly chose to associate with the likes of him, a former burnout and criminal. Brian's family might pull a Larry and transfer him if they ever had a hint. He was positive Brian's mom would freak out at the idea of him having a female friend. Girls were probably distractions to them. Girls should be saved for once he's moved out and on his own.
"You haven't called him?"
"I have…" Brian trailed off. "I tried so many times, but he never returned them… Or anyone else's."
"What about Sporto?" John asked suddenly, making Brian look up in confusion. "What happened to him?"
"Andrew? He's still here…" Brian waved his finger around in emphasis. "He's, uh, he's a wrestler, you know. Our star wrestler. They're, uh, they're actually about to start the matches towards the championship soon. Everyone thinks he'll win it."
John's lip curled. "Why the fuck do schools care more about their athletes than their academics? It's no wonder I don't learn shit."
Brian shrugged. "It's 'cause athletes make the school profit, and schools can profit off them, more than high academics."
"Yeah, I know that." John's lip curled. "So, did he get suspended?"
"Not that I know of. I heard Vernon gave him Saturday detention."
"That's it?" John exclaimed. "God, I used to get suspended for pulling shit like that."
Brian's brows drew together. "You... You mean those rumors are true? You really used to do things like that to guys like me?"
John exhaled, crossing his arms on the table. That came out all types of wrong. He didn't want Brian to find out this way. He didn't want to Brian to find out ever. That's not who John was anymore.
"Some of 'em aren't true... That particular one is."
Brian sat there, with a blank expression that spoke volumes. Brian was never so void.
"Do you still do it?" Allison asked for him. "Do you have thoughts of doing it?"
"No." John replied. "Brian's my pal, I could never do that to him."
"What about the ones who aren't?"
"No." John repeated.
"Why did you do it?" Brian whispered.
John shook his head, licking his lips. "You're not gonna like my answer."
"I'd like to hear it, anyway." He insisted gently.
John ground his jaw, knowing what was to come. "I thought it was fun."
Brian's jaw dropped. "... Fun?"
Allison eyes darted between them, gnawing on her lip.
"It used to be."
"You thought..." Brian's eyes welled. "You thought giving wedgies, and wet willies, and harassing us for lunch money, and stuffing our lockers, and dunking our heads in toilets, and making sure our lives are an everyday living hell fun?"
"I'm not proud of what I used to do, Brian." John stared at his arms. "I'm really not. But I warned you about it. I'm an asshole but working on it."
"You being an asshole doesn't excuse your actions!"
John heard Brian take a deep breath, trying to steady his bubbling anger. There wasn't anything John could say to make the situation better. There was a lot he could say to make the situation worse but he opted to keep quiet. Brian would be the one to guide the outcome. Brian would be the one to make the decision. Though, John was pretty sure he'd have one less friend.
"You come from a fucked home as much as I do, Bender." Brian managed tautly after some silence. He rubbed his red nose with his hand. "Our problems, our home lives aren't exactly on the same tier, but I… I like to think our suffering is—was mostly the same, right?"
John nodded, waiting for the part where Brian would get up and never come back.
"You didn't have to inflict it onto others."
"It's unavoidable." Allison chimed in. "It just happens when it's all you've been subjected to."
Brian shook his head. "It still doesn't excuse anything, Allison. I think... I think almost anyone can strive to be good and kind in the face of adversity. You just have to try."
"People get tired of trying to be good." John cut in, his mind swirling to every time his mother tried with his father until she finally cracked and turned to ash. "Kindness is easily taken advantage of."
"Because you view it that way." Brian retorted. "You grew up seeing good and kind as being weak willed and having a weak spirit. A push over, something you can take advantage of. It's... It's never been like that."
Allison nodded. "There's strength in kindness."
Her statement sent his head reeling. That was Jeremiah, and George, and Sandra, and Dustin, and even them. They were all good people... Good people that, maybe, he shouldn't be around for the fear of tainting them. He couldn't see the good in himself.
John's fingers curled around the stress ball in his jacket pocket. His need to lash out was rising but he knew they meant well. He needed to hear this more from them than Sandra, George, or any adult. Only they could understand him best.
"I think we…" Brian closed his mouth, rethinking. "I don't want to continue this… This cycle even though it seems like we're doomed to. I don't wanna be my parents."
"Yeah. Me neither." John agreed quietly.
"Was it just you?" Allison asked after the breeze past that left him shivering. "Or did your friends do it, too?"
"Some of 'em." He responded, curling into himself to keep warm. He squeezed the ball tighter. "I joined in whenever they started. And vice versa."
Brian smiled tightly. "I'm glad you're not like that anymore."
Allison nodded again with a small smile of her own. "Me, too."
John stared at both of them. Was this a joke?
"I didn't mean to get angry with you." Brian said quickly. "I just... I thought of—"
"I know what you thought." John managed through the shock of their forgiveness. "I'm mad at me, not you. You're in the right."
"Wow." Brian's eyebrows flew up, his mouth open in equal shock. "I… I never thought I'd hear that from you."
"I told you he has more mood swings than me." Allison said, unfazed by John's words.
John rolled his eyes. "I just quit smoking. Gimme some credit, guys. The shit's not as easy as everyone says."
"You've been saying that for weeks." Allison said flatly.
Brian shot Allison a look. "Is it safe to say, 'poor baby'?"
Allison bit back her grin. "Probably not."
John glared. "Ha, ha."
Brian and Allison tried not to laugh and John wondered what exactly he did to deserve anyone's kindness. Or, maybe, it wasn't about being deserving of it. It's a belief.
The bus didn't show up. Again.
The driver, Harris, couldn't be bothered to leave an announcement over the PA either. Again. Honestly! Why the fuck was Sandra wasting her money when he could walk to school and back just fine? This was the third time in a month! And, for once, he didn't want to walk home. Dammit.
Using Ms. Watts' phone, John dialed her number. Of course, Sandra didn't pick up. What is it with her and answering every phone call except his? It's like she knew, and was telling him to figure it out. John's scoff bounced throughout the empty room. He was so fucking annoyed and over this week.
At least he had the music room to himself. Ms. Watts was busy running the band through a new routine for next weeks' football game. There was nothing like a vacant room, just him and these magic strings, reciting some of the greatest song he'd ever heard from the artists that made life just a little bit worth living. John finished learning Cream's "Sunshine of Your Love".
Locking the casing and ducking his head under the strap, John headed out to the hallway. Besides the music room, he'd also have the house to himself today. Sandra decided to lighten his load with babysitting and rotated days between him and the former designated babysitter. He'd lose a couple of dollars because of it. And now his Wednesdays were now dedicated to Dr. Silica and his study group.
Dr. Silica's undergrads were the ones talking to him, which made John a little. It was almost like talking to Brian and Allison. Almost. One of them, Brendon, recommended John keep a stress ball on him at all times during school. John hated to admit it, but it helped. It'd been weird, and ridiculously stupid at first, but he found he no longer had the urge to hit, or yell, or throw things, when he felt his temper gurgling.
None of them made him talk about anything he didn't want to say. He was always the one leading the conversations. John did what he could to avoid talking about it. But it was only a matter of time before he'd slip all the dirty details. They were soon-to-be professionals, and supposed to be unbiased, but, God... He hoped they believed him.
Brian should be getting out of his Physics club meeting any time now. It was five minutes before three-thirty and Brian was all the way in B-Wing—a mostly science oriented building. That was one building down from where John was walking through. It wasn't going to take him long to get there. They could hang out while he waited for his parents to pick him up.
"Hey!" He recognized the voice but kept walking. It couldn't be directed at him. She wouldn't be here at this time.
John went left, deciding to take a scenic route. It'd lead outside instead of him walking through the intersection hallway.
"John?" Heels clicked faster on the weathered down tile. Carl really should do better, but what'd John know about being a janitor? "John! Wait, stop! Dammit, slow down, I'm not wearing my gym shoes!"
He did, peering through his hair and over his left shoulder. Claire caught up to him after a few more steps.
That hair he liked so much was mostly covered with a beanie, a few wisps stuck out randomly—though, he didn't think a girl of her stature knew the meaning of the word. Her balloon sweater and floral leggings wasn't at all tasteful for her—in his opinion—but Claire could be wearing a trash bag over her body and John would still think she was so fucking pretty.
Leaning her shoulder against the row of yellow lockers, Claire bent her leg and unstrapped one of her boots, popping it off her foot. Her foot was covered in a black sock but he could imagine the redness and the blisters. She massaged her ligament.
"You know, you're insanely hard to find for a guy who transferred this year."
John blinked, turning around. "Where'd you go looking?"
"Everywhere! The front of the school, teacher parking lot, the library—"
"You really thought I'd be in a library on my own free will, sweets?"
She ignored him and continued, "I checked the student parking lot, the back of the school, the caf..." Claire grimaced. "… Under the bleachers…"
He tried imagining a girl like Claire going completely out of her comfort zone, out of her way of life, into a place she wasn't familiar with. She had to talk to a group of mostly guys to try and find him of all the people in the school. Could she get any hotter?
Instead of letting more sentiment through, John's brows rose in repugnance. "A burnout that doesn't hang with the other burnouts. Amazing."
"Don't be like that." Claire chided lightly, slipping her boot back on and doing the straps.
John paused. "Like what?"
"Like an asshole that enjoys throwing things back at my face. I've had enough of those, I don't need another." She said, flexing her ankle. Then she bent down to adjust the legging. "You seemed okay that night."
"That was just one night, Cherry." He craned his neck, trying to get a view of her ass but she had it against the locker. "You should consider yourself lucky."
Claire sneered when she came up. "You know, I don't appreciate your antagonism. I didn't have a lot to go on! And it's not like you went looking for me."
"What makes you think I didn't?"
Claire's eyes narrowed slightly. She crossed her arms, her back against the lockers in cool confidence. "Do you get off on being stupid? This conversation would've happened weeks ago if you did."
"Well, did ya think it could be because I didn't know where to look, either?" John countered.
"You could've asked around." Claire jabbed at the obvious. "Or tried to look. I'm not hard to find."
John leaned against the wall, studying her poker face that tried to hide the same desire he had for her. "What makes you think your friends would've even told me about you? Be real, Claire. You really think I'd walk up to 'em just to be rejected?"
Her brows drew together suspiciously. "You still could've tried. I still went up to your friends. Dennison made this weird face when I mentioned you. The others just wanted to know if I came with cash to buy from them."
He smirked. "Did you?"
"No! I don't smoke."
John softly chuckled. "It wouldn't matter. Those guys aren't my friends."
"Oh." She blinked. "You weren't kidding."
"Was I laughing before?"
Claire bit her lip. "Sorry… Did you guys have a fallout?"
"Something like that. Dennis likes to think he's the brains of the operation when his IQ matches the measurement of a peanut." She laughed and John tried not to smile. "So, how'd you finally find me?"
"I didn't. I just came out of a Student Council meeting when I saw you walk by. Or, I hoped it was you..." She trailed off nervously, and his heart might've jumped. "But what're you doing here, though? You don't look like the kind of guy who'd stick around after school."
"Just hanging around, waiting for a friend."
"Liar." Claire squinted at something behind him. "Are you in band? I should've figured."
His lip almost curled. "No."
"Lie." She sing-sung. "Don't be embarrassed. There's no shame in it."
"I'm not embarrassed, and I'm not in band." John said gruffly.
Claire blinked. "Oh. So are you in a band?"
"No." Though he wished, that'd be cool.
"Then, what's the guitar for?" She glanced at it again. "Decoration? I'm sure it gets a lot of female attention until they find out you can't play."
John almost smirked. "I assure you I can, but it's a private practice for limited audiences, ya know? I just got it for Christmas. And it's not like I want just any girls' attention."
"I used to play instruments." Claire said, hiding her smile. "Anything from keyboard, to cello, to flute."
"As little Miss. Perfect should."
"Shut up! I wasn't any good at them. I had no coordination. But I was good at singing. Still am. My mother always made me tryout for stuff when I was a kid."
"Huh, a choir chick?"
"Not anymore." Claire rolled her eyes. "I haven't taken choir since the seventh grade. I auditioned for a talent show in the eighth grade. Got first place for singing Davie Bowie though my mother almost had a heart attack about my outfit and makeup."
John pulled his lips, imagining her as the next Cherie Currie. "I should recruit ya for my band."
Claire almost smiled. "You just said you weren't in a band."
"I'm not. Doesn't mean I can't start one." John's head swayed from side to side. "And I guess I wanted an excuse to hang out."
"Do we need excuses?"
John's nose crinkled in thought. "Well, no, but I don't think a girl like you'd come to me without a particular reason in mind."
"I need to repay you." She said simply.
John's brow quirked in interest. "For what?"
"For taking me home that night. I still can't believe you actually walked home!"
"It wasn't terrible. I took the midnight bus most of the way." He smirked. "But it's real cute of ya to worry about me, Cherry."
Claire rolled her eyes playfully, cheeks flushing. "And for, uh, puking on your boots. I'm really sorry about that in particular. I know what that feels like all too well… So whatever you want, whatever you need, I'll do it."
"Anything?"
Her lips twisted. "Except that. That's not on the table anymore."
John feigned a hurt expression. "You really know how to kill a guy's fantasies, Claire. You're the worst kind of tease."
"Puh-lease." She said, crossing her arms. "It's not like you can't get it from another girl. And I'm not a tease."
"I don't want it from another girl." He said clearly, in case she didn't understand his previous comment. "Just go out with me and we'll call it even."
Her eyes widened slowly. "What?"
"I think I've repeated myself enough, Claire. You're not dumb."
Her lips parted and shut several times. "You… You want us to… go out?"
John rolled his shoulders. "It's not the worst idea in the world."
Claire gnawed on her lips. His heart raced while she leaned on that ugly colored locker, thinking. Her silence was one of the scariest moments of his life—scarier than his nightmares, and just about as scary as what he endured from his father. His pride was on the line this time. Pride was all a guy like John had to himself. But here he was, putting it all out there, facing the possibility of the one thing John feared most.
God, he didn't even know why. Why did he have to go and like the forbidden fruit? This was so, so, so unlike him.
"I… I can't, John." She said softly, almost like she was actually heartbroken and not feeding him some bullshit. "I'm really sorry. I can't do that right now."
He licked the inside corner of his mouth, looking away. Did John read all the signs wrong? "Dating me can't be revolting considering you offered to fuck when we barely knew each other."
Claire groaned. "It's not a revolting idea, you jerk, you just don't get it! There's just a lot for me to consider. Being with me wouldn't be easy—"
"Go ahead and enlighten me." John interrupted. "I got all day."
Claire bit her lip, casting her eyes down to the floor. Her hands moved to her biceps, clutching them almost in fear. "I dunno why I'm telling you this… But a week before you transferred, I broke up with my ex. I was with him for a very long time, longer than I should've been according to all my friends, and—"
"That was almost four months ago, Claire, what the fuck does he matter?" John trailed off until he realized where she was going. God, he felt so fucking stupid, so fucking stupid and somehow played by her honeysuckle eyes. "Ah, I got it. You still love him."
Claire said at him, perplexed. "Not at all—"
"You were gonna use me to get back at him." He stated, as his hand found the stress ball and squeezed. "A warning would've been nice. You didn't have to lie to me that night. I'm not a fucking toy."
"What?" Claire's brows flew up. "Where'd you get that idea from? My parents used to do shit like that to me, I could never do that to someone else!"
"B-o-o h-o-o." John turned around and walking away, far away from her.
Why did he ever bother? He should've known she'd be a disappointment, a user like all the other richies were. He should've known he was just the punchline of a dumb joke. Girls like her weren't meant to take guys like him seriously. At least she saved him from falling further for her fool's gold.
"Would you stop?" The sound of heels were hot on his tail. She grabbed his coat, yanking him back to her. "Stop and just listen to me? You didn't let me finish!"
Against his better judgment, John turned. Claire was way too close for someone who was trying to tell him she wanted nothing to do with him. Her jasmine scented perfume was intoxicating, everything about her was. He could barely contain himself.
"I do wanna get to know you and I do like you the same way you're into me." John was paralyzed just like in his wildest dreams. "I just can't do any of that right now. It's not fair to both of us, I have too much going on. I shouldn't have brought it up that night, and I'm sorry if you felt lead on."
"Truth?" He asked, though he already knew the answer.
Claire nodded. "Truth."
John searched her face. "You're not afraid to be seen with me, either?"
"A little." She said and John was the one to pull away. "But I'm a senior. I won't see most of these people after graduation."
"Ah."
"So, do you think we could be just friends for right now?"
John's brow rose. "Do you really think we could just be friends, Claire?"
Claire's face contorted. "No, but... We'll cross that bridge when we get there. Is that fair?"
"Sure." He chirped, shrugging. "I like being humored."
She rolled her eyes. "Well, is there anything else I can do?"
John's lip twisted, before he sighed. "Yeah, I guess you can take me home. I don't feel like walking."
