Cleo had shoved her headphones between him and Frankie, shouting about some song Deuce had written and generally having no consideration for others.
But rather than irritation, Jackson Jekyll felt pain.
Panic and pain. Both emotions' strong and scary enough to fuse into one sickly hybrid demon that left him running, bolting for the stairs, driven by adrenaline and unfounded fear.
It spiked, suddenly, and through the haze Jackson belatedly realised that he'd only made it a few agonised steps before collapsing, wrist cracking as he fell.
He was on fire. That had to be it. His skin was melting, peeling, falling off in clumps and meddling into a puddle on the floor, sicklier than school lunches. Bones were cracking, sharp and ugly. His scalp was alight, brighter than Heaths and noisy like a campfire. Even his eyes were burning, a red ring circling his irises and searing into the very sockets. Jackson screamed, broken and painful and confused, before blacking out.
So, he had an alter ego.
As it turns out, being monstrous wasn't as ideal as he'd dreamt.
Should have taken that bite from Draculaura.
Jackson leaned his face on his bandaged fist, secluded and tucked away, having wedged his lanky frame in the space between Operettas organ and the wall. The catacombs were crude, dark and creepy, but seemed to be the only place no one came looking for him. Jackson smudged the charcoal portrait he was working on, resting on his drawn up knees, and wedged himself in tighter .
"You doin' ok, sugar?"
Lost in his own thoughts, Jackson hadn't heard the tell tale click clack of Operettas' heels against the concrete. He always left before she got back from her lunch break, not wanting to drag other people into his issues or transform with her music and drag other people into Holt's issues. Which would probably be more of a fire hazard.
But her voice was soft, gentle even, and she squatted on thin legs in front of him and met his gaze. She was pretty, purple skin and red hair contrasting in a way that felt futuristic and old fashion simultaneously. Jackson wondered if her clothing was fifties accurate, wondered if she'd been there to see it like Johnny Spirit or Draculaura, immortality was weird yet common, the Phantom of the Opera was human so did that make her-
"Jackson, honey, you feelin' alright?" Her voice was firmer now but not unkind. Jackson guessed that she understood the desire to be alone. A manicured hand reached out, felt his forehead. Jackson couldn't pinpoint when she started caring.
"I just," he lifted his glasses, rubbed his eyes, "needed to be alone." It sounded so pathetic. You're pathetic. She's going to laugh at you. The normie who begged for a Monster side and now can't handle having one.
"I get that, baby. I've got some written work that needs doin'. You sit there as long as you need. Lemme know if we're gonna see that blue fella you turn into."
That's right. Operetta liked Holt. They played music together and Jackson found stray doodles of her on his thighs all the time. Holt associated with her, so maybe she felt some moral obligation. If Jackson somehow gets mauled in the bottom of the catacombs then the much more important Holt will be too.
But being nice to him? It seemed a tad far fetched.
But it was so kind. So strange coming from Operetta and yet he clung to that kindness like a drowning man clung to a log. Jackson needed a witty retort, needed to show that he wasn't some weakling in need of protection-
He clamped his eyes shut to stem the flow and nodded.
Operetta hummed in the silence before walking away. And they sat content for a while, the only sounds being Jacksons occasional sniff and the Ghouls pen scratching. His breathing was just beginning to even out.
The door swung open, almost harshly, alerting everyone in the room to the presence of the spirit as he arrived.
"Operetta! Baby! How'd you feel about a-"
"Not right now Johnny."
But the body of his fiddle was already positioned. And when the music blared it was loud, hauntingly so, rattling Jacksons burning hot bones and stuttering through his rib cage, he screamed.
"Johnny stop!" But the damage was done. No ones' fault, really. Jackson wanted to tell Operetta that but he wasn't exactly Jackson anymore. His skin morphed, ripped away, mouth open in a scream, body turning on him without his consent.
It was ironic, honestly, because being a monster was supposed to grant him control. Instead it only seemed to slip further from his reach. And he'd try to grasp it with burnt up fingers only to have it torn away and dangled over his head by a faceless bully, untimely powerful and yet only wielding a semi up to date MP3.
You're not wanted.
"Oh, Holt! Weird seeing you down here."
Operetta said something scathing in response.
When Holt opened his eyes, they had tears in them. That's weird.
"Hey Jackson! Jackson? Jackie!" That last 'e' sound was dragged out, piercing his ears worse than any music.
"Go away, Heath."
"C'mon cuz, I know you don't mean that!"
"Fine," Jackson whipped around, "I am not lending you my car, my time, my homework, or any sum of money. That all? Goodbye Heath."
"But Jackie-"
"Don't 'but Jackie' me, I'm not interested."
Jackson managed to take ten steps away from the Fire Elemental, allowing himself to foolishly believe that his firm words had, for once, worked.
"Holt wouldn't treat me like this!"
Ouch . A low blow, even for Heath.
The exasperation was difficult to keep from his face this time, crossing his features as he turned around. He imagined himself a Roman warrior, wrestling his voice into flat disinterest in the Colosseum that was the Monster High English corridor.
"Well,"he began and it came out scary, deadly, hissed through his teeth, "Holt can't come to the phone right now, so leave a fucking message."
But Heath already had his Icoffin in his hand, the music app open and ready. He looked at Jackson with this weird expression and the Normie belatedly realised that his hands, all pale and pink and unassuming, were on fire. Shit.
Jackson didn't even have time to consider arson.
Heath pressed play.
Jackson screamed.
Manny had pinned him, hard, and it hurt because of course it did. But Jackson was used to it, a case of having to be, because, no matter how many friends he claimed to find and keep, no other alternative had been presented.
"You made me look stupid in class today, Jackie. Big mistake."
So 'Jackie' is a thing now? Great.
The flatness of his voice was almost comically natural, "I'm sorry for having a brain, I'll do better next time."
Manny punched him, a large fist colliding with his jaw. That's new.
Jackson hit the ground and his fingers instinctively felt along his nostrils, pulling away bloody. Gently rolling the oozing liquid between his fingers, he surveyed with detached interest. He clicked his tongue, "ow."
Manny was panicking now, no doubt seeing Jackson's fragile, Normie body crumpling to the floor and picturing burns in his near future. Holt lives here too, albeit rent free.
Jackson swore he heard a weird, cackling noise in his head at that comment.
"Shit, Holts gonna kill me." Manny was pacing back and forth and back and forth. Jackson tried to follow him with his eyes but found himself dizzy.
"Heh, probably."
"You're not helping you fuckin' nerd!"
"Run fresh burns under cool water for ten minutes-"
Manny slammed his fist into the wall and Jackson no longer had the restraint to keep himself from flinching. It was scary, like this.
"Tell ya what," Manny was talking to himself at this point, and Jackson couldn't help but wonder if Holt was really that scary, "you change, and I'll tell him about how fuckin' annoying you were being. He'll get it."
Jackson didn't bother to say how stupid that idea was. Annoying or not, Holt would still have to deal with the busted nose and that would piss him off. But Manny had his phone out already. Jackson panicked.
"Hey! It's fine! I-I was being annoying, I'm sorry!" he scrambled to his feet, wobbling dangerously, "Manny, please."
Stabbing, breaking, tearing apart and forming again. His skin was on fire, of course it was, it had to be. Blue flames licked his skin and trapped him in a bone deep shudder that left his teeth chattering, screaming out a choked sob before biting his tongue when his muscles stiffened.
Is this what community feels like?
A clump of Jackson's hair was dark against the bathroom tile. Ripped out from where he'd stress pulled it.
He was trembling.
Exhausted.
Someone flushed. The air conditioner was too loud.
Jackson clamped his hands over his ears. No more noise. No more.
His body was no longer his. It was Heath's or Johnny's or Manny's. Controlled by the noise, he went along with every beat because he had no choice. Only silence was safe. He curled up tighter in the middle of the floor, knees to his chest, hearing someone's footsteps slow around him before running.
The forced transformations had torn his body down. It wasn't built to work that way. He was supposed to have control.
Breathe .
Cool hands fell over his, running thumbs over bruised knuckles, and the repetitive movement was something to focus on, something to stop him floating away from his pesky flesh and bone cage.
"F-," he hesitated, tried to pull a shaky breath into his lungs and claim it didn't hurt, "fuck off."
But the hands stayed, ever grounding, moving from his hands to his forearms and gripping in a way that didn't hurt.
"You're breathing too fast, Jackson, slow down for me." Clear, easy to understand.
"I'm trying- shit - I can't I-"
"You can, you are . Everything's fine, you're in control. Breathe."
Jackson opened eyes he didn't realise were closed, blinking through tears. Deuce?
Jackson let his hands slip from his ears, gripping the other boy's arms tightly.
"Yeah, it's me, man." Did I say that aloud?
Jackson sniffed, loosening his grip and wiping his sleeve across his face. "Sorry, it's stupid."
A hiss, Jackson glanced up at the snakes on Deuce's head. "You're not stupid."
A dry laugh. " Yes I am. I wanted to fit in so badly yet here I am, crying over the pain that comes with it."
"You're upset because your boundaries were crossed. That's not some perk of being a fucking Monster. It's plain disrespect."
Jackson wondered how he knew. How he could possibly get it, after everything.
And still, even with the truth being said to his face, a nagging voice reminded him of how pathetic he was.
Jackson looked down, picked at the skin on his hands.
"Yeah."