Chapter 16: I Hate You
"Tell me what's wrong."
"Nothing! I'm fine! I said so already!"
"No, you're not! You look terrible!"
"Oh, what a nice thing to say!"
"W-Wait, I didn't mean it like that—"
They were yelling.
Arms crossed, standing on either ends of the room, the distance between them a battlefield.
Jack's normally white face was tinged with pink, his eyes darkening with the same ferocity as they would on Halloween Evening. Though Sally's blood boiled with the anger she normally masked, her entire countenance was pale, ice-cold to the touch. Her normally thoughtful orbs were pools of endless black, emotionless.
They both saw red.
"Just go home, Jack!" she yelled angrily, repeating the same order that had begun their argument in the first place. Her voice was as cold as she looked
"Not until you tell me why you're mad! What did I do?" He was getting desperate now. His initially-defensive front slowly began to crumble as it made way for an unexpected feeling.
Heartbreak.
"I—I don't—j-just go! Who cares why?"
"But what did I do? Did I say something stupid? Did I offend you somehow? 'Cause I barely talked to you the whole day! And now that we're together, you're angry with me? Please don't interrupt," he muttered irritably as Sally opened her mouth to retaliate, "I need you to hear this. Tell. Me. What. I. Did. Wrong."
He was met with silence. And it was of a different kind. An unbearable one.
They could hear the faint raindrops in the background, hitting the pavement and glass.
The tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a knife.
And the silence remained.
"Fine," spoke Jack bleakly, breaking that eternal soundlessness, tightening his hands into fists. His heart felt as though it had been ripped out of his ribs, chopped up into a million tiny pieces via Reaper's scythe, burnt into ashes, and finally thrown into coffin with a headstone that read "Screw You."
Sally, momentarily stunned, blinked as the demon, the one who had been so persistent, so annoying, and just so determined to court her since day one, slumped his shoulders and finally gave up.
He had gotten tired of her.
She was so shocked of that sudden realization that she could do nothing but stare as he gave her a fleeting, pained glance. He seemed to realize that she was not about to say anything and his face visibly fell. The window was let open as he reached it, and the sound of rain intensified the already-soundless room. And he still paused—one more chance—as though he really wanted to be stopped, wanted to be told to wait for a second.
He wasn't.
She lays there for who-knows-how-long, wrapped in her cold sheets and staring at complete darkness. Sounds are muted and she feels absolutely nothing.
He left.
He actually left.
The words replay in her mind over and over again, as though they want to embed themselves in her subconscious permanently.
She does not know what to feel. She's never been in this position before. Has she ever had a boyfriend? No, of course not. (She's never even had friends.)
The downpour increases.
Thunder.
A flash of light.
Faintly…in her mind…
"IT LIVES!"
Why is she not real? Why does she have to be so artificial?
If she had been born differently...
Could she have stopped this?
She twists further into herself, burying her face into her pillow. Her heart is empty. Her body is numb.
What she said—those awful, terrible things that escaped her lips—are possibly the biggest lies she has ever told. What went on in her mind at that moment was the complete opposite of what came out.
The look on Jack's face...oh, God, his eyes (eye-sockets? Oh, who cares?) They were so sad. They should never be anything less than happy and cheerful. He should never have to frown, have to feel pain or sorrow. His face is not meant for that. And yet...it was her who caused that look of despair. That look of betrayal and confusion.
She shuts her eyes tighter, hoping hoping hoping that the tears will not fall, not make her any weaker than she already is.
Regret washes over her body, drowning all the emotions in her heart. She fears that opening her mouth to sigh will result in a sob. So she smothers her face with the pillow, desperate to fall into darkness and just forget.
Why can't she sleep? Isn't it obvious she needs the escape? Her thoughts plague her, taunting.
That sad, broken face...a face that has recently been both a curse and a blessing, her light and her dark.
How can so much happen in just a few days? Perhaps having lived by her lonesome has made her accustomed to experiencing almost no change several years at a time, and maybe because of that, she's just not used to...this...
What is this?
What happened to the days where she sat in what felt like limbo for several eternities, with only her appearance (and undead hormones) changing to reassure her that time was passing? When she only cooked and cleaned and read and studied until day and night were practically undistinguishable? When she kept to herself and locked her emotions in a steel cage of self respect and determination, all for the purpose of avoiding more hurt?
What happened to the perfect experiment that was supposed to be her?
How could all that she had spent her entire afterlife building and solidifying just come crashing down like a stack of flimsy cards? After all the work she went through? The pain—physical, mental, emotional all at once—that she had to endure? Her loss of pride? Sense of self and purpose?
Her soul?
It was so unfair.
And it...it's his fault. If they had never met...if she had just taken the offer of the Scholars to attend Hades Castle...the most prestigious school...then there would be none of this. Whatever this is.
Stupid.
Stupid.
Stupid.
A stupid mistake on her part. The biggest she's made...
Oh, no. Not true.
The worst...is falling for Jack Skellington.
The bane of her very existence...
Thunder claps. Maybe even applauds her. Just as a joke, a tease.
Boom!
"I hate you..."
While the poor rag-doll had confined herself to her standard 'isolated' mode, Jack decided that now was the right time to break open his 'post-break-up gear'.
Which really just meant flirting with the majority (if not all) of the female population of the student body. But a little more—
"Hey, babe! Skell's back, so lunch on me, yeah?"
—extreme.
"Wait up, Bonehead!" panted Oogie Boogie as he attempted to stay on stride with his long-time friend/rival. The two were strolling around the main building of the Academy, with at least half an hour left until they were due for class.
Whenever one of them (mostly Jack) suffered from a break-up of sorts (because going on one date did not mean it was a relationship; that was something both boys learned from their excited 'girlfriends' the hard—and very painful—way), the two friends celebrated with something they've long since adopted as tradition: "The Awesome Rampage After The Break-Up."
Which was then shortened to "The Rampage."
Hey, it was a mouthful to have to say, what, ten words for just one little (and amazing) thing.
Oh, wait. There were just seven. Oops.
Moving on, the procedure of The Rampage was relatively simple. And when written down—where it is fairly easy to behold all its glory—made a really nice list. In fact, Oogie claimed to have one carved in the wall of their 'secret' hideout. Which was so secret that the very mention of it was strictly prohibited. Unless, of course, it was the burlap sack himself who had brought it up; at that point, everything he said was fair game since he made it. Be jealous.
But it looked something like this:
STEP 1: Begin at the top floor (thirteen). The endpoint is the Tactical Scaring fields.
STEP 2: Walk down the hallway and hit on all females in sight (Caution: Do NOT enter any classrooms! Teachers ARE capable of killing). Do this for all floors.
STEP 3: Be prepared to run away VERY QUICKLY from the following: Dr. Quack-Head, the Witch Twins, the Mayor (and his son), Reaper, and any others that can chase very well. Results may vary.
STEP 4:
...
Well, there was no step four. Oogie forgot what he was supposed to write down for that and, since it had already been carved, left it alone. It was really a shame, seeing as the list barely took up much of the wall. Maybe less than half, even.
So it looked sloppy and rushed. And, because the Boogie Man was such an awesome being, he didn't like anything pertaining to him to be regarded as 'messily done' and 'needed work.' But until either of them remembered what to do after the flirting and running away, it remained to be perfected.
But, since Oogie had created it, did that not mean it was already perfect? Besides, it was pretty obvious Jack had forgotten to mention what that fourth, probably lame, step was in the first place. Totally his fault.
And speaking of Jack...
He now seemed to have tweaked The Rampage a little bit. Oh, yes, he did follow all the steps. He definitely made sure to be thorough with the second one. However, he was slightly...a little too enthusiastic.
"Dem! Demitri! You free at lunch today?"
"Your eight legs look extra hot today, Ana!"
"Me-du-sa~! Dinner okay with you, baby?"
See?
"Jack, what the actual hell is wrong with you?" demanded Oogie as the skeleton blew kisses at a group of giggling banshees. Causing them to blush. And get nosebleeds. And squeal. Which wasn't very pleasant, as these ghouls knew how to annihilate eardrums.
But because the suave Pumpkin Prince lacked aforementioned eardrums, he only grinned at the overly-excited shrieks. It vanished, however, when he felt himself being tugged back and pushed against the wall as they rounded the corner.
"Jack, dude, have you gone crazy?"
"Mmm? Crazy, you say? Why, I've always been crazy, Oogie!" As if to prove his point, the taller teen let out a maniacal, completely shiver-worthy cackle. His friend shuddered nervously, actually frightened himself. Of course, he'd sooner dye his body pink and put on a pair of green-and-purple trunks with flowery designs than admit that. Duh.
Not to mention, he was made out of bugs. Bugs, which could also beat a pile of bones any day! Hell, didn't bugs eat bones? Sure they did!
(...right?)
"You okay, bro? Here, how many fingers am I holdin' up?" He lifted his hand.
Jack sighed, mentally rolling his…eye-sockets. Awkward. "I'm not blind, Sackhead."
"Just answer me, damn it! We need to make sure!"
"Well, I still can't tell you that..."
"My God, something is wrong with you!" Oogie groaned in anguish, slapping a hand to his forehead. With a disbelieving shake of his head, he began to swear under his breath. "Crap. Did cursing you actually work? Damn! I didn't mean it! I don't actually want you to die!"
"Uh, Sackface?"
"—well, hell no, I take that back, sometimes I do, and I know that's often, but you're my only friend an—"
"Oogie!"
"—I mean I really hate your undead guts and most days I just wanna stick my bugs down your skinny—"
"OOGIE BOOGIE!"
"Huh? What?"
"...first off, you weren't holding any up fingers 'cause you're a freakin' sack. You have...like, a pointed end."
"...oh..."
"Two...you tried to curse me...?"
"..."
"...Oogie…
"In that case…"
"Oh, Oogie~"
"STEP THREE, YOU SON OF A—!"
A/N: Witch.
Heheheheh.
Oh my gosh, I seriously cannot write teen!angst, can I? There's no set tone in this one. 'Tis all over the place.
First it's The Argument, then page break, then Sally Angst Moment, then page break, then Jack Is a Player and Oogie Can't Beat the Game.
Then page break.
Then THIS! Whatever garbage I put down here! Agh!
Ahem. Page breaks are the only consistent things here. Hah.
Sorry for the delay on this one. I had the file all ready to go last week, but the thing I use to move files to Word didn't work. I needed to give it time to be on idle!status.
The next one should be fun for the both of us. Jack's Rampage plus moody Sally equals good ol' female revenge. You have been warned.
Thanks for anybody who's still putting up with this! I'm trying to get in at least an update a month, but hopefully I could do more! I appreciate you taking the time to read my fics!
Well, until then! Ciao!