Antecedent 0.9

I turn.

Fear is not simply an emotion. Of course, it can be classified as such, and more often than not, it is. Creatures such as dogs or cats, however, still back away when a stranger attempts to touch it, as do most animals if they do not have a natural anti-predator instinct, and even they have a built-in caution meter. This is also fear, or a certain anxiety of a sort. Because of this evidence, I believe that fear is not an emotion, but an instinct built into every living organism.

That would explain the pit in my stomach, as well as a primal alarm bell ringing in my head that a threat has entered the vicinity, a predator is approaching. Despite my subconscious' interpretations, that's not how I would describe the girl entering the bathroom, though I would say it might be accurate to how she thinks of herself. I would love to one day know how someone would be able to have that level of self-importance.

If this were a month ago, I would be running for the door or hiding in a stall. Unfortunately, that instinct is buried far enough in me that apparently even death could not kill it, so I have to grip the sink tightly so as not to do anything drastic. The next step of my plan will seem a bit odd at first, but the only way it could go wrong is if the target suddenly becomes smart, and the day she does is the day she isn't…

"Sophia. Nice to meet you here." I have a slight flicker of dejá vu at our situation. "Do you need something?"

She did seem to need something, and from the expression in her face, that 'something' clearly wasn't anything positive in regards to me. The second she steps past the boundary between school hall and bathroom, her steps begin to grow louder as she she balls up her hand, pulling it back in a pugilistic preparation; no pleasantries then.

Her fist finds nothing but my open hand, and I am thankful for my dulled nerves as that would have hurt an astronomical amount. A wave of shock cascades the fury in her face, presumably diverting her attention from the growth of my beetle-crab skin. It also keeps her focus from my retaliation. I send a punch into her gut, knuckles reinforced, causing her to involuntarily release a noise of some sort. I am not very well-versed in combat, and with evidence from the past two years, it's plain to see that Sophia very much is. The only reason I can even get a hit in is because, after multiple years of no retorts, she doesn't expect me to fight back.

That is why immediately following my fist connecting with her gut, I push her aside and run to the door. Victory is not part of the plan, and would most probably be impossible to achieve in a civilian setting.

I make it to the outside before a hand reaches out, grasping at my hoodie. Anticipating this, I unzip and shake it off, hearing a thump behind me as I rush forward. A two-second count goes by before I hear heavy footsteps follow close behind me. My lip twitches.

We rush through the halls in a manner I've already planned the night before, a few ants littering the route as markers for me to follow. When we arrive at the last marker, I 'trip' over onto the ground. Sophia expectantly catches up, grabs me by the scruff of my neck, spins me around onto my back, establishes a newfound grip on the front of my shirt, and begins to brutally batter me.

The only feeling I receive from the punches is the movement of my head in response to them, my cheeks hitting the floor in a pattern of one, two, one, two. The hits on the sides are interrupted once or twice by a blow directly to the front; the only thing I could do without when it comes to my dulled nerves is my inability to tell when something is broken, though it's plain to see that my nose probably isn't intact at the moment.

As I wait for the next step of my plan to kick in, I notice something fascinating. There is a certain look in her eye I cannot describe, and it takes a moment for it to register that this is a human being. The anger in her shaking pupils, the primality in her sadistic grin, the force behind her vicious fists; it is as if Sophia was gone and an animal has replaced her. I wonder to myself, how was I ever the same species as the creature in front of me?

"What…?"

The question is quiet, but not imperceptible, coming from somewhere nearby. Hearing it, I automatically turn my head to my left, a perfectly broken mask resting on my face.

*Bzz*

*Bzz*

*Bzz*

*Beep*

"Nine-one-one, what's your emergency?"

"This is Principal Blackwell of Winslow High, someone is hurt!"

"Please calm down, miss. What is the nature of their injury?"

"She was attacked by another student. I'm not sure why, but I've already called the police as well."

"Is the attacker nearby?"

"No. She ran away when she saw me approach. She was still in the middle of…the attacking."

"What is your address?"

"Winslow High, at , got it?"

"Understood. Dispatching an ambulance now. What is the current condition of the victim?"

"The school nurse looked her over and said it looks worse than it is, but her nose is broken and she's going to end up with two black eyes."

"Understood. Give me a moment while I relay this to the paramedics on their way."

"Alright."

"..."

"Ms. Hebert, are you alright?"

"...Wh…"

"Ms. Hebert?"

"...Whuh…wull yoo…potec…protec her dis dime?"

"...What did you say?"

"Id's bine. Jus…te' my dag ahll be awrigh."

"..."

"I don bame yoo. I zhood, bu' I don."

"...Ms. Hebert?"

"Goo'bai..."

"Taylor, what are you…"

"..."

"...You're right."

"…"

"You should."

Madison

Sophia

Emma X

Blackwell X

I don't think they put me in the same room as last month, but they are almost identical to each other in look and feel; perhaps that's just how hospitals are. The sane bed, the same end table, the same life support, the same cloth they give you that covers everything in the front but nothing in the back. They both had those fluorescent lights that bite at your eyes when you look at them after sleeping for a while. Luckily, I do not have that problem, as I have not opened my eyes just yet.

The doctors believed I was unconscious since they picked me up at the school, rushing me here as though my life was in danger. Playing unconscious was not exactly hard, as I could feel the blood flowing down my face as though I spilled a glass of sticky water over it. When I arrived, they decided to pump me full of anesthesia before commencing with my face. I do not fully understand how it works, but it wasn't able to knock me out so I assume it has to do with the nerves; you learn something new every day. While I did not feel the pain, I could still feel an odd sensation when they then proceeded to stitch me up. Small thin worms burrowing through my face, my cheeks, my forehead; going in, going out, as though they were about to make a home in my skull and we're simply ruminating on whether it was habitable. Thankfully, I remembered halfway through that they were probably just needles. Disappointing, I know.

The burrowing had ceased then, and I heard the doctors pack up their things and leave a moment later.

Around the thirty minute mark after the stitching, I decided to call in a new set of eyes. Luckily, he wasn't too far away and got in through a window that one of the nurses had opened for fresh air.

Hi! How are you, friend? It's been a while hasn't it? Almost a week, phew. I missed you for all of that time and more, somehow. Is that possible? I'm guessing it is because that's what I felt then. For most of the week, I kinda felt lonely, since you never really called me up for anything, but now I'm here, and you're here, and, oh, Aileen's not here, where is she? I had such a good time with last time we-

Patrick?

Yes?

Save the conversation for when I get you in place. I need to borrow your eyes.

Oh…alright.

He then moved into a corner near the ceiling of the room and stationed himself there. That's where he's been up until now, prattling on about who knows what while I scan the room through him.

It's not as though the rest of that hour was uneventful room analysis, as I did have a guest while I was 'unconscious'. I had expected that the first person in my room other than the doctors would be my father, but the man who entered my room quickly shot that idea down.

He wore a pinstripe tie and overalls, and he held a small notepad in one hand and a pen in the other. A polite smile hung on his face as he approached my bedside. Normally, I wouldn't have been able to see him, as I was facing away from the door, but good old Patrick let me see as Dr. Ryan gave me a quick look-over.

He chuckled, his polite smile unwavered.

"How interesting." He quickly scribbled something onto his notepad. "So, anaesthesia doesn't work on you."

I did not budge then, thinking I could still possibly fool him. My inactivity seemed only to make him chuckle more.

"You told me about the nerves, remember? Fun story: clinical psychiatrists usually go through a basic medical course before specializing and I happened to go to an extracurricular class on anaesthesiology. Fascinating subject, isn't it?"

I still did not respond, which seemed to satisfy him. No more words left his mouth during the rest of his visit, which consisted of some five minutes of loud amused hums and some jotting down on his clipboard before he turned to the door and left without another word.

I took a moment to think after that.

So, I was right about the anaesthesia. I had thought. Fascinating, indeed.

Patrick had then raised a mental eyebrow at me.

That's all you have to say? He could tell you were faking just by looking at you. While you were facing away! Aren't you the least bit concerned?

I exhaled from my mouth in lieu of a scoff; my nose still didn't quite function too well.

I don't really see why I should be. He already knows about me and my…some of my mannerisms.

But-

It's fine. I wouldn't lie to you, would I?

…

"Would I?"

He winced.

…No.

Good. Now, quiet. The PRT may have gotten here faster, but I'm quite sure that my father is on his way too, if he isn't already here.

He went silent then.

That is what brings us to now, five or so minutes after that exchange.

I am lying in bed, falsely unconscious, Patrick watching me over like a guardian angel crossed with a wireless security camera, when I hear the doors slam open as something on the other side rushes in. I briefly consider calling in some hornets I feel buzzing about around a block or two away when I recognize the creature as my father.

He doesn't look like my father; the lenses of his glasses are dripping with sweat and seemingly about to fall off, his gait is unbalanced and he nearly trips twice on the way to my bedside, a frenzied look that I could imagine in anyone else's eyes.

This is Daniel Hebert.

Isn't it?

…

I'm sure he is, Taylor. He's still your father. He's your father as much as I'm your friend, right?

…

He reaches my bedside and puts a hand on my face, checking if I'm alright.

…

He's crying.

…

This should be sad.

…

And yet, it's pathetic.

…

Yes. He's still my father. Just as much as you're my friend, Patrick. Thank you.

I do not know what causes me to do so, but I suddenly jump out of bed to hug my father. I do not feel his hesitant return embrace as I am too focused on my own desperate grasp. I hold onto him as though he would leave at any moment, taking the last part of who I used to be.

This is my father as much as Patrick is my friend.

And Patrick is the only real friend I have now.

The only real one.

Real.

How funny is that?

I'm somehow more pathetic than the man crying on my shoulder.

A few days pass before I make my return to school. I can already feel stares falling on me as I step down from the bus. Perhaps it's because of my absence, though no one exactly paid much attention to me unless it was to be harmful, so that may not be it. Perhaps it was because of the altercation that caused me to miss school in the first place, but I'm sure the witnesses wouldn't want to risk provoking my attacker, so that probably wasn't it either. Walking from the parking lot to the school's entrance, I believe I've found the answer, and, much like an old man forgetting where he left his glasses, it was on my face the whole time.

The cast that the doctors left on my nose is quite an eye-catcher, not looking like much more than a large bandage across the bridge and some plaster. Along with both black eyes and coupled by my decision to wear a grey sweater and black jeans, I looked more like a drug dealer than a high schooler.

My father told me this morning that Principal Blackwell would want to see me before I go to class today, so I start to make my way to my locker to pick up the bags I left here when I was last here. As I walk through the halls, I can feel the stares multiply. They are accompanied by whispers, gliding back and forth between everyone I pass. There are always quite a few insects scattered around Winslow, and thanks to some practice I had back at home while absent, I can hear a few mentioning my name and Sophia's; I guess the witnesses ended up risking it.

A quick look from me and the whispers stop right as I finally reach my row. I turn my focus back to my locker, which is just a few down from where I am, and I see a very odd thing. Well, two very odd things, especially for the fact that this is the last place or context that seems natural for them. And yet, I knew that this is exactly where they would be.

The situation is thus: Sophia is pushing Madison onto my locker and shaking her as she wails on and on about how the poor girl "wasn't there to back her and Emma up" and "not a true friend" and other admittedly uninteresting things like that. Madison looks positively terrified and in need of immediate help, but of course, no one even bats an eye for obvious reasons. My lip twitches at this, like a play director surveying their masterwork unfold on a Broadway stage. I have been waiting for this moment for a while. Now, it is time for the last actor to join in.

I enter from stage left with a confident mask. My character waltzes up to them with a stretchy smirk.

"Hello, Madison." I turn to her instigator. "And hello to you, too, Sophia. How are you gals today?"

Madison turns to me first, quickly followed by Sophia. It takes them a good moment to even acknowledge me, and a moment more who it is. Sophia apparently has faster processing power, as she is able to switch her scowl from the other girl to me, porcelain firm in place.

"Hebert?" She forces a grin on her face, a crack showing already. "You look like shit. They should have considered euthanasia."

My character chuckles; how brutal. She wounds me deeply.

"No, that fortunately wasn't necessary. The only injury close to serious was the broken nose; that would be as though I got chemotherapy for a cold."

Another chuckle and Sophia's grin falls; another crack forming. Madison looks between the two of us with nothing but confusion in her eyes.

"Taylor? I…"

The poor thing; she doesn't even know what to say. An apology perhaps? But to what? That reminds me…

"Now, as much as I'd love to talk about my stay in the hospital with the person who put me in there, I would much rather know why you're next to my locker. What's up with that? Gonna take more of my stuff without breaking the lock?"

I can assume my character's smile gives a certain level of discomfort to her from the way her nose seems to withdrawingly scrunch up into its own bridge and her eyebrows somehow seem to steepen even further, the cracks splitting like an indecisive river.

"I don't care about your fuckin' locker. Madison was the one standing here like a creep and doing whatever. I just needed to…talk to her. Now, fuck off."

I proceed not to fuck off, crevices growing in her forehead as I continue.

"Oh?" I turn to Madison. "And what exactly were you doing next to my locker, Madison?"

Analyzing her more closely, I can see that she wants to say something to me, but something else is preventing her from doing so. My eyes flit to her side, where Sophia is glaring at me almost expectantly, her body almost encroaching completely on Madison's personal space. I put two and two together and my character's smirk stretches further. Poor, poor thing.

"Sophia, what exactly were you planning to do with her?"

She stares back at me with a confusedly irritated frown, her nose bridge scrunching further in tandem; how fragile the vase seems to be now.

"Talk. I was going to talk with her about something. Just fuckin' told you that; I didn't rip your ears off, did…I…?"

The porcelain shatters. My character's smirk morphs into a grin.

"Oh, right. You love to talk, don't you? We had such a nice conversation a few days ago. We had another one a few weeks before that, though there were some idelogi-" Stop speaking like you have a thesaurus. "…There was a difference in ideals. I wonder if you were about to reiterate some of our talking points with her." The smirk hardens. "I was willing to let go of pressing charges. Emma may have been horrible to me, but clearly you helped in some way in regards to-" Happening again, stop it. "…You helped her feel strong when I wasn't here. I recently gained a certain point of view that helps me understand that, but now here you are, about to hurt someone on your own side. Look at you." I take a step towards her. "I don't want to have to change my mind about not pressing charges, so please, leave her in peace and let me use my locker."

Sophia silently seethes, glowering at me, then at Madison, then me again for a few moments longer before scoffing and looking to the ground.

"Just…don't scare Emma like that again." She looks back at me. "Keep away from her, alright?"

My character chuckles.

"Nothing would please me more." Her eye twitches and I can hear her teeth clenching in anger as she stays in place for a moment before turning away. I'll be seeing more of her later. For now, I turn to the one who's been ignored for the entire exchange. "Are you alright, Madison?"

She stares back at me with a mix of fear and confusion.

"Yeeeeah…" It takes a moment for her to push herself from the locker and onto her feet, a bit dazed. "Thanks, I guess?"

I stare back at her, and it is only then that I realize, I have not blinked once. I do that before continuing.

"Now, you wanted to say something to me? Like the reason you were in front of my locker?"

There is an odd glint in Madison's eyes I do not recognize, though perhaps it's because I've never seen her like this. On average, boys apparently liked her for how 'adorable' she was, and I can see the appeal; there is something inherently adorable about a baby deer with a leg in a bear trap. Desperately adorable is how I would put it.

Her head subtly swivels side-to-side, checking the hall that we stand in. Poor thing, she still doesn't feel safe enough to talk. The next words from her mouth are exactly what I expect to hear.

"Can we talk about this…somewhere else?"

My character's smug grin falls into a reassuring yet relaxed smile.

"Sure. After school might be the best time. You know the Fugly Bob's by the Market?"

The glint in her eyes somehow grows. I still don't understand it, but her confirmatory nodding distracts me.

"Yeah, that…that sounds good."

My character's smile increases as I nod in confirmation. I feel my lip twitch. My plan has been changing a bit in the past few days, but the same principle will still apply with everyone; I am saying goodbye to who I used to be, and I have four days to finalize that. For now, though, I have an appointment.

"You went to Blackwell's office?"

"Yeah, I was supposed to check in first thing in the morning on whatever day it was I got back. She asked if I was feeling better, if I had healed well, if I remember anything from the whole kerfuffle earlier. We also sorted out some of my…paperwork."

"Oh. Right. You're going to another school at the end of the week."

The glint seems to fade. I still do not know what it is, but I've made a game over the past hour trying to find out what makes it grow. My character pops my lips.

"I would say that I'll miss Winslow, but…" My character makes an exaggerated shrug. "You know."

She chuckles, and the glint shines a bit more.

"Hm, I guess you're right. I'm sure someone will miss you."

The glint glimmers brightly, but that isn't what I'm focusing on. An opportunity has just presented itself.

"…I'm sorry? What did you just say?"

Her glint dims slightly and her face gains a worried half-smile.

"Um, that maybe someone will miss you?"

I stay silent, opting to let her think about it. She gets it faster than I thought, and I can tell she does because her innocent little doe-eyes begin to widen. My character's face slowly falls into a scowl as I pick up a fry.

"You're quite oblivious, aren't you?" I take a bite from it. "You're sorta part of the reason no one will even care."

Madison's eyes fill with enough guilt that I'd expect it to start welling with tears.

"Uh…r-right. I, um, did do…that."

I put my elbows on the table between us and put my chin on open palms. My character's frown flips upside down.

"Oh, and now you aren't? Did you really stop? How do I know that you didn't just ask for me after school to embarrass me again? I wonder if those kids a few tables over are some of your minions. I'll check that on my way out."

I shuffle my way out of the booth, my character not bothering to look over at Madison as we did so. In a few clumsy motions, I am on the floor and quietly storming off to the entrance.

At least, I'm about to. Because I only get halfway out before I hear her speak in a beautifully desperate voice.

"Wait!"

My lip twitches. I sit back down.

"Yes?"

Say the words, Madison.

"I…"

Say them, and give me control.

"I'm…so…"

Say them.

"I'm…"

Say. Them.

"I'm sorry!" A tear immediately drips from her left eye; how sensitive. "I was…I was new and thought that I would be an easy target for everyone else, but then I saw that those two were hurting you, and that everyone was doing it too, so I thought that if I did the same, there wouldn't be a target on my back. It wasn't about you when I started, but then…" Another tear; how vulnerable. "…I started enjoying it. I started fucking enjoying it. I don't know how it got this bad, but I never wanted it to, and looking at me now…" More tears gush out; how adorable. "I hate who I am now, and I have for a while, I think, and today was the day I realized that. I wanted to apologize to you, that's why I was at your locker, but…I don't think it's enough. I don't think it'll ever be enough."

She stares down at her hands; they're shaking. A pristine silence falls over our table.

A sudden slurp scratches it up, and who does it come from but me. Somewhere in her monologue, the waiter delivered our food, and I was getting hungry; thank goodness that hunger isn't related to nerves, I'd starve. I think it's a hormone.

I put my strawberry smoothie to the side and grab one of her hands in my own. My character gives her a soft smile.

"Hey. It's…well, it's not fine, I lived through all that, but…are you genuinely sorry for it?"

Madison looks at my hand for a moment before using her free one to wipe away some of the tears.

"Y…ye…yeah?"

Her throat must be sticky with mucus from how hard it was to say that. My character presses gently on her hand.

"Then you've already done the first step. Neither Sophia nor Emma have done it yet, and they have much worse things to apologize for. I can't forgive you yet, but trust me, it'll be easier for you."

She looks at me with the classic doe eyes I've come to expect from her, but these are much more sincere. I feel a hesitation before she grabs my hand back. The glint reappears, as does her smile as she wipes the last of the tears away.

"…Alright. I'm…I'm going to try to be better. Thank you."

My character's smile grows.

We finish our food quickly before I call for the waiter. Madison offers to take the check and I let her; I don't have anything to pay with on me. After everything is sorted, we shuffle our way out of the booth and make our way to the exit. The sun is quite near to the ground by the time we reach the tarmac of the parking lot outside, the light still a dull whitish-grey with faint orange flecks here and there. We wave each other goodbye, since she lives in a different direction than I do.

My lip twitches; everything has gone swimmingly. I don't think I was ever going to say goodbye to Madison. Not only would it be a bit awkward since we don't really know each other that well compared to me and the other two, but I feel it would have been a waste. Now, I have a contact with a lot of money and a lot of guilt, two things that go hand in hand for a girl like me.

There is one thing that I still don't understand, even with my new analyzation skills. That glint, that glimmer in her eye, what was that?

I try to think of a link between the times it grew, but I cannot muster up any reliable information.

I guess I can say it was more likely to shine while I was talking. There was also the fact that it was usually blocked by excessive amounts of blinking, preventing me from seeing it clearly for a few seconds at a time. Though, focusing on that, another thing I remember was her eyelashes, fluttering as they were like wounded butterflies. And another thing, they were only ever fluttering when I was talking, and I remember she had been oddly focused on what I was saying, to what I could describe as a sick degree, her pupils entranced on my every word. As I walk, I take everything I have just thought of and put it all together, hoping to find what it is.

It is not until I lay my hand on the doorknob of my house when it finally clicks. I immediately stop in my tracks for a moment as the surprise is too much even for me.

…Ah.

She likes me.

…

Hm.

…

Interesting.

I am not even through the door when I start trying to find a way to use this; why would I care about romance on anything but a beneficial level? The original plan was that, motivated primarily through guilt, I would have someone to exploit for extra money, that I could then stockpile, along with my new job's payment, into a nest egg and eventually buy my father and I out of poverty. Now, this…this is better in ways I couldn't even think of before. Guilt may be a strong motivation, but love…people will do anything for love. Anything.

But that leaves me with the task of proposing this relationship to her in the first place, something which I have no experience in; just because I've learned to put on a mask doesn't mean I immediately know what to do with it. And since I still don't have enough money to blindly spend on a relationship coach, I have only one person to turn to. It will, at least, allow me to come clean about something else that I've kept from him for a while. I don't particularly care too much about it now, of course, but for the person I'm going to ask, and also tell, it will come as a major shock to him, I'm sure. Though, compared to other revelations he's had recently, this might be quite minor in comparison.

I reach the living room and my father is sitting there, blissfully unaware of the information about to befall him.

"Father."

He looks up at me from a newspaper.

"Yeah, sweetie?"

I stand there maskless.

"I have something I need to tell you, as the question following this needs some context beforehand. May I tell you this context?"

He raises an eyebrow, but I think he's gotten used to my oddities.

"Um, sure?"

I pause for a moment.

"…I like girls."