Chapter One

… of course you fell for the cheerleader.

 

it would only make sense

… and, yeah, I’m dating your friend,

that too, only makes sense.

But when you held me in that way, I can only help but whisper the words

“best friends.”

And then, when I called you just now, with the machine, well,

You got back to me after landscaping your dad’s yard.

I’m still going to love you.

What else are friends for?

-from the notebook of Vivian Collins

 

“It’s in my bag,” she says, and dips her spoon into a bowl of chocolate pudding. This helps me none, I’m still not sure where we left it. Did she pick it up after she dropped it in my driveway and then ran into my arms? Did she bring it in the house after Alyssa said she wasn’t allowed in? I think maybe she left it on the couch because the dogs jumped on her lap and then she scratched Zoey’s ears. I think I remember her putting her phone in it’s front pocket. And, wa-la!, there it was, underneath the coffee table.

“Where exactly did you put it in your bag?” I ask, leafing through her binder. My attention snags with a page covered in sketches of eyes. Just eyes. You are quite the artist, my girl. I jump when she’s behind me, pointing at a blinking eye in the left-corner. “I like that one best,” she giggles and licks the spoon.

“You scared the s**t out of me, Viv,” I give her my shocked face and mockingly cover my heart. She rolls her eyes, and sighs deeply.

“I really don’t want to publish it.. Crash, what if Bobby finds out? All his friends will come after me again, and we’ll just have a re-run of what happened in February.”

“Well,” I piece my words together cleverly, “I doubt Greg will let anybody touch you. He’s a big, protective, teddy-bear of a guy.” Her eyes shift downwards, and she draws out papers from her composition notebook. Did I say something wrong? I hope I didn’t just kill the conversation by bringing up her new boyfriend. Again.

She bites her lip and hands the papers over to me, “Mhm. Greg’s great. So is your uh, ..whats-her-face…“ Vivian waves dismissively at the air, “Now, back to my story. That English teacher wants me to publish it. Says it’s well-written. Of course he wouldn’t know that if he didn’t pry into my stuff. But, he did, and now he wants me published. I just wrote it to get it off my chest. I don’t think he understands that. He also says that I should change the point of view. Which is stupid. I wrote it the way I wrote it because I wanted the reader more into it. Duh.”

I raise my eyebrows at her. So opinionated when it comes to your work. “Uh, I’ll read it, if that’s what you want.” Her eyes go back to her bowl; sitting at the computer, and then to the floor, “Yeah, but uh, you’re in it. “ She pauses to shuffle her feet, “So just read it and tell me if I should change the point of view and that’s it, okay? No fights today.” This makes me slightly worried. She wrote about me? I’m in one of her stories now? S**t. I guess there’s only one thing to do then, and that’s to read what she wrote. I sit on the couch and make myself comfortable. Here goes.

 

you are hiding.

An edge of pain throbs along with each heartbeat- for no reason- just because everything else feels raw. As HE sits next to you, HE jokes and calls you ‘Dark Warrior’.

You despise the nickname as soon as it is spit from HIS mouth. However, HE offers kindness, and, regarding your silence as permission, He wraps a muscled arm around your shoulders. This gesture makes you sick, but you end up giving HIM a grim smile. HE’s not hurting you, right? Besides, if you weren’t crying right now, none of this would be happening. Your mind takes a twisted turn in it’s thoughts. You aren’t guarded- easily taken advantage of- and you realize this with growing horror. Dark Warrior; Target Female.

 

Vulnerable.

Young. Freshman. He likes, the younger, smaller girls. People tell you his type fits you to a T.

But you brush away these thoughts. This is high school. What’s a rumor, and what isn’t? Who can tell anyways? You fall back into your world of suffering. You need human company, no matter what kind of a creep HE is.

You make a major mistake when your forehead rests on HIS shoulder. HE murmurs fake words of sympathy to you, but your hood is pulled all the way down to your nose- so you can’t distinguish them.

Why are you trusting this monster? It might be because you have been hurt. People who you thought loved you betrayed and broke you. Maybe you should do the opposite. Trust the reverse people and ignore the first. Maybe if you trust the ’bad’ people instead of the ’good’, you won’t get hurt.

Drawing your attention back to HIM, the arm withdraws from your shoulders, and HE takes an I pod out of HIS jacket. You slowly accept one ear bud. Angry, loud, violent music plays into your hear, something to collapse into after a day like this. Thankful, you almost don’t realize HIS arm stretching back to you.

You watch in horror as the arm transforms. Now, instead of it being an arm, it mutates into a snake. A viper. It coils behind you and wraps your waist inside with it’s body. Uncomfortable and scared, you put your knees up and move closer to the bus window.

The viper likes this. Relishes it’s now-easier access. The snake travels underneath your leg. Shocked, you sneak a look at his face. HIS mouth continues to move. How can HE talk so casually with Them and yet be doing something so sinister? Maybe this isn’t leading anywhere- HE’s just being weird…

You just made another mistake.

The music scalds your brain as it’s teeth dig into your jeans. The viper is biting you down there! What is going on??

Suddenly this took a wrong turn. HIS face turns toward you; a perverted smile spread across HIS face. HE squeezes, laughs when you jump, and whispers, “C’mon, baby, you know you like it.”

What?! You take a moment to recover. You hear your own voice tell HIM “No. I don’t,” but it didn’t come out how you wanted. You can’t be taken seriously with a voice that’s soft and hoarse.

Obviously, HE doesn’t care, because HE continues talking to HIS friends. You assume all is over. HE had better not do that again. Your eyes close underneath your hood. Changing your mind, you think better of that and shoot HIM a warning look: HE missed it, joking with HIS friends. Well, at least people aren’t bothering you with HIM there. At least your next-door neighbor (who also happens to be HIS girlfriend) is just four seats away. HE wouldn’t pull anything else with Her so close. At least it’s easy to escape to your realm of sadness. At least--

You sense movement of the snake. It slithers from underneath you, back to HIS lap. HIS face turns back to you again. HE raises HIS eyebrows twice. Confused, your attention turns back to the snake. Repulsion floods your body, watching the serpent giving HIM pleasure in the blue of HIS jeans. You can’t stand to watch. HE is turned so only you could tell, but still! How can HE do this? Has HE no decency? The only reaction you can muster is to stare, numbly out the window.

You begin to pray violently. Dear Lord, God, please, please, please, you beg, please don’t let that thing touch me again. You don’t even finish your pleading when you feel it curling around you again. Overcome with dread, you scream in your prayer. Don’t let it touch my skin! Just not my skin! Oh, God, not my skin. As long as you won’t let it touch my skin God, I’ll be okay.

You make another mistake by not defending yourself. Vomit sets itself behind your teeth when you feel HIM wipe HIS hand on the back of you shirt. Your heart triples speed. NO! Stop! This stopped being okay. No! The serpent snakes back into your pants. You cannot continue to be silent. You need to do something.

Your brain is set on fire, but your muscles remain frozen. Shock and alarm paralyzes your body. You cannot move! You cannot move, and now the snake.

The serpent passes behind you. Music is playing - in some hollow place somewhere. You do not want to be here anymore. It needs to stop now. You want to stop now. Everything needs to stop now. You cannot stop HIM now.

Upsetting your bare skin, it slips underneath soft cotton. The viper crossed another line!

Warning bells ring.

It strikes. You black out, but only for seconds. Then you come alive. Not because of any pain, but an awakening from shock.

 

This

Is

Not

Cool.

“Stop,” you rise to your feet with the power of this one word. You assume from HIS alert expression that the viper will leave now; because it is still limp in your pants. HE holds your stare for a moment. Watching HIS eyes, you freeze again. There is some sort of perverted, possessed sort of glint in those sick blue orbs.

Then, before you know what’s happening, HIS other arm swings around to yank your pants down. no. No! NO! NO!! You fight HIM, even though you are one-tenth HIS size and strength. It is so loud and distracting on the bus that nobody notices. You struggle. HE stops. HIS house is here. HE rises, towering above you. He kisses you on the cheek and hisses, “See you tomorrow.”

It is over.

What just happened?

You take long minutes to recover. Sobbing uncontrollably now. What if you had been raped? You wipe away the thought, reasoning that people would hear and see something like that.

You should have fought sooner, harder.

Glancing around, you note your disadvantages. The camera doesn’t see your seat. No witnesses.

One victim.

You are the victim.

 

Predator.

When the word announces itself into your brain, it dawns on you that you are prey. It is not over. HE will hunt you down now.

Overwhelmed with desperate fear, you explode the story on your neighbor as the two of you walk home. She denies it, believing that HE would never do something like that. You cannot believe this! Walking into your house, you feel empty and alone. Shrinking to the floor, you rock back and forth and just weep.

Your parents are concerned. Something happened. You do not act like this. Don’t tell us ‘nothing’, we are here for you. You refuse to tell them. Think of what people will say at school. If She took HIS side, so will all of Them.

But you shouldn’t have to keep this inside! HE will come for you again if you don’t tell anyone. It will get worse. Fragments of the story erupt. Your body takes to shaking in terror that HE is on HIS way to get you.

Your parents inform the police and continually hug you through your tears. You manage to call the few friends you have. Two of them answer, and you tell them. One doesn’t pick up.

The impact hits you. Reality sits in, and you need a shower. These clothes need to come off. You don’t want this skin anymore. You can’t shower until the officer arrives, in case he arrives when you’re showering. The car pulls- drags, crawls- up your driveway. You have to tell the story again, no matter what happened last time. He is going to need facts if you want help.

You just finish your re-cap when a wave of misery hits you. Officer isn’t listening. You stop. He looks up, “Sorry,” he sighs, “look kid, it’s the end of my shift. I’ll send another officer over tomorrow. We’ll give this boy a talkin’ to, okay, miss?”

Tears swell inside of you. Your parents thank him and head inside. The three of you agree that you’re angry with officer. They move to fits of anger in the kitchen as they prepare dinner. The only productive thing you find to do is to finally shower. Once, twice, five times. You collapse into your bed, exhausted. You are just closing your eyes when your phone rings. That last friend from school. You confide in him what happened. He gives more bad news. Says he knew. The monster talked about it at school today. How HE was going to ‘get some’ from you today.

He also says that you should have listened to him. He warned you who to stay away from. He warned you. You messed up. Your fault. Why didn’t you listen to him? It ends up making you feel worse, even more desolate. You hide under your pillow and dream of nothing; the only peaceful feeling you can find.

 

 “Viv.” I stand and walk over to where she’s sitting, typing away- as usual.

“Mm?” She looks up momentarily, and notices the sheaf of papers clutched in my fist and turns back to the screen, “Oh. Finished already?”

I see right through this. Spinning the chair around, I press my nose against hers, “I’m sorry,” I tell her, gazing into those beautiful blue eyes. She turns away, I’ve made her uncomfortable; something I’ve been doing more and more often lately.

“Hey,” I gently turn her attention back to me, “Viv, I’m sorry for not being there. I think I just wanted to be right about the whole thing. I wanted to make you realize that I’m so much better than those guys out there.” I kissed her, and lingered for a second.

She smiled and whispered, “I love you.”

A gasp from behind us made my spine straighten. Alyssa stood in the doorway. “Ooh! I am so telling mom! And your mom!” She gasped and narrowed her eyebrows looking sinister, “And Greg!!” she added, shooting Viv an evil glare.

Vivian laughed and kissed me on the cheek, dashing to put her shoes on. She had to run home, fast, before Brett found out. Sometimes going to school with your older sister could be such a pain. Vivian whirled around like a miniature tornado; trying to gather all her things, but I caught her in the middle of a huff and kissed her, passionately. Her eyes closed like girls at the movies, wrapped her arms around me, and ran her hands through my hair. Alyssa’s cough of impatience broke us apart. Vivian giggled and ran out the door.

“See ya tomorrow!” she jumped on her bike and sped off. I could only watch her as she left me-once again-behind.