3AN: I don't really have anything to say, but please enjoy and leave me some feedback. I wrote this a year ago so it's not the greatest, but I had fun, so I guess that's all that really matters, so whatever. Anyway, please enjoy! Thanks. ^_^
It's My Life, It's My World
By UtenaAnthyAntics
When I saw Tuesday for the first time, my whole life blasted open. I knew I had found something that ached to be explored.
She sat under the Home Ec window, her binder and backpack strewn out by her feet. She didn't seem to care about the mess; she just sat there, her back against the brick wall, legs crossed and pen and paper, furiously scribbling.
Intrigued, I snuffed out my cigarette under my boot and walked over.
"Hey," I called, "What's up?"
The girl ignored me, penning a sentence, another word down before it escaped her.
"Hey," I tried again, this time plopping down next to the girl and lacing my fingers behind my head. I waited.
Presently, the girl looked up, a slightly annoyed expression on her face as she took in the full figure of myself beside her. "If you don't mind," she drawled, "I'm trying to do something."
"Awe, c'mon. There's only ten minutes left in lunch, live a little. I just asked a question." I smiled, hoping to God that Derek wouldn't approach.
No such luck.
He sauntered over, towering over us as if he owned that particular stretch of asphalt, "What'cha writin'?"
"Nothing to concern you. Please leave." She grinned sharply.
"Oh-hoh! Methinks you want me gone. Is the new girl and the school dyke doing something illegal?"
"It's not illegal, you butt-head. Now go away and play with your friends," I spoke up, seeing that the girl was becoming uncomfortable.
Derek sucked in his breath, wounded. "Babe, you hurt me deep. Real deep," he placed a hand over his heart, mimicking stumbling back, heartbroken.
"Yeah, well, don't come crying to me when Kimmy hears you're insulting me again – and dragging an innocent bystander in at that!"
He laughed, shaking his newly-shorn head. Turning to the girl beside me, he grinned and said in a stage-whisper, "Ah, I'm just kidding. She won't hurt you. She's a retired dyke."
"I prefer lesbian, Derek, don't push it," I grinned at him, sincerity flashing in my eyes, "Now please leave. I was trying to have a sophisticated conversation here."
Derek bowed his head and smiled at me. "Got'cha babe. See you later, Ebony."
I watched his retreating back and then turned to the girl beside me, smiling apologetically, "I'm sorry about that. My friend likes to make fun of me whenever he can. He's such an idiot."
She shook her head, apparently non-plussed with where the conversation had gone. "I usually don't make it a point to find out people's sexuality before we even say hello."
"But does it bother you?" I had to ask; prior experience had found it did. For some reason, I held my breath as she studied me with sky-colored eyes.
Finally, she looked back at the pad in her hands and stashed it into her pocket, along with the pen, and leaned forward to collect her papers. "No," she said, muffled as she reached her arm out; I hastily helped her.
"I don't suppose it does. It's just kind of weird to know something so…" she shrugged, " so personal before I even know your name. For all I know, that could have been a pick-up line – you could have employed your friend to give me subliminal hints." Her lips twitched, "Okay, maybe not so subliminal."
"You know, when I see Derek again, I'm going to kill him!" I said without thinking, "Just because he flaunts it doesn't mean I want to!"
"Flaunts what?" Derek's voice floated down from the window above, and I swore.
"Why are you insisting on annoying me? Are you trying to make my life a living hell?" I yelled up at him, earning his delighted laughter slowly echoing away as he walked away from the window.
Shaking my head, I jumped up and offered her my hand, "No, I wouldn't do that. It's just my friend's idiotic sense of humor and his insatiable need to jerk my chain that caused him to say that. Personally, I don't know how I put up with him."
Watching a smile cross her face as she allowed me to hoist her up, I took a chance and whispered, "Frankly, I'm too scared to meet anyone I could like."
She surprised me by nodding, whispering back, "Yeah, me too." Running a hand through her hair to tame her bangs, she stuck out her hand and said, "Tuesday Addams."
"You mean, kind of like Wednesday Addams, except not?" I couldn't help asking.
"Yeah, my parents thought they were being funny."
"Ah. Ebony Black, by the way. Don't laugh!" I warned, shaking her hand.
She did, anyway. "Ebony Black! Isn't that like an oxymoron?"
"I told you not to laugh," I mumbled, but grinned, "Not much better, hmm?"
"Nope, you're right."
"…You weren't supposed to answer that."
"Sorry."
"No you aren't. Stop lying!"
"Okay."
I paused, "You have an answer for everything, don't you?"
She smiled, "Yep."
"Good; I need a friend like that." I froze right after the words left my mouth. What was I thinking, being so forward like that?
Before I could say anything to cover up my slip, Tuesday smiled and nodded her head, "I think I can manage."
And that's how our friendship started.
I quickly found out that she lived with her Mom and Dad, two sisters and one brother in a house they had just bought on the other side of town. I also found out that her pet cat of ten years had died on Wednesday, and that's what she had been writing about.
"Your conversation with Derek really set the mood," she teased, knowing my sensitivity on that matter. Honestly, I don't know why Derek brought it up in the first place; he had never done that before.
At least to my knowledge.
"You know, I envy you."
"Hmm?" I asked, chewing the Japanese pocky I had just stuffed into my mouth.
"Yes. It's hard to believe, but I do. You have life so easy, not competing with 3 siblings all older than you." She sighed, burying her face into her pillow.
I paused, tilting my head in thought. "Yeah…I guess I do," I agreed, ignoring the ugly look she shot me.
"Oh yeah!" I cried, suddenly sitting up straight, holding the box of pocky like a sword, "I forgot!"
"Yes?" Tuesday looked up from inspecting her pillow rolled into a sitting position.
Looking sheepish, I turned to her and said nervously, "My mom wants to invite you over for dinner this weekend. She says she wants to meet my new friend." Under all of my heavy makeup, I could feel myself blush, "To tell you the truth, she thinks you're my, ah…" I coughed. "Girlfriend."
"Honestly, Ebony, just ask. I thought Goths were supposed to be all mean-attitude and strong. A kind of 'holier-than-thou' attitude – where did you go wrong?" she teased, gesturing at my make-up and dress.
"Shut up! I can be mean if I want to be!" I snapped, adopting my ice-queen mask I usually saved for the bitches at the high school.
"Ooh," she mock-shivered, "Save me!" She laughed, and I reluctantly joined her, my mask slipping off.
"You know," she started, sweeping her bangs away from her face, "I've become immune."
"Damn!"
She laughed. "Sorry. Yes, tell your mother I'd love to join you for dinner."
Tuesday smiled, and I couldn't help smiling back, something inside of me tightening, not loosening until Tuesday once again fell into her pillow, complaining about homework and her family.
Yeah, I thought, I sure have it easier. Yeah right.
Nervously smoothing back my newly dyed pure white hair, I applied some more mascara and put another shade of black lipstick on. Usually, when I get nervous, I make myself blacker, which actually ends up scaring people more. Yes, I smirked, I am a bitch.
But Tuesday was the only one who realized I hid behind my makeup, that I used it to project an image I not necessarily was. Well…that's what she thought, anyway. I wasn't entirely sure of my reasons myself.
The doorbell rang, and I froze. Staring wildly at my reflection in the mirror, I bolted and ran for the door, throwing down the tube of lipstick into the sink where it promptly fell down the drain. Ignoring the voice that spoke up, protesting in my head that that was my favorite shade of black, I reached the door before my mom did. Giving her a self-assured smile, I hissed, "Remember, Mom, she's just a friend!"
My mom, ever the excruciating pain that she was, snorted. "Yes, and that's why you got all dressed up," she drawled, noting somehow the extra makeup.
I glared at her, "You know I always dress like this, Mother. Please behave yourself."
"I'm not ashamed of you, dear."
"I know that!" I retorted, my hands clenching, "And I'm glad you aren't, but-!"
Tuesday rang the doorbell again; I could see her through the side windows that she was looking at us with a raised eyebrow. With one more glare at my mom, who just smiled pleasantly, I opened the door.
Ushering my friend in, I introduced her to my mom – Judy Collins – and then quickly grabbed her hand and pulled her up to my room.
"What? Cat got your tongue?" she asked when I said nothing.
"I wish," I muttered, lacing my paint-free fingers together. Looking down at my pink nails, I reflexively curled them under. I don't know how I forgot to paint them today. What must the world be coming to?
Tuesday cocked her head and crossed her arms, peering at me from atop my bed. "Yes…? Is there any reason for your silence?"
I shook my head, smiled, and leaned towards her. Lowering my voice, I said, "It's just that, my mother's convinced that you and I are…" I trailed off, a blush engulfing my face again. Clearing my throat, I started again, "So she's going to be asking a lot of questions, if I know her – and I'm pretty sure I do."
Tuesday blinked, obviously confused. "So what?" she asked, "Why do you care?"
"What?"
"Why do you care what she thinks? Why not think of it as a game." A smile spread over my friend's face, and I blinked.
She rolled her eyes, "A game. Everyone at school already thinks we're together; what's the point not playing along?
"Or are you scared?"
Her eyes widened as I slipped my mask back on, my feelings in turmoil.
She gasped, sitting up straight. "You are scared, aren't you!" she accused, "The Goth Bitch is scared!"
"I have feelings too, you know," I muttered, and then immediately regretted my choice of words.
Tuesday stared at me, frozen, her eyes darkening. I stared back at her, unconsciously baring my teeth as I waited for her to speak.
I could see her swallow, slowly sinking back against the wall, and I suddenly couldn't bear to face her anymore.
So I ran. I retreated out of my room, not knowing what to think, what to say, how to rationalize my words.
What had I said? That was first to sort out. Did it mean anything? And why was my heart pounding, my palms sweating, my mouth dry? Had I admitted something, I, myself, didn't know?
Breezing past my mother, grabbing my coat and dodging her questions, I escaped down the street, the blood pounding in my head.
My mother told me, later, that Tuesday had stayed in my room for two hours before she ventured out and left with a quiet goodbye. Coming in to my room, nothing looked touched, so I knew she had either been thinking or writing in the notebook she brought everywhere.
"What happened?" my mom asked, a frown marring her face, "Did I do something?"
I shook my head, "No, Mom. We just learned something. That's all." I gave her a wavering smile.
"Learned something? Ebony, usually I would say, 'stop vague'ing the subject',"
"Like you always do," I interjected, handing her the cookie cutter she pointed at.
"Thank you. No, not like I always do. I was just going to say that you need to figure this out for yourself. But you know I'm here, right?"
Looking into my mother's kind eyes, I smiled, so happy she accepted me for who I was, and hugged her. Suddenly feeling the urge to cry when her arms surrounded me, I hiccupped and pushed slightly away, wiping my eyes with my arm before realizing I had heavy mascara on.
"Damn," I muttered, imagining the black streaks.
"Ebony Lindsey Black, what have I told you about swearing?"
"Mother, I'm 17, the school Goth Bitch, and my hair's dyed white. I put more makeup on when I'm nervous or sad, and I have a following of terrified teens at my high school; doesn't that say anything?"
"Yes it does. You will not curse in this house!" She shooed me out of the kitchen, flicking the washing towel at me. "And keep away from the cookies when they're done! They're for the new neighbors."
I nodded, muttering 'Yes Mother', and escaped to my room.
The new neighbors turned out to be Derek's best friend's brother and their family. In short, the brother was an egotistical full of himself college student who's main goal was to get me into his bed. The only thing that lightened the burden was that Chad, Derek's best friend, also lived there. We were on friendly terms, so that was bearable.
Unfortunately, he also sought to bed me.
"Chad, how many times have I told you it's not possible, in the least, ever, never gonna happen, an only in your dreams situation!"
"Awe, but baby…" He reached for me, and I shot him down with a glare.
"Don't call me baby! Get used to it! I. Don't. Want. You."
"You're just sayin' that."
"No I'm not!" I growled, stomping across the room to where my mother talked with Chad's parents. She shot me a discouraging frown, and I sighed, walking out of the house to sit on the front steps.
Luckily, neither Chad nor his brother followed me.
Tuesday peddled up on her bike. Staring at her, I ran my hands through my bangs and looked down.
She put the kickstand down and walked up to me, her hands worrying the bottom of her shirt. Taking off her biking gloves, she stuffed them into her pockets and sat down in the space I had made for her, "Hi."
"Hi."
"So…what's up?"
Her question trailed off. My throat tightened, and I couldn't speak. I, the girl no one bothered at school, the self-named 'Goth Bitch', couldn't speak. I looked over, into her eyes, and tried to smile.
Instead, I sort of grimaced, and Tuesday's wavering smile dimmed. She turned away, her shoulders slumping.
"I thought as much," she murmured, "I guess you want me to go."
I watched helplessly as she stood up, heading back towards her bike. Without really knowing what I was doing, my hand grabbed her wrist, stopping her. She looked down at my hand on her arm, and she raised a quivering eyebrow.
"Red, today?" she said quietly, meaning my nail polish.
I cracked a smile, standing up, looking down onto her, for once a little ashamed of my height. "Hey, what's a girl to do," I shrugged, still holding her hand, "When she doesn't feel like wearing black?"
"Or the fact that I stole it means nothing?"
"That too." I finally dropped her hand, my palm growing sweaty; and I for sure didn't want her to know that!
Tuesday stared up at me, her face impassive as her eyes searched mine. I'm not exactly sure what my eyes offered, but she accepted the hug my body did. Her face pressing into the fabric of my shirt, her arms wrapped around my back as I circled her waist, confused at the feelings running through my body. I don't know what Tuesday was offering to me through the hug, but I took it anyway, safe in the knowledge she was still my friend.
"Awe…isn't this sweet," a sarcastic voice spoke up from my right, and I looked up to see Eric – Chad's brother – leaning against the wall that separated our yard from his.
"Fuck off," I growled, not liking the cocky smirk on his face.
He smirked even more, uncrossing his arms as he walked forward, ignoring Tuesday who stood next to me. His breath smelled of alcohol even this early in the morning, and he started to stroke my cheek before I caught his hand and forcefully removed it.
He chuckled, "Gladly. But you know my offer still stands. I hear threesomes' are-"
I punched him, my fist solidly connecting with a satisfying crunch.
"You-you whore!" he spluttered, stumbling back, clutching his cheek and jaw, "Wha'd you do that for!?"
I glared, my anger flaring. I barely noticed my mother and Chad and his parents hurrying up, alerted by Eric's yell as I advanced onto him, curiously urged on by the blood dripping from his mouth and cheek.
"Ebony!" Tuesday yelled, catching my arm, "It's okay! Stop it!"
"But that bastard implied that-!"
Tuesday shook her head, cutting me off. Her eyes boring into mine, she managed a trembling smile. Laying her hand on my arm that unconsciously flexed under her touch, I could see tears in her eyes. "Don't become something you're not," she pleaded, seeing the anger smoldering in my eyes.
A hand grabbed my other arm and wrenched me around, a sloppily thrown punch skimming across my chin and cheek.
An ugly look stained Eric's handsome face, marred by heavy swelling; he breathed raggedly through his mouth, his eyes bloodshot. "You bitch!" he growled, swinging again, this time snapping my head back, having placed a solid punch to my right cheek.
Pain flared, and I stumbled back, blinking madly. Not even noticing my mother or Tuesday any more, I yelled and rushed for Eric, jostling and punching as best I could.
My head throbbing, my pride thrumming through my veins, and his words pounding in my ears over and over again; I was drenched with those thoughts. Distracted for a second by the sound of Eric's father trying to break up the fight, Eric's fist smashed into my nose, and I fell back, lights exploding when the back of my head hit the porch step.
His father and Chad restraining Eric back was the last thing I saw before the blackness overtook me.
I awoke to my mother placing an icepack under my head, and I moaned as a sharp headache stabbed me in-between my eyes. Trying to roll over, onto my stomach, my mom stopped my by pushing me back, onto the ice.
"You stay right there, young lady! After what you did, you deserve to suffer!"
Unexpectedly, I felt tears prick at my eyes, and for once I let them fall, all the stress of my week catching up to me. "My nose hurts, I have a headache, my arms are sore, and my eye is killing me!" I cracked, fully feeling the effects of my fight with Eric, helplessly looking up at my mom as my life fell apart.
Her expression turned tender, and she smiled, leaning forward to kiss my cheek. "Believe it or not," she whispered, squeezing my shoulder, "I'm proud of you. Tuesday told me what happened. That ass."
"Mother!" I choked, happy tears trailing down my cheeks, lifting a hand to tug the sleeve of her shirt, "You never curse!"
"Yeah, well, he deserved it," she smiled tenderly and then patted my cheek. Moving a few sweaty bangs away, she kissed my forehead and whispered, "Sleep, hon."
And I did.
My dreams grabbed at me, sucked me in. They taunted me into grabbing them, and then disappeared in my arms. I drifted between waking and sleeping, whimpering and moaning, and, when my dreams were nice and pleasant, smiling and relaxing.
I awoke again and found Derek in the room. Forcing my mouth to move, I whispered, "Turn the light's off."
"What?"
"Turn the light's off. So I can open my eyes, idiot," I explained, grumbling as no saliva seeped into my tongue.
"Oh." Derek rose, and after a second the light didn't press on my eyelids as much.
"Thanks," I sighed as I looked up at him. He rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding my gaze and sat back down in the chair pushed close to the bed, "No problem.
"You know…" he started again, finally pinning his eyes to mine. "Tuesday won't speak to anyone."
"Oh." I was silent, laying there, thinking until I shifted and propped myself up, sitting against the headboard. "How long have I been asleep?" I questioned, and then winced when my teeth brushed against my swollen lip.
"About two days."
"Oh hell!" I looked incredulously up at my friend, my eyes widening even more when he nodded. Looking down at my hands, I inspected the cracked polish, ignoring the twinge of protesting muscles. My knuckles were still soar and red; after all, I wasn't used to punching people, and I idly flexed them, circling the blood through.
"Hey," Derek touched my shoulder, "I have to say the bastard deserved it, but she's really hurt by what happened. You now she doesn't like violence."
I raised my head, my shoulders shaking. My hands clenched the sheets of the bed, and I stared at Derek blindly, tears building in my eyes. "You think I do?" I whispered. "I hurt. I hurt too!"
Tears trialed down my cheeks; I didn't even try to hold them back.
"It hurts so much…!" I meant every word, tears finally clouding my eyes so much I couldn't see, but still I stared into Derek's eyes. I trembled violently, finally shaking my head and burying my head in my hands.
"Me, the Goth Bitch," I choked, "hurts too, you know. Not just physically – my heart hurts." I didn't know if I was talking about the fight or about Tuesday, and I didn't care. My life was falling apart.
Suddenly, soft arms embraced me, and I was cradled against a soft chest, a hand softly stroking my hair. I hadn't even noticed Derek leave to be replaced by Tuesday.
Slowly…oh so slowly…my arms snaked around her, and I relaxed, my body quieting down, silent tears dripping down my face.
When I came to school with a black eye and swollen nose and lip, I could just hear the voices and rumors seethe all around me. I was still in a bad mood about letting someone get the best of me, so I growled my way down the hallway.
Reaching my locker, I stashed the books I didn't need for my first class away, accidentally slamming the door on the girl next to me's skirt. Ignoring her glare, I sauntered off to Room 8A: English.
English, I can tolerate. Whenever I'm in the room, listening to old Ms. Smith's cracking voice drone on and on about 'the great philosophy of Walt Whitman's poems!', I find myself reminded of Tuesday.
"I never understood Whitman," she remarked one time at lunch when I was complaining about Ms. Smith's obsession with him, "He only talked about snapshots, stuff frozen in time."
"That's not true. See, here," I said, flourishing the English book and reading aloud, "Walt Whitman had avid eyes. He wanted to see everything, to memorize everything, and to enclose it all in his poems. But he remains for us primarily a poet of great heart, of all-embracing love, which fuses it's varieties into one love, erotic, but also compassionate -!" I cut off as Tuesday's giggles caused me to laugh.
"Avid eyes!? Why did the writer pick avid eyes!?" she gasped. "Oh Ebony! You read so pompously! Where did Ms. Smith get this stuff?"
"I have no idea, but it is a bit too much, don't you think?"
Tuesday grinned, plucked the book out of my grasp, and flipped through it, stopping at another Walt Whitman poem. "Here we are…"
I guess that's what I like about Tuesday. She has the same sense of humor I have, though I have to admit that mine is a little bit stranger. She puts up with my difficult moods and knows when to leave me alone and when I want to talk.
She's so cute, especially when she makes faces whenever the word homework is uttered, even though I know she does it anyways. I like how she adamantly protests me smoking, and she shows that she cares because she threatens to start smoking herself if I don't stop, and she knows I don't want her to do that. It's all those things. The small, tiny inconsequential acts that, if drilled down into and separated one by one, you could find the very being of Tuesday herself.
I don't know. It's like we've been friends for so long.
I can honestly say I can imagine spending the rest of my life with her, and the scary part is that I don't find that scary at all.
I'm just glad she's my friend.
A note suddenly flicked onto my desk, and I looked over to see Tuesday sitting next to me, grinning. Grinning back, I slowly un-crumpled the note and read silently.
'Want to do something this Saturday? My treat!'
I smiled and turned over the note, starting to write.
'Sure. And it's MY treat this time!'
Flicking it back to her, I watched as she read it, feeling ridiculously happy when I made her smile.
I don't care if our friendship never turned into something more, just please, never let me lose a friend like her.
THE END