188Colorless
Rated: M
Warnings: Psychological Disorders, Homosexuality, Violence.
MxM. SLASH. The life of a reluctantly adorable pathological liar is never easy. But the truth hurts, liars will always lie, and besides, mendacity is so much easier than facing reality. "Did you kill these women?" "Yes. I did it officer. Lock me up, I shot them dead." "…They were strangled." "Oh… Right, I meant that."
Chapter One -Red
I am a liar.
But I guess it's kind of hard to take my word for it, huh? Don't worry, it'll become apparent soon enough. Some guy named George Elliot once said that lying was easy, and the truth is what is difficult. For me, that's an understatement.
I'm sitting on the couch in the living room, watching reruns of I Love Lucy and munching on popcorn. I don't like butter on my popcorn. I don't like butter at all, really. But this popcorn has butter on it, because my dad made it for me, and when he asked if I wanted butter, I told him yes. He should know by now…but it's my own fault, I suppose. I can't blame it on anyone else.
My mom is sitting at the dining table with her laptop. She's a journalist, who married a fantasy author goof like my dad. She's as strict as her writing style suggests, as is my father, who is…not strict at all. He doesn't understand my lying, but he doesn't bitch about it either. I get headaches a lot, mostly as a result of my lying, because people yell when they realize they're being lied to, and…well. Ow. If you've ever gotten caught in a lie, you'll know how I feel.
Now imagine that happening several times a day. Now imagine having no control over it. Go me.
"Who the hell ate all of my applesauce?"
I blink and look up from the movie and throw a piece of yucky buttered popcorn in my mouth. My younger brother is looming at the door of the refrigerator, looking rather miffed. It's not an expression one usually has when gazing into a refrigerator.
"I'm sorry, Sid. I was hungry." Honestly, I watched my dad finish it off last night and that's what I really wanted to say, but it didn't come out like that.
"Goddamn it, Devyn! You don't even like apples."
"I do too, I eat it them all the time." Well, okay, I'll give him that much. I fucking hate apples with a passion because they give me hives and make me itch but, again, my brain thought one thing and my mouth just does the complete opposite. I want to tell Sidney the truth, honestly I do.
"You're allergic to fucking apples." My little brother is not good at cussing. That is the truth. He thinks it makes him sound cool, as most 14-year-old's do. But it doesn't. It makes him sound like a post-preteen trying to sound cool, and that's that. Poor kid.
"Says you." It's always funny to see how Sidney's face scrunches up when he gets mad. It reminds me of an angry kitty. He's kinda cute, even when he's yelling at me. Oh no, his mouth is opening wide, and it's about to make a very un-cute sound, I know it-
"MOM! HE'S DOING IT AGAIN!"
…Like I said. Ow.
Okay... Perhaps you understand now? I lie. I lie a lot. But I can't help myself, I swear. It's like, my mouth just has a mind of its own or something.
My mom doesn't even have to ask who's doing what. It's been nineteen years of this shit for her and she knows. Everyone in my family knows. Mom stands stiffly from her chair and turns to me in what I find to be a very Linda Blaire fashion, walking toward me and then snatching the remote from my hand.
"Go to your room, young man. Haven't I told you about this obsessive lying?"
"Not that I can recall, mom." Translation: only every day since I was five. Uh oh. That's a scowl if I ever saw one. Mom throws the remote against the wall. Damn. I was sort of getting tired of Lucy, too…
"Go. Room. Now."
My mom tends to sound like Tarzan when she's angry. Which is strange, because Tarzan strikes me as a pretty kind hearted guy, y'know? But of course, I've only ever seen the Disney version.
I sigh and stand up, running my hand through my hair distantly and just starting down the hall and to my room, without a bounce in my step. I don't like weekends, because Charles is always so damn busy…Stupid Girl-Lover. Being straight is so boring, I don't see why he does it. I mean really, who doesn't want most of the world hating you or trying to fix you? Stupid lucky bastard.
My hair is boring as hell. Short, boring cut, dark brown. It also never gets messy. Ever, and that's annoying…messy hair is hot. Not-A-Hair-Out-Of-Place hair is not sexy. It's geeky. Oh well, most people hate me anyway, except for Charles that is. I call him Chuck though, and everyone loves Chuck…he's got flaws. A lot of them, he's not the nicest guy in the world, to be perfectly honest. Well, that's an understatement.
Chuck doesn't care about anyone or anything but himself.
And me.
He's my best friend in the entire world, and has been since we met on the playground in Kindergarten. That day, I saw him kill a bunny at the edge of the elementary school, near the forest. He stabbed it with a sharp stick, and I promised I wouldn't tell. He didn't believe me, but I didn't tell. Even if someone would have asked me 'Did Charles kill that rabbit' I would have just said no because I can't tell the truth, even then. Charles admired my loyalty, and we've been best friends ever since.
Charles doesn't hate me for my faults, and I don't hate him for his. As he grew older, he grew much more sociable. He still doesn't care about anyone but he's a likeable guy. Handsome, smart, popular…I think he was going through a hard time for a while, that's all. He's always really good to me.
My best friend. The only one that understands. The only person in the world that doesn't think I'm a complete jerk. At least I have someone like that, you know?
I look at the phone as I pass it, but just go right to my bed. Charles is probably doing some chick right now or something…I don't like Chuck like that. Don't get me wrong, he's gorgeous and I'm gay, but it's just…not like that. He's the brother I wish I had, instead of the two jerks that hate me for my disorder. He's just…there, y'know? And that counts. Oh well. I'm tired anyway, and there's school tomorrow.
"Mondays are awesome." I say to no one in particular, closing my eyes and hugging my pillow close.
You can guess if that statement was the truth or not.
There aren't too many people in my school. It's not a huge city, but it's not the smallest either….everything is just sort of blah. I'm going to stop talking about how much I lie now, because that's not all of me, you know. I also like long walks on the beach and shit, okay? Besides, it sort of talks for itself, literally.
I pull into the parking lot in my little blue jeep, hopping out and yawning again. I hate mornings, but I always get to school early. I hate being late, really I do. People already think I'm rude enough, why add tardiness to the list of my faults? I plop down in my first period, luckily I share it with Charles. It's English class, which I happen to love. Mostly because of the teacher.
"Oh, hello, Devyn," Ms. Drale says happily as I walk in, half an hour earlier than the first bell, and I lick my lips slightly and give a smile and a nod to her. I don't talk much, but she gets it. Well, she tolerates it, and she's one of the few teachers that do.
It's in my file, but it doesn't seem to matter that I have some sort of mental disorder. All that matters is I lie. What I have is some cross between being a Pathological Liar, and OCD disorder. I sit down at my desk in the back and slump in my chair, doodling on notepad for a while.
What is it?
Is that Albert Einstein? No…no, I think it's Abe Lincoln. Did I mention I have no drawing talent whatsoever? I continue drawing what could be Abe, a cow or a squished parakeet, and I hear the first bell ring, and still no one is here, but not everyone can be as punctual as me, I suppose.
"Is that Aretha Franklin?"
I looked up into the chiseled face of my best friend, who is over my shoulder and looking at my brilliant little doodle.
"I thought it was Abe Lincoln," I reply to him as he sits down in the seat next to me. He's got this way about him, everything he does is so elegant. Sitting, standing, walking…I think he was a king in a past life.
"They do look alike," Charles humors me, shaggy blond hair falling around his face. His caramel brown eyes peer at me from beneath his bangs, and he nods, "So how was your weekend?"
"Fantastic." Ugh. Boring. Fighting with the family. The usual.
"Oh, sorry to hear that, Dev," he nods slightly because he freaking gets it. "Mine was pretty fantastic too."
Oh. That lewd smirk on his features. That's his I-got-laid look. Correction, I-got-laid-without-any-commitment-involved look. My friend is so damn promiscuous.
"I'm very interested in the minute details, Chuck." TMI, I tell him, and he snorts, shaking his head.
"Yeah, yeah, and when you finally get laid, don't tell me about yours either, homo-boy," He runs his hand through his hair. His golden hair is brushed, yet, still slightly mussed, but not in a windblown fashion. It's casually tousled, sexy, unlike mine.
"You're a saint, you know that?" You're a bastard, you know that?
"So I've been told," he grins at me in a fashion that makes a girl just coming in pause. Yeah, he's that good. It's a little creepy sometimes. I'm glad I don't like girls, honestly…they giggle in the weirdest way when they're infatuated. "So, did you do anything fun at least?"
"Yes." I'm sure you can figure out what 'yes' means. It's not rocket science.
"Damn, you have no life, you know that, right?"
"Nope," I sigh dramatically and slump even more in my chair and pull my homework out on my desk even though we still have ten minutes until it starts. I'm pretty scrawny, but I'm not too short. Average height for a guy, really, but I'm not athletic at all. I like to swim in the pool we have in the back yard, but not anything sporty. I think the best thing about me, the only thing not dreadfully average about my appearance, is my eyes. They are a very light grey, almost silver in the right lighting.
'You have eyes as silver as your tongue', that's what my freshman class English teacher told me. I'm still not sure if it was a compliment though. I doubt it. People rarely compliment me. And she was a bitch.
"You need to get out more, man," he shakes his head and sighs, peering at me from the side. "Hey, I don't have anything going on after school. We can hang out at the mall or something. So you actually have something to do for once besides mope around your house and get in fights with your brothers."
"I don't do anything else!" I do other things! I say indignantly, my eyes narrowing at him and he merely cocks an elegant eyebrow at me. I look away and frown, "Okay, maybe I do…"
Defeat.
"So, you want to come, or what?"
"…No…" …Fine…
"Good, I'll meet you in the parking lot after school then."
"I won't be there." Okay, see you then.
The bell rings and the people that were talking within their little cliques reluctantly go to their desk as Ms. Drale stands up and smiles at the class, giving everyone a good morning. There's an uneven array of voices as the students respond, though I stay quiet. I've never said it in return, so I'm not sure what I'd say, but the last thing I want to say to a teacher is 'hope you have a sucky day' or something.
I must have drifted into daydream land, because suddenly the teacher is looking through the homework, and I somehow missed the part where she asked to collect it. I frown, I'm about to stand up and bring it to her, when she looks up at me, her eyebrows raised.
"I don't have your homework here, Devyn. Don't you have it?" Fuck, fuck, fuck…Don't ask me a direct question like that, Ms. Drale, please. Damn it.
"N….No…" I say through gritted teeth, suddenly glaring and she looks a bit taken aback. Suddenly the packet of paper is snatched from my hands and Charles is holding it up in the air.
"It's right here, Ms. Drale. He's got it."
Did I mention I fucking love Charles?
"Chuck," I say, looking over at him with a little smile because there's a reason this boy is my best friend. He's like the best birthday present in the world, if every day was my goddamn birthday. I'm just glad to have someone like him, even if he doesn't have a heart. He pretends to, when it comes to me, and I can't thank him enough for it. I wish I could thank him properly, but my 'thank you' comes out as 'you suck'.
"Your welcome, Dev," Charles smiles at me charmingly.
"Thank you, Charles," Ms. Drale nods and takes the paper, smiling at me and then walking back to the front of the class. She begins to talk about monologues in drama and I listen, though, I'm still doodling on my notepad the entire time.
About halfway through, the class the door opens and my eyes drift over to see a girl with long spiral dark curls and a Hispanic tan. There's a flower in her hair, she's wearing a tank top and a jean mini skirt with some flip flops, and I can't blame her because it is hot outside. I'd wear a miniskirt too, if it didn't make me look like a complete fag.
"What a slut," I hear Charles comment with a little snort, shaking his head. I want to say 'Do you know that because she's slept with you?' but I kept my mouth shut. Some big bastard in the front gives a little cat call, and the girl's pretty face curls into a sneer.
Ugh…James Russell. He's a stereotypical jock-type, only he's not on any of the sport teams. He just walks around like he owns the school and everyone in it.
"Who did that, huh?" Large green eyes lined with liner and mascara dart around to find the horndog of a culprit. "You got something to say to me?"
"Ah, please, calm down, Mercedes, I think it was an accident…" Ms. Drale begins, only to be cut off by the fiery girl, whose eyes are now ablaze.
"An accident? That sorta thing ain't no accident!" She growls, putting her hands on her voluptuous hips, her large hoop earrings moving as she bobs her head. "So who did it, huh?"
"I think it was Devyn," James smirks widely, leaning back in his chair and looking at me. "That dweeb in the back, next to the pretty boy blond."
"Please, don't make this a big deal-"
"Yo. You, Devyn, was it?" She's looking at me. Fuck. Crap. What? What even happened? Stupid James…did I mention he's not a fan of mine? Not many people are, but he goes out of his damn way to get in my way. "Did you do that? That stupid little whistle, huh?"
"I…um…" Damn it. Fucking fuckity fuck. "Yes…I did it."
"What is your problem? You don't just do that someone 'cause they're a girl!"
"I don't have a problem. And you're not a girl." Oh yes I freaking do. She's about 5'2, 120 pounds of spitfire heading in my direction with an angry growl.
She's waltzing towards me, shoulders squared and eyes wide, nostrils flared. She looks a little like a dragon, and it's scaring me. Damn it-I slump farther back into my chair, wishing I was that chick from X-men that could phase through shit, because I would be out of this room by now…
I hear James and a couple of his buddies burst out laughing, and I'm withering in my seat. Damn it, damn me and my big fat mouth. Charles tenses himself slightly, straightening his back, and then James does something stupid. Not that everything else he does isn't stupid, because it is, but it ruins his little plot to have me spontaneously combust, or whatever his goal was.
"I wonder how far Mercedes bends?"
She freezes. Like, really stops in mid step and then turns back around and slaps him in the face.
"M-Mercedes!" Says our timid teacher, coming over and pulling the girl away from James, who's howling with laughter even harder than before.
"You better do something' about him! That fucking pervert-!" She shouts, earrings clanking as she hisses at him like a snake as plush, glossed, lips curl into a scowl.
"James…James, please go to the principal," Ms. Drale swallows, obviously at a loss at what else to do, and getting rid of the more disruptive component of the class. When he leaves, Mercedes crosses her arms over her impressively endowed chest and nodes approvingly. Then she smiles sweetly at the teacher, brushing her hair over her shoulder. She's bipolar. Well…we'd get along then…us mentally ill.
"I'm Mercedes, I'm new here. Where do you want me to sit?"
Well, wasn't this 1st period eventful.
Her glare flickers back to me for the rest of the period, and I keep my gaze down. Fucking mouth. I wish I could just sew it shut. I'm constantly making unnecessary enemies.
I am a liar.
I'm probably the biggest liar you'll ever meet. You know I'm lying because my mouth is moving, because I can't speak unless it's not true. I don't know what it is. I'm not a liar by choice, in fact sometimes I hate myself. But I can't not lie. My mouth forms the opposite of what I mean. I am a liar.
Maybe if I embrace it, like Chuck has embraced his flaws, I could be happier with myself. Ah well.
If I can't tell the truth to others, maybe I can be successful in lying to myself.
Hello everyone. (: This is yet another story-but it's okay, because I'm co-writing it. With DeathsDrug, my partner in crime for this lovely little story. This is going to be a fun ride, and we're both really excited about it!
I hope you like Devyn and Charles and such…The love interest shows up next chapter! Le Gasp. :D I really hope you enjoyed this, and it'll get even better! Please review to tell us what you thought of everything!
Nilah & DeathsDrug