Disclaimer: This usually doesn't have to be said but I'm just going to say that a lot of what Bee says are definitely not things that I actually agree with or would think outside of creative writing.

Chapter 4: Away

Anastasia looks really shocked as if she didn't just ask me to run away with her. It's not like I was the one to throw that at her. She expected me to say no? So, is the offer not up now? Was all of this a joke and she knew that no one would accept? Am I the first person she asked or am I the first person to say yes?

She gives that same smirk, but now it looks more like an uncontained smile. "Are you shitting me right now?"

I don't really know how to answer this. Is shitting a good thing or bad thing in this context? Oh my fucking god, just avoid that question. "I want to go with you."

She actually giggles this time. "Yeah, you said that. I want to know if you're serious or not. Are you sure you understand the consequences? What you could lose? Who you would lose? What you'd be running away from probably is better than—" I cut her off there because I don't want to hear the logical shit. I want to leave. I want to get away from all of this shit and my only way out is through her. Or a bottle of pills that won't work. Which is pretty fucking pathetic. Yet tempting.

"I know what I want. I just—please? I just need to, like, get away or something. I need to go." Oh god, I instantly hate myself for that fucking outburst. What. Was. I. Fucking. Thinking. If I wasn't in public, I'd be bashing my fucking brains on the brick wall. What choice do I have, though? She's my only option and now I'm groveling and begging at her like a fucking stray dog. Oh, wait, I still have the bottle of pills.

Fuck that.

Anastasia looks… I don't even know. Uncomfortable? Unsure? She offered though. Come on, come on, come on. You can't just pussy out now. Oh my god, you just can't. I need this. So much. This girl or death. Why can't she see I only have two options? I know we don't even know each other yet but… But. I can't even justify this myself. I'm just selfish and need to use her. I fucking need this. I need this, I need this, I need this, I need this—

She purses her lips and kinda looks around. "Yeah…I know the feeling…" There's this silence and I'm not sure if I'm supposed to be questioning the vague statement or if she's just choosing her words carefully. She keeps pulling back her hair as if to put it in a ponytail. She looks back at me suddenly suspicious. "Are you for real about this? I mean, seriously. Not, like, running away from home to get attention or to just get a thrill. As in, you are for real and never want to look back?"

I suppose this is a good question, but I already know the answer anyway. I have never been so serious about anything in my life. I have never even wanted attention. I have always wanted to fly under the radar and just live my life by myself. And, I guess I'll like the thrill, but that's only a bonus. I'm excited and pretty thrilled right now just at the idea for an escape. A little pessimistic part of me screams this'll never work out, you would never leave, this girl would never help you. "Yes. Yes, I'm so serious. You don't even know how serious I am right now. There's, like, this thing and I, like, can't do it anymore. And, if I don't leave…" I rub my hands all over my face and grab my hair in chunks until it hurts. "Please?" I whimper. Even I know I'm being pitiful. When have I ever had fucking dignity in front of her? Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, I hate myself so much.

Her mouth opens in shock for a moment before she looks away again. "H-hey. It's not that big of a problem. I don't like seeing you so upset." She turns to look me in my eyes. "I hate how the only emotion I've seen from you is negative." Oh my god, get to the fucking point, bitch. But I don't say anything, hoping that she'll say something like, oh, I don't know, yes. And, like, she hasn't stopped looking me in the eyes and it's kinda uncomfortable. But her eyes are really pretty and her eyelashes are thick and black and I want them. A little part of me wants to be pretty like her. "I don't want you to regret it," she says and my breathing stops, "and I want you to understand that you'll never go back." Oh my fucking god, I don't want to. Why would I ever go back? That's why I'm running away.

"I will never regret it," I say, even shocking myself at how…convinced I sound. How much I sound like I don't care about the consequences. And it's true, I don't. At this point anything that has to do with living isn't even fucking worth caring about. Except, for some reason, I do slightly care about this. As in, I want to go with her. I don't know if I would go if the invitation was from someone else. I do want to run away, and I am pretty desperate, but I don't know what would be my limit. Maybe I don't have one. Maybe I'm reckless as fuck. But, one thing's for sure, "I never want to go back. Ever."

Anastasia nods her head slowly. She breaks eye contact for a moment to look around, thinking. "Well, I should probably stop asking you if you're serious, huh?" She laughs a little under her breath before looking at me again. "So, where's your mom? Or are you here without her?"

I'm kinda skeptical now. Will my answers affect her decision? Or has she already decided and she's figuring out a plan? Or is she thinking of turning me in? I'm trying to gauge what she wants me to say but it's impossible to really tell. "Uh, yeah, she was supposed to be at the coffee shop. That's where we separated at. It's been awhile though…" I trail off, realizing how long it's been. We had to have been here for at least twenty minutes, if not more.

"So, is she busy or does she have no idea where you are?" Anastasia creases her brow and chews on her lip which is, like, super distracting, okay? Seriously. This is important and she just has to make that fucking expression.

"Uh… I don't know. I don't think it takes that long to get a coffee. We were here to go shopping for a dress."

"Wait, what?" Anastasia stops making that super distracting face. It's pretty relieving, actually. "Who's getting a dress?"

"…Me?" I feel more awkward now. She's become uncomfortably seriously intense and it just feels wrong. As soon as this whole topic got started she's been acting weird. Not at all like she was before, at the beginning of our conversation. Is this her real persona or is she just getting into this thing so seriously? Like, honestly, I'm not even getting that fucking into it—I give no fucks at this point. What the fuck is with her and why am I going with her and what the fuck is wrong with me I hate myself I hate myself I hate—

Her face twists up and this expression is a whole lot worse than the other one because this could mean something is wrong which is bad because I need to use her. This might not go through. Anything could happen and anything could go wrong. What if I'm forced to go home and go to that fucking funeral? What if I was found by Mom? Or the cops? What if—"Why do you need a dress?"

I catch my breath for a moment. "To go to… Like…" Oh fuck, I can't do this. Fuck, Fuck, Fuck. Why can't I get the fucking words out? I feel so embarrassed and exposed for some reason, and I'm so scared. I realize now how much I don't know this bitch and she's practically a stranger. I really, really want this to fucking work out though. This is my only choice. I need to spit it out, damn it. "To, like, the f-funeral?" Why did I make that a question and why the fuck was that so hard to spit out? My palms get sweaty and I need to wipe them on my jeans but I don't want to look fucking stupid. I don't even know why this is making me so fucking nervous but I just want this moment to be over.

She sets her jaw and stares straight ahead towards the coffee shop, grinding her teeth. She looks at me and then back to the shop, then back to me, then back to the shop."Okay, okay, okay," she starts muttering. I'm looking at the coffee shop too and I don't really understand what she's looking at, but then her hand is on my wrist and it sends this huge shock all throughout my body and stirs my heart into overdrive. I look back at her but she's still looking at the shop with that same expression. She starts walking and roughly tugging me, and I have no choice but to follow her—which I have no problem with. She walks faster and faster away from the shop and I'm off balance and stumbling with her, but she's still looking at the shop. Once we get to a jogging pace, she turns and runs. And she's taking me with her.

"Hey, what are you—"

"No, shut up for a second and run," she pants, taking an effort to get that out while sprinting. I try to run as fast as I can, but the fact I'm so weak and the fact she's pulling me by my wrist is making it hard. She's having difficulties too, trying to hold her amp with one hand football-style. Running combined with dragging me is making her stumble, almost about to drop it. I want to make her stop so I can take it to help her because this is ridiculously unnecessary but I don't think she's going to stop for anything right now. Seriously, why the fuck do we have to run, you fucking frizzy haired bitch?

When the corner is in sight I feel this huge relief. For some reason this feels like a huge step to me. I don't know why. It's sort of like the first cover of many to get away. She drops my hand when we're a few yards away once she's sure I'm running with her, and so she can get a better grip on her amp. We both slow down once we're around the one corner and I can just feel the adrenaline all through me. It's so exciting to do something bad. The rush makes me feel so pumped up and…Alive. I feel alive. I don't feel dead.

I'm alive.

Panting, Anastasia smiles and breathes out, "God, that felt like such a rush." Still with all of the euphoria in the moment, I actually laugh and smile too. It's breathy and kinda broken up, but it's still a laugh. It's induced by the fear, relief, and adrenaline in the moment so I don't know if that actually counts. But, being scared is kind of… fun. It feels so fucking bad and adventurous and far from anything that I'd ever imagine myself doing. Is this even happening? Am I in a dream? Oh, please, this can't be a fucking dream when I've already tasted this feeling. I think this is the best feeling I've had in my pitiful life and I won't let anyone or anything take that away.

I'm feeling so good and I have so much energy that I'm bouncing on the balls of my feet. Which isn't something Beatrice Miller would do. These feelings aren't feelings that Beatrice Miller would feel. Who the fuck am I? I need to concentrate on reality for once because this won't last long here. We need to run. Get away. We can't stay here. "We should really go now," I say all shakily and scared and pathetic. I'm anxious to leave and the panic is setting in already. We can't stay here, we can't stay here, we can't stay here, we can't—

"Hold my amp." She then thrusts her fucking amp at me and runs. Like, this isn't even running. This is superhuman sprinting. I try to run to catch up, but she's already off the block to the next one and, oh my fucking god, the crosswalk turns red as soon as I get there. Did she ditch me? What a fucking bitch. Fucking frizzy hair lush eyelashes whore. I'm about to sit down in defeat on the wet sidewalk when I realize that I still have her fucking amp. Is she going to come back for this? Would she just ditch it to someone she just met?

Instead of getting my ass wet, I'll just lean on this brick wall and wait for my life to be over and for my jacket to disintegrate and my body to decompose. Oh god, I shouldn't have done that because now my back is wet which I can't tell if that's worse or better than my ass being wet. I'm such a dumbass. I deserve getting soaked like this and I hope that a huge storm will come and strike me with lightening. Then I'll be a special death because of the rarity of it. With my luck though, I'll live and still have to go to the funeral and do all of the same bullshit I've been doing before.






The thought of smashing her precious amp sends another rush through me. It tickles me in this weirdly amused way. It feels really evil though and the side of me that still has human morals stops me. The green walking man is back and I don't plan on staying around. I won't allow myself to even feel a minuscule amount of doubt. Not one brain cell. Not one atom. I don't fucking care if that makes no sense. My whole existence doesn't make sense.

Running is hard and it's even harder to know where the fuck I am. I hate running. I don't want to run. I'm going to stop now. What now? Would it be most logical to follow her or go my own way? Fuck, what am I thinking? I don't even know where I am let alone know a place to go. I trusted her. I thought she could help me but she left. I'm such a fucking idiot for trusting someone I don't even know—a complete stranger. Jesus fucking Christ. What am I supposed to do now? Go back to Mom? Fat chance. Go my own way? That's fucking brilliant to wander the dirty city by myself being a weak little girl with no sense of direction. Ugh, why the fuck did we even have to go here for a fucking dress? This is not going to go well and I don't know what the fuck to do and now I want to cry but I shouldn't in fucking public and fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. The tears are literally blocking my complete vision and the wind is making it worse and, please, make the tears go back into my fucking godforsaken skull. But, just fucking great, they fall anyway and I quickly wipe them away with the back of my hand. Okay, composure. Calm the fuck down and just focus on stopping. I squeeze my eyes shut as hard as I can to see if that will work but it only makes it fucking worse because the tears are squeezed out too and fuck, fuck, fuck. I open my eyes feeling dizzy while they adjust and I wipe away the final tears, but it's not fucking enough for me. I want to find the nearest wall and smash my head into it. I want to see my brain squish and pour into my hands and have to live to see it but I can't and never will be able to because brains don't work like that even though I wish they did. I settle for smacking myself repeatedly with the heel of my palm. I want my brain to swirl around and jiggle like Jell-o and slow down to leave it a big pink mush. Fuck it if people say it's gray or white or fucking purple. It's pink in my eyes because that is more interesting than a fucking lump of gray shit sitting in my skull marinating in all of my stupidity. I'm hitting myself harder and faster and I deserve it because I fucking suck and—

I squeal because my arm is violently torn away from my head and that bitch is back and staring at me like I'm some kind of abomination and it feels like this moment is frozen and it feels so slow and why the fuck are her eyes so mesmerizing and why do I notice her freckles and what the fuck is wrong with me I can't believe she saw that fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck me, fuck me, I fucking suck, I should just go kill myself now before I do anything that makes me look stupider than I am now, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. "What the hell are you doing, stop that," she yells. She grabs both of my arms now and looks me straight in the eyes and I can't breathe and this moment feels like forever until it's shattered when she breaks eye contact to start dragging me again along with her. What the fuck is even happening? This is all going by too fast for me.

"I thought you were going to leave me," I yell for her to hear me over the wind. I said it so shakily and broken from my pathetic crying and, oh my fucking god, she probably thinks I'm a freak or something by this point. She's hardly even acknowledging me but I don't know if it's because she can't hear me over the wind or not. She really needs to stop tugging me places. It's getting on my goddamn fucking nerves and it's so tempting just to rip myself away from her, flip her off, and then go my own way. But everyone knows that I would never have the guts to do something stupid like that.

Her grip is getting tighter and the tighter it gets the more the amp slips in my hands. I'm making it very obvious that I need to stop and get my grip back on it again but either this bitch is completely oblivious or ignoring me. I don't understand why she's in such a rush. I mean, sure, we've got to leave quickly, but why the fuck does she find it necessary to manhandle me around like this? This whore may be helping me but I think I hate her. I've just got to use her for right now… god, that's such a fucking horrible thing to say. It's true though. I'm only looking out for my best interest even though that sounds so selfish and is abusing the kindness of a stranger. But, I'm just so desperate to leave and I know I'm a fucking typical melodramatic teenage girl but I just can't anymore. I can't go to school and get bad grades and be ignored by my supposed "friends." I can't go home and cry myself to sleep. I can't handle the thoughts anymore. I'm going crazy and I don't know how to stop. Even though hope is a pointless thing to feel, I really do hope that getting away will actually make me better and not worse.

I can tell we're headed to this beat up car idling on the curb that looks like if I even touch it it'll fall apart. I can't even see who's inside of it because it's so dirty and foggy. When we get to the car, she violently rips the car door open and that bitch snatches the amp from my hand and pushes me into the backseat of the car where I nearly fall on my face on the dusty ass car seat. When I hit the seat a poof of dust is released into the air and, fuck, I can't stop coughing. The smell. It smells like they've been smoking all types of shit in this car for ten years and never even bothered to crack a window. Anastasia quickly slams the door shut once she's inside and puts the amp in the space between us. The car gets rolling and we're supposedly moving but it's hard to tell with these dirty ass windows.

The driver adjusts the rearview mirror so that they can see me and I can see her and, wait, what the fuck? She does not look like she's at least sixteen. She looks like she's twelve or something and she's wearing a ridiculous hunting hat. My complete horror must be written on my face or something because she starts snickering as soon as she sees me. "Holy shit, Anastasia—"her voice is creepily low and gravely for such a young looking girl, "—who is this?"

Anastasia swivels around to me and mocks her deep voice, "Yes, who are you?" I don't know what about this seems to amuse me so fucking much that it's making me giggle like a fucking bitch. Maybe I'm just giddy from being such a badass. Yeah, that's right. Me. I'm a badass. I'm the person that lives on the wild side and doesn't give a fuck about consequences and I'm now a free woman. In Spanish speaking countries they have Quinceañeras where you're a woman when you turn 15. By that logic, I'm considered a woman already. Therefore, I can be as independent and badass as I damn well please. They're both looking at me like I'm a fucking insane bitch. I just know it. Their eyes are filled with judgment. I bet they're questioning my existence right now.

Fuck, I'm such an idiot. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck me, fuck, fuck, I should kill myself now, fuck, fuck, fuck. I stifle the impulse to hit myself in the head. Stop overreacting, you whore. Get yourself together. Stop being an attention whore. Just shut the fuck up, bitch. You don't deserve life. Go grovel to live or kill yourself now, you fucking bitch whore. You would be fine if you just died now and everyone else would be relieved that you're gone. Don't ignore the fact that everyone hates you. They just pretend they don't because you're just that fucking pathetic.

God, why the fuck do my thoughts have to do this now? What is this fucking chaos? Stop it, stop it, I don't know what's even going on anymore. Just get it out of my fucking head, please.

"White girl, are you gonna answer or not?" I'm pulled from my thoughts back into the real world, thankfully. I'm actually glad that I'm around people right now. There is hardly ever anyone around most of the time to do that for me. Being alone is dangerous. Thinking is dangerous. The unreal world is an extremely scary place.

"Uh, y-yeah. Hi, my name is Bee," I say as cool as I can. But that's not cool at all. All I've been doing is embarrassing myself since I've got in this car. Since I've talked to Anastasia. Since I've even seen Anastasia. Since I was born. Since I was a fetus. Since I was a zygote. Since I was just an idea. All just big fails that I've fucked up. Fuck the day when Dad wanted to have sex with Mom and made the most fucked up thing in the whole fucking world and just watched as it clawed its way out of her fucking vagina and swallowed their fucking time and fucking bank accounts.

"Aww, isn't she cute," she says, diverting her eyes from mine and back onto the road. This sends some kind of fucked up pleasure through me. It's this shock that runs over my body in an instant and warms my heart and it makes me… actually feel cute. She's got to be lying though. She's pretty. Prettier than me. People prettier don't actually mean what they say when they call ugly people cute. I guess I wouldn't really know though since there isn't anyone uglier than me. She doesn't mean it. "I never thought I would see someone whiter than Anastasia," she says and she starts laughing so hard that she's snorting. It's actually really disturbing.

"Oh my god, I keep telling you guys that I'm olive toned." Anastasia tries to stand up and see herself in the rearview mirror. I don't get the point of that. Doesn't she already know from memory what she looks like?

"Bitch, could you sit the hell down before you get us pulled over?" I slightly flinch. She talks like my mind. She's mad. It's scary.

But, again, she laughs. I don't get it. Is she mad or what? This is all so weird. I feel like I'm in a dream. Maybe I'm in a video game. Maybe I've never been real. Maybe I think I'm alive but I'm not. Is anything real? What if nothing exists? What would I do? Should I just keep doing what I'm doing? I'm so confused.

"Damn, Ashley, what the fuck happened to these windows and what in the hell are you even wearing?" Anastasia says while buckling her seatbelt. This reminds me and I buckle mine as well. I'm still kind of out of it so I'm listening to these words that bounce around in my brain but never stick. My brain is a piece of shit. If I could I would slap it to make it work properly.

"Oh, shut up. You know I ain't got no license." In the rearview mirror I can see her roll her eyes. This should make me concerned but I don't give a fuck.

"Yeah, but you could've found a better hat than that redneck hunting shit on your head," Anastasia scoffs. It's true too. My eyeballs want to abandon my skull from the neon orange radiating from her head. "Who did you even get that from?"

"I saw it on a bench at a park." She giggles like a naughty schoolgirl. Anastasia laughs with her and I feel like I should be laughing too but I can't bring myself to fake it.

Anastasia's laughter fades. "Hey… You don't think that he'd mind, right?" I have a feeling that she's not talking about the previous owner of that disgrace to all things worn on heads. Anastasia looks worried, my brain tells me. I didn't ask for its fact but I don't care too much anymore.

Bitch number two bites her lip a little. "I… I hope not." I'm scared now. I don't really know what's going on but I can take a guess. There are more of these guys? Are they like some exclusive access club? Are they all like me? They'll understand though, right?

Oh my god, shut the fuck up about your fucking hopeless optimism. All hope is now squashed because of this tiny micro-dick in my brain being a fucking asshole. I would look in horror at all of this bullshit but all of this is taking place in my brain. It's a sack of meat loaf. Completely useless and unappealing. I don't like meat loaf.

I want to ask where we're going and what's going to happen next but I'm too zoned out and scared to say anything. I'm not here. I'm outside of the car. Outside of the city. Outside of Earth. I wouldn't be able to breathe in space though so I guess I'm just in the clouds. That would make sense. I think. I have different transportation than these people, obviously. They probably just don't know about it. I would tell them but then it would get crowded up here.

I think they're talking but I can't hear them properly. I hear the sounds but it feels like they are speaking a different language. I'm trying to grasp onto some words but they make no sense. All I know is that I'm not at home. But I'm also in a better place than there. I feel safer here than at that shithole. A lot better than I feel at school. I'm too tired to learn anymore. It's agonizing just to be in the middle of being a try-hard and a dumbass who doesn't try at all. I don't need school because I don't need life. Life isn't a need. It's optional.

I jump a little when I feel something brush my shoulder. I'm able to focus on my surroundings now and the words snap back to English. Fucking confusing me by talking in another language. Bitches.

"Bee, what's wrong with you? I thought you were serious about this." Anastasia looks upset when my shitty eyes finally decide to focus on her. What is making her freak out like that? I haven't done anything to deserve this.

"But I am." My voice sounds soft like a baby. At least I think so. Hearing and seeing and feeling and thinking aren't registering in my stupid brain. If I were pregnant and my brain was my baby then I would have an abortion.

Anastasia shakes her head. "Whatever. I don't know what you were doing but we were talking about important stuff." She pauses and I think I'm supposed to say something but I have no idea what so I'll just keep quiet. "Look, we may not be able to let you stay—" A flash of pure fear and adrenaline rush through my whole body in an instant. My whole soul shrivels up inside and I now want to curl up and die. I want to be sacrificed to the god I'm forced to believe in. Like cockroaches that people in Asia eat, I want to have a big stick shoved up my asshole and be eaten alive by someone so much larger than me that when I'm eaten up I have my own universe inside them. Earth is their stomach and the acid is the polluted ocean. I will try to hit my head against the walls of their stomach but it'll be too soft for me and it'd actually be a fucking place where I could live instead of with these fucking strangers. "—because we don't really have a lot of room and Michael won't like it but screw him because he has money." I almost sigh from relief but I don't want to look stupid or something so I refrain from doing so. I feel a little bit better now. I'm back into the shitty smelly car again and I am glad because I never have people like this in my life. Well, my life before, I guess. I'm adopting this new life now. And I don't even know what I'm signing up for. "He's even got his own house. Can you believe that?" I have a feeling that this pause isn't for Ashley to answer.

"I don't know." I can't think of a better answer to make myself look less stupid. I'm looking stupider and stupider by every second and I don't know how to stop being a dumbfuck because dumbfuckery is a terminal disease with no cure that I am plagued with for the rest of my fucking life.

"Jeez, you sound so bored. It's freaky," she says. I flinch. I don't know how to look at this. Is freaky good or bad? Should I ask her? My vocal chords freeze up and I can't say anything even though in this moment my life is changing forever and I'm not even fucking participating in it.

Bitch Number 2 squeals like a chimpanzee. "Oh my god, this is soooo exciiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiting. Everyone's going to love her she's so cute oh my god where did you find this adorable shy little girl oh my god everyone will love her and I will make her be my bitch so that I can use her as a disposable snuggle source and I will love her forever and be her sugar-mama so she will never have to worry about her past life again."

Anastasia kicks her seat. "Ashley, you can't just go around saying shit like that." She rolls her eyes even though I'm the only one who sees it. "You might scare her." She looks at me dramatically because this whole thing is a joke and it is one where I can actually find it humorous kinda and she says, "Bee, are you scared? Are you a bitch? Are you a snuggle source?"

It's so hard to say something. It feels so long before I say something because I feel like I'm forever deciding what to say. I feel so frozen. I don't know what to do or say—"Ha, yeah. I'm known to be the best snuggle bitch on the block." I can't believe I said that. I think my face is red as fuck and how the fuck did I say that and didn't I just make a super long pause so how are they acting so cool and why in the fucking fuck did I say that? That shit is not okay to say in real life. Fuck, fuck, fuck, why did I have to say that?

Anastasia snickers. "Oh my god, look at her. She's so cute and feisty, I totally knew she wouldn't be that shy, didn't I tell you?" Except I am shy and not feisty.

Ashley laughs really hard and I think my face is really red and I'm embarrassed I said that and—"No, you really didn't," Bitch Number 2 says. She starts laughing so hard that I don't know if she's even driving properly but I stopped giving shits about my safety a long time ago. She starts inhaling so hard and then laughing it out and then letting out this insanely loud snort. This is the weirdest laugh I have ever heard in my pathetic existence but maybe that's because I only hang out with my "friends" at school. The type of friends that I eat lunch with and sit next to in class so I'm not completely alone and just pretend I have friends on my MMO. "Oh my god, I need to wipe off my tears but I'm driving." Bitch Number 2 says this but it's really hard to understand because she's being a bitch so loud I can't fucking hear anything.

Anastasia unbuckles her seatbelt and violently wipes Bitch Number 2's eyes with her thumbs from behind. She squeals and moves her head to the side. I can feel the whole car shift because Anastasia has to be a bitch about everything. "There you go. Happy, bitch?" Anastasia says smugly.

"No! That made it worse and I almost crashed because of your stupid ass. Jesus, Anastasia. Control yourself and put your seatbelt back on before I get out of this car and whip you until you're another ethnicity." I don't even know if she's serious or not with her tone since it sounds so fucking serious but I'm trying not to laugh now. The corners of my mouth curl up for a second but I'm trying so hard to push them down. I don't know why I'm trying not to laugh. It's funny and I'm supposed to laugh in this situation, right? Am I even in this conversation? It felt like they were talking about me instead of talking to me. This is way too much to take in at once and why the fuck am I here? I should be at home playing my game but I'm outside in some car with strangers and for some fucking reason I'm deciding to possibly fuck my life over. Should I back out now? But then I'd get in huge ass trouble and go to his fucking funeral anyway.

Fuck no.

At least they're funny. Their banter is actually kinda endearing. It's a relationship I've always dreamed of having. Besides the "friendships" at school I only have my online friends who are really cool and all but my idea of fun isn't all just fighting monsters online with people I've never met. It's weird but I want to snuggle with someone. When I look at Anastasia I just want to snuggle with her. I'm being so fucking creepy right now. Now I want to say sorry to her but then I realized that I was only thinking this. At least I'm safe inside my mind.

"Nigga, you can't tell me what to do. I am independent and I don't need no man." Whoa, whoa, whoa. Holy fuck, did she just say the N-word? But… But… She's white. She may be olive skinned but this bitch is white as fuck. Oh my god, the other bitch is so going to yell at her and then they'll fight and then I'll be in the middle of it and—

Bitch Number 2 makes that snorting hyperventilating laugh. "Aw shit, look what you just did. You scared the shit out of our guest." Wait. So now they're talking to me? I can say witty shit online but god fuck it, I don't know what to say to that. Did I really look that scared? Oh my god, what if all of my emotions were written plain on my face and all this time these bitches saw everything but didn't say anything to be nice? Fuck, fuck, fuck, tell me what to say, god damn it.

"Aww, Bee. It's okay to say nigger as long as they consent to it," Anastasia says matter-of-factly. That doesn't make me feel better at all. That logic is kinda fucked up.

"No… It's, like, I don't care." Which is true. "It just, like, caught me off guard." I can't look at them while I talk. I just fiddle with the hem of my sweatshirt like a little fucking bitch. And I can totally call myself a bitch because I consent to it.

Anastasia whispers to Bitch Number 2 but it's not really whispering considering she's just using a normal person's voice compared to her very loud voice. "Oh my god, wasn't that cute?" Anastasia says. Clearly. I don't even have to strain myself to hear her. I wonder if she's purposefully doing that or not.

"Shut up, Anastasia. Jesus. I'm trying to drive and you're being an annoying ten year old bitch. We're almost there so annoy me when I'm not trying to transport your ungrateful self home." Bitch Number 2 sighs really loudly as a final gesture to show her apparent frustration. I'm scared. She's now mean like my mind.

Anastasia pouts. I don't know if she's actually upset or not. It's making me uncomfortable not knowing. What is too far to joke with her? Is the atmosphere tense in here or is it just me? Usually this is the time where I start preaching about friendship but I don't have a fucking keyboard right now and I don't even know if these bitches are fucking friends. I know I'm not their friends. I seriously just met these people and I'm seriously in a fucking car with them going who fucking knows where and what the fuck was I thinking oh my god is this a mistake. What options do I have? I've thought this over so much and I only have fucking two. Only two. Only fucking two. I'm supposed to choose between suicide and leaving home forever with strange girls? Oh fuck, what if this was the wrong choice and I was really meant to wind up dead with a bottle of fucking useless pills in my hand that won't do shit and what am I even thinking? I'd never be able to successfully kill myself. I might as well live and go with these bitches to their pimp or gang and have them murder or rape me. It'd be easier if someone else did it anyway. Fuck, fuck, fuck, how do I get my hands to stop shaking. They'll all look over at me and see my hands shaking out of fear or adrenaline or something. I don't even know what I'm feeling right now but my hands have a mind of their own and being serious fucking bitches.

Anastasia squeals in delight or whatever fucking emotion that is and it snaps me out of it. I don't know if this is a good thing or bad thing that her squealing was annoying enough to bring me back to this shit place called reality. I don't know what's shittier; my world or the real one. Fuck, fuck, fuck, can this shit just stop already? Please. For once can I just feel? I want to be happy like her but then I wouldn't be me.

Wait, wait, wait. That's the point, right? Me changing? Me becoming someone better? Someone new? Someone who isn't the recluse named Beatrice Miller. I want to be like Anastasia. I want to change. I'll go to reality. I'll do anything to change. I don't want to be Beatrice anymore or ever again. Fuck her. I'll be my own person. I'll—

"Look, we're here!" Anastasia bounces up and down in the seat causing a fuckload of dust to rise out of the cushion. It's so irritating and I can't stop coughing. If she weren't my only hope in life I'd like to glare at her and maybe even smack her. I've never smacked anyone before but I've always thought of it and how satisfying it must be. But that's domestic abuse or something. I can't do that. It's bad. It's like those times Dad did it to Mom when he was drunk as fuck. But I don't care about them anymore. They aren't my parents. I'm not their daughter. I'm a new person and it feels so good.

Bitch Number 2 turns the car off and unbuckles her fucking seatbelt. Anastasia whips her seatbelt off and rips open the poor car door before I can even figure out how the fucking seatbelt works. I look at the space that was between us and notice she left the amp but kept her violin case with her. I'm apparently getting out too slowly because they're both out before I can figure out how to open the fucking door that feels like it's going to fall off if I'm too rough with it. Once I get out of that disgusting filth-mobile the brightness burns my eyes. And it's a fucking cloudy day. Are you shitting me? My eyes must be fucked up or something. Or it could be the fact that the car is smeared with mud making it fucking dark as fuck in there. God.

Once my eyes adjust there is this shabby house with the white paint peeling off of the sides and a walkway covered with grass and weeds. It's skinny and I wonder if it goes really far back to make up for it. I don't even fucking know. All I can tell is that no one has ever given shits about this house's exterior and the bitches are already running to the door. I hate running. I'll just fast walk over there. My shoes look green and wet now. At least they're not all white, I guess. My inner self is shaking with adrenaline and excitement. Jesus fucking Christ this is amazing. Everything feels so good and my whole body is all excited and shit. I wonder if this is what happiness feels like. I can imagine all of the funny things happening because of how amusing their banter was on the ride here. It's so fucking exciting.

They left the door open which is retarded of them. It's cold, you dumb bitches. They don't have a doormat which upsets me and kills my excitement. Now I have to pathetically scrape my sneakers against the concrete making a disgusting noise. Ew.

Once I step in it's the exact same deal as the car. It's saturated in smoke and dark as fuck and the secondhand lung cancer is giving me breathing problems. I cough all disgustingly but immediately stop when the bitches meet beside me. This is scary. I'm scared. I don't know what to do. Everything is so new and I don't know what's about to happen.

"Oh my god, this is so excitiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing!" Screeched Bitch Number 2. I hate the way she says that. I want to smack her too. She's bipolar as fuck.

There's a staircase in front of us and a tall man probably in his early 20's walks down while lighting his fucking cancer stick. "Oh, there he is!" Anastasia screams. She really needs to be quieter. It's giving me a headache with all of this reality shit. "Michael! Oh my god, we—"

"Who is this?" He stares directly at me and it's like he's penetrating into my brain or something because it hurts like fuck with those weird black eyes. I don't know what to do. Fuck, fuck, fuck, this isn't the reality I thought I'd be getting. It hurts. It fucking hurts. "Who is this, Anastasia?" He yells it louder now and I shrink into myself. No, no, no. I don't want to be here now. Please kill me now and get it over with. I don't want him to be angry because of me.

"Michael, this is that girl I was talking about—" She steps forward and I'm so scared. She talked about me. What'd she say? Fuck, fuck, fuck, I don't want this anymore. Let me go home to my MMO.

He grabs her arm violently and holy fuck this is not what I wanted to happen. I like her. I don't want to see her get hurt. And it's all because of me. No, no, no, I don't want this anymore. Stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it please—

"Anastasia, I don't fucking care. I can't shelter anymore trash and especially not someone already privileged as fuck," he spat. No, no, no, no, no, this can't be happening. Please no. He's going to hit her like Dad did to Mom and I can't do anything. I can never do anything. I'm unwelcome privileged trash and he'll beat Anastasia because of it and it's all my fault. I should've never talked to Anastasia in the first place. If I just stayed out of her life this wouldn't be happening and she wouldn't be in this situation. He's going to hurt her and I don't want to see it and I can't do anything and, like, stop it please. Just stop. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it.

"Michael, it's not like that," she screams at an insanely high pitch. "Let go of me!" She struggles in his grip and it's scary and what the fuck is happening and I didn't want this. I want to be someone else but not someone who has to witness violence that's my fault. He should be doing that to me instead. I deserve it more.

Please stop it.