|Lips Burn Caustic
Author: patsylooj PM
so, he's a homophobe and emophobe. he's gay and emo. he acts like a cat, he's a vain vocalist, she's pissed, he's a psycho killer, he's wearing lady clothes, they're making out, and that song title makes no sense. the hell. to the myspace degenerationRated: Fiction T - English - Angst/Humor - Chapters: 34 - Words: 231,544 - Reviews: 265 - Favs: 82 - Follows: 56 - Updated: 09-15-11 - Published: 10-14-07 - id: 2426465
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
LIPS BURN CAUSTIC
One: The End.
"Now come one, come all to this tragic affair
Wipe off that makeup, what's in is despair
So throw on the black dress, mix in with the lot
You might wake up and notice you're someone you're not.
If you look in the mirror and don't like what you see
You can find out firsthand what it's like to be me
So gather 'round piggies and kiss this goodbye
I'd encourage your smiles, I'll expect you won't cry."
-My Chemical Romance
How are you today?
I wanna fucking die.
My eye twitches in the mirror.
These annual morning conversations with my mind need to stop. Especially since they're held in the bathroom and I'm pretty sure it's starting to creep my family out to find me staring grimly into the mirror. It's boring anyway. I wanna fucking die everyday. Old news. Besides, I'm not really that suicidal. If someone handed me a gun, I couldn't just pop in my mouth and pull the trigger, no matter how much I want to die. My type of dying needs to be taken lightly. It's more like...I just want to get away. Forever. I wouldn't want to shoot myself in the head anyway. Too messy.
I'm at this stage in my life where I hate everything. Okay, so some things I only dislike, but everything else I absolutely detest. Sure, sure, every teenager goes through this sort of thing, but, come on, I've gone over this dying thing for so long now. Aren't there some days where I should be able to accept the fact that I am where I am and trudge along through it all? What's so unbearable?
There is school. Heavy text books, tests, grades, vicious teachers, barbaric students, future, future, and more future being crammed down my throat. But, hey, I'm used to it by now.
Well, my dad is dead, too. That doesn't affect me too much, though. Some days it feels like my dog died. I don't mean to sound so degrading, and maybe one day I'll suddenly break down sobbing over him because I did like him. I'm just not that emotional over it, and I do hate that fact. It makes me feel more heartless than I'd like to be. That's hard to avoid.
So, there's those two aspects of my life that contribute to my hate and strong desire to die a.k.a. get away forever. Any other benefactors? There is my appearance. Every teen must detest something about their appearance. It's the Law of Adolescence.
Let's see. I'm short for being fifteen. 5'5". I feel short, at least, but I'm also very skinny, thanks to my metabolism. I'm kind of naturally tan, not that it matters. I think I'm even paler than I should be, sadly enough.
I balance on my the tips of my feet and hold onto the edge of the counter, leaning over the sink to get a view of myself in the mirror that's closer than anyone would want to look at themselves. Um...I have nearly invisible acne on my forehead. Virtually everyone does, so unless a very attractive girl wants to pet my forehead, I'm fine.
My hair is kind of frustrating. It's very black, no brown at all, but it can't decide on being curly or not. It's long in the front, kind of swept to the side, yet not over an eye or anything. I have lots of kinks. They pop out of the waviness and it gets really annoying. I brush ebony threads from my gray eyes. A dark ring of eyelashes surrounds each of them. Sounds attractive, right? Yeah, for a GIRL. My nose is even too feminine. It's so small and...disgusting.
According to girls in the eighth grade who decided I was going to confide in them during lunch (which I wasn't), I'm cute. So is Pikachu. Great.
I think that happens every morning as well. I go over my appearance. Surprisingly, it never lowers my ego too much. I guess I'm used to it by now, and it's also hard to lower my ego much more. I settle back onto my feet and step away from the sink, squinting at my reflection.
So, all of that is pretty common.
I wanna fucking die.
So, where's my reason to "die"? Like I said, every teenager wants to curl up and cease to exist for awhile because of school and their appearance, and my dad doesn't affect me enough.
I just so happen to have noteworthy little detail to my unfortunate life that should be entering in on the scene at any moment. I glance over my shoulder into the dim hall way. Moments later, Everett enters into the bathroom silently. I glare at him and he nudges me away from the sink with his elbow. I stumble back and plop onto the toilet. I continue to glare while he begins to brush his teeth.
Everett is my brother. He's naturally tannish like me and he has naturally black hair like me. Only two similarities; otherwise, he's taller than me, five foot eleven inches, and I wouldn't be surprised if he grew another inch. He's much leaner than me and could beat me up if he felt the need to. His hair is straight and falls neatly over one hazel eye. He actually looks like a guy with a strong jaw and straight nose, maybe a bit boyish still. He's only one year older than me.
He's always way more immature and annoying and-
WHAM. The tube of toothpaste (Aquafresh Kid's, Bubblegum flavor) whizzes past my head and lands in the bathtub, knocking over a blue bottle of Bed Head. "Holy crap, you could have killed me!" I exclaim, hugging the back of the toilet for support from my near slip off of it.
Everett is facing me, his purple toothbrush sticking out of the side of his foamy white mouth as he chuckles. It shifts then drops and clatters onto the white tile. He frowns down at it and so do I, but I'm ten times more disgusted. "Oops." He picks it up, leaving fizzy specks in its place, spits, rinses it quickly, then places it back in the holder. He wipes his mouth on a towel. I proceed to inwardly freak out.
"No, I couldn't have killed you," he retorts belatedly, opening a drawer and taking out what looks like a coin purse but bigger.
I narrow my eyes at him. "You could have hurt me-"
"You're the one sitting there all staring at me and whatever. Kid, that just gets creepy after a certain amount of time. I had to make you snap out of it." He unzips the enlarged coin purse and rummages through it before plucking out what is undoubtedly eyeliner. Oh, so it's makeup bag. My cue to leave.
I stand up and take two steps toward the door before it's slammed. I look up and Everett is, for some reason, holding the door closed. My eyebrow arches and he smirks down at me, eyeliner held primly between his fingers, a little black nub sticking out from the top. I shudder at the sight.
"What are you doing?" I growl. "Are you going to try to put that on me or something?"
"Oh, I'm not that cruel, darling," he croons, suddenly moving the pencil beneath my chin like he's aiming a gun. Holy crap. In my case, eyeliner is equivalent to a gun. I back away immediately and slide my back down the wall, squishing myself into a corner.
"Okay, then, what do you want?" Really. It's early in the morning, an hour before school, and my barely older brother is holding me hostage in the bathroom with eyeliner as his weapon. What the hell is wrong with my life.
"Can't I, as your brother, tell you factoids of my life that happen to be very important to me?" He slinks over to the toilet, which happens to face the corner I'm huddled in. His smirk takes on a twisted snarly look as he sits on the plastic seat.
Factoids of Everett's Life. HA. NO THANKS. Those I can live perfectly fine without. Correction: I can live better without them. Everett has this defect in his personality that is aimed at me. Basically, he enjoys cluing me in on what's happening in his life, and once I listen, I'm netted into it. It's suddenly part of my life as well. And when it comes to Everett, I don't know who would want to be involved in anything he gets himself into.
And they aren't factoids. They are hardcore facts.
Cluing me in isn't even the right phrase. Actually, it's the worst phrase to use. He's extremely frank with what he tells me, and he always hits me with the worst stuff at the worst times. It's like how girls used to chase me with those snap bracelets in elementary school. I knew it was coming, and while innocently pretending to play soccer during recess, some giggling chick would appear out of no where and SNAP! Excruciating pain would inflict my wrist and I'd look down to see some neon pink band wrapped around a reddening area on my arm. Then I would babble a lot while the girls pointed and cackle viciously at me, especially when I would try to pry off the bracelet and it'd keep snapping back again.
That's exactly what factoids of Everett's life are like. Hits me painfully, clings, and when I try to get it off, it keeps snapping back. For instance, he told me he thought he was gay mere days after my dad's death. Who does that. WHO DOES THAT? Then when guys at school started to do some "friendly teasing" about me being so short and what not, Everett said "I think I'll be emo. I like it. You'd look good in eyeliner." and tried to taint my eyes with things meant strictly for females. Like that wouldn't hurt my already weakening reputation.
I don't get it. Why does he need me to know all these things? All those words still haunt me when I think of them.
Oh, and guess what. I just so happen to be homophobic. Self-acclaimed, maybe, but homophobic nonetheless. Can life get any better?
"I'm going emo."
I guess life can get better. The first emo kid I saw made me want to gag. I think I did spit up a little bit of what I last ate. I'm now a self-acclaimed emophobe, and a very genuine one at that.
"I have a boyfriend."
WAIT. WHAT NOW?
That...I did not know. That is new news. I blink rapidly then rub my eyes and stare at Everett, gaping at this piece of information that has just been delivered. This vile piece of information. How could he? How could he? It's impossible! I open and close my mouth a few times. Words. Words. They're boiling in my esophagus.
"GUYS CAN'T HAVE BOYFRIENDS!" I shriek.
"Shh!" Everett holds a finger up to his lips. He's smiling behind it. His eyes are twinkling and he looks so damn happy can I please murder him?
"You...you...no. No. I won't believe it. I won't...why are you telling me? What makes you think I want to know? What? Don't you have friends you can tell? Can't you just not say anything? Can't you just not be gay?"
He points the eyeliner at me. A threat. "Pull yourself together, Roscoey," he orders quietly. I gulp loudly. "You better be glad Mom is in the shower and hope that Bosco did not hear any of that."
Bosco being my little brother. Yeah, I know. Rosco, Bosco. Beats me.
HE CANNOT HAVE A BOYFRIEND.
"YOU CANNOT HAVE A BOYFRIEND." I strain my voice to make it as quiet as possible. It hurts my throat. "And don't call me Roscoey." Everett picked up the stupid pet name at some point in life and I completely missed it or something, but he's been calling me that for as far back as I can remember. I despise it.
"But I do have a boyfriend." A sickening grin is blooming onto his face. His unnaturally white teeth blind my eyes. I whimper. My day is ruined. My life is ruined. I think this even ruins my childhood. No, the gay thing did that.
"I'll kill him," I announce.
"Oh. Oh no. That's one thing you don't want to suggest. When you meet him, you will feel guilty for saying that, I guarantee it. You see..." Oh, great. Everett's voice is suddenly coated with a honey glaze and his eyes are sparkling. I want to pour acid on his head. "His name is Mason, and he just so happens to be the sweetest thing ever. I mean, he's, like, irresistibly cuddly. He's so quiet and cute and anyone that sees him cannot possibly have one single bad thought about him. Those people would have to have no heart."
"I lost my heart when you told me you were gay," I inform gravely.
He laughs. "You've always been such a kidder, Roscoey..."
"No, I haven't. I didn't want to know any of that. I don't care. Don't tell me anything else, you're just..." I clench my teeth and blow air out of my nose, imagining it as smoke. I could injure him right now...to a great extent.
"Why do you have to be so mean about it? Brothers such as us should be able to talk to each other about such personal subjects. It's healthy for our worn bond." He bats his eyelashes oh, so innocently. I want to singe them and his immaculately groomed eyebrows.
"Worn bond? I want no bond," I tell him defiantly.
He doesn't look as insulted as I suspected. "If that's what you want, then...forget it."
"Forget it? Gladly. That's the best thing you've ever, ever said to me."
We stare at each other for a moment. Then he bursts out laughing. "JAYKAY! You can't just forget it, Roscoey. We've shared too much."
"Go to hell."
"You'll meet him on Friday."
My mouth hangs open until I gather my voice."...Excuse me? I will not meet your...your..."
"I WAS GOING TO SAY IT."
"Right, kiddo. Right." He turns the point of the eyeliner at the floor. What's that, my sign to leave? He can't just brush me off like some...what the hell am I saying, I need to get out.
"Can I go now?" I ask through grit teeth to make sure my notions are correct.
"Yes. Shoo shoo," he replies, waving me off with his hand.
I get out of there so fast I fall to the cream colored carpet once I'm out the door, which closes behind me fairly quickly. Everett likes his privacy when he's putting on makeup. I'd fall ten times as long as I escaped. I can't believe...I can't believe...HE CANNOT HAVE A BOYFRIEND. And I am not meeting him. Why do I need to? Why? I don't give a crap about this kid. I don't give a crap about anyone gay. They can go die.
I realize that was brutal. It depresses me. A little.
I look up and Bosco is staring down at me with an alarmed expression. I'm still on the floor, aren't I?
"Don't ask," I grumble, rising and brushing off my jeans before trudging back to my bedroom to retrieve my backpack. I don't bother to look back at my little brother. It's best that I don't. I really do feel bad for him. He doesn't deserve to have such a terrifying future ahead of him once he fully understands what's going on. It'll be easy for him to figure out Everett's gay, and maybe he even has a hunch. I don't know, I don't pay much attention to his life. My mom doesn't know Everett is gay, either. I really hope she never does. There's enough for her to deal with already. So, right now, I'm the only one privileged with the knowledge.
Everett has a boyfriend.
HE CANNOT HAVE A BOYFRIEND.
I think I twitched when I thought that. Great. That's going to hit me all day long. Why not add to my character with a little twitch here and there? Not like my friends care enough to notice anyway. The advantages of fake relationships sure are sweet.
Everett has a...HE CANNOT...
I wanna fucking die.