Winding Down

Everyone called me and Emma dykes in high school. We weren’t really, but two tomboys walking together in the hall, holding hands or not, were branded and labeled. It bothered me more than it did Emma, because she had a boyfriend who was a year younger than us who adored her, but I could still see it in her eyes when fish-drinker was written across our locker door. We never did do anything about it though, so it just continued throughout the years until we were juniors, and things just started changing all on their own.

We’d been like sisters since middle school; we watched the same cartoons on Saturday mornings, read the same books and practically breathed the same air. Sometimes we even traded clothes. It was Tuesday afternoon when we were sitting on her sofa, watching TV with her little sister while the family cat lay in my lap. Her dad, the town sheriff, stepped in shortly after the program ended and another began. He was an average man with thinning brown hair and a friendly grin. Emma had always hated her dad, but I could never understand why. He was always nice to me when I came over.

“I hate this show.” Kaitlyn whined, “Can we change it now?”

“Shut up.” Emma grumbled, turning up the volume.

“Em-ma!” she yelled, grabbing for the control.

“Kaitlyn, leave your sister and Ryan alone. You can watch TV later.” Her dad said, and patted both of us on the shoulders. Emma pulled away.

We exchanged pleasantries for a few minutes before he plopped down in the love seat and watched TV with us. As soon as the show was over, Emma tossed the remote to Kaitlyn and got up to go to her room. I followed her down the dark hall to her door, which was cracked right down the center from the time she locked her father out. She flopped onto her bed once we were inside and kicked off her shoes as I stepped in and closed the door behind myself. She propped herself on her elbow as I lay down beside her.

“I don’t get why you hate your dad so much. He’s such a nice guy.” I said, and she shrugged.

“So did you ever get your report done for English?” She asked, and I shook my head.

“Can you turn a light on? I can barely see.” I said, rubbing my eyes. Emma had foil and thick black curtains covering her windows. I’d always called her a vampire.

We talked for hours like we usually do when I go to her house, and when I finally noticed the time, it was well past nine o’clock and I had to leave. Emma followed me out of her room and all the way to the entryway as I slung my backpack over my shoulder and opened the door. She looked sad as I left, and she hugged me hard before I slipped outside and into the cold. She watched me as I walked down the street until I eventually turned the corner and headed off to my grandparent’s house. It wasn’t a long walk, but in the dark it’s never exactly been pleasant.

I kicked up little piles of snow as I passed, thinking about what book I was going use for my report. I loved to read, but I was a master of procrastination. The streets were mostly empty as I walked down them, except for the occasional car blaring its speakers with shitty music as it passed. When my fingers started to get cold, so I stuffed them in my pockets. When I was finally climbing the steps to the porch of my house, I was blowing into my cupped hands and shivering.

My grandma was sitting in her old recliner watching TV, not saying as word as I came inside. I closed the heavy redwood door behind myself and locked the deadbolt soundly, then passed in front of her to the kitchen to make myself a cup of hot chocolate. It was late before she turned TVland off and went to bed, and I’d had my sixth cup of hot chocolate when the phone rang. I jumped up and answered, but it was just a wrong number.

Usually Emma called me late at night, ranging from ten to four in the morning. I’d never known why it was always so late, but it’d never bothered me. When I first moved to Vermont to live with my grandma and grandpa in the fourth grade, I couldn’t make friends no matter how hard I tried until I met Emma in the seventh grade. The second week of being her friend, she called me at one in the morning, much to my grandparent’s displeasure. She thought I would be mad, but instead I was flattered that she wanted to talk to me. Since then, it was almost a nightly occurrence, unless she was grounded for her grades or mouthing off, which didn’t happen often.

But I knew her grades were fine so far and her mood had been fine that day, so I assumed she’d just call later. I took the cordless phone downstairs into the basement, which had been converted into a bedroom for me, and changed into my pajamas. In order to keep from waking my grandparents, I often slept with the phone to my chest, and over the years all it took was half a ring to wake me up and I’d already have the phone to my ear croaking out greetings.

But that night there was no phone call, which was a rare. The next day I met Emma at our usual place outside the back doors. She looked awful; her eyes were bloodshot and her skin was oily, her jaw length brown hair stringy and smoothed back. I quickly pieced together she’d had a bad night and that explained why I hadn’t received a phone call. She smiled at me as I approached.

“Hi.” She greeted me, her voice slightly scratchy.

“Hey, you ok?” I asked. She shrugged and nodded. She sniffed, her nose red and runny nose.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I think I’m getting a cold or something.” Emma never got sick. I nodded and just clapped her on the back as I held the door open for her. I knew better than to pressure Emma when she didn’t want to talk about something. So we went to the locker we shared and got out books for our first period class, engaging in small talk before the bell rang.

Class was really slow and boring like always, and my notes were sloppy until the dismissal bell finally rang. We split up for our second period, rejoined for third, and then walked to the cafeteria together, discussing homework. She looked exhausted. I shared my grape jelly sandwich with her, then sat around whining about classes some more for the rest of lunch. All in all the day was an average one, with nothing particularly good or bad happening until my eighth period teacher held me up to lecture me on my responsibility to turn in papers on time.

I was racing to my locker and throwing my books in when I got an awful headache. I ignored it at first and resolved to take two painkillers when I got home, but it only got worse as I shut the locker door. It felt like someone had stuck their hand in my skull and was squeezing my brain. I had to lean against the lockers and shut my eyes for a minute, breathing in deeply through my mouth, the smell of the dirty halls nauseating me. Then it was gone a few moments later, just like that.

I sprinted outside, but all the buses were gone by then. I moaned and doubled back into the building to the front office to call my grandpa and see if he could pick me up. When I finally made it three flights of stairs, there was a long line of people waiting for the phone, and it was an hour later before it was my turn to use the phone, like I was in the county jail. It seemed to take forever for the call to go through until my grandfather answered with a gruff ‘hello’, and then griped at me for ten minutes before agreeing to pick me up while the receptionist tapped her long, red nails on the desk. I apologized quickly before I left outside to wait.

The small group of kids outside waiting for their rides thinned out as I sat on the pavement watching, when finally my grandparent’s blue Volkswagen pulled up and honked. The whole ride he bitched at me as I repeatedly apologized. Inside the house, my grandmother had incense burning so strong it was sickening, making my head pound like a drum. I could hear my grandpa upstairs yelling at her as I climbed down the stairs into my room, where everything was messy and strewn out. My grandma threw open the door a few minutes later to tell me Emma had called earlier, so I took the phone from my bedside table and dialed her number. Her answering machine picked up.

“Hey Emma, its Ryan. I was calling to tell you I got hung up with a teacher, so that’s why I wasn’t at the busses. Call me later.” I finished, and then ended the call.

I tried to do homework for a while, but I got sick of trying and resorted to cheating with a calculator. When I was finished, I rolled around on my bed listening to my CD player for a while. When Emma didn’t call back two hours later, I gave up and started cleaning. I made my bed and picked up my clothes off the floors, then started dusting and straightening my books and video games on their shelf.

When there was nothing left to do in the house, I didn’t feel like reading or playing a game, so I left to take a walk. My grandparents never mind as long as I’m home before they go to bed at eleven. So I pulled my jacket tight around my shoulders as I strolled down the sidewalk leisurely, humming to myself as I went. One of the dog’s I’d known since childhood started barking and jumping against the fence as I passed. He’d always been a mean dog, so I ignored him.

The clouds were darkening when I finally got back, and when I asked my grandma, I still hadn’t gotten a call back. I watched old television programs with her until it was pitch outside. Several episodes of M*A*S*H flashed on and off the screen, replaced by the Adams Family later on. Finally my grandma flipped off the TV and went to bed, so I went to the bathroom. I was in the process of washing my face when felt a sharp pinch in my neck. My hand automatically clapped over where it had hurt and I rubbed furiously until the pain subsided. In case I got another headache later that night, I took two pain relievers before I even went downstairs.

I lay in bed for an hour clutching the phone to my chest, just staring up at the ceiling with an arm behind my head waiting unsuccessfully to get tired. As time passed, I couldn’t get comfortable no matter what. With my blankets pulled up I was too hot, with them kicked off I was too cold, with my pillow beneath my head it was too soft and without, the mattress was too hard. I was getting frustrated the more I glanced at my clock and Emma didn’t call. I started to wonder if I’d ever get to sleep.

At some point I finally shut down and dropped off. When I woke up, I couldn’t remember what I’d been dreaming, but I was shaking all over and sweating, the migraine back ten times over. Somehow it made the darkness seem as bright, and the smell of the detergent in my sheets stung my nose like raw chemicals, turning my stomach with sharp pains. Even the sound of my own heart thundered in my ears like a car stereo with the dials on full blast. When the headache finally subsided again, I fell asleep for a little while, until my alarm clock screeched at six thirty.

I nearly tripped over my own feet as I rolled out of bed and tried to stand upright in the darkness. It took me a long time to get ready, taking twice as long in the shower as usual, and then I was struggling to get my head in the right hole of my shirt. I slipped and fell on a patch of packed snow as I ran up to my bus, skinning my knee. I even tripped in the middle of the bus aisle. That September second was like my Friday the Thirteenth, because anything and everything that could go wrong did.

When I was finally back on solid ground, I took care to look where I was stepping as I met up with Emma. When I saw her, hair combed neatly and smiling at me pleasantly when, I was annoyed. In fact, I was outright mean, considering it was over a simple phone call. I snapped at her whenever she tried to apologize.

“Jesus, what crawled up your ass and died?” She huffed angrily, then left without waiting for an answer. In first period I started to feel bad about the way I’d acted. When class was out I apologized.

“It’s just that yesterday I missed the bus, and my grandpa wouldn’t let it go, and then I couldn’t sleep last night. I’m sorry for jumping you ass. It was pretty crappy of me.” I said, my face red as I thought about how bitchy I’d been over something so stupid. Emma smiled lightly, reaching over to put her hand on my shoulder, and I could tell she accepted my apology.

“You sure you’re not PMSing or something?” she teased.

“Yeah, I’m sure.” I smiled back now. She pursed her lips and looked me over.

“You’re right; you look like shit. When did you finally get to sleep?” She asked, and I shrugged.

“I don’t know. I think I had a nightmare or something, because when I woke up I was panicking and I had that headache again. It was weird though, because I took medicine for it before I even went to bed.” Emma frowned at that, but that was the last we talked about it that day after I made her promise she’d call me later on.

A full week passed and I didn’t have another problem. No headaches, trouble sleeping or bad dreams. Emma and I rarely ever fought, maybe once every blue moon, and even then we forgave each other within an hour or two. I thought things were at an all time high, because my grades were all B’s or better, and we’d been hanging out at each other’s house almost everyday. Emma’s dad even ordered us pepperoni pizza on Friday.

But when I woke up Sunday, my eyes were crusty with sleep and my stomach felt like I’d ate a bowl of nails for dinner the previous night. I felt so horrible I lay in bed for an hour after I woke up, my legs crossed until I thought my bladder was going to pop like a water balloon. As I sat on the toilet, I had to cover my mouth to keep from puking on the floor. When my grandma saw me stumbling back downstairs, she didn’t even open her mouth. So I lay in bed all day until Emma called that afternoon to see if I was still coming over.

“No.” I moaned, “I’m really sick. Maybe tomorrow.” I said, rubbing at my burning eyes.

“Can I come over? I can help out.”

“No, I don’t want you to catch whatever I have. Sorry. I’ll talk to you later.” I mumbled. We said our goodbyes, and she promised she’d call again to see how I was feeling later on.

Throughout the rest of the daylight hours and into the night I got worse and worse, tossing around in bed weakly, my body aching all over. My bed felt like a pile of rocks, and the air around me was stuffy and humid, my skin sticky with perspiration. My grandma brought me a glass of cold water when I had nothing else left in my stomach to vomit, which helped with the burning in my throat when it came up. After she took my temperature the third time, she started talking to my grandpa about taking me to the hospital when my fever finally broke. I started to feel normal again, slowly but surely, until I could sit up in bed and breathe normally without heaving. Emma’s second call came an hour later as I was up and about.

“Hey.” I answered, holding the phone between my chin and shoulder.

“So how are you feeling?” She asked.

“A lot better. It was weird; my fever kept going up and my grandparents were talking about taking me to the emergency room, and an hour later it started going down again. Now I feel fine. My grandma thinks I was faking the whole thing.” I went on explaining my symptoms. There was a silence on the other end as she mulled it over.

“Stomach flu?” She suggested. “It matches all your symptoms, but I don’t know. I don’t think I’ve ever known it to get so bad, then just let up like that.” We discussed it a while until I concluded I’d be at school the next day. When we were finally done talking, I was so hungry I felt like I could eat a horse. My grandma and grandpa had already eaten hours earlier, and neither felt like cooking again, so I scrambled myself six eggs with chopped ham. I cowed it all down hungrily, and then went back to the basement.

I wasn’t the least bit tired, so I flipped on the TV and watched cartoons until my alarm clock rang for school the next morning. As I showered, I felt stiff, my joints creaking like old boards. When I got on the bus, I started to feel the effects of staying up all night, but still my day went smoothly with little trouble as I managed not to fall asleep in any of my classes. I went to Emma’s house later that afternoon, and as we lay down on her bed talking, moved a little closer to study my face.

“You look different.” She said after a minute, leaning into my personal space. I’d never realized how great she smelled before, so without thinking, I told her so.

“You smell good.” I said offhandedly, changing the subject without meaning to. She blinked.

“What?” She asked.

“You smell really good.” I repeated, leaning forward slightly and sniffing. Our faces were barely a centimeter apart.

“Oh.” She muttered, raising her eyebrows and smelling her shirt. “No different than usual.” She tried to shrug it off.

“You do though.” There was an awkward silence that followed, and neither of us said anything. She cleared her throat and shifted on the bed. The conversation never really recovered after that, even though it was only a minor slip of the tongue.

When I went home, I felt like an idiot for flapping my lips. I stabbed my pen into the paper of my notebook with each word as I wrote my report, but my mind was off in other places, so I made several errors as I went. I scratched them out roughly, and then threw my spiral at the wall as I misspelled the main character’s name for the fifteenth time. I didn’t know why it irritated me so much in the first place. It took me an hour to calm down enough to write again. It wasn’t like I’d meant anything by it, all I’d said was she smelled good, anyway.

I finished some time around two that morning when I pulled my blankets up tight and tucked them beneath my chin, shutting my eyes tight and willing myself to sleep as I crushed the cordless to my chest. The phone stayed silent again that night. It was strange, because ever since Emma’s first call, there was seldom ever a night my phone didn’t ring. When I woke up, I didn’t feel quite right, so I skipped breakfast, and at lunch I gave Emma my entire sandwich. Later that afternoon when I got home, my stomach was a little upset, so I skipped out on dinner, too. For the next week my appetite continued to fluctuate from cramming food in my face, to lying in bed all day without an appetite.

It was two weeks more before the fluctuations stopped, and I began to feel like myself again. Still, the late night calls didn’t come anymore. Then Emma and I started hanging out less and less, but it hadn’t quite become so apparent she was avoiding me until I asked to go to her house one Saturday afternoon, and she said she had too much homework to do. When we hung up a few minutes later, I wasn’t sure what to think. Confront her at school on Monday? Go anyway and demand what was wrong? I knew her better than to believe her excuse; homework had never been a problem.

I was unhappy all that weekend, and she didn’t call once the entire time. I was careful not to get mad when I went to school Monday. She was waiting for me, and it was no more than a minute before I spat out what was bothering me. She’d been digging around in our locker when I started whining. She glanced at me briefly, and then stared off in the locker for a long time, supporting herself with one arm. When I prompted her, she finally answered.

“I don’t know Ryan, it’s just… your different.” I blinked.

“What do you mean? We’ve always been different from…”

“No, I mean you’ve changed. You’re not the same anymore.” Her answer stunned me. It hadn’t been what I was expecting at all.

“How?” Was all I could ask, and she grimaced, apparently having expected the question.

“That’s what’s getting me; I don’t know, but you have.”

“Well that’s a shitty answer.” I growled, starting to get upset. She turned her head and finally held my eyes. “I’ve been sick for weeks, off and on, ok? Would it kill you to give me a break?” I snapped. She took a deep breath.

“It’s not just since you’ve been sick, Ryan. I’ve noticed it for months now.” The anger melted away just then as I stared back at her wordlessly.

We didn’t sit together in class that day, and at lunch we were both silent and wouldn’t meet each other’s eyes. I kept thinking about how I’ could’ve changed, but came up empty. I couldn’t stop turning it over in my head the entire day, and when I got home, I sat in the basement just thinking about it. For the life me, I couldn’t note a single difference in myself. I went upstairs and took a good hard look in the mirror, and saw nothing different. It was the same face that’d been staring back at me for the past few months, but when I left the bathroom and went back downstairs, I stared hard at a picture Emma and I had taken together four months ago over summer break, thinking, when I noticed something out of place.

The girl sitting beside Emma looked like a stranger compared to my reflection in the glass of the frame. A girl just slightly shorter than Emma, with long blonde hair and green eyes were the only similarities between us really. She was round and chubby, her features soft and friendly. My reflection wasn’t completely different, but my eyes seemed different and my face a little thinner, and as I lifted my shirt to inspect my stomach, it looked like I’d dropped at least fifteen pounds in the past month. I hadn’t thought I’d been that sick, or eating that little.

I felt strange and out of place that night as I lay in my bed, like a stranger who’d broken into my house. Emma had been right; I had changed, and I had this feeling it wasn’t going to stop there. Maybe it wasn’t just my face, or my body. So as I lie in bed that night, the dream started before I was even asleep fully asleep.

I was sitting in a room with nothing but a bed and dresser with my knees pulled up to my chest, listening intently. I heard a woman crying in the next room, and stood up to see who it was. I crept out of the room quietly and down the hall toward the noise, passing a shelf of pictures that all looked like smudges when I tried to focus on them.

As I got closer to the end of the hall, it seemed to get longer and longer, and the crying grew softer but more frantic than before, like I was moving away rather than approaching it. My heart was hammering in my ears and I started crying too when I reached the end of the hall, like I’d just gotten in trouble. I peek around the corner nervously, afraid of what I might see. Then things just change, and I’m just a person looking in as a much younger version of myself stumbles into the kitchen where a woman is sitting in a chair bent over the table crying into one hand. I can’t see the other

“Mom?” I asked softly as tears ran down my cheeks, voice distant and muted. “Mom, what’s wrong?”

She wouldn’t answer me, so I moved up to her left side, fresh tears dripping from my chin as she tugged on the her shirt. She stood up and recoiled, as I followed, arms open to her, but she’s shaking her head and trying to hide her already blurry face, not looking at me, choking on sobs. Her mouth was moving, and I was crying harder by the second, but their voices were muted and distorted into silence. She begins to raise her blurred left hand.

When I woke up, I was covered in a cold sweat and my feet were like blocks of ice. I couldn’t go back to sleep that night, so I lay in bed with my blankets pulled tight around me. I got up an hour earlier than usual to shower, and forced down a slice of toast before I walked outside to wait for the bus. I began to regret it as I waited in the cold for fifteen extra minutes, my hair still wet. As soon as I saw Emma, I opened my mouth to say sorry, but she cut me off with words of her own.

“It was wrong of me to say that.” She said sheepishly, but I smiled and shrugged it off, not making her say anything else.

“So we’re cool again?” I asked.

“Of course,” She grinned, “want to come to my house after school?”

“Yeah.” I said, and with that I thought we’d patched things up. The day went by slowly because I was pleased to be invited back to her place, and when the time finally came it seemed to take forever before we were off her bus and stepping through her front door.

So things went down like they always did when I was there on a school day; watch TV in the living room and wait for Kaitlyn to get off her bus and come inside. Then we waited for her dad to come in, to which we slunk away to her bed room to talk about the same old things or do homework.

I’d always liked her room; dark and warm, her full bed big and soft. It always smelled nice, too, but this time I kept my mouth shut about it. So as we sat talking, there was a knock at her door, then her dad walked in without waiting. He looked a little surprised to see me, but smiled nonetheless.

“Hey, Ryan. Remember to do your homework, Emma.” He said, and patted her thigh, making her shift uncomfortably. As I watched, I couldn’t shake the feeling something was out of place. He turned and left after a moment, and I watched him stride down the hall and into the living room. When it was time for me to go home, I saw Mr. Walker watching me as I stepped outside. I took Emma’s wrist and pulled her out with me.

“Hey, call me tonight, ok?” I said, holding her eyes.

“Ok. I will.” She said, and I put my arms around her tightly.

“See you tomorrow.” I said, and then left.

I played with my food at dinner that night, trying to figure out what had rubbed me wrong about Emma’s dad. When I went to bed, I half expected my dreams or one of the awful migraines to wake me up, but at two twelve that morning it was my phone ringing on my bedside table. I scrambled to pick it up on the third ring, rubbing my eyes and sitting up in bed.

“Emma?” I asked, clearing my throat.

“Hey Ryan.” Emma answered softly. I leaned back against the wall.

“I was almost beginning to think you wouldn’t call. How long has it been since my two AM call? About a month, right?” She chuckled.

“Yeah, about. Haven’t really needed to talk in a while though. Got in a fight with my dad a few hours ago.” She said quietly.

“I’m sorry. Want to talk about it?” I tried.

“No, not really. I’d rather just listen to you tonight.” That was the typical answer to my question whenever I asked if she wanted to do the talking. Anytime she called, all she wanted was for me to talk, so it was really just a one-way call except for the rare intervals of conversational sounds to let me know she was still there. She was never picky about what I talked about, as long as it had nothing to do with her.

So I went on about all the things I hated about my grandma’s meatloaf, and the neighbor’s dog barking from sun rise to sun down until she finally said she was tired and she had to let me go. It took less than a minute before I was out again, comfortable in my little bed. I slept soundly until I had to get up and ready for school again. Weeks flew by, and Christmas break was fast approaching. Day by day, the changes in my appearance were subtle, but noticeable, and I could tell Emma saw it in me too.

The more time that seemed to pass, it was like I was getting sick, but very, very slowly. I had no energy half the time, and my surges of hunger were a thing of the past. Most days it was a miracle if I could even force a sandwich down. My mood wasn’t much better half the time, and I stayed irritable. Usually I could contain it around adults, and almost always Emma, but I snapped at my grandma when she started in on me about how I dressed. I spent more and more time with Emma, more than I ever had before. I was at her house every day of the week, and on weekends sometimes she was allowed to go to my house. So as we sat in my bedroom playing video games, we discussed plans for the break.

“I’m doing the usual; Frankie is coming down this year, too.” I grumbled. Frankie was my grandparent’s son, who’d been living with them before I’d ever moved in. We hated each other. Emma grimaced.

“You can always come over to my house.” She said sheepishly.

“What about you though? Isn’t your older sister coming over?” She shook her head.

“No. She’s staying with her boyfriend’s family.” She said. I nodded, glancing over at her out of the corner of my eye.

She was sitting cross-legged beside me, her hair tucked back behind her ears, biting her lower lip as she was playing. The way she was sitting, her T-shirt was pulled tight across her chest and the stretched collar hung off her left shoulder slightly. My eyes lingered on her breasts, and then she cursed, startling me into looking away.

“Shit. I just died. Your turn.” I kept my eyes glued to the screen after that, and stayed rather quiet. When she left later that afternoon I stayed back rather than her home. I excused it as being a horny teenager, and went along with my business the rest of the afternoon. By dinner I’d forgotten all about it. Later that night I got a call from Emma, which ended early into the morning.

Another three week interval, and then we were starting the last Monday before break. When I woke up, I felt hot with and had slight headache, but nothing compared to the migraines I’d had previously. My room smelled awful, and I was glad to finally get out of bed and clear of my room, but upstairs I was nearly choked out with incense. In the shower, all the odors of the house were dampened, and I was eager to get outside. I hoped the house would be aired out by the time I got back from school.

Outside was quiet, and the cool air felt nice on my skin for a little while until I got cold. In the bus, everyone seemed twice as loud as they yelled back and forth from across rows, until I was anxiously tapping my foot as we pulled up in front of the school. I was one of the first to get off the bus, and accidentally ran out in front of one the busses, which honked loudly not three feet away. I nearly jumped out of my skin, throwing my arms up like something was going to get me. My ears rung all the way to where Emma was waiting.

“What’s that look for?” She asked, laughing slightly at my expression. I just shook my head, grimacing. The entire day I was hypersensitive to every little sound and smell, making paying attention and eating difficult. Just running my hands over the smooth plastic school desks I could little divots in the surface with the pads of my finger tips alone. Throughout the day, it only got worse. I didn’t really notice the severity of it until lunch time when I got a whiff of an awful smell up the hallway. I scrunched up my face and gagged, clamping one hand over my nose.

“What?” Emma asked, looking over at me.

“You don’t smell that?” I moaned. She raised her eyebrows.

“Smell what?” My stomach turned and I was starting to get a pain in the back of my

head.

“It smells like one of the lunch ladies took a dump in the tuna salad!” I said as my eyes watered a little. She gave me a funny look, and sniffed.

“Well, just barely. Don’t you think your overreacting a little bit?”

“No!” As we got closer, it took me several minutes to adjust while Emma wrinkled her nose.

“It stinks, but not that bad.” She said, frowning like she thought I was making it up.

“Whatever.” I grumbled. “This shit’s ruined my appetite. You can have my sandwich.” I said as I thrust my brown lunch sack to her and pulling my shirt up over the lower half of my face. She just laughed.

“I’ll save one half for you anyway, in case you get hungry later.” She said. When lunch period was over I was relieved to finally get away from the stench. When classes got out later that afternoon, I was the third kid out of the class room and running down the halls to meet Emma again, where she stood waiting by our locker with the door open. I tossed my books in, and then we walked outside together to get on her bus.

Upon getting on, one of the boys we’d known since middle school stuck his head over our seat and started jeering at us loudly, though the kid beside him in the same seat was the only other one who joined in. Right when I was about ready to jump the seat and punch her in the face, the bus driver turned and screamed at us all to shut up or he’d write us all bus referrals. As we walked to her house, the ride was the main topic of conversation, and I was ranting loudly as we stepped over the threshold and into her house as she listened patiently. I went silent as I stood in the entryway, getting a strange tremor in my muscles.

There wasn’t much to be said after that, so we were silent as we watched out the window for Kaitlyn’s bus. When she came in, we let her watch her favorite television program first and went straight to Emma’s room. Neither of us had much to say to each other as we both lay on our backs staring at the ceiling. Even the smell of her house was a little overwhelming, so I rolled over and buried my face in her pillow.

“I haven’t washed that pillow in God knows how long.” She said, laughing. “Does it stink?”

“No.” I said honestly, my voice muffled. It actually smelled really good. Her scent, in a weird way, saturated her entire bedroom, but it was at its strongest on her bed and in her two pillows. I was reminded of when I told her how good she smelled.

Our visit ended earlier than it had the past few weeks because my grandma called to tell me to come home and help her clean house before Frankie got there Thursday. Generally it meant I cleaned the entire house while she sat in her recliner and told me how I was doing it wrong. So as I was slipping on my shoes I nearly ran into her dad as he stepped into the house. Moving on outside, Emma followed and left the door open as she stepped onto the snowy walkway in her socks and threw her arms around me in a hug. Without consciously thinking about it, I moved my head again her neck and sniffed lightly as my arms locked around her torso. I peeked over her shoulder to see her dad watching over us, and my arms tightened a little more around her.

“See you tomorrow.” I said quietly, looking at her briefly then meeting her dad’s eyes directly, forcing him to look away. There was another a bizarre tugging sensation in my stomach, like a cord being stretched.

When I got home, my grandma set me to work cleaning the kitchen first, then the rest area, doing the floors in both rooms until they were remarkably spotless. For once being the maid didn’t bother me, because the tasks was the only thing distracting me from thoughts of Emma’s dad. I called her as soon as my grandma let me finish for the night, vowing to make me clean up the bathroom and spare bedroom where Frankie would be staying.

“Hello?” she asked, and I could hear static distorted voices in the background.

“Hey, what’s up?” I asked.

“My dad’s making me and Kate watch TV with him.” She grumbled. “I’ll have to call you back later.” And with that I grumbled an unhappy goodbye. For some reason that set me off, an uneasy squirming in my stomach. I skipped out on dinner for the third night in a row.

I lay in bed trying to stay away and think, trying to work out in my head what exactly was bothering me about Emma’s dad all of the sudden. I’d never had a problem with him before; he was always nice and he was always so lenient with her over things, though he tended to be a little harsh with Kaitlyn most of the time. I had no reason to dislike him at all, but there was something about him that was starting make me uneasy, and the look Emma had given me was more than just wanting me to stay and give her an excuse to weasel out of the John Way marathons he put on every Monday night. But I was too tired to stay awake for long, and I began to drift off. Before my eyes were even shut, the ceiling warped and twisted until I saw myself sitting in the middle of my grandparent’s living room.

A large orange and white cat was laying in my lap purring softly as I stroked her fur, eyes closed. Her hair was so long and silky, it felt nice between my fingers. I scratched the velvety fuzz behind her ears and scratched hair under her chin, her purring growing softer and softer the more I petted her until she put her head down on my leg and went to sleep. I was thoroughly enjoying giving the cat attention when I heard loud banging as someone clambered up the steps of the porch. My head jerked up, but the cat lying across my legs stayed still.

A very young Frankie stepped inside, grinning and calling over his shoulder to his friends. In my place sat a younger version of myself staring up at him, wide eyed and frightened. I knew I wasn’t supposed to be petting the cat; I wasn’t allowed to touch her. He turned back around smiling before his eyes landed on me, his cat asleep across my legs. All amusement left his face instantly, and his eyes became shiny like they always did when he was angry with me.

He stormed forward, but stopped short when the cat didn’t even twitch her ears. His eyebrows fixed together, and he knelt down, meaning to take her from me, but she sagged off my lap limply. His face screwed up, and I felt my stomach sink miserably, not knowing what I’d done wrong, but understanding I was in trouble.

“What the fuck did you do, Ryan!?” he screamed. I shook from head to toe, tears dripping down my cheeks. All I could see was the terrified look on my own face for a moment, Frankie’s blotted from the scene, but his voice seemed to be sharper and louder the next time he spoke.

“What did you do!?” I jerked awake, shaking as I choked on a weak little sob, my eyes fluttering open.

I smoothed back my hair and swung my legs out of the bed, reaching down and rubbing each foot roughly in turn to get some feeling back into them before I stood up. I was too shaken to notice that I hadn’t needed to turn on the basement lights to find my way. In the kitchen I quickly poured myself a glass of milk and rubbed my eyes hard with my fingers, smoothing my sweat dampened heard back with one hand.

May had been the cat’s name. She had been Frankie’s cat for almost eighteen years. One evening when he was out, I was watching TV in the living room and I could hear her yowling from where she locked up in his bed room, so I had gotten up to let her out of the room. I hadn’t meant to touch her, because I knew Frankie would get mad if he found out, and staying on his good side had been hard enough without looking for trouble. But as I sat on the floor, she came and crawled into my lap, and it was just too hard to resist touching her. At the time, I didn’t know she’d actually died while I was petting her, not fallen asleep. Frankie still blames me for her dying, no matter how old she was.

When my grandpa later explained to me why Frankie had been so upset, I started crying. I felt bad for weeks, somehow thinking I’d killed her. When I tried to apologize to Frankie, he screamed at me and wouldn’t come out of his room for a week. He didn’t speak to me for a whole month afterward. He wouldn’t even look at me when we ate at the dinner table. I’d forgotten about it completely until then.

But this dream had me thinking all the way back to the one I’d had before it. As I struggled to remember what the young version of myself looked like, I tried harder still to recover my mother’s face. I couldn’t seem to recall any memories similar to the dream I’d had, because it made no sense in the jumble of my sleep boggled mind. When the sweat had finally dried, it left my skin feeling sticky, and I halfway debated taking an early shower, but decided against it in case I disturbed my grandparents.

I stopped and stooped slightly in the hallway to examine one of the hundreds of pictures lining the wall, focusing on a particular photo my mother grinning and posing for the camera, her long blonde hair falling down her back. Further down the hall was another set of pictures taken a few years back when I’d last seen her. Her eyes were different in this picture; lacking something. It jogged my memory back to the last fight I’d had with Emma when I’d seen my reflection in the frame’s glass. There was something in the photograph’s eyes that I was now completely lacking. It unnerved me as I stared at it, trying to pinpoint the impossible when the phone trilled in the living room, making me jump a foot in the air.

I straightened and dashed back down the hallway, nearly colliding with a chair as I skidded into the kitchen and yanked the phone off the base.

“Hello? Emma?” I gasped nervously, looking toward my grandparent’s room sharply to make sure they weren’t waking up. It was like when I was ten all over again. I relaxed slightly when her voice answered.

“Hey, Ryan. Sorry to call so late…” her voice was even softer than usual.

“No, no, it’s fine. Are you ok?” I asked, still watching my grandparent’s room.

“Of course.” She said butt sounding a little croaky. I began to ease back toward the basement.

“How about you? You sound a little panicked. Everything ok?” She asked.

“Yeah, fine.” I muttered, then opened the door and slunk down into the darkness below. Our conversation was short mostly because I couldn’t keep my mind in one place for long. I kept thinking about the three pictures over and over again; the two of my mother and the one of me and Emma. I kept trying to figure out what it was that made my mother and I so different from our older photos.

“I guess I’ll talk to you tomorrow…” Emma said, sounding a little sick. I was too wrapped up in myself to notice.

“Yeah.” I said, and hit the end button. I climbed under my sheets awkwardly and lay curled up in a ball to stay warm as I tucked the quilt under my chin.

When I woke up the next day it was half an hour before my alarm went off, and the smell of my room was outright overpowering. I didn’t know how I’d been able to stand it the night before. I ran clumsily up the stares and stood in the shower long after I was finished washing myself. I even ate breakfast outside on the porch in the freezing cold as snow flakes fell on my head rather than go back inside and suffer the smell of scented smoke that still clung to the walls and carpets of the house.

Even outside, everything seemed to stink like a landfill. From the trees I passed to the concrete I walked on, I could smell the slightest thing. On the bus, the stink of thirty human bodies, the old vinyl bus seats, mud on the floors and the ineffective heaters made my head pound until I thought I might puke. The sound of them all talking at once, screaming yelling, shrieking…. I shoved people out of the way in my rush to get out. I promised myself if things were that back every morning, I would get up an hour earlier and start walking to school no matter how cold it was. Emma was ready to head in when I met up with her, but I quickly asked if we could stay outside instead.

“Why?” She frowned. “It’s fucking freezing out here.”

“I know, but you remember when I told you about the thing with my nose and my ears?” She frowned a moment, then nodded that she did. “It’s getting worse.”

“I think you’re crazy.” She said, laughing a little.

“I’m serious, Emma.” I moaned. “It’s getting bad. The basement I’ve lived in for years smells like a tomcat cat came in and hosed the place! I thought I was going to suffocate before I got out!”

I suppose because we were outside it wasn’t particularly noticeable because the wind was constantly stirring things up, and being a couple feet apart from each other, not touching, I couldn’t really smell her. But when we sat together at the same back desk we usually sat at during first period, I thought I was going to die. Her smell was rolling off her in waves, making my mouth water, and a none to subtle ache started below the waist, making me shift uncomfortably in my seat. I knew I should’ve felt guilty, but skin alone wasn’t the only thing I could smell. I put a hand over my nose and mouth in an attempt to stifle it, but to little avail. I couldn’t blame it on hormones anymore. It was beyond that at the point.

She noticed me acting funny towards the end of class, and looked over at me once, shooting me a questioning looking. I knew I couldn’t meet her eyes, so I pretended not to notice. When class was out, a small part of me was glad to be away from her, while a much larger part wanted to pin her against the wall in the hallway and shove my hand down her pants. I felt sick with embarrassment and confusion most of my next class as I was enough in my right mind to actually think about what I’d been taking into serious consideration just moments before.

When it was time for lunch I held my half of the sandwich we shared close to my face as I sat a healthy distance away, nearly making myself sick with the smell of crunchy peanut butter and grape jelly. I wasn’t very good at being discreet, because by the time the period had ended Emma knew something was wrong, but wasn’t sure how to ask what it was. She didn’t invite me to her house that afternoon, and later when she called she asked if I was upset with her. The conversation was short and awkward, because I wasn’t sure how to tell my best friend of four years I’d had the impulse to fuck her brains out in the middle of changing period earlier that day.

I spent most of the day cleaning again, until the toilet was clean enough to eat off of, though very little could be said for the spare room, which had been trashed beforehand. The smells of the house were still sickening, but I found that despite drying my tongue out, breathing shallowly through my mouth was the best way to go. Even so, I stuck my head outside into the cold regularly for a chance to breathe somewhat fresher air. I thanked God that my grandparents stopped smoking when my grandma was diagnosed with lung cancer three years back.

That night the headache started again, though it worked itself up much more slowly than before, until it was making my brain explode like the grand finale on the fourth of July. Not long after, sharp pains dotted my spinal cord down to the tip of my tailbone. Several muscles along my lower back felt like they were twisted up, especially on either side of my hips and in the tops of my legs, yet the worst resided in my calves. I lay flat on my side for a long time until the pain eased up several long hours later that night after I’d vomited twice already. Emma chose then to call. More than irritable from just recovering from the pain I’d been in, when I answered I was more than I little grouchy.

“What?” I snapped breathlessly, wiping sweat from my forehead numbly, the muscles in my arms like Jell-O squishing around underneath the skin. She was at a loss for words.

“I’m sorry. Are you ok, Ryan?” she asked. The muscles in the back of my neck knotted tight, and I clenched my teeth.

“Fine.” I growled angrily, the sound of gritting my own teeth hurting my ears as the muscles in my biceps began to clench as well. Without hanging up, I smashed the phone against the opposite wall in frustration and tossed over in bed, throwing a temper tantrum. Somewhere along the way I got tangled up in my sheets as I rolled around and kicked, eventually tangling myself in them. I wasn’t able to free myself before I hurled bile all over my bed, and started crying as I heaved emptily twice more. I didn’t have enough strength to get up until two in the morning, when I somehow managed to gather my blankets and climb the steps upstairs to the washing room.

I staggered to the bathroom and sat on the toilet for a long time before I even had the energy to stand again, still having to lean against the bathroom sink to keep my balance, huffing and puffing as I drug out a towel for myself. While I showered, I had to use the metal bar screwed into the wall to stay upright, and when I was out again I exited the bathroom slowly, holding my towel up with one arm as it exposed my backside. I stumbled and tripped all the way down my steps. Originally I’d planned to get dressed when I was downstairs, but instead I just flopped naked onto my bare bed and fell asleep a second later. When I woke up six hours later, I found out my grandma had called me in sick.

When I finally gathered up the energy to move, I picked up the remains of the phone and gingerly attempted to repair it, flushing as I failed miserably. I remembered the phone call from the previous night clearly, and my stomach sank as I remembered how mean I’d been to Emma, ashamed of myself. I got the rest of the little chores around the house done and ate a bowl of soup before I headed to Emma’s house an hour and a half before school even got out. The time hadn’t even occurred to me until I was halfway there, so I sat on her front step with my hands tucked into my pants pockets and waited. My fingers had gone numb all the way up to my knuckles by the time her bus finally pulled up, and I stood to greet her. She was surprised to see me, which quickly turned to anger.

“Emma…”

“What the fuck do you want?” She exploded in my face, her usually soft brown eyes bright.

“To apologize.” I said steadily.

“Maybe if you hadn’t been such a bitch last night you wouldn’t have to!” she snapped. “All I wanted was to talk to you.”

“Emma, I’m sorry.” I said again, stepping forward and grabbing her wrist, holding fast as she tried to pull away from me. “I’m sorry.” I repeated, stepping closer and into her personal space, pulling her against my chest. I pressed her a little harder against me than necessary, arousal making my back and knees erect as a heaviness settled in my hips. She was still just slightly taller than I was. She put hers arms around me and lowered her head to tuck her chin over my shoulder. She’d always been braver than me, the one who’d been more assertive and got things done.

The urges I got weren’t really conscious thoughts, just intense impulses. A split second I had to decide whether or not to pin her against a wall or let her go. The longer she held onto me the harder it was to refuse it, until a car horn honked across the street, startling us apart and hurting my ears. She let go of me, smiling sheepishly and forgiving me for the third time. We walked inside silently and sat down on the sofa, but didn’t turn on the TV. She looked me over carefully. After a while she attempted at making conversation.

“How’s Frankie getting her anyway?” she asked.

“Airplane.” I said, chewing my lower lip. “It lands at two tomorrow. My grandparents are going to go pick him up about one in the afternoon. I was going to ask if you wanted to come over while they were gone so that way we could actually leave the basement if you wanted…” I said and shrugged.

“That sounds cool.” She said. “So do I come over at one exactly?” I smiled.

“Yeah.” I said. When Kaitlyn got home, instead of going to her room I suggested we take a walk. With a little convincing, we left her little sister with the remote control and strode down the street silently until Emma spoke up.

“You know, there’s so little to talk about anymore. I think we’ve covered every major issue in the world, and the things we hate, the things we love. We know almost everything about each other. And you know what’s funny?” She asked softly, staring off ahead of us, not meeting my eyes.

“What?”

“Daniel will never know half the things about me that you do. I’ve told you things I’ve forgotten, and you still remember. You’re like my walking memoir.” She laughed, but I stayed quiet. Daniel was the boyfriend she’d been seeing for the last two years, who worshipped her whenever he was able to escape the private school his parents sent him too. He’d never done anything wrong toward Emma or me, but I’d never liked him.

But besides that, something about the way she was talking seemed off, like the softness in her voice over the phone, though I’d never stopped to think about it before. There was something in her tone that made me uneasy and the hairs on my neck prickle a little. She still didn’t look at me as I stared her down. I didn’t miss a single detail in her skin, much less the expression on her face.

“Emma, is everything alright?” She met my eyes for the first time during the conversation.

“Yeah, sure. Why?” I just shook my head, studying at her a little longer then necessary. She laughed awkwardly, sweeping her hair behind her ear and looking down at the ground, then ahead of us again.

“Well, Daniel is coming home soon. He called me yesterday afternoon to tell me.” She said, smiling.

“Oh.” I said disinterestedly, the topic annoying me. I went home later that afternoon, still unnerved and very wary of her father. It seemed like with each visit I disliked him more and more than the previous time.

“See you tomorrow, Emma.” I muttered before leaving, putout. When I was home again, I went straight downstairs to lie down. When I went to school the next day, Emma seemed to be in a pleasant enough mood and things went well throughout my classes. Everything seemed to pass so quickly, and yet I was so exhausted when I got home I fell into my bed and went right to sleep. I was in the bathroom when I heard her climbing up the steps of the porch outside, and I ran to the front door to let her in.

I was incredibly absentminded the entire time she was there. I sat on my bed and listened to her talk for a little while and watched her play video games. The outline of her bra across her back was much more interesting than anything going on in the game. After dying a fifth time, she shut the game off and started picking things up that were lying around my room. I watched her for a few minutes, not fully registering what she was doing. As she bent to pick up a sharp piece of plastic from the phone I’d shattered the night before last, all I was going to do was sit her down beside me on my bed to watch TV. Nothing else.

I moved up behind her and she turned sharply to throw the plastic away in the garbage can lying on its side a few feet away, bumping into my chest on accident. There was nothing romantic at all about the way our eyes met. She almost looked frightened, but I wasn’t in my right mind. I grabbed her upper arms firmly, but not hard, moved my head a fraction of an inch forward and pressed my mouth to hers. I didn’t get the sense that what I was doing was wrong, or really notice the way her muscles tensed underneath my palms from where I held her in place. The sound of the door slamming upstairs startled me and I jerked my head up. I don’t know what I would’ve done otherwise. I quickly looked back to Emma after I put it together what I’d just done.

Her normally pale face seemed to have turned solid white, and her eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights. I didn’t say anything; I just stepped back and out of her way. I watched her quietly as she climbed the stairs, then waited patiently until I heard the door open and shut, signifying her exit. I stood in the same place for more than ten minutes, just staring blankly at the wall, not a single thought passing through my brain. The kiss had just been an action; it hadn’t had any conscious thoughts put into it, or any consideration put into the outcome. I didn’t even care that’d I’d probably upset her, or possibly ruined our friendship in one little move. After a while I turned around and crawled under the blankets of my bed to go back to sleep, not bothering to go upstairs and greet my uncle.

When I went upstairs later after I’d woke up, Frankie was sitting at the kitchen table eating while my grandparents were in bed. To think he’d called me a fat lard as a kid, looking at him then was almost funny. He didn’t look up at me for a long time, purposely ignoring the fact I’d entered the room. I felt a hot flash of anger, and stood staring straight at him until he finally looked up and met my eyes. He didn’t even recognize me at first at first. I chose then to dismiss him after he’d acknowledged me and went about my business of scrounging up what little food he’d left in the kitchen.

The next day at school Emma and I didn’t talk at all, or even sit together at lunch. It was rather morbid how I’d just apologized the previous day and then I’d turned around and made an almost permanent gap between us. I didn’t even feel guilty about what I did, though I could plainly see one little kiss from me had turned her world upside down. She wouldn’t even look at me, but I could smell her across the class room, and distinguish her voice in the mess of sounds. Obviously there weren’t any calls, either.

In fact, throughout the entire break there was no contact between us. Frankie and I didn’t so much as look at each other Christmas day. I spent most of my time sleeping the entire day away, eating one or none meals a day. I barely even blinked when my grandparents told me Frankie was moving back in with us. When I couldn’t sleep, I usually just lie in bed and stared at the walls until drifted off from boredom alone. One afternoon I was trying to focus on the TV, but much to my annoyance, my bangs kept getting in my eyes and tickling my nose, the hair falling down my neck making me itch. I got up and took my grandparent’s Volkswagen despite the fact I wasn’t supposed to drive it, and went into town and got most of my hair chopped off, until only a half inch of dark blonde hair was left on my head.

When I got back home my grandma berated me for an hour about how I look like a man, and how women that looked like men were always big fat pussy-licking dykes. When I was younger and first moved in, her screaming rants lasted for hours on end as she tried to make me dress like a girl and pull my hair back so tight it was hard to blink. Used to I would’ve denied being lesbian with every last breath I had, because I never would’ve admitted to looking at another girl that way in my entire life. Now I just sat back and stared off into space, her voice just incredibly loud noise. If I’d denied it then, I would’ve been flat-out lying.

When Christmas break ended there was still a silence between Emma and I, all the way up until the second week of being back at school. I got a phone call at eleven on Wednesday night. When I answered, Emma replied. The conversation went as if nothing had ever happened. She didn’t bring up the kiss and I didn’t apologize for it. When she was ready to hang up, I asked to talk longer and she choked up a little bit. My first thought was that her father had done something to upset her. When I asked she immediately denied that he’d done anything wrong, but she’d answered way to fast to be anywhere near convincing. An hour later she really had to go.

I sat up all night with my head in my hands trying to figure out what made the inside of my stomach feel so cold. I kept running my hands through my hair over and over, thinking hard about what’d made me hate him so much. I felt like a mad dog every time he came within a foot of her. He wasn’t acting any different than he ever had, but it was like I could pick out all these little things I’d never noticed about him before. It was like I noticed the way he looked at her for the first time, like he saw her as something other than his daughter.

The next day Emma was waiting for me outside. I assumed I was forgiven once again. I breathed shallowly through my mouth as we walked together between classes and to lunch. We were silent for most of the time, until she finally commented on my hair, which had been growing at a unnaturally fast rate.

“So why’d you cut it all off?” She asked as she sat beside me. I shrugged.

“It was bugging me I guess. It felt itchy.” She bobbed her head and pursed her lips.

“Well it looks good on you.” I turned to glance back at her but she was staring straight ahead and chewing on her lips with an odd expression on her face. My eyes raked over her once, then turned my head the opposite direction to take a deep breath through my mouth. I could smell the shampoo in her hair and the body wash she’d used that morning, but more importantly the natural smell of her skin, which was making my mouth water.

“Thanks.” I mumbled. We were quiet again.

“My dad is off today.” She finally looked at me and held my eyes. The feeling in the pit of my stomach wasn’t a fluffy, romantic, loving sensation, but it wasn’t a burning sense of arousal either. At the time I didn’t even know what I was feeling. It was that odd pulling sensation in my stomach, my muscles tight beneath the skin, like I was tensed to break into a run. She must’ve seen something in my face, because she looked away and at the ground. Then what she’d said sunk in, and the feeling was replaced by a cold stab in my ribs. I pressed my lips together tightly, but didn’t know what to say. I nearly jumped out of my skin when the bell rang.

When I got home I couldn’t sit still, despite being tired, like I’d drank twelve energy sodas and was having the mother of all crashes. I paced my basement for several hours, trying to listen to music and watch TV, trying to get sleepy but to no avail. Finally I left the house for a long walk, taking several turns down the streets of the neighborhood. Somewhere along the way I started walking to Emma’s house without consciously deciding on it, or even realizing where I was heading off to. I was more than a little annoyed as I strode up and saw Daniel jogging up the driveway, a feeling in my stomach like someone had forced a block of ice down my throat. He smiled at me awkwardly, no more pleased to see me than I was to see him as I approached her front door.

“Hey Ryan.” He greeted me, looking about uncomfortably. I barely glanced at him.

“Go.” I said flatly.

“What?”

“Fuck off.” I spat, puffing up angrily. He backed off immediately and turned back to go home, muttering about what a bitch I was as he threw dirty looks over his shoulder. He’d never been very persistent. I remembered the first time Emma had told me he tried to pressure her into sleeping with him. When he was out of site, I stood in front of the door, poised to knock, then lowered my hand. I stared at the green wood for a few minutes and then turned around a left, scanning the street in case Daniel came back around. Even if I wasn’t staying, he wouldn’t either.

The next day we were silent again until lunch, when she asked if I wanted to spend the night. As it turned out, her little sister was going to her friend’s house for a slumber party, and her father was going to play poker with some of the guys from the station. After school I gathered my pajamas and left almost immediately. When I got there, Emma was cleaning the kitchen. She smiled at me as I set my bag on the couch and walked in, taking a seat at the table. She never let me help her with her chores. I flipped on the TV as we talked about little things; mostly school work. She stopped cleaning when I mentioned that Frankie was living in the house again.

“I thought you said he had a girlfriend in Washington. Wasn’t he living with her?” She asked, leaning back against the counter.

“He was, but I don’t know what happened. I think she dumped him, so now he has no where to live.” I said, shrugging as she stared at me.

“You don’t seem to be that upset about it.” She noted and I shrugged. “I clearly remember you saying when he moved out that if he ever came back you’d tear your hair out and admit yourself to a mental asylum.”

I chuckled. “I haven’t yet.”

When she was finished, we both sat down on the couch and watched a movie. It seemed to drag on, and I watched Emma more than I did the screen. I didn’t try to hide it, and didn’t look away when she met my eyes. We stopped the movie three quarters of the way and went to her bedroom. She smelled so good lying beside me on her bed with our shoulders touching. We both stayed quiet.

“When does your dad get home?” I asked.

“Sometime after twelve.” She muttered vaguely, rolling onto her side to face me, propping her head with one hand. She breathed a little shallower than usual, our faces not three inches apart as I turned my head to face her, like when I kissed her in my room. She just looked down at me while I stayed perfectly still beneath. She shifted again, and her soft left breast pressed into my arm. I got the same tight, pulling feeling in my stomach, accompanied by a harsh ache between my legs.

The urges that had been driving me insane weren’t present at that moment. She leaned forward slightly; her lips parted while I lay there like a mannequin. Her mouth pressed against mine lightly, soft and wet. I inhaled through my nose, arousal becoming painful and the tugging inside my guts more than a little uncomfortable. She pulled back slightly, and then kissed me again, our lips lining up as her free hand pressed against the side of my face while I lay straight. Our tongues touched briefly, and she pulled back, eyes hazy as she panted slightly, red in the cheeks.

Unlike books and movies, I didn’t freak out after realizing I’d kissed my best friend; another girl. It wasn’t a major epiphany I realized I preferred another girl. Emma wasn’t scared either. Instead, she shifted a foot down and moved closer, resting her head on my breasts comfortably. We were silent again for a long time, though I was curious why she’d been so upset when I’d kissed her before Christmas break only for her to make out with me the following month. She sidetracked me before I could ask.

“Why did you run Daniel off yesterday?” She asked softly. It took me a little bit to answer.

“I don’t know.” I said honestly. She hugged me close, burying her face deeper in my chest. She went still a few minutes later, her hot breath dampening the material of my shirt as she fell asleep. I got comfortable too, my eyelids getting heavy and my breath slowing as I stared upwards, the orange light from Emma’s bedside lamp warping into something else.

I’m sitting in the wet sand of a playground making a sand castle on a cool, cloudy day. There’s a boy a little older than I was watching me as I worked, expression mean and twisted. His face is unnaturally bright, every detail of his face vibrant and exaggerated. I watched him carefully, worry filling my stomach up as the look on his face got nastier and nastier. I try to ignore him as best I can, packing the sand tightly to keep myself busy. I tense all over as he strides up to me.

He stomps the castle I’d been building, and pushes me down hard as I try to stand. He throws a handful of sand in my face as I struggle to get back up, and then walks away. I stay in place for a long time, gasping for breath angrily as tears run down my face, hot and wet. I jump to my feet and run after him, colliding hard into his back. We punched and bit and scratched each other furiously until I had the upper hand.

A white hot pain was searing behind my eyes, and I felt dizzy and sick. The pain got worse and worse, like my eyes were going to pop out of my head and my brain was going to ooze out of my ears. I see through a series of bright, blurry flashes, still myself and yet separated. He’s screaming and kicking furiously, clawing at my face, and then I was yanked away and thrown. I blink furiously as the pain quickly subsides quickly, and a dark haired woman is desperately grabbing her sobbing son into her arms. His shirt collar was stretched out around his neck, stained with red as his a large crescent shaped mark on his left shoulder which was bleeding furiously.

There was a sickening metallic taste in my mouth and coating my tongue, my face wet and sticky. As I wipe a hand across my lips, my hand comes back red, too. Horrified, I vomit down my front, and began crying as someone rushed toward me.

I woke up as my skin stung, sweating heavily as Emma rolled to the opposite side of the bed with the blankets kicked off, still asleep. I wiped my hand across my forehead, breathing deeply and looking to her alarm clock. I lay in bed for a little while, but stayed wide awake, so I got up to get a glass of water. I sat down at the table for the better part of an hour until I went back to her room to lie down until daylight. When she woke up, I gathered my stuff, hugged her goodbye and left for my house.

I was restless all day long as I tried to think through my dreams. The only dream the memory of Frankie’s cat was crystal clear in my mind, but nothing else seemed to be. I could clearly remember the incident, although I’d buried it deep inside my brain for years and years until then. I mulled each dream over carefully, until I was finally able to remember each in full detail from beginning to end, though I struggled with small details of the first.

Later that afternoon Emma called to ask why I’d left her house so early.

“My stomach was hurting really bad this morning. Sorry.” I said lamely. She didn’t know what to say at first. Once I’d stayed at her house the entire night and several hours into the next day with one of the worst sinus infections of my life. I couldn’t blame her for not believing me.

“You sure?” She asked quietly, and I could plainly read the uncertain hurt in her voice.

“Yeah.” I said. The conversation was short because Frankie’s girlfriend interrupted my call a third time by holding up the line.

“Ryan, you didn’t leave because of last night, did you?” She asked quickly when I said I had to go.

“No, of course not.” With that she gave an unconvinced goodbye. That night I didn’t sleep well, not only because I was afraid of the dreams I might have, but also because of the seemingly never ending screaming match between Frankie and his ex over the phone, which reverberated throughout the little house like super sonic booms.

At school on Monday Emma was awkward around me, but I quickly worked her out of it as I breezed through the day like nothing had changed. At lunch she brought up the kiss again, beating around the bush for a while, much to my amusement, until I finally answered her indirect questions.

“I mean, if you didn’t like it I understand…” She said, letting the sentence hang in the air.

“I kissed you first, didn’t I?” I asked bluntly. She nodded.

“Yeah, I liked it, so stop worrying.” I said. Her face turned bright red before I’d even finished speaking. I smirked at her lazily. The day passed by in a blur, and it felt like I’d just stepped out of bed just as I climbed off the bus to go home. I was tired as I slunk up the steps and into the house, then down the stairs to the basement where I crawled in bed and slept for a few hours. I woke up at five sixteen that afternoon to a painful aching in my calves, and it took me at least an hour to walk it off. After dinner I was tired and achy again, but a call from Emma took my mind off my petty discomforts.

Upon hanging up, I was deadest on going to her house. The hairs were standing up perfectly straight like the hackles on a dog, and there was a cold, wet feeling running down my spine like someone had injected me with ice water. The walk to her house was miserable as the wind whipped my face pink, but I didn’t let it slow me down. I twisted the doorknob to her front door without knocking, and was briefly hindered when the handle refused to turn with a dull click.

Flipping up the welcome mat, I found the spare key and unlocked the door. I pushed inside without thought. I could smell sex from the doorway. Her cat, which had been laying across the back of her couch, shot up like a bullet as I stepped inside, ears flattening as he hissed at me loudly before running off, yowling all the way. I shut the door behind me. The sensation in my stomach numbed my legs, but I wasn’t about to leave. I locked the door back behind myself and walked down the hall and swung open the door to Emma’s room.

She was sitting in the center of her bed with the blankets and sheets kicked off, watching me as I entered. She looked surprised to see me, like she’d been expecting someone else. Sweat glistened on her skin, and her face was ashen. The smell of sex was thick in the room, making my stomach turn and my head pulsate.

“Ryan?” She blinked. “What are you doing here? How did you get in?” Panic replaced the surprise. I barely heard her.

It wasn’t Daniel’s smell that clung to the sheets of her bed, or on her skin. I suddenly felt heavy as I looked down at her, the determination on my face slipping away. Finally I understood what I’d been missing the whole time when she said she hated her father, but would never really give a clear explanation why. Her father, one of the town’s finest had been raping his daughter all those years. Rage boiled my blood beneath my skin, making it sting as I broke into a thin sweat. Why had I never noticed before? It’d been so obvious; I’d been with her almost everyday and just then I’d found out. I swallowed hard and couldn’t stop staring at her. The horror on her face only increased.

“Where’s your father?” I muttered quietly. Her eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

“Out.” She said slowly, her voice soft, just like when we talked on the phone.

“Where’s Kate?”

“With a friend.” I stared at her blankly for a few minutes, my brain refusing to work.

“Go take a shower.” I said finally. When she didn’t move, I repeated myself again. After a few minutes she stood up and did as I said. Before she was out again, I left, a part of me wanting to hold her and another wanting to find her father a rip his throat out with my fingers. All those pointless calls finally made sense. How long had it been going on? Why hadn’t she told me? Why was he screwing his own daughter? Did he touch Kaitlyn too? Did Daniel know?

I was furious as I stormed down the street, shaking all over, the muscles in my face tight. So many thoughts were speeding through my head it couldn’t even be considered thinking anymore. There wasn’t a call that night, and I got the distinct feeling Emma was afraid of what I might ask. At school the next day I wasn’t sure what to say, and neither was she. She didn’t know if I’d figured out about her father or not, or why I’d broke into her house to make her take a shower. Neither of us spoke until first period. I had no idea what to do or say, because I had no idea where to begin or how to help her.

I was very quiet throughout the entire day, and I could see the stress plainly in her face, but I couldn’t seem to manage words. No way I could come close to turning a cop in for molestation and have it accepted as truth. I had no possible way I could confront him; I was getting so skinny and spindly the worst I could do was break his nose before he snapped me in half. I was stumped for days, weeks that turned into months. Then I realized the perfect bait to lure him out.

On a Wednesday afternoon Emma and I were together alone. It started slow, just kissing for a long time, her hands sliding under my shirt eventually to fondle my chest. One hand retreated to run through my hair, thin and fine, long enough to hang past my eyes as she pulled her tongue back. There was no fumbling or awkward, shifty eyes.

I sat on the edge of the bed; I watched her, unblinking as she fisted the hem of my baggy white shirt and pulled it over my head. I wore nothing beneath and she examined me closely until her eyes came back to rest on my boney chest and small breasts, taking in the washboard effect of my ribs and my emaciated stomach. I pulled her to me, my arms wrapping around the small of her back as her hands slid through my hair again. Her hands ran over my back, fingers pressing lightly against my shoulders, nails grazing my spine.

We lay on my bed, side by side, and she put her head on my shoulder as her right hand cupped and squeezed each breasts in turn, stroking the nipple with the pad of her thumb, gently tugging when they hardened. Her eyes stayed focused on my skin for a long time as she counted reach rib and stroked a single finger firmly over my sternum, then came to rest over my heart. I looked down, squinting my eyes against the brightness of the single light bulb in the basement ceiling. Emma’s fingers reached up and smoothed the lines between my eyebrows and across my forehead.

After she left, I spent a very long time studying my grandfather’s collection of hunting knives in the garage. I ran my fingertips along every single blade, testing the weight of each until I heard the Volkswagen pull up outside. Walking back into the house I went into Frankie’s room and began rooting around in boxes and drawers until I saw his silver video camera resting on a shelf and a stack of tapes beside it. I didn’t bother to turn around as Frankie entered his room.

“What the hell are you doing?” He snapped. “You can’t just walk in my room and take my stuff!”

“I can do anything I want.” I grunted carelessly, not even taking pleasure in the jab. I still remembered how cruel he was to me when I was small. I took the camera back down to the basement to play with it for a little while, tossing the old tape in the garbage. It took three long weeks of patience until I seized the perfect opportunity.

Saturday Emma’s dad was stuck with some paperwork at the office, and she called me at six that afternoon to invite me over for to spend the night again. I quickly stuffed the camera in my bag along with spare clothes, and then ran off. The house was slightly messy, and Kaitlyn informed me that her sister was fixing dinner when I entered. Emma grinned when I strode into the kitchen, and her little sister slid into her usual seat at the dinner table beside me. Like normal, she wouldn’t let me help her with anything, so I simply sat and watched as she simmered and the checked the meatballs, occasionally stirred the spaghetti noodles.

Her hair was tucked back behind her ears, a few strands falling down into her eyes, sweat lightly glazing her forehead. Her face was slightly flushed from the heat of the stove, and there were several holes in the shirt she was wearing, exposing small patches of pale skin. I had to look away, swallowing the lump forming in my throat. Despite social and emotional detachment, the urges were borderline irresistible again. I focused on breathing through my mouth to dilute her smell, as well as the strong odor tomato sauce.

We let Kaitlyn watch anything she wanted as we ate in the living room. At nine, Emma put Kate to bed, and I went to her room and rooted through my bag until I came up with the silver video camera. I hid it under a dirty tee-shirt lying on her dresser so that just the just the lens was visible.

“I know everything.” I said lamely, but managing a small smile for the tape. I quickly rechecked to see if I was recording, then stepped back as Emma came in, running her fingers through her hair and sighing. Shooting the camera a quick glance, I moved up against her, pulled her face close and kissed her.

Her eyes studied me a moment, like she was reassuring herself of who I was, then wrapped her arms around me. I pulled her tighter against me this time, and I felt her tense slightly, then relax again. I struggled to be gentle as I gave in slightly to the drive that’d been dogging me for months. I nipped at her lips and the tip of her tongue lightly as I slid one hand under her shirt and unclipped her bra. She was startled by how fast I was moving, but as long as she didn’t push me away, I wasn’t going to slow down. I wasn’t even sure if she did retreat that I’d have the mindset to back off.

Her eyes were wide, like when I’d kissed her the first time as she stared at me wordlessly. I covered her left breast with one hand beneath her shirt, then leaned forward and bit her lip hard enough to hurt. I could hear her heart slamming in her chest furiously enough to hear across the room, her breathing harsh as I lifted her shirt over her head and tossed it to the floor. Stooping a bit, I lowered my mouth to her breast and pulled the nipple into my mouth. Unsure of what to do or where to put her hands, her right rested on my shoulder and the left curled around my nape.

The tugging deep within the pit of my stomach and the painful sexual arousal were one and the same right then, the smell of her sex pushing any conscious thoughts left out of my brain. I moved my arms around her waist and held her, pressing one fist firmly against the small of her back, so she couldn’t get away from me as I kissed her stomach. It was like there was a fog in my brain whenever thoughts tried to surface, and I was no better than an animal as I acted purely on impulse, doing as I pleased without the least sense of restraint. I buried my face in her soft belly, licking her skin and inhaling the smell of her heady arousal.

“Ryan!” she hissed as I yanked her pants open, the button flying off somewhere in the room. I glanced up briefly as I wrapped my hand around the elastic waistband of her underwear, and then pulled them down her legs impatiently. What I was doing was barely comprehensible, like I was dreaming again, both myself and someone else at the same time, looking in as I shoved my head between my best friend’s thighs.

If she tried to push me away, I didn’t notice. Her leg draped over my shoulder, I drug my tongue through her wet folds hungrily, finally giving in to what I’d been wanting to do for months. One hand held her hips at an angle while the other clutched at her backside to hold her in place and spread her wider. I was aware of the way every muscle in my body was coiled tight, tensed and eager, ready to force her down if she tried to stop me. Her breath came out in short little spurts as her thighs twitched on either side of my face. Her hands were tangled in my hair, holding me in place as I lapped at her clitoris harshly, pulling it into my mouth and sucking hard. She let out a choked groan, her fingers knotting in my hair as she came, the muscles of her stomach clenching.

I left dark red marks across her inner thighs, licking and biting at her skin like a dog, my ragged breath brushing her oversensitive sex. Her knees wobbled beneath her slightly, and she swayed back one or twice, a dazed expression on her face as she struggled to keep up with me. I stood up and gently pushed her back on the bed, stroking her stomach firmly with one hand as I climbed on top her, bending down and kissing her mouth hungrily. Barely giving her time to recover, I opened her legs slightly and pushed two fingers inside of her.

Her eyes shut tight for a second, but I barely noticed whether it was in pain or pleasure. They opened again, and she stared up at me while I pushed my fingers in and out of her. I shoved them deeper, her inner flesh already twitching around my fingers. Grinding my thumb against her clitoris, I added a third finger, then angled them as I curled all three inside her. Her eyes rolled back just slightly as I watched, letting out a low groan of pleasure as her nails drug over my back hard through my shirt. She was flushed down to her chest as she gasped for breath. I stared down at her for several minutes, then lay down beside her, fully clothed against her naked body. We’d barely spoken three words the entire night.

I draped my right half over her like a blanket, shielding her naked body from the camera as I stared into the lens. It took no more than five minutes for her breath to even out with sleep. Careful not to disturb her, I went to the video camera and popped the tape out, examining it carefully before I turned and slipped into the hallway, then returned back a short while later. She woke up about an hour afterward, cold without her clothes as I listened to her dad pull up outside. I half buried my face in her pillow, frowning unhappily as I saw her tug a shirt and pajama bottoms on. She looked at me through bleary eyes as she stood a few feet away from the bed before she came back.

Emma was already asleep again when I heard her dad coming down the hallway toward her room. Every muscle in my body felt like rubber bands, and the same fog in my brain settled as the door knob turned and he entered, my eyes fixed on him. He was surprised to see me. I don’t know what stopped me from jumping on him right then and tearing his face off, but the tug in my stomach that I felt whenever I looked at Emma felt like an elastic cord stretched so tight it was ready to snap in my intestines. I was so ready, but I couldn’t shake the feeling it wasn’t time. It wasn’t the fact Emma was sleeping in the room, or all the trouble I’d gone through for my little surprise. I guess that’s just how things work. He ducked out of the room a moment later, ending our staring contest.

I didn’t sleep at all that night. Resting my head on the pillow, I felt like a guard dog watching the door until daylight hours. When Emma was up and we’d gone in the kitchen for breakfast, I could tell her father wasn’t happy that I was there, and so could she. Even Kaitlyn was quiet. The look in his eyes before he’d seen me that night, I could just imagine what he had planned to do, and it made my blood boil turn to acid. I had to go to the bathroom and splash cold water on my face, quickly suggesting Emma and I eat breakfast in her bedroom. I barely touched my hash-browns, wondering if her dad could read the differences in our relationship.

It was late afternoon when I had to go home, and I sat on my bed thinking for quite a while. I went to bed early that night, exhausted, and woke up late Monday morning. I missed the bus and had to go by foot, making me even later than I was to begin with. It was almost to the end of first period as I flung open the door, panting and red in the face from running. Emma looked both relieved and embarrassed to see me. I sat beside her for the last ten minutes of class.

We split up on the way down the hall as we headed off to our classes. Throughout the period my head was full of nothing but hot air, and at lunch Emma could barely get a sentence out of me before I zoned out again. At home it was quiet besides the TV chattering loudly from above. I slunk down into the basement and tuned out the voices upstairs, fast asleep before the next commercial break. The sound of my own stomach growling woke me up later that night after my grandparents had gone to bed. As I climbed the stairs I heard deep breaths coming from the kitchen, subconsciously matching them to my uncle.

I strode in, half awake and already overwhelmed with the effort of moving. I let my mouth hang open as I tried to expel the odor of the garbage can, the sounds of my grandma rolling over and grandpa snoring enough to start up a nasty headache. I froze when I saw Frankie sitting at the head of the table staring off into space. When he didn’t so much as move, I continued to the fridge slowly and ignored him. I pulled out three slices of deli ham and flounced into the chair beside him to eat, expecting him to get up and leave. As I wadded up the meat and stuffed it in my mouth, I noticed a picture of my mom when she was younger lying in front of him on the table. I studied it a moment, then looked up at him, looking him over wearily.

I’d never realized my hearing and sense of smell weren’t the only things that’d been affected by whatever was going on inside of me. Every aspect of his face was magnified; each and every pore and crease in the skin. I looked away and went back to eating.

“Do your remember what happened to your mom?” he asked out of no where. I looked up and swallowed the last of the ham.

“Yeah.” I mutter, getting up to leave.

“You remember the way you screamed that first night when you came to live with us?” I stopped halfway out of the kitchen.

“What?” He shook his head.

“Do you remember what happened to your mom?” he repeated. I stood there, slouched over as I stared at him.

“She drove me down here and left me.” I said slowly. He shook his head again.

“No, you don’t remember.” We were silent for a while as continued looking at the wall. I began to walk away again when he piped up.

“Someone broke into her apartment and raped her back in ninety-two. A month later she was pregnant, but she refused to get an abortion like we told her too.” I stared at him quietly. “When you were ten she killed herself because she couldn’t take it anymore. She blew her head off right there in the kitchen with you in there. That was when you came to live with us.” I licked the salt from the ham off my lips, turned and left.

“It was your fucking fault.” He muttered dramatically, and I could hear him continue the conversation with himself all the way down the stairs and back into my basement. I pulled the sheets over me and went to sleep again. The next morning when I woke, I felt strange. No tension in my muscles, wide awake and an actual appetite. I felt better than I had in months. Almost normal again.

Every Tuesday Emma’s father watched a recording of his favorite hockey team. The school day was great; not a single thing went wrong, and Emma was happy to see me. We were late for our fifth period, and as we walked down the hall, she grabbed my arm before I made it to room two-sixteen.

“Wait, Ryan.” She said, and I stopped, turning around quickly. She backed me up against the lockers and kissed me roughly on the lips. I pulled my tongue out of her mouth reluctantly as a teacher exited an office down the hall just opposite us.

“You two, get to class!” Everything was perfect until seventh.

At first I just felt hot, so I took my jacket off, but then I began to get dizzy like I’d been spinning on a merry-go-round for hours. I got nauseated soon after and left class to go the bathroom. I sat on the floor for several minutes, the sick feeling in my stomach getting worse and worse, wrung out like a dirty rag. Finally I heaved into the toilet, and coughed several times, feeling worse than I had before as pressure mounted behind my eyes. I vomited again, then once more before the coils of my stomach began to loosen. Then a classmate walked into the bathroom and heard me puking my guts up.

“Hey, are you ok?” she called.

“Yeah.” I grunted, my eyes stinging as I sat on the floor for a while. Finally I stumbled out of the stall and splashed cold water onto my face. Within minutes, I felt just as good as before, like nothing had happened at all. I didn’t mention it to Emma as I talked her into coming to my house. She agreed, but was more than a little suspicious when I asked if Kaitlyn could come too. We watched TV, took turns playing video games and such for the better part of four hours. I felt fine for a long time, but when I started to get worse, it was a very slow wind down. My skin itched slightly and I had a little pain in my left temple, but I ignored. Almost ten o’clock I got the call I’d been waiting for.

I picked up the phone in my own time, grinning at the thought of how he must’ve felt watching a tape of his daughter’s best friend fucking her senseless.

“Hello?”

“Ryan!” He bellowed into the receiver, and I flinched as my ears rang, barely managing to refrain from jerking the phone away from my head. Emma looked back at me curiously. Her father was so furious he didn’t know what to say, gasping for breath and choking on his words. I wondered if he’d watched the whole tape or not.

“I’m…I’m going to fucking kill you! I’m going to blow your fucking head off and…” His threats continued for several minutes while I quietly listened to him.

“Where’s Emma?” He barked, as if Kaitlyn didn’t exist.

“Look, I’ll meet you at the park, ok? Then we can settle this.” I said evenly, then hung up.

“What was that?” Emma asked, raising her eyebrows. Kaitlyn turned around too.

“Frankie. He wants me to go pick him up from his friend’s house on the other side of town.” I lied just like I’d practiced, getting up and grabbing a jacket for the head post of my bed. I could tell she didn’t believe me by the look on her face.

“Want me to come…?” She asked. I shook my head.

“Naw. It’s fine. I’ll be back in an hour or so.” I started up the stairs.

“I love you.” She muttered under her breath, making me pause a moment. I had no plan as I walked outside and jumped into the driver’s seat of my grandparent’s car and revved up the engine. No idea what I’d say, no idea what I’d do. I just knew I was going.

I felt strange and awkward in my own skin, and I rolled my head around on my shoulders as I pulled out of the driveway. It felt almost like I’d pulled on someone else’s skin before I’d left, and it only got worse. The pain in my temple spread throughout my skull, and the itching turned into a burning, and before long the muscles in my entire body were knotting up. I slammed my hands on the steering wheel in frustration; there was no way I could go back home without doing talking to him.

He was standing outside in the middle of the park, pacing furiously with his arms crossed when he saw me stumble clumsily out of the Volkswagen. I took my hand away from my head as I approached him. The closer we got to each other, the pulling sensation was so tight it was making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up straight, and I couldn’t have looked away if I tried. In the back of my mind, I knew what was going to happen, what the plan really was, but my conscious mind wouldn’t admit, or even let it pass through my thoughts.

He was shaking all over with rage as he walked as fast as he could toward me without running. He was glistening with sweat in the dim light from the sliver of moon peeking through the clouds, his face twisted up in a weird way. He spluttered in my face, and although I knew he was saying something all it sounded like was a garble of unintelligible sounds. I squinted up at him, barely able to see as everything around me became blinding, streetlamps like little suns dotting the street. The headache became the reoccurring migraine as it began hammering my brain, like my skull was too small and suffocating it. He shoved me hard and flew to the ground like a rag doll.

I tried feebly to get up, but my hands slipped and there was pain in my ribs. The wind blowing around me was deafening, my heart pounding like a stereo’s beat and my breathing harsh at the gales around me. The smells of outside made it worse, but above all I could smell Emma’s father. I could taste blood in my mouth, thick and metallic. New pains that hadn’t been there before took hold; gums aching like I’d been kicked in the mouth, skin burning like I was being bathed in hot oil as every unaffected muscle began to coil. It felt like my mouth had been cut with razors, and every bone felt like it was stretching and strained beneath my skin and what little muscle I had left.

At some point my time conception warped, because one second hours seemed to be dragging as I rolled around in pain, then everything was passing by furiously like I was in a speeding car. It was almost like looking through the dream again; flashing splotches of vision quickly blotted by a sudden flare of brilliant light. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew what was happening, but was powerless against it. I could see her father’s face, bright and detailed like the boy from the nightmare, and it finally made sense as the anger slipped from his face. I barely felt my hand connecting with his face, my heart pounding frantically as his cheek bones and nose crush like a clod of dirt beneath my fist, the sound loud and vivid.

My knuckles were bloody when I drew back, and the smell made the tightness in my body worse. He fell to the ground, a shocked look on his face, but then his throat was ripped open, blood pouring from the wound and running down my chin. Already the pain was beginning to lessen, and my hands were buried in something soft and warm up to my elbows. I could barely focus long enough to see the gaping hole in his stomach.

I gasped for breath as the worst spurt of pain made it feel as though my eyes were going to be forced through the sockets. I fell over on my side for a few minutes, and then weakly propped myself up, my mind blurry and my vision hazy. I sat there for several seconds trying to focus my on the blurred object in front of me, barely able to generate coherent thoughts until I could finally see Mr. Walker’s cut-up face. A sick turning in my stomach resulted in vomiting red. There was a sick fascination with the motionless body laying close by, but a more human side was devastated.

I struggled to my feet, looking around frantically as someone rounded the corner to the park, trying to get a better look. They called out and I panicked, turning around and running away to the forest’s line nearby.

“Hey, wait!” my entire body hurt as I ran, exhausted and limp like I’d had to the workout of my life. I struggled ineffectively to weave through trees, slamming my shoulders and knees into them, slowly coming to terms with what I’d done. I kept going until I couldn’t even manage to stumble anymore, then collapsed in a limp, sobbing heap, moaning in self-pity.

My face and arms were sticky with blood, the front of my shirt almost black as it clung to my chest, spatters on my pants, short strands of hair clumped together. I shook and trembled as I tried to understand what had gone wrong, why I’d killed him. And what had I done to Emma and her sister? Where would they go?

Where would I go…?

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Please review. I know it's long.