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thisaccounthasbeentransfered · 5 years

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Project Nebula 3: To Ponder

Classes were wrapping up and school buses parked out back. I sat in the teacher lounge, which got a makeover. The chipped, wooden conference desk became three red and black, circular tables from, what I assume, a medieval castle ballroom. In short, the entire room looked like a ballroom equivalent or a teacher’s lounge.

My hair was knotted and tangled and my blazer was entangled around my waist. Xander entered the room, heaving a tower of paperwork in his arms. He dropped in on the table in front of me. He put a smirk on his face.

“Been getting a lot of paperwork, lately, huh?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’m exhausted,” I yawned.

“I’m not president, but if I was—”

“You’ll remain vice president; paperwork doesn’t frustrate me.’

The streets cleared of kids and parents walking home from school and work. It was nearly sunset, around eight o’clock. The sun, however, was less visible where I stood. In the parking lot of Helix’s apartment complex near Clock Park called Chiron. I leaned against the front hood of his ruby Pontiac from 1998. It wasn’t the same car from when I met Indigo. Helix stepped down the stoop of his apartment building with a pair of car keys.

“Sorry if this one’s kinda rusty,” he apologized, “I need my car cleaned, so you have to use my uncle’s car.”

I kept my head down and my back facing him. I’m surprised he didn’t snag my shoulder and thrust me towards him. Shakes me till I respond. A knot twisted around in my stomach and my hands turned into a sponge saturated with sweat. He unlocked the driver’s seat door for me and held it cracked. I remained where I was, not making a peep.

“Excuse me, Mr. Attitude, but I’m not leaving the damn door open for cocky prince!” he scolded, and slammed the door so the whole car rocked in its place.

“You tortured me in front of the gym class,” I barked back, “You didn’t hear a single word I said to defend myself, and did it anyway like a mindless robot!”

“Difference is, that was the first time for me, meanwhile. . .”

He pounced at me, cuffing my wrists with only one hand behind my back. My ribs collided with aluminum of the car. His lips barely kissing my ear.

“. . . You’ve been doing this to me for years!”

My body was a sack of flour with my insides spilling out of me, leaving me as an empty bag of air. I couldn’t tell if he was talking to me on the inside, Castor, or me on the outside, Peirson. It’s as if I was being screamed at and seduced at the same time I was being offered a bear hug from the same person.

“Peirson!” a voice called from the neighborhood entrance.

It was Xander riding on a black mountain bike towards us. Helix loosened his grip, but kept his stomach still centimeters from touching my back. I swore I was turning into a blob of goo and a mop of chaotic hair. Xander lifted himself onto the hood of the car.

“Am I interrupting something?” he laughed.

“Look, Peirson, another toy to play with,” Helix pushed me away from him.

“Peirson, I want to discuss something with you.”

“Him and I were actually already planning to do something, so we need our privacy.”

He started to chuckle and jumped off the car, “Peirson and Helix? I knew you two were up to something.”

He took off on his bike and rode his way out of the apartment complex. I looked up at Helix: he seemed so calm and accepting of me staying over. In the end, I just wanted to use his car. I never saw him look down at his feet or fiddle with his fingers. Nor hunch over like I usually do. He shifted his eyes towards mine, and immediately rose his head.

“So, what were we planning on doing?” I asked in a trembling voice.

“Nothing,” he answered, “That Xander guy just gives me stalker vibes; I think we should try getting him removed from the council.”

“He’s not hurting me.”

“He will if you keep letting him around you.”

Helix let out a sigh and stalked back up the stoop with the car keys. As he opened the door, he looked back and gave me a sweet grin. I did all I could to suppress mine, but I still managed a smirk. He tossed me the car keys and saluted goodbye. He didn’t even resemble the Helix from when I first saw the dead body. Along with that luxury phone he bragged to everyone was a dirtied, 1998 Pontiac pile of metal. I unlocked the door and jumped into the driver’s seat. Ignition. Take off.

I had forgotten how thrifty my parents were, or at least my mother. I parked the car in the backyard of their two-story suburban equivalent of a mansion. About four other vehicles were parked alongside mine, which equated to at least a billion of faces I couldn’t recognize if I had a chart with their faces tagged with their names. I trudged through the thick, green plants, because one can’t have too many seizures inducing, color splotches of flowers in a yard. That was sarcasm.

I ringed their ornamental doorbell for probably ten minutes before my mother could respond. She wore long, white gown with decorative sparkles and lace. Her black hair was tied up into a overly complex bun. Her emerald eyes triggered memories of when I last saw her. They were more radiant than the dull from before.

“Hi, Veronica? Why are you so dressed up?” I asked.

“You couldn't even manage a nice flannel without me with you,” she disputed, and held my hand to guide me indoors.

“A hello would be nice.”

Inside looked like an 18th French throne room. Not Gothic. Everything was blinding, swan white except for the lime green Christmas ornaments scattered about. The front room was massive, with a stone fireplace, a gigantic, widescreen television, and clean carpet I wish I had. The ceiling was probably thirty feet high. My mother sat on the long white couch and I sat in the rocking chair across from it. I could smell the scent of unsweetened coffee from the kitchen.

“I haven’t seen you in a while,” she said, “Why don’t you call me ‘mom’ like you used to?”

“I… I…”

I turned my head to stare out the window, blinking every second to hold unwelcome tears as horrible thoughts in my brain. The only thing missing was her to demand me to explain what I was holding back. Once muttered, I would shriek and that same window would be shattered.

A second person was in the house. However, I could only see their blurred silhouette through the thick, glass window separating the living room from the kitchen. I could tell they were a man by their slender appearance and short hair.

“Anyway, I love your new-look!” she clapped her hands together as she cheered, “Would you like something to drink?”

Someone emerged from the kitchen. Yes, they were a man. With glasses. Holding a small tray with two mugs of coffee and one cold, long-neck bottle of black coffee.

I jumped from the chair and my heart stopped as I cried, “Xander!”

“Looks like my plans weren’t sabotaged after all,” he laughed and handed me the burning cup of coffee, “Don’t spill it!”

“You’re friends with my mom?”

My mother stood to grab the tray from Xander. Xander strut over to me, but to me, it looked like he was prowling to claw the skin off my face. He sat on the arm of the rocking chair and crossed his legs like an even gayer Peter Pan. He even had the artificial smile plastered on his skin.

“So did your scars clear up?” he asked, “I think I saw some bandages in the restroom, upstairs.”

“Veronica, why is he here?” I demanded. I kicked at the carpet and stomped out the living room, making my way for the staircase obscured by two double doors. Xander held the doors, bottle still in hand, letting himself wander behind me. I darted up the spiral, black stairs and trotted down the long hallway of doors until I reached mine. Honestly, out of everything in the house was opposite of the one I remembered, I wasn’t surprised the sign on my door made from cardboard and crayons was still there. Hanging on a screw nailed into the chipped wood.

“It’s still here…” I whispered to myself, running my fingers across the board.

“Didn’t know you and Castor knew each other,” Xander rested his hand on my shoulder. I felt his fingers itching the back of my neck.

“Uh. . . Why don’t you work on that paperwork from earlier?”

“Locked it in the lounge.”

I opened the door and took my first steps back into the bedroom that I did everything in. My life was in there. The walls were painted a dark teal and sketches drawn on copy paper were stapled into the drywall, though the black curtains shrouded them. My old, gray PC slumped in the corner, collecting dust and mice. My bed wasn’t made, so I could see the wrinkled sketches strewn beneath the sheets. I brushed them off the bed and plopped down. Xander followed, shutting the door behind him.

“I cleaned up the plastic dinosaurs on the carpet, earlier,” exclaimed Xander, “And dusted out the CD drive on your computer.”

“This means a lot to me. . . So I’d like to be alone,” I explained, softly, and pressing my head into the pillow, “I—”

He knelt beneath the window closest to my closet. He slowly poured the rest of his coffee down the vent, which was probably three quarters left.

“The action figures in the top drawer, the sketch of a dragon in your seventh year Math binder, the gum from the corner of your room, the potato chip crumbs at the end of your mattress…”

The more detail he spoke in, the larger the portion of my body was covered in my blanket. Shielded is a better term.

“. . . And the screwed up nightmare stuffed in your closet,” he continued, “Pl—”

“I’ll look myself!” I shouted, shoving him into my unstable nightstand.

Cautiously, I stepped over the broken toys tangled in the carpet strings, and wrapped my hand around the knob. I switched on the light. Shelves were stuffed with ripped, paperback comic books and. . . Dolls. Doll babies: the ones with hair made of string and button eyes. Perfectly preserved, upright on a shelf. The light shut off. I drowned in the dark flooding my room. Couldn’t tell if my eyes were open or closed, but I could figure the imaginary blade stabbing my chest. I pictured Xander wielding one in his hand, tugging on my collar, laboring in my face. My chest went up and down like an inflating balloon blown by a child during an asthma attack. A pillow smothered my face.

“Are your scars gone, now?” Xander’s swinish voice penetrated my ears.

My voice warbled and trembled, breaking like a rotting stick crushed by a bear, “No. . . You’re making it worse!”

He had rolled up my right sleeve to dig his claw into a deep cut I never bandaged for a week. His hair got into my eyes. His chest pressing into mine. I heard the squeamish sound of my blood being toyed with. He pressed so deeply into other areas that they left bleeding cuts. He removed the pillow from my face and heaved it into my side.

“A real president would punish me for this!” breathed Xander, “So do something about it!”

“Or what?”

With every muscle in his body trembling, he drove me into the wall, cutting my lip on a loose nail. I felt something cold underneath me. It was covered in fabric and felt scaly to the touch. And flaky. A groan came from it. Xander stepped on my back, forcing me to collide with the object. It was the dead body, rotting in my closet. Blood drying up on his skin. Skin thin as a fiber.

Xander put his face near mine. Claws feeling sharper than before. He stabbed the corpse’s neck with them alone. I grabbed his wrists to make him stop.

“I’ll stop. . .” he whispered, “But the thing’s already done for!”

“Just make it stop! I’ll get Peirson back, okay!” I confessed, digging my face into the palms of my hand. My voice more scratched than ever. I loosened my grip.

His heaving stopped, and sounded more delicate.

“You have next school week. . . just leave me alone!”

“Take your time.”

The wind stopped. Leaves danced in the skies and met the ground. Just a damp as usual. Indigo and I wandered through Clock Park, until I stopped to rest on the swing. Indigo stood behind me to push me. His hair was curled from the humidity around us, and he didn’t wear his glasses.

“So all of that happened just yesterday?” asked Indigo, “You can’t get your body back in five days!”

“It’s gonna be rotten by then,” I said.

“I wonder where the real Peirson is.”

He gripped the chains holding the swing to pole to stop the swinging. I heard a quiet giggle come from him as he did. I dragged my feet in the grass and stuffed my hands in my pockets. He grinned and asked, “Do you want to hang out at the pool, tomorrow?”

My faint smile turned to shock. I haven't been to a pool in years. Like, in eleven years since I was six years old!

“I can’t go shirtless!” I complained, “They’ll just stare and point at me and. . . Just no!”

“Who said they had to be bad stares?”

I looked down at my entire body. I could point out at least one flaw about each body part on a sub-molecular level. I poked at my thigh through my jacket pocket. But that wasn’t the problem. The problem right was next to it. Indigo began to smirk and said, “Listen: in comparison to me. . . You look fine.”

“Fine? Just decent?!”

“Did I tell you that Peirson exercised four hours a day and only ate vegan products?”

“I lost the same amount of weight by sweating!”

He walked around the swing and knelt in front of me. His voice became softer.

“We’ll both head to the pool, but I’ll take care of Xander.”

His phone vibrated in his pocket. He immediately powered it off.

“What was that phone call about, Thursday?” I stood up in front of him. I tried to appear dominant so that he’d answer me.

“Family thing,” he disclosed, “Harper was talking to my dad during a conference, so he called me about it.”

“Was he angry?”

“Yeah. I might need to stay at your place, tonight.”

my writing

#death #fiction #mystery #psychological #reincarnation #thriller #school #disturbing #romance #unsettling #novel #my writing #my post

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thisaccounthasbeentransfered · 5 years

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Project Nebula 2: To Escalate

Clouds blanketed the sky in its depressing, rainy glory. Under a wet black oak tree, I bathed in reeking rainwater. I had gotten there at dawn. I heard the splashing of feet in the puddles of water, approaching me. I looked up. It was Indigo, dressed as if he were to travel to the coldest regions of the Earth in a few minutes. Everything obscured in jackets and scarves. He sat at the edge of the bench.

"It's not even cold," I commented, "And I thought we were just talking."

"This is evidential!" he barked back, "If you want to know how you ended up like this, you need to look in more unexpected places."

I opened the tote bag. The absurdity of the items we bought ranged from little girl sticker books to Victorian-era kitchen utensils. Disjointed, irrelevant, and possibly helpful. I reached inside and took out an old P.D. Maybe 2001. The screen was covered in hardened dirt. I took out the stylus to scratch it off with the nib. Indigo's gaze was fixed on my eyes. He pulled on my jacket.

"Can I use your jacket?" he lowered his voice and whispered.

"I don't like showing my arms," I mumbled, and took off my jacket anyway, "We should get back home."

"My dad's visiting my mom, today, so we can go to my place."

The sky darkened. Indigo lived in a wooden, two-story house in the same condition as a cabin torn off the ground by a tornado. Doors had giant locks on them instead of a tradition lock in the knob. The floors were all wood, too. He and I sat in his family room on the couch. Just old books and pillows piled up to the ceiling. But the couch was the only sanitized furniture in the house.

His wild hair ticked my nose and neck as he rested his head on my shoulder. It was heavy, so I'm guessing he had a big brain in there. He rummaged through the apps and files on my phone, my personal stuff, but I put up with it.

"I wish I was part of the FBI," he murmured and cuddled me like I was a giant stuffed panda, "We'd have a team of people to solve it for us."

"I said you could take my jacket, not cuddle me," I chuckled under my breath. I don't understand why I laughed at that. I never said I wanted it to stop.

"Girls cuddle with me all the time; you're lucky it's me and not Harper."

"Liar; at least Harper is a girl."

In my head, potential responses bounced around and reached my lips but never spoken. The silence was a puppeteer pulling the strings of my legs to keep jumping and my arms to tremble, uncontrollably. But as this silence lingered, my growing patience depressed.

I've never been in the teacher's lounge. Or at least at this school. Only time was in the first grade by accident. I tidied up my uniform, the same thing Indigo wore when I was in Helix's car. I still think it's odd that, despite us meeting only days ago, I've already stayed over at his place. I pumped out my chest, put my legs together, and kept my hands behind my back. I stepped inside. A long polished, wooden desk in the middle with comfortable cushion chairs. Microwaves and coffee machines in every corner. There was another door with a plaque that read Student Council above it. I walked in and sat down in a beanbag chair in the corner.

"How professional, President," Harper announced from across the room, And out of nowhere like she spawned here in a video game.

"Well, I'm the president and I have complete control over everything that goes on in here," I asserted, and glared back. I've never been in charge of anything, and this was my only chance to make that clear.

"First, we all have a say; you know that! Second—"

She poured in a steaming cup of coffee into a clear, plastic cup and marched over to where I was sitting. She didn't trip over her feet or anything on the carpet, she didn't even miss a beat and moved in perfect harmony. Like I was the piece of meat at the end of maze left for a starving polar bear. From a few feet away, she launched the cup into the air and into my face. Hot coffee basically melting my face off. Of course, I'm exaggerating.

Xander shoved through the door with his back hunched over and his fists clenched up. But he was smiling.

"I'm quitting the role as vice president!" he declared, "Isn't that right, Peirson!"

"We all have to decide!" Harper shouted and grabbed his shirt collar, "And you don't even have a valid reason! Peirson can't make that kind of decision!"

"Everyone, get in your seats!" I screamed. No one reacted and continued to argue with each other. I threw my bean bag chair against Harper's leg and walked out the room.

I stormed out into the math department hallway. But I didn't pass the restroom. I stood up against the brick walls with my face buried in my hands. Every inch of my body was an impending explosion of boiling blood. My vision went double and air escaped my lungs. My chest looked like an inflating balloon. Indigo walked around the corner with the same looking tote back from the day prior. He took my hand.

"Tough day, wasn't it?" he laughed, "Harper, right?"

I grabbed him the shoulders and shoved him into the wall. With my voice still torn and scratched, I begged, "She threw hot coffee in my eyes! Did she always act so psychotic?"

"If you keep acting like this, everyone's going to think our student body president has gone mad!"

"I'm going to talk to her in private."

His faded smile contorted into a scowl. He grabbed my wrists and thrust my arms back down to my side. He shoved past me and marched out the same way he came from. Not even a goodbye. I couldn't tell if his anger was only an act and that I was supposed to read between the lines. I could still feel the sensation of his grasp like I was put in handcuffs and unable to move them. Despite that, I still desired to talk to Harper when the day ended.

Again, I was the fly on the wall. Observing the actions and words of the faceless students around me. Their identity meant nothing to me, only the nonsense complications they stir up for the week, kill off, then create a new situation to occupy their time. This time, I was the observer in the gymnasium. Every prepared, dedicated student did whatever they were told, throwing and kicking the football every time they had to. By my own logic, I am neither prepared or dedicated.

Helix was in the game, and of course was the best player. I kept my eye on him. And he kept his eye on me. Whenever he ran north, the side of the gym I was on, his eyes fixated on mine. And I felt guilty every time I reciprocated. From my arms to my legs to every hair on my body, I stood petrified. The whistle blew, and the students all parted.

"Hey, Peirson!" Helix yelled from the center of the room, "Why aren't you participating?"

"I don't—" I stopped myself before my shouting turned into a shriek.

"What was that?"

"Nevermind!"

Even with my head facing the lower half of the wall, I could still see Helix walking towards me, peripherally. I moved my head around a little and counted on my fingers to give off the illusion that I was thinking about something unrelated. Immediately, once we were breathing the same air, he slammed my back against the wall. His breathing was unsteady, almost like he was choking on thorns. His pupils shrunk to the size of a particle. His claws dug into my chest.

"What your real name?" he demanded.

"Peirson Ralston, you know that!"

"You know how I know you're lying?"

I stared at the floor to escape his devilish gaze. Students turned their heads. I swallowed my hot tears. It was that silence, again. Lifting our head, the tips of our noses touch. My skin was a burning stove top. My legs were gelatin melting under the flaming sun.

"You're not leaving that easily."

My feet wouldn't move up the steps. The door was inches away from my face. I left of the path and circled around the house like a stalking lion. Indigo had my only jacket, so my scrawny arms were exposed to the many onlookers that only existed in my head. Fog washed over me. I stared through the window of the laundry room.

"Mr. Lynch!" I bellowed and banged on the glass, "Is Indigo in there?!"

A stream of thick liquid trickled from my forehead and stained my lips. The world went stagnant as I dropped to my knees. Shards of stones sliced my palms. Trees, bushes, mist, the stones. . . They drifted into space.

Despite me wanting to enter, I didn't want him or his dad to see me, covered in bruises. I could feel my limbs going numb. Or it was all in my head. Someone opened the window. Indigo. He carried a laundry basket and set it on top of the washing machine. He maintained a straight face as he gave me a blank look.

"So, what did Harper say?" he asked, keeping his back facing me as he folded shirts fresh out the dryer.

"I didn't talk to her," I mumbled, "I didn't want to after that."

"After what?"

He turned around, saw my cut up arms and scarred neck. With a face of shock, he grabbed one of the white shirts from the dryer and ran out of the room. In mere seconds, he ran up behind me. He stretched the shirt around my right arm, which bled the most, and tied the ends into a complicated knot. Already, it wasn't holding up, as it began to thin and turn a deep, velvet color.

"It really isn't that bad, Indy," I pulled away.

"You yelled through my window," he stressed, "Clearly, you needed me for something."

I stared back down at the wet grass. His scrutiny created the feeling of authority as if he was critiquing every move I made. Deep down in my gut, I knew that I shouldn't have felt guilty of a backlash that wasn't my intention.

"Are you still mad at me?" I tripped backward from waking from my deep daydream.

"I. . . I wasn't mad. . . I'm just confused about all this," he explained.

"I'll explain ever—"

"I didn't offer to help, then you got beat up because I was selfish and got angry."

He and I gave each other a warm smile. A forced two smiles. It was like a little boy trying to make his mother a Christmas present at the last minute. A weird comparison, but that has happened to me before. His phone vibrated in his pocket and whispered, "It's Xander..."

He held his phone close to his mouth, constantly pressing the volume button to ensure it was mute. His back turned, he faltered his way back inside through the front door, leaving me stranded out in his backyard, leaving me to limp behind him. Childish. The thoughts stuck in the back of my head about what he was planning to do with me. I was okay with limping behind.

#mystery #death #school #fiction #novel #psychological #thriller #drama #trust #disturbing #unsettling #romance

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thisaccounthasbeentransfered · 5 years

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Project Nebula 1

The hallways were empty. Quiet. Or that's how I imagined. I hardly remember. I sat in the teachers' lounge, coffee mug in my hand, and about hundreds of student journalists surrounding me. How did I end up here?

An exhausting Wednesday afternoon, I walked into my Literature class, eyes locked on the tiles below my feet. I felt isolated from my surroundings. Where was I going? Opening the door, another student shoved me out the way. Hands in his pockets, hair perfectly groomed and out of his face. A smirk crossed his face.

"He popped him!" he exclaimed, "He looked like a goddamn rat!"

"Woah, what?" one of his minions gasped. Soon, everyone crowded his desk to hear this true story. But I didn't believe him. Not an over sensationalized situation only he saw. He propped his feet up on the desk, leaning back in his chair while students caressed his gorgeous hair and hovering over his $800 phone.

And there I was, hunched over, hair in my face, pupils getting smaller every time a student asked who is that? What's their last name? I knew it wasn't real. And Helix knew it, too. The bell rung, and I was the first to leave the room. Speeding down the mathematics hallway, I slowed down once I crossed the mens' restroom. Curious, I opened the door. Nothing but the flickering of the cheap lights. Tangled in my head was the question did that actually happen? Fights happen on the regular at my school. Right as I touched the door handle to exit, I heard muffled gargling from the biggest stall, with a sink and toilet. I quietly stalked pass the mirrors and the other stalls. White and black sneakers peaked from under the door. I knocked on the door. Nothing but a moan. I crawled under the door, holding my breath just in case he was actually just tying his shoes or something.

His oily black hair and pale skin sent a shock to my gut. His shirt pulled over his face make my heart burst. Thick, dark blood drenched everything. That killed me.

"No. . . this isn't real. . ." I pried his eyelid open with my fingers, "Can you hear me?"

"Why didn't you stop him?" the boy labored. His eyes closed and skin felt cold. Like an hand stitched ragdoll, he fell over, head colliding with the tiles. Blood stained my hands. Suddenly, my eyes opened. I was awake. Still in the same spot next to the boy. Still a mess. Somehow, the colors and lights around me, I noticed. My own body, I could move. I felt it was mine. These hands are mine, I thought.

Routy football players stormed into the bathroom like a herd of giant buffalo. I washed my hands in the sink already in the stall,and slipped through them like an ant traveling through grass. The question and my brain marry. The question was a perfect description of everything prior: why didn't I stop—anything?

That same night, I laid on my couch, scrolling through articles and excerpts. Anything with the word "murder" in the title. Nothing about a teenager or a high school. I heard a light knock at the door. Blood drained from my face. A knock at my door who isn't a relative or delivery guy? I opened it. It was Xander. Assistant student body president. His eyes pierced my own. He held a poster rolled up and tied with several bands.

"Peirson, the staff—"

"Peirson? I'm Castor!" I corrected him.

"You look nothing like Castor," Xander reubuttled, "Castor doesn't talk."

He invited himself inside and plopped on the couch. He unraveled the poster, which was an advertisement for the election of student body president. Peirson's name was on it. Peirson Ralston. I sat next to Xander, hunched and hands in fists. Legs crossed and licking my lips, constantly. Like a little girl meeting the lead of a boy band.

Wanting to stroke my ego, I asked, "What do you think about Castor?"

"Never saw his face; it was kind of a hazy childhood memory," he joked, "But I liked him okay."

Everything turned quiet. The trees outside were stagnant. All I could hear was my concerning heavy breathing pattern. I took off my jacket and tossed it on the floor. I observed the poster, trying to spark a conversation from that, but I feel as if he didn't come for the poster. Or me. For Peirson. I sunk into the seat. I picked up my phone, pretending to text friends I didn't even have. Xander jumped up and trudged into my kitchen. He opened my fridge and popped open a bottle of black coffee without looking for half a second. Wanted the snacks, he opened the snack cabinet. A cup, he opened my dishwasher. Not once did he mix up my pots and pans cabinet for seasoning. My eyes were fixated on his. Absolutely stoic. He set his glasses on top the microwave and toyed around with my silverware.

"Why do you have so many scars on your arm?" he asked, pouring the rest of the black coffee into the sink of already clean dishes.

"Um, I—"

"Did someone try to hurt you?"

"I'm not sure."

"I hope not; you're the best president we've ever had."

"Okay..."

I couldn't keep my legs from jumping like an epileptic rabbit. Being in the corner of the classroom with ancient, flickering lights made it easier to mess around. My shirt was soaked in nervous sweat. My hair was as oily as the dead boy in the stall. Weird comparison to say in front another person. I wouldn't even want to say that aloud to myself. I wondered if he was still in the stall. My stomach churned so violently, I couldn't even shower with myself, sleep with myself, or brush my own hair.

During a discussion about criminal justice, I got out of my chair and slipped through the desks. Mrs. Muller didn't even bat an eye. Once I tiptoed out the classroom, I darted to the restroom. I smelled a strong, Spring cologne ahead. And the clanking of expensive chains. Helix. I sped around the corner, but I kept my distance.

"Peirson?" he groaned, and prepared his fist to punch me. Blood boiled under his skin and he shuffled around, grinding his teeth as he spoke, "You lookin' for a another boy toy to mess with?"

"Where's Castor?" I implored, stepping closer.

"I-I don't—," Helix took a deep, hesitant breath, "He's in my car..."

Quietly, he reached into his jean pocket to take out an excessively decorated ring of keys. His back faced me. He pulled on his hair with one hand and clutching the other. I knew he was building up his fear until I left so he could spill it all out in private. Cry to himself. Although, I felt he deserved to feel bad about himself. As silently as possible, I tiptoed out the school through the backdoor. I avoided every janitor and staff that could report me to the office or give me a detention. Helix's car was park directly in front of a garage door where external services would deliver and stock supplies. I unlocked all the doors with the small remote. Every creak of a door made me tremble. Even if there wasn't a body in there, I can't excuse myself if I'm under eighteen. But Helix could.

He was right: Castor was in there. Laying on the cold carpet floor. I crawled into the backseat and shut the door. I wish cars came with curtains. I pulled the body onto the seat, his head drooping like a wet leaf. His skin was warm. I guess Helix had his heater on for a while. His hair was washed and trimmed. He sported a red lettermen Letterman jacket and dark, black jeans. The fact he treated him like a human mannequin sent scenes of mutilated corpses from horror films spiraling in my brain.

"I hated looking at myself in the mirror," I disclose (I'm not sure admitting to a dead person is disclosing anything), "But you look better than how I remember. I look better, I mean."

I imagined him saying, "You were always good-looking."

"Thanks."

"Prez!"

I turned to stone. Every nerve bursted into a trembling mess. . . I stuffed half of him under the passenger seat and covered the rest with my jacket. However, I was still blistering like lava ran through my veins. I turned to look out the window. Two roles of the student body, one girl and one male, scowled through the glass. They both wore thin black sweater vest and matching dress shirt and pants.

"Peirson, it's 9:50!" the girl scolded and pushed up her glasses, who I recognized as the treasurer, Harper.

"Oh, yeah, the meeting and the paperwork...?" I stuttered.

"Check the schedule and prepare accordingly next time."

"Wha—"

"This is the uniform the cheer team wanted you to wear."

She reached into her backpack, and pulled out a uniform resembling theirs. I rolled down the window, and she tossed it through. As she walked away, the male student came up to the window. His face was more relaxed the hers. He had the same strawberry blond hair as Harper, and the same glasses. I believed they were twins, but they had very non similar surnames on their nametags. His read Indigo Lynch. He gave me a seductive smile, although I don't believe he wanted to insinuate anything.

"Don't let her walk all over you; I got that covered," Indigo remarked. His voice sounded as he was just turning fourteen, still trying to adjust to his new, mature physicality. His skin was also just as tender.

"Open the door," he placed his hand on the door handle. My brain was slowly polluted with really weird scenarios of what could happen. It's seemed like everyone I met after I discovered the dead body had a strange aura. As if I could literally hear what they were thinking, or at least the gestures they were going to make. I unlocked the door. Kneeling right next to me in the backseat, he rest his hand on my mine.

In a soft whisper, he promised, "You and I are going to get your old body back!"

I kept blinking and counting my fingers just to remind myself that this was reality. He wouldn't stop staring me in the eyes until I gave him a response. He smile slowly faded.

"I— I just want to know how I got in this body," I stuttered, "I just want an answer."

"Don't worry; meet me at Clock Park, tomorrow so we can talk about this in private."

"What's wrong with our houses?"

"I don't want my parents to hear."

#mystery #death #school #fiction #novel #thriller #psychological #trust #romance #disturbing #unsettling #drama #webnovel

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