“Seriously, go screw yourself Bren.”
“Huh? Why?”
“Because that’s exactly what I’m going to have to do!”
Bren held the tip of the condom, so none of “The God’s Juice” got out, and with a disgusted face, he tied it in a tidy little knot, buried it in a handful of tissues, and dropped it in the garbage like it was contaminated with the next apocalyptical-zombie-causing virus. Then, he looked up at me with sad, tired eyes. “Look, Sage I’m sorry about how it’s been lately. I’m under a lot of pressure. Come here.”
I let him wrap his arms around me. Let him touch his lips to mine.
My eyes closed tight, and his cool minty lips moved from my mouth and pressed against my forehead. That’s when I realized he hadn’t even bothered to spit out his tobacco; he never even planned on kissing me. I felt pushed aside, like an autumn leaf blowing against a hard, unmovable stone.
What happened to Bren?
He looked like he was so successful; wore the perfect clothes, always has the perfect hairstyle, but he was just a shell. I could recognize a shell of a person; they have the same emptiness as me. Bren once had a plan for his life. Maybe the issue he was facing was that his plans weren’t going according to what he wanted. I knew all too well about plans that turned horribly wrong. I knew what being shattered and torn down felt like.
Right about now you think I’m a pushover, don’t you? You think maybe I’m staying with Mr. Moneybags because of his bank account, or that I’m not confident enough, or whatever the hell it is you’re thinking. Don’t judge me, because really? Come on, your love lives are so perfect? Are there always flowers and candles lit when you come home from a long day at work? Was there always lust and amazing multiple orgasms and a gorgeous man who would rub your back for hours? Yeah, I didn’t think so. Bren was every guy.
This wasn’t a Disney fairytale. Bren was no Prince Charming, and I never pretended he would be. I may have loved to read my romance and smut novels, but I was not blinded by the ‘fiction’ part of it all. I knew the difference between what was real and what came from a hopeless romantic’s imagination.
Reality was the toilet seat would always be up. Dirty socks would be strewn carelessly about on the floor, while toothpaste and shaving cream were caked all over the sink.
And the saddest reality of all
Was there would never be any more
Fluttery butterflies in your belly
Or in your heart.
Police Report
Investigation: Criminal Sale of Controlled Substance
Date: September 21, 2014
Time: 1634 Hrs.
Location: Bleecker Street and Barrow Street
John Doe “Doc” [CASE SUBJECT] - Male/Caucasian. Approximately 25-30 years old. 5’11 -6’2”, 200 LBS. Wearing: White dress shirt and navy pants.
On September 21, 2014 at approximately 1634 hours, while in a long term operation in an undercover capacity under the supervision of Lieutenant Masterson who was conducting a case buy operation in the confines of the 16 Precinct, I Undercover (UC) #C5192 picked up approximately 100 grams of alleged cocaine from John Doe “Doc” for the set price of $1500.00. The circumstance to the above is as follows:
Prior to Meeting my subject John Doe “Doc” [Case Subject] at the above location mentioned, I had spoken and made arrangements yesterday via cell phone to pick up the above amount of cocaine from John Doe “Doc,” When I reached above location “Doc” was waiting outside door of building # 420. "Doc" shook my hand and inserted one clear plastic twist bag white powdery/ rocky substance, from his right pants pocket, which I believed contained cocaine. In return I handed “Doc” $1500.00 USC/PRBM which he placed into his back pocket. He told me of a delivery of Oxycontin he was getting and he'd get in touch when his contact pulled through. I then shook his hand and informed the C.O. what transpired. No arrest made-Case Buy.
Chapter 3
Charlie
Closing the shop that night, I found Violet standing stiffly in the corner of her studio with I’m not only the President of the Douche Club for Men, I’m a Member Matt blocking her doorway into the gallery.
Violet’s eyes were huge, and the punch that Matt had handed her the night before had, in the last few hours, blossomed into an angry mess of red and purple busted blood vessels along her beautiful cheekbone. She looked terrified and seemed to be frozen in that emotional state, glued to the damn floor. What is it with us women that when we see someone who looks stronger than us, we cower from fear? My adrenaline kicked in and flooded like an electrical current of heat across my chest and down my arms. There was no way I was going to let him hit her again.
Matt stood tall and imposing. He wore a typical muscle shirt that let him brag about how mighty and strong he was without having to say a word. Yes, Mr. Douche President, Sir, you have some mighty big muscles there, but I’m going to kick you in the junk real hard if you touch her.
And then, it spoke its venom.
“If you just did what I asked of you, then I wouldn’t have to look elsewhere, Violet. What did you expect me to do?" he questioned with an air of superiority in his voice, making him the victim and not her. “She was offering everything I was begging you for, baby. Everything and more. You were getting boring, baby. You work too much.”
He slid his hand over his nearly shaved head and down his face. “You. You act like you’re so much better than me, but you ain’t, girl. You ain’t. You ain’t nothing but a trashy runaway who got lucky. You’re nothing but shit and a bad lay and I’ve…”
I watched as her shoulders dropped forward and her head hung low with each cut of the words, taking every one in like the blade of a knife. Making her believe it was all her fault. She bent over, clenching her eyes, holding her stomach with the physical pain of what he spit from his mouth.
“Get out of my shop,” I said as I took out my phone and dialed a 9 and a 1. I let my finger hover over the last 1.
Both of their heads snapped up to look at me. Violet’s eyes widened even more; I swear I feared they’d pop right out. But Matt’s ugly scowl just got uglier, which I didn’t even think was possible–but it did. Did you ever meet one of those guys? Those muscular juiceheads you see in the gym; beautiful, tanned, toned, spandex-wearing bodies, with the tiny creepy face of a hairy little bat, and you wonder how they could ever find a girlfriend. That's Matt.
Matt’s beady black eyes narrowed at me, taking a long look. One of those once overs from head to toe like a rapist would do to his next victim. “Fuck you, Sage. What are you going to do to me?”
“Matt, sweetheart, all I have to do it press another little number one on my cell phone and the cops will come here. Then, it will be up to you to explain to them why Violet’s face looks like she went a round with Mike Tyson.”
His jaw clenched and his hand flew across Violet’s drawing table, whipping up a frenzy of fluttery drawings and sketches across the floor. “What-the-fuck-ever!” he yelled and stormed out the door.
I followed him out the front door and locked it as soon as he was outside. My hands were shaking from the adrenaline rush. I slumped myself up against the wall and slid down until I hit the floor.
Violet slid herself down next to me and laid her head on my shoulder. Tears streamed down her face and fell against my skin.
“Vi, you should stay here with me tonight.”
“Okay,” she sniffled.
“Please don’t believe the crap he said to you. You’re none of that stuff and you sure as hell didn’t make him do everything he did to you,” I whispered.
“Yeah. Easier said than done,” she murmured between her tears.
“I know, Sweetie. I know,” I said, squeezing her hand softly.
“Would you really have called the cops on him?”
I looked down at my phone. The screen was still on the keypad screen waiting for me to press the next 1. I closed the screen and saw an alert for a new text message. “Of course I would have called t
he police if I needed to. I wouldn’t let him hurt you, Vi.”
I pressed the text message.
J: Going in to work. Sweet dreams C
C: Stay safe
I ran my thumb over the screen and wished, wished with all my heart, that things could be different. That my past didn’t have to stay so far away from me. I wished that people didn’t need to fear other people, and that words didn’t hurt as much as they did.
∞
My boobs found me in September of sixth grade. And even though all the girls in my class were amazed by my overnight C cups (yeah, can you imagine?) the boys (read as Slate Marshall and Drake Fischer) labeled me fat.
And with the sudden growth of the aforementioned ‘boobage,’ my sixth grade year in school became renamed “The Worst Year EVER,”
Sixth Grade, The Worst Year Ever
By Charlotte Stone
Chapter 1: Colossal FAT Knockers
Chapter 2: Slate and Drake
Chapter 3: The Terrible Split
Chapter 4: Did I Just Poop My Pants?
Need I go on?
Okay, fine. I’ll give you a little more, but I’ll hate you for it.
In the middle of September, our teacher Ms. Spittsman (aka: Spitball), announced to our class that our sixth grade performance would be a stage play of The Suessification of Romeo and Juliet. Okay, so I had a bit of a false start of the year, because Romeo and Juliet was one of my favorite stories. That month, anyway. I say a false start, because I thought since we were doing a play on one of my favorite stories, the year was going to be amazing.
Fat chance.
I was cast as Juliet, and Slate was Romeo! For the first week of practice after school, I walked around holding one of the school’s metal garbage cans in case I needed to vomit when he touched me.
After three weeks of practice, during our dress rehearsal, in front of my entire class, Slate snapped my bra. Not the back strap, but the front one! Yes, in front of everyone, he reached his dirty, creepy hands up and touched between my newly-developed secrets, that I had been trying to hide, and hooked his fingers around the little space between the cups and snapped. Then he said, right into one of the microphones, “Oh, my God, Charlotte has colossal, fat knockers!”
Everyone, but Jase and Joey, laughed.
This crap still gives me nightmares.
After that, all the boys in the class called me, “Fatty Knocker,” I thought about all the ways I could kill Slate Marshall without ever getting caught, but I couldn’t come up with anything. I planned on asking Jase. I knew he'd help me. He’d probably chopped up a few kids before.
Anyway, the night after the dress rehearsal, Joey, Jase, and I were in the tree house playing with my Ouija board. It was our new obsession: trying to contact the dead. And I know it’s completely my fault. I had just finished reading this scary book (Joey's new favorite genre was scary stories and horror…WOOOOOO!) called The Ghost of the Isherwoods by Carol Beach York, and we were OBSESSED. It petrified me in such a good way that I read it out loud to Jase and Joey, who then became just as, or maybe slightly more, obsessed with talking to the dead as me. So, we sat in the tree house every afternoon until sunset, and tried to contact the people who had passed on.
We’d been trying an entire week before the dreaded dress-rehearsal-fat-knocker day, and I was in such a horrible mood that I decided to get a little creative. Okay, so maybe I’d been planning it all week long, but whatever. Jase and Joey watched me carefully as I ripped the little fuzzy foam pieces from the plastic planchette that you push around the board to communicate with the ghosts. From out of my pocket, I pulled these tiny little magnets I had from one of my craft kits. You know the one, the make your own refrigerator magnet kit; my father’s secretary bought it for me. Again, she still thought I was like, five.
I stuffed the little magnets into the three legs of the planchette, and when I felt they were in securely enough, I put it down on the game board.
“What are you doing?” Joey asked, hovering over me.
“I’m making this stupid game more fun.”
“Wait, do magnets attract the ghosts?” Joey asked excitedly.
Jase’s eyes narrowed, watching me. I loved those guys right then, because they were the only ones that hadn’t said anything about my colossal fat knockers. They didn’t even notice them. They were only concerned with how I would find a better way to talk to dead people.
I placed the Ouija board on my crisscrossed legs, and both boys moved in closer to me, our knees touching. I reached my right hand into my back pocket and grabbed the last and biggest magnet, but I didn’t let either of them see it. Then, with it closed tightly in my fist, I placed my hands under the board.
“Okay, I just want to try something,” I said seriously, looking them both in the eyes. “Just keep your hands on the edge of the board and don’t touch the planchette. Just try to concentrate on talking to someone, okay?”
“Okay,” they both said in stereo.
“Spirits of the afterlife. Is there anyone here in the tree house with us?” I whispered all spooky-like. Then, I pulled both my lips between my teeth so I wouldn’t bust out laughing, because I knew the next thing to happen was going to be written about in the history book of our friendship.
Under the Ouija board, I gently touched the bigger magnet I held in my hand to the bottom of the board right beneath where the planchette stood. Then, I slowly slid the magnet up the board to the word, “yes,” The planchette moved along, attracted to the magnet that was unseen, and it looked like it had answered us, all by itself.
Jase was the first one up, flipping the board off his knees and trying to get up and scoot away so fast that he fell right on his butt. Joey screamed like a girl.
I laughed and almost peed my pants.
“See boys; that is how you play the game.”
Joey was at the corner of the tree house, desperately trying to get the window open to climb out, and Jase had squashed himself flat up against the wall.
Joey was yelling, “Charlie! Charlie! You have to have the ghost say goodbye or else it will possess your body! Hurry up! It’s gonna be like Poltergeist, stay away from TVs!”
I was laughing so hard that I started hiccupping and yes, I peed a little in my pants. It took me a full five minutes to finally be able to explain to them what I did and another five minutes to talk Joey into believing me while pulling him back into the tree house.
When they both realized my prank, we went laughing into my house so I could change my undies and get some dinner. It was another make our own ice cream sundae night, because I had no clue where my parents were. Since I was only ten, I couldn’t cook, and we were out of those little cup of soup thingys. Three bowls, five scoops each of chocolate and vanilla, extra nuts for me, extra cherries for Joey, and chocolate syrup, not caramel, for Jase. We had a rainbow sprinkle fight and left the mess. Nobody was there to see it anyway.
“What the hell?” Jase’s voice caught my attention by the front window. “The Jenson sisters are walking up to your door.”
“This feels like the beginning of a bad horror movie,” Joey whispered. “Someone hold me; I’m scared,” he chuckled.
“Oh, God, what Disney princess drama is this?” Jase whispered as I opened the door, while clutching my giant bowl of ice cream dinner to my chest.
Rebecca and Rachael stood next to each other, smiling their creepy, lip-glossed, identical smiles. A clone of each Jenson sisters flanked the sides of them; ironed, pin-straight hair, lips glossed to a sparkling shine, all four standing in the same exact posture, heads all creepily tilted in the same way.
“That’s just creepy,” Jase whispered next to me. "They look like four of the same exact people." I nodded my head, thinking the same thing.
“Uh, hi?” I said.
“Hey, Charlotte. We came by to see if you wanted to hang out,” Um. What? Crap-on-a-stick, my ice cream was going to melt.
I opened the door to let them come in. I m
ay not have been in my right mind; I’m not sure what my thought process was. These girls never paid attention to us, and honestly, I never paid attention to them, so let’s call it curiosity.
The four Jenson droids filed in, all walking the same way, all using the same strange dramatic movements. I spooned a heap of ice cream into my mouth, waiting for the punch line to the joke.
Joey sat himself at the edge of my living room, on the small loveseat, and Jase folded his arms across his chest and stood next to me, feet spread wide (I called this his Law-man stance, because it was exactly how our school safety officer stood by the front entrance to our school).
“So,” I said after swallowing the mouthful of ice cream and shoving in another spoonful (excuse me, but I was starving), “what’s up?”
Rachel looked around my house and then back to me. Her eyes scanned my face, but ended right on my chest. “Are your parents home?”
I narrowed my eyes at her. Then, I noticed all four droids staring at my chest. “Nope,” I replied.
“And they let you have boys in the house while they’re not home?” Rebecca asked.
I shrugged my shoulders and ate another spoonful of my quickly melting sundae. “It’s just Joey and Jase. My parents don’t mind.”
All four identical mouths smiled their identical smiles.
Jase leaned in closer to me and nudged his shoulders against mine. And I knew exactly what he was thinking. Because I swore I could communicate with my best friends without having to use any words. Way better than I could communicate with the dead.
The nudge.
Hey Charlie, the creepy girls are planning something.
Yeah, Jase, but what?
Don’t know. But if you start painting glitter all over your face like that, I’m revoking best friend rights.
Ha-freaking-Ha. Let’s have them play the Ouija board with us.
I knew you were my best friend for a reason.
Are you going to finish your ice cream?
Ah, that would be a, “Hell yes.”
Mine is getting all melty.