Oh My Goth

by Gena Showalter

  “I’ll give you the penny tour.” He leads me to his bedroom, which is very different from mine. No pink frills for him. A small bed with dark blue covers occupies the far wall. There’s a desk, a computer and lots of workout equipment I don’t recognize. The bookshelf is filled with books about carpentry, but also fiction. His tastes span the gamut, everything from horror by Amy Lukavics, postapocalyptic tales by Kresley Cole, to steampunk by Kady Cross.

  “Don’t freak out, but...” He walks to the desk and lifts the picture frame. “You’re my girlfriend, and I like to look at you.”

  My bones do that melting thing as I study the picture inside. It’s of me. One someone took while I was unaware. We’re at a party, and I’m tucked against his side, gazing up at him with a half smile on my face.

  “Why would I freak out?” I ask.

  “Thought you might think I’m moving too fast.”

  “We’re way past too fast, Clarie.” And life can be short. We must enjoy what we have, while we have it.

  He gives me a swift kiss before taking me into the kitchen. Like the living room, it’s a replica of my old one. Stainless-steel appliances, a pink-veined marble counter. A refrigerator with a single magnet in the center, which has the number to my dad’s favorite pizza place.

  “What do you think?” he asks.

  “I love it,” I reply honestly.

  We return to the living room. I’m drawn to the piano, the only real difference in the two homes. I try to imagine him sitting on the bench, his fingers racing over the keys, but can’t quite manage it.

  “Do you play?” I ask.

  “I do.”

  “Play something for me, then.” I press my palms together, forming a steeple. “Please.”

  After a prolonged hesitation, he settles on the piano bench. He flicks me a glance, saying, “If this doesn’t prove how much I like you, nothing will,” before focusing on the keys.

  His nervousness is endearing. He’s usually so strong and confident about...well, everything.

  Then music fills the room, and I close my eyes, losing track of my thoughts. The notes are tender and beautiful and they lift me up, up, as if my spirit is actually rising from my body. I’m positively giddy. But my body holds on tight, unwilling to relinquish any part of me. When the pace slows, the melody deepening, I’m wrenched into a thousand places of heartbreak. The kind I’ve not let myself feel. Deep and world-changing. The kind that leaves scars.

  How is this possible? How is he doing this?

  Does he play in real life?

  I would blame black magic, as Mercedes once accused me of wielding, but there’s nothing evil or wicked here. Only light, shining so brightly, chasing away darkness.

  If my reality hadn’t shifted, I would have remained on the same, terrible road. Fighting my feelings, determined to remain numb. I would have missed the opportunity to get to know Clarik—and myself.

  I remember how stubborn I was in that other life, so determined to hold on to nothing. I never let myself enjoy my days, or the people populating them, and eventually I would have forgotten about Clarik and my friends, never understanding the treasure I was giving up.

  Now I realize. I don’t know what’s going to happen when I return to real life. Don’t know if anyone else will remember what happened. I still don’t know if real-life Clarik will want anything to do with me, or if our relationship will be this good, but at least I’m equipped to fight for better.

  Whatever happens, I’m not letting this part of him go. I’ll hold him close in my heart, always.

  He doesn’t sing, and yet deep in my soul, a voice whispers. My mother’s voice. You’ve come so far, my love. You see clearly now. You understand. You’re doing what I never had the strength to do. You’re winning.

  When the song ends, quiet descends. The only sound to be heard is the rasp of our uneven breathing.

  My eyes slowly open. Clarik is peering at me with uncertainty. For the first time in our acquaintance, he appears vulnerable.

  “That was absolutely beautiful,” I tell him.

  “Thank you.”

  He stands as I close the distance. I run my fingers through his silky hair, and he kisses my temple. His lips linger over my skin, his warm breath a gentle caress.

  “I’ll finish dressing so we can head out,” he says. “Unless you want to stay here?”

  “I would love to stay, I really would.” I want to stay and never leave. “You have no idea how much—”

  “Oh, I think I have an inkling.” His dry tone makes me laugh, and I’m happy to note the sound no longer has any hint of rust.

  Look at me. Happy! “But I need to be at the party. For my girls.”

  “I understand.” Electric blues glitter with adoration, and it’s far more addicting than any I got at school. “Give me two minutes.”

  After one more kiss to my forehead...then one on the tip of my nose...then one on my lips, as if he can’t bear to leave me, my fingers fisting the collar of his shirt, holding him in place...he rushes off, leaving me desperate and aching.

  In need of a distraction, I walk around the living room again. The pictures of him and his mother are precious. In each one, they’re both smiling ear to ear. Their love for each other is palpable.

  “I’m ready.” His voice comes from behind me.

  I turn and smile at him, drinking him in once again, feeling as if I’m soaring and crashing at the same time. He’s changed out of the button-down and slacks. Now he’s wearing a pink T-shirt to match my dress, and his customary ripped jeans tucked into combat boots.

  Awareness locks me in place, crackles in the air.

  “I want to kiss you again,” he rasps. “Need to kiss you.”

  Breathing becomes more difficult. So does speech, but I manage to whisper, “Yes. Please.”

  He stalks toward me, sensual in a way I never imagined possible. His steps match the beats of my heart. Quick. Almost frantic. Our lips meet in a wild rush. My arms wind around him, because not holding him isn’t an option. The scent of him fills my nose—home, he even smells like home tonight. His tongue tangles with mine, claiming me. Possessing me. A hot, wet pursuit.

  On the walk over here, there was no hint of a storm. Now I would swear I hear thunder, as if the sky itself is clapping for us.

  I sizzle from the inside out, burning, burning from head to toe. My hands slide up, up his muscled stomach, his pecs, and comb through his hair. His hands flatten on my lower back; he urges me forward until there is nothing but a wisp of air separating us.

  This kiss is everything. Life and death rolled into one glorious blaze. It somehow makes up for every time I’ve been called a freak, every boy who has ever found me lacking...every horror I’ve endured in my short lifetime.

  But everything with a beginning has an end. He cups my face and gently pulls my lower lip through his teeth. Slowly, with regret, he lifts his head.

  I gaze up at him with heavy-lidded eyes, and I’m panting a little. His lips are wet, swollen and a darker shade of pink than before. I’m sure mine bear a striking resemblance.

  “This is it, isn’t it?” he asks, his voice rough, broken. “Our last night together.”

  He senses it, too, then. “You’re not going to forget me,” I remind him. “I’m branded here.” I tap his temple.

  “And here,” he says, and taps his chest.

  Chapter 16

  I read somewhere that fear is an enemy

  at your back with a knife at your throat.

  My enemy decided to bring a machete.

  —Jade Leighton

  We walk into the building hand in hand, and it is a bittersweet moment. The beginning of the end...or the end of the beginning. Only time will tell.

  Clarik tries to give our tickets to the welcome committee, but they are too busy gawking at me to notice. F
inally, I place the tickets on the table and draw my boyfriend into the gym.

  If Halloween and Victorian Goth had a baby, and that baby grew up, married The Phantom of the Opera, and those two had a baby, that baby would be the gym at Hathaway High.

  Black lace hangs from the ceiling to create canopied circles. A half-moon of dark purple settees occupies the area in front of a life-size gilt mirror and crow-shaped candelabras. Red velvet is draped over the snack table, where finger foods are, in fact, shaped like human fingers. A “skeleton” is spread over a second table, a crimson stream of juice pouring from its mouth into a punch bowl. To top everything off, a creepy version of a waltz plays in the background.

  “You did this?” Clarik asks.

  “I helped Charlee Ann set up, that’s all. She did the planning while I figured out my life.”

  “Well, then, I’m officially impressed with both of you.”

  “You mean you were only unofficially impressed with me before?”

  “Exactly.”

  The party is already in full swing, music blasting as dancers go wild. Many of the attendees cast me glances, all What is she wearing? Even the teachers stare at me as if I’ve grown two heads. I lift my chin another notch. I’m different once again. So what? I’m still me, and I’m proud of me, whether I’m wearing pink or black.

  Charlee Ann pushes through the masses to approach me, horror contorting her features. The leather dress she’s sporting is similar to the one I wore to school about a month ago, before my realities switched, only she has cut out two swatches of material. One from her chest, revealing the wealth of her cleavage, and one from her midsection. On her feet are five-inch stilettos. Her hair, now dyed multiple shades of blue, is piled in ringlets atop her head.

  “I thought you were getting back on track,” she says.

  “I was. I am. This is me, a girl who will always be a little bit different from the norm. It’s okay if you don’t like me,” I tell her. “I’ve learned to like myself. And let’s be honest, some people clash. That’s just the way it is. I hope it’s me, and not my clothes, that makes the decision for you.”

  She looks between Clarik and me, anger darkening her eyes. “Why can’t you see? Clothes are a reflection of who we are inside. They are a part of you. And you, not me, are the one who is throwing everything away as if it means nothing. Status. Friendship. Love.”

  “Status is nothing. To me at least. But friendship and love have come to mean everything. And yes, I admit it took me a while to learn the difference between those three things, but now that I have... I’ve honestly never been happier. I truly hope you can say the same, Charlee Ann. I do.”

  She opens her mouth, then snaps it closed before marching away. Her loss. I lead Clarik to the dance floor. Despite the frantic beat of the music, he wraps his arms around me, holding me close, and I rest my cheek on his shoulder.

  “I love you,” he whispers into my ear, his hold on me tightening.

  “I love you, too,” I whisper back. It’s such a perfect moment, but it’s also bittersweet. Even if he gives me a second chance when I return to real life, he won’t remember this. He won’t look at me with the adoration I’ve come to crave.

  But that’s okay. This, too, is a shell of itself. It’s twisted and wrong, because it isn’t real.

  It isn’t real—but it can be. I can win his heart, and offer my own. I will give it my all, nothing held back, unafraid of rejection or loss.

  I could lose him at any time. He could die in a car crash, or a disease could take him. Anyone I love could die today, tomorrow, next year. I could die. Let’s face it, the grim reaper has never been picky, or punctual or interested in what does or doesn’t work for us.

  But when I die, I don’t want all my regrets flashing before my eyes. What I could have done. What I should have done. The experiences I could have had, the lives I could have touched.

  I want to die knowing I lived every second to the fullest. Zero regrets. I want to have dreams, and plan ahead and anticipate and embrace the highs and lows, always, always, always fighting for better.

  Mercedes shows up a short time later, flanked by Linnie and Kimberly, who are wearing black to support their friend. All three girls are smiling, and it’s contagious. They even dance around Clarik and me, and we can’t help but flail alongside them. More and more kids join us.

  Mercedes takes my hand and twirls me. “Are you happy?”

  “I’m happy. And you?”

  “I’m getting there.”

  “You aren’t so bad, Leighton,” Kimberly says.

  Linnie gives me a thumbs-up and I beam. “I hope you come back to us.”

  The words stop me in my tracks. “Come back to you?” Is she remembering?

  Her brow furrows, and she gives a little laugh. “I just said I agreed with Kim.”

  Oh. Well, that’s something at least.

  We part ways when a ravenous Clarik ushers me to the buffet table. We fill our plates and claim a table in back, where we devour every crumb. We talk and laugh and just enjoy each other...until I notice a commotion in front of the locker room doors. Bobby and friends are laughing as they pass around a black corset top and leather pants.

  A chord of familiarity strikes me like a whip. I’ve seen those clothes—on Mercedes.

  Where is she? Dread wrings the air out of my lungs. Sweat beads on my back as I search the gym for any sign of my stepsister, finding none.

  “Something’s wrong.” I’m already moving forward. Clarik remains on my heels.

  Other kids have sectioned off. No sign of Linnie or Kimberly, either. Whispers—rumors—are spreading like wildfire, and soon assailing my ears. I pick up words I never ever want to hear again, and my teeth grind.

  “—ahead. Take a peek. She’s in the bathroom now.” Bobby points to the doorway to the lockers.

  She. Meaning Mercedes?

  Are Linnie and Kimberly with her, perhaps just as vulnerable? I look around and still find no sign of them.

  That’s it. I’ve had enough. “You are rotten to the core, Bobby Bay.” I stalk over and rip the clothing away from the boys, one piece after the other, and the laughter dies a savage death.

  Bobby narrows his gaze on me. “You don’t want to do this, Jade. Go away.”

  “Or what?” Clarik is a tower of menace and rage behind me.

  The picture of stubbornness, Bobby stands his ground. “Or Jade will get the same treatment as her stepsister, that’s what.”

  I look over my shoulder, my gaze pleading with Clarik to help me help Mercedes before things get out of control. “Guard the locker entrance. Don’t let anyone through.”

  He gives me a curt nod, and I rush off, pushing past the boys. No one tries to stop me. I race down a narrow corridor and into the girls’ locker room. I search every stall, but there’s no sign of her. Did she find a spare set of clothing and leave?

  A cruel burst of laughter echoes from the other side of the wall...

  My eyes widen. The boys’ locker room.

  I dash back into the hall and turn the corner, then fly into the boys’ room. And there she is, pressed into the far wall, next to the hand dryer, her quivering hands covering her breasts as tears spill from her eyes and splash onto the floor.

  Humiliation radiates from her, her sobs quiet and yet devastating. I know she’s scared, can guess she wants to scream for help, but also doesn’t want anyone else to see her like this.

  Two boys stand a few feet away, both in profile to me. One boy is leering while the other cups his junk and makes lewd suggestions.

  This is not okay. This is never okay.

  I suddenly and totally get why Clarik enjoyed hurting other people’s abusers. I’m not going to waste time with conversation. Surprise is my friend. So, I use it.

  Without making a sound, I attack full force, nothing hel
d back.

  Step one. I close the distance. Step two. I bang Leer with my shoulder, tossing the clothes I’m holding at his face, and kick Lewd in the side, causing him to fly into the nearest stall. He isn’t able to catch himself, so the toilet stops him. The rim slams into his knees and they buckle. I follow him in, ensuring his forehead slams into the porcelain lid on the way down.

  Lights out. Just...like...that. Lewd slinks to the floor, his eyes closed, his body motionless. How’d he like it if I stripped him, took pictures and showed everyone, huh?

  Leer regains his bearings and raises his fists, ready for a fight. Before he has a chance to raise another block, I jab, jab his nose. Cartilage snaps, and blood pours down his chin. Howling, he drops to his knees.

  My instructor’s voice rises inside my mind. Never let your emotions direct your actions.

  That has never before been a problem. Here and now, rage is flooding me. How dare these idiots treat another human being like this? How dare they violate her privacy and threaten her?

  I kick Leer while he’s down. His head snaps to the side and he crash-lands—on his face.

  “You like to hurt people who can’t defend themselves, huh? Well, today, so do I.” I close the distance once again, menace accompanying every step.

  Today my superhero name is Angel of Vengeance.

  “Please...no...stop.” Leer crab-walks back, trying to escape me, but he leaves himself wide-open to another attack. His most vulnerable body part is, well, vulnerable. I take advantage, the way he took advantage of Mercedes’s situation, and kick him between the legs. Another howl. His entire body jerks from the intense shot of pain.

  “S-stop.”

  “I’ll stop when you carry the same internal scars you’ve given her.” I position myself at the side of his head, lift my foot...and stomp. The tread of my shoe slams into his nose.

  He jerks again, then collapses, as motionless as his friend. Blood pours from his broken nose.

  “Jade.”

  A whisper. Mercedes’s whisper, ragged and broken.

  Boys forgotten, I gather the clothes I threw at Leer and rush to her side. She’s taken cover inside a stall now and doesn’t seem to react to my presence, even though she summoned me. She is looking somewhere far, far away, and her tears have stopped falling. I think part of her mind has checked out.