Chapter 10: High School

Chemistry.

What a fucking stupid subject. It made no sense, it was confusing, and she was never gonna use it, so. . . why the fuck did she have to take it?

Sheena didn’t know. She did know, however, that if she didn’t pass the huge final for it next week, she would be shit-fucked by her parents. Her grades (except for English, of course) weren’t too impressive as of late. She tried to make them understand that she had a job, a car, and a troubled friend she cared a lot about. She dismissed the thought with a shake of her head—but it came back, as she knew it would, looming over her. Troubled. What an understatement! To use the term again, he was already on the verge of being shit-fucked.

Psychologically.

Her thoughts cracked like a whip as a warm, boxy hand rubbed hers. She turned her face upright to Jon’s warm but stretched face. He’d been crying, she could tell. She leaned her weight against his skinny frame. They veered to the right together, out of the flowing stream of kids making their way to their first period class.

Sheena, nor Jon, were in any rush.

Casually, he forced a smile as they sat on the heater in the hallway. She pulled out a candy bar, offered him a piece; took a bite out of it after he refused. After a minute he wiped welling tears away from his down-turned face, and Sheena saw them filling his eyes again before he could smudge them away. He didn’t make eye contact with her. It was enough that he had problems; he didn’t want to share his burden, and possibly

(oh, the thought was nightmarish)

scare her away. But that fateful night, when he’d called her, crying, regretting it as soon as her friendly "Hello?" reached his ears had changed his life. They’d been assigned to a Health project together, and he’d had to call her to check on how their egg was doing, if she’d fed it at the appropriate time. Homework stuff.

Jon also remembered sitting at his table in Health on the first day of school, wondering vaguely if he’d be sitting alone, just like in all his other classes. When he saw Sheena heading his way with a smile on her face, his heart jumped into his throat. At first he only answered her with a few words, but as they became closer, he began to open up to her. He found that they shared an interest in pretty much anything. Her love of body piercing earned her a lot of Jon’s respect. In fact, she showed him her belly button earring once.

He’d been up all night thinking about her firm, sexy waist…

"Hey, Sheena? It’s Jon." It was awkward for him to talk on the phone. He never talked on the phone.

"What’s wrong?" her warm, sentimental voice had deepened into sincere concern.

He’d told her about his dad, who was always on tour; his step mom, who once tried to poison him, and then lied about it when he was in the emergency room, fighting a coma. And then came the obvious: his abuse. In school, "Pussy!" "Queer!" "Fag!" rang through the hallways, pursuing him like an unknown predator. Ever since he’d worn a dress to school one day, he’d been loyally endowed as the "fucking town fag", and he was at the butt of every queer joke. Jocks hated him because he was too thin; geeks hated him because they thought he was queer; druggies hated him because "he had AIDS". Everyone in the world was out to get him. No escape. Eleven years of surmounting hell had brought Jon a pinhole away from suicide. Until he’d dialed her number, heard her sweet greeting, and spilled his guts about everything.

It soon got around school that Jon and Sheena were good friends. They’d been caught crying together the next morning, after the fateful call. As for Sheena, she’d secretly had eyes on Jon since middle school. Although he was far from what her friends found attractive, she herself found something special beneath his pale skin. Something special beneath the eyeliner offset by dark strangled dreadlocks. Something unexpectedly seductive.

The rumor spread quickly of course, at the friendship of these two opposites. Her friends snorted and rolled their eyes. They constantly asked "Why? Why? WHY?"

She’d smile, shrug, and say quite smugly, "I don’t know."

Sheena had endured much interrogation for her infatuation with this strange young man, but to hang out with him, fiddle with the tousled dreadlocks that no one else dared to flaunt, well, it was all worth it. There was a hidden chemistry between them. It was both mature and innocent, virgin and erotic.

"What happened?" she asked softly. When he didn’t answer, she placed a tentative hand on his shoulder. He tensed. Jon got nervous when she touched him, and she figured that he wasn’t a touchy-feely person. But he was. It was only that when she touched him, he got such a feeling, such a longing. It was awful. Last night he’d had a dream about her. It was weird to see her the next morning, to see in reality the covered breasts he’d seen uncovered as he slept…

"Nothing happened," he lied.

"Would you rather not talk about it right now?" she asked tolerantly after he choked on his words.

His pasty reflection revealed nothing.

"Yeah."

"Well, you know that no matter what it is, I’m always here for you, right?" she tilted her head to meet his down-turned face, and she smiled. He tried to smile back, but it was a forged smile, and Sheena knew it. She wasn’t discouraged yet, however.

"I know what you need," she said seductively. His lips trembled as a sudden laugh quaked beneath them.

"What do I need?" he asked, turning up to face her.

"You need a good massage."

"Do I?"

"Yes, you do," she decided. With that, she pushed back a fistful of his dreadlocks, to reveal a pierced ear adorned with several silver capsules. Her cold fingers played with the side of his collar. He leaned his head to the right to enjoy it, but tried not to look as excited as he really was. She rubbed the side of his neck as soon as she’d found a sensitive area slowly and rhythmically, going back and forth, back and forth.

Sheena’s eyes shot open as soon as she realized she’d closed them. Jon was examining her face, and her shirt, where her fantasies had urged hardness from her ample cleavage. She punched him flirtily, and told him he shouldn’t stare, which just made him laugh. It was strange to hear Jon laugh, but all the same it was clear. Sincere. Sheena was relieved—

"SHEENA!"

Sheena recognized the voice, and ignored it, continuing to converse with Jon.

"SHEENA!"

Eventually, Sheena turned away from Jon, but not before rolling her eyes secretly in the direction of the girls approaching them on long, spindly legs. Jon laughed derisively. It wasn’t that Jon disliked Sheena’s friends; in fact, he freely admitted that he wished he could be shallow enough to befriend them. They, however, hated him; it was impossible for them to like him. He had no friends, he dressed like a total freak, and, on top of all that, everyone thought that he was a

(Fag)

total dork.

Be friends with Jonathan Davis?

No way! The very thought that Sheena would be seen in public with him was beyond their limited comprehension. Especially beyond Stacey. With her sparking baby blues, veggie-stuffed bones, and the pink foo-foos adorning her darling golden extensions, she was a living Barbie doll. Malibu Barbie…

"Sheena, what the…hell?" Stacey demanded, x-ing out a curse before it escaped her perfect pink lips. She issued Jon a hating glare that he returned with a shy smile.

As soon as her vision had rested on Sheena again, Jon’s smile curved into a snarl. He entertained the notion of kissing Sheena as Stacey and her equally ditsy counterparts watched on in disgust. Maybe grab her butt, tell a dirty joke, or sing part of a NIN song he’d heard on the radio as he finished cleaning up the mortuary the other night

on the radio. He wanted—and Sheena knew it—to see Stacey’s lip curl into a delicate frown of disgust, distorting her features. Maybe, then just maybe she’d turn around, and take her dog haired locks with her. Yeah. Right on. Great plan.

But all he said was "Ouch!" as a sharp pain echoed across his rib cage.

"I know what you’re thinking. Don’t do it."

"But Sheena—"

"Hey Sheen, Sheen," Stacey said, calling Sheena by a name she’d been dubbed since second grade. It was an annoying alias, and Sheena wondered—not for the first time—why she was friends with Stacey in the first place. Stacey was a bitch. But Sheena was a kind person, which was why she was popular. She respected everyone.

Even Barbie.

"Well, are you gonna, like, come with us, or what?" Stacey asked when Sheena and Jon still planted themselves on the warm heater, their behinds mildly toasted.

"Or are you gonna, like…stay here with…whoever his name is…whatever?" one of Stacey’s equally dense comrades added. They were all shocked when Jon stood up, and turned his face briefly to them.

"My name’s Jon," he said. As if they didn’t know. He was as notorious as Dr. Kevorkian in that school.

He turned to a cautious Sheena. She was just waiting for him to grab her boob, or moon them, or something. Something shocking. But he surprised her by being charmingly melodramatic. He looked her straight in the eye and asked her if she was gonna be cool until Health, and she said yes, that she would be, a friendly smile on her face.

"Alright, then. Well, bye." With one last look to Sheena and a polite nod to the Barbie value-package to his left, he turned and walked away, gripping the sides of his heavy back-pack as he went. His head down, he continued away. He started walking faster

(he had to get away there was no place to run no place to hide)

as disapproving snorts chased him down the halls.

"Oh, my God," one of them cried in disbelief. "I cannot see what you, like, see in him?!"

"Yeah! I mean, he wears like, eyeliner? And he’s a guy!" Barbie added. Jon’s sensitive, finely tuned ears caught Sheena’s only answer to these inquiries as they all walked away in a group, Sheena as different from her compadres as Jon was to Hulk Hogan.

"Well, you know, I think that’s highly hypocritical of you, Shawna. You wear eyeliner. The same eyeliner as him, in fact. And you know what? He looks better in it than you do."

Jon was about to smile, but the flickering happy thoughts of that morning as he made his way to sixth period ended when a hard shove sent him on an unforgiving collision course with the steel lockers to his right.

Wham!

A sharp, dull pain reverberated through his arm, killing it temporarily. It hung from a loose socket, where his neck and the side of his head had ricocheted off the steel. The pain fuzzied his eyesight, made it hard for him to think, register what had happened. But in a second it all came rushing back. He groaned. Whimpered, as the pain breached his brief encounter with happiness.

"Hey, Faget!"

That voice. His blood ran cold. Steve.

Jon suspicions were confirmed when two gorilla-like hands gripped his shoulders, and spun him around. He suddenly faced the only kid who had a real reason to hate him, to torture him.

(I have no one no body loves me)

As usual, Steve—whenever he was in Jon’s presence—was calm and composed. One eyebrow cocked steeply over an eye in a cynical, authoritative arch. Two deep brown eyes accented muscular cheekbones and perfect teeth. Steve grinned, then, and Jon noted their symmetry. He pressed his own lips closer together. Jon was very ashamed of his slightly crooked front teeth.

"Hey, punk. What’s up, man?" Steve asked, as if they were best friends. If Jon hadn’t been pinned against the wall, he would’ve assumed they were cool with each other.

"I asked you a question. Now answer me, you stupid fuck!"

"I’m doing alright," Jon answered after he was violently slammed against the locker again.

"Ah, fine. That means you got yourself a boyfriend, then? How sweet!" Steve sniffed at his own lame joke.

Jon opened his mouth to respond, but stopped when he saw Sheena’s best friend, Rebekkah, walking towards them. Of all of Sheena’s friends, she was the only one that tolerated Jon. Which is why Steve stopped when he saw her approach. She hadn’t seen them yet over the mess of heads seething towards their classes, but as soon as she did she saw Jon walking away, his head bent low. Steve stood with as innocent a face as he could muster.

Rebekkah’s disdain for Steve brimmed within her.

"Hey, baby," he said, and wrapped her arm around her. She quickly shoved it off.

"Stop treating him like shit. He has a right to have friends, you know," she told him as they watched Jon walk off, his lanky body far taller and thinner than any surrounding him.

"Yeah, whatever. But he hits on Sheena every fucking day—"

"They like each other. I see nothing wrong with that," she said as they approached her class. Before she dashed into her room, her long brown hair flowing behind her, she said, "Face it Steve. It’s only a matter of time. You lost for once. Get over it."

But Steve could not get over it. He had watched Sheena for years, watched eagerly as she bloomed into a young woman, becoming more beautiful with each passing day. He had never had the guts to ask her out for fear that she would refuse him. Sometimes when he’d get lonely he’d pick up a chick, doing it sometimes only to get Sheena jealous. But it never worked. Obviously, Sheena had no feelings for Steve, and that just angered him.

Jon was angry too, and made even angrier when he saw Steve kissing Sheena in the parking lot later that day. Tears almost dripping down his face at the sight, he quickly walked away. He ran the two miles home instead of walking, like he usually did. His long legs did the job in about ten minutes, even though his heavy backpack slammed painfully against his bony back. He had to get away. Get away from school and Sheena and life…

He burst into the kitchen, and in anger chucked his backpack against the wall. He bounded up the stairs. Before his stepmother could bitch at him, he slammed and locked the door. The tears finally came as he lay across his bed. What a pussy I am, he thought as the tears strolled down his face like spring rain. Maybe after all these years I’m just a fag, like everyone has always said. I can’t believe they were kissing. That wasn’t happing, it just wasn’t happening…

After a few minutes, the tears stopped. He sat up straight in bed. He caught sight of the card that Sheena had given him that past Christmas. He walked to his dresser, and read her funny, all-capital handwriting.

Jon,

I hope from the bottom of my heart that you have a really cool Christmas, and that’s everything runs smoothly. I think you’re a really special guy. Really friendly, really nice, and really caring. maybe we could even get together over vacation. That would be cool! i hope that by the time i see you again, i’ll have a tongue earring. i’m begging my mom for one, but i don’t know if she’ll let me. are you 18? if you are, we are DEFINITELY getitng together. you could be my gaurdian…who knows, you’re already like an angel to me. there’s no one else in this stupid hellhole of a school who cares about what i think, and it’s really important to me that i have someone like you in my life.

merry christmas.

Love,

sHEENA

P.S. Call me

He read the letter twice, and put it down. Looked in the mirror. Sighed at his ugly face, at how Sheena only thought of him as a friend. She was always asking him for advice on guys, asking him if he thought she looked pretty. Every time he’d tell her how beautiful she was. He, even as he stood, the card in his hand, had no clue that she recognized his longing gazes, the looks he gave her as he wrote down notes about safe sex.

Jon thought they were only friends.

With the card came the memories of the last day before Christmas break earlier that year. Jon had gotten up the guts to buy her a single deep red rose. When she’d sat down next to him, he’d given it to her, and saw her smile uncomfortably.

"What’s wrong?" Jon had asked, already regretting the gift.

"This is so sweet. But—I only got you a card," she said, and from her backpack came a card, a tiny candy cane attached to it.

"I don’t need anything," he said immediately, and turned as the teacher walked into the room. He turned back when Sheena’s cold hand rested on his arm. "Meet me after class," she whispered into his ear before the teachers silenced those talking with a mild reprimand. Jon watched as Sheena, blushing, settled the rose carefully onto the desk.

"Alright, class. Today we are going to talk about sex. I’m not going to lie to you, kids. Sex is an extremely enjoyable experience--"

The next 45 minutes were hell for Jon. The teacher discussed sex, and the various consequences and dynamics of it. As soon as she got technical, Sheena whipped out her notebook and took notes. Jon knew he should do the same, but could only watch Sheena. He briefly glanced at the diagrams of the reproductive organs as the teacher pointed to their various parts and discussed their function. When the penis was displayed, in all its glory, Jon rested his head on the desk. As the teacher discussed testicles and their glorious role in the mystery of life, Sheena patted him on the head.

"Direct contact by rubbing is the most effective way to stimulate the foreskin of the penis, although it can easily be stimulated by…"

"No," Sheena said. She quickly closed her notebook. Everyone else in the room glared at Jon. He wished suddenly that he hadn’t written back to her, that he hadn’t given her that rose, because now everyone stared at it accusingly.

Class lasted forever. But he still met her outside of the door after class.

"That was close," he said. Before he could finish the sentence, she wrapped her arms tightly around him. Her lips planted gently on the side of his neck. She did it again, and again. She said, "I had to think up something for you that was just as romantic as that rose. So, how about this?"

He couldn’t have answered even if he wanted to. Sheena told him that he had a good blood flow, and he blushed as he realized that his pants were pointing at her. Before he could finish apologizing, her lips were on his.

"Merry Christmas," she’d said before she offered her tongue to him. Realizing fully that this was just a present, just a loving exchange between two friends, he excepted gratefully. After the kiss she’d told him that he was the best kisser she’d ever been with, and that she felt weird now. He rested his forehead against hers.

"Don’t worry. I liked that. Thank you." His heart shattered into pieces as she walked away…

The memory was so vivid, so happy. Now there she was, in the parking lot, sucking face with a guy who could care less about her. Jon was the helpless friend, who knew very well what was going on and was still powerless to stop it. They were surely alone now. The prospect that Steve could be fooling around with Sheena was very real; it haunted him. He had to go out, get away.

So he called Ryan.

"Oh, look, there’s your friend," Stacey chirped derisively as Sheena and a couple of their male friends sat in the food court, enjoying their slurpies. Sheena immediately glanced over her shoulder, and saw Jon sitting with someone she didn’t know. They were just talking, Jon flicking his cigarette lighter on and off as they talked. The guy he talked to sported long, spiky blonde hair, the ends died black. Ryan. Ryan Shuck. The friend who would soon be in Orgy, known worldwide for his seven-string guitar riffs.

"And his boyfriend. Imagine that! Jon’s on a date, Sheena!" Tom said as he laughed, his brown eyes twinkling at his own humor.

"Shut the fuck up," Sheena said seriously, shooting him a positively evil look. He fell silent. She glanced back Jon’s way, and saw him teasing to light the artificial plants behind him on fire with his lighter. They were both laughing. Sheena’s heart went out to them. She wished she could go there, be with them, not care what Stacey and Tom thought about her being rude…

"I’ll be right back, guys," she told them. Picking up her slurpie, she meandered to Jon’s table. She sat down next to Jon, and saw his face turn serious. His lighter flicked out. He acted surprised when she told him that she wasn’t dumb: that she knew he was trying to blow everyone up. She talked to Ryan and Jon, knowing very well that the others glared at her in disgust. Jon waved at Sheena’s friends mockingly as they sat, pissed. Sheena slapped him lightly on the chest when he did.

"Don’t do that! I have to go now…Jon?"

"Yeah," he asked as Ryan excused himself to go to the bathroom.

"Remember how you told me that you did those piercings on yourself?"

"Yeah?"

"Could you pierce me?"

His face was doubtful for several seconds. Then, he said, "Sure. Maybe on Saturday or something—"

"No! I want it done tonight."

Silence.

"Why?" he finally asked. She didn’t answer, just smiled and told him that she couldn’t wait to get it done anymore. That her parents were gone for the night and that it was the perfect time to do it.

He smiled then, cleared his throat as he stood up. "Well, it depends on where you wanna get pierced."

"Don’t get too worked up," she said. When she asked him if he had a ride, he said no, that he’d come with Ryan. "Well, come with me, then," she replied. He threw away his trash and walked behind her, towards the table where her friends had planted themselves stubbornly. He avoided eye contact with them as Sheena spoke. She told them that she had to leave, that she and Jon were working on a project for Health and he had no time to complete it for the rest of the weekend.

"Yeah, right. Health project my ass," one of them snorted derisively.

"If you really wanna know, we’re gonna work on our gig for the talent show."

"The talent show?" Stacey asked as Jon spoke to them directly, realizing that Sheena had dug herself into a pit. It had never crossed Stacey’s mind that Jon had any talent.

"Yeah. I’m gonna sing and Sheena’s gonna play the drums. Ryan over there is gonna play the guitar—" Jon explained as Ryan walked to them. The popular kids saw for the first time how tall and thin Ryan was, sharing the exact same frame as Jon. Five minutes later, they watched as Sheena walked away with those two oddly dressed, luminous figures. Sheena went to her car in the parking lot, and Jon told her he had to go to Ryan’s car for his jacket. He was shaking as soon as he made it to Ryan, who had already pulled out of his parking space. He rolled down the window when Jon knocked on it.

"Man, I don’t know what to do!" Jon said urgently. When Ryan asked him what was going on, he said, "I really like her, man, and she’s like, inviting me over her house and shit. To pierce her in a place she won’t say—"

"Whoa! Hold up. Are you asking me for a condom? ‘Cuz I got one," Ryan offered. He handed Jon a ring of latex. Jon took it, and thought about it for a second. Why was Sheena inviting him over after he had distinctly remembered seeing her kiss Steve? The thought came back to him suddenly. He had honestly forgotten up to that point what had made him so angry that afternoon. But it all came rushing back. He handed Ryan his condom back.

"I don’t think so. She’s got a boyfriend."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Pretty sure. I saw her making out with some other guy this morning."

The question lingered behind Ryan’s eyes, and Jon said no urgently, that Sheena was not a slut. Not at all. The whole situation was just so overwhelming, he—

"Just go with it, man. If you fuck, you fuck. Take this anyway, and go get yourself a piece of ass if you can’t get it from her."

"But—"

Ryan had pulled away before Jon could protest. Alone now, he slipped into Sheena’s car.

Half an hour later, Sheena opened the door to her house. They had actually discussed the idea of entering the talent show. Sheena would call one of her friends, Brian Welch, she said, as soon as he was done with the piercing. He was a guitarist, and he would do a gig with them. Sheena and Jon had briefly stopped at Jon’s house to get his equipment, and he held it all in a large black bag. He took out the rubbing alcohol and a long needle at Sheena’s kitchen table. He sanitized the needle with his cigarette lighter, and let it rest in a vat of alcohol. Her kitchen was well lit and white, her entire house huge but homey. From where he sat at the island in the middle of the kitchen, he could see into their living room, where there was a large screen television and a black velvet couch.

It was really nice in here, a lot nicer than Jon’s house. He told her that as she entered the room. She had a wife-beater shirt on. He noticed that she wasn’t wearing a bra, and shivered. He could see her nipples stand straight out from underneath her shirt, the coldness making them prickle. They were dark and wonderful, he could already tell. Elliptical. His heart stopped beating as she approached him. She had poured herself a glass of Diet Coke, and one for him. As he put on his plastic gloves, she started to speak.

"I want you to do some piercings for me. In a couple places."

"Okay. Well, I can’t pierce your tongue unless you want me to take a big chance at paralyzing it, and I don’t wanna do that. But if you need me to—"

"I want you to pierce my nipple."

"Your nipple," he repeated evenly. He could already see it underneath the thin fabric. His hand began to shake, and because of that he didn’t notice that her heart was as frequent as his. He only hoped that she couldn’t see his dilated eyes, the thoughts that ran behind his dark eyelids. He took out the needle and ran it over with some peroxide. He only said, "Okay. But I need to check if its fully developed, because when you pierce your nipple it stunts its growth—"

He glanced up just in time to see that she had lifted up her shirt. A breast more beautiful than he could have ever imagined filled his view. His words ended sharply. The squeaking sound as he rubbed the needle filled the room.

"You ready?" he asked as he reached with an alcohol swab to touch her, sterilize the skin. She smiled knowingly as he touched her with shaky hands gingerly at first and then more confidently. His legs were tightly together now; he’d absentmindedly pulled his shirt down as far as it would go. The situation would have been hysterical if it had happened to anyone but him. He knew it, too. But right now he was far from laughing.

"Jon."

"Wait a minute. Close your eyes," he said after he’d steadied his hand. With all his will power he’d grabbed her breast, to keep it still as he pierced through the upright nipple. She winced and cried out, breathing hard. As soon as he was done, and a large needle lay pinned across her breast, he leaned against the table. It was the hardest thing he’d ever done.

"You okay? Hurting?" he inquired gently as he removed the needle and placed one of his unique balled earrings where the needle had been. He let her wipe it over again with one of his alcohol pads. Once she was done, she put the shirt back on again. Kissed him softly on the forehead as he tried to still his beating heart. He couldn’t take this. After seeing that breast, he knew he couldn’t settle for being friends. He couldn’t pretend anymore.

They exchanged a look that sent shivers up Sheena’s spine. To her, the house was quiet. Dreadfully quiet. Dreadfully empty. They were alone. She could finally live up to the dreams that had haunted her for years, the dreams that she still couldn’t understand. She enclosed a hand over his shaking one, and rubbed. Rubbed. Rubbed.

"Sheena."

Her hand went up to his face, and her heart leaped when he kissed it.

Her thoughts were suddenly so contradictory that she found herself uncomfortable around him. She didn’t like the looks he gave her, the ones that made his eyes large and pleading, the ones she’d seen from Steve all these years. They asked for so much of her. They asked her for her beauty and her love and her body…and her heart, something of which she hadn’t given to anyone before. And now, as she stood before Jon, she knew she had to get away. Before it was too late. Just call Brian, she told herself. She sighed in dismay when she remembered that Brian gave her those exact same pleading gazes when he came to visit her late at night. Without even meaning to. Her hand faltered on the neck of the phone receiver.

They were so alone.

"Sheena, I can’t pretend anymore," Jon said evenly. Before she could pick up the phone she felt his large hands sliding along the back of her shirt. The skin of her neck prickled as he realized for the first time the softness of her bare skin. The warmth of her body. No, he could not pretend anymore. He knew that now. No matter how it ended, there was no turning back. He expected her to stop him, but when she didn’t his hands ran up and down, up and down against her back. He moved closer to her, until he leaned against her, towered above her. His mind insisted that no, this couldn’t be happening. She couldn’t be letting him touch her as he was. Couldn’t be letting him caress the sides of her bare waist. But she was. With no protests he proceeded, until he’d removed her shirt and stood, carefully marveling at the weight of her bare breasts. She leaned against him. His arms encircled her from behind. There was nothing but those breasts, nothing but their pleasant weight and the warm moans quaking within her.

"I have dreams about you," he whispered softly as she glanced to the telephone once again. It was so close; nothing for her arm to reach in a moment’s notice. She knew she could pick up the phone and end it all. But as confused as she was she didn’t want to. She listened to him as he confessed his secret desires for her in her ear, his warm breath prickling the hair on the back of her neck. Her entire body tensed as one of his large hands reached to the bottom of her pants, to their fringes. A queer wave of nostalgia slapped her. She pulled away suddenly and violently, for a reason she didn’t yet realize.

"Stop!" she said when he moved towards her again, to ask her what was wrong. "I can’t do this."

He looked suddenly confused. Large and dilated, his eyes were utterly breathtaking. He couldn’t understand why she’d stopped so suddenly. Why was he rejected so rudely after fondling her for several minutes. Had she been teasing him? Perhaps. If she had, it was a cruel joke, one crueler than he’d ever endured. He suddenly wished he was out of the house. As Sheena turned from him, her bare back shining in the bright kitchen light, he dashed out of the room.

He wouldn’t let her see the tears that threatened to flow like a river down his face. He had been rejected just when he thought he might have a chance. After all those nights, all those longing gazes, he had been turned away like the piece of trash that he was.

Hadn’t the rose meant anything?
She knew he liked her! She knew he spent all night thinking about her! How could she have led him on with her looks, with her beauty, with the kiss he worked so hard for! The door was so close now, only feet beyond him. He reached for the knob. It would set him free. Send him into the cold night air where he could wail in agony and smoke and forget his pain.

Sheena planted herself in the kitchen as time passed in slow motion. She wasn’t thinking clearly; she could still feel him rubbing her even as he dashed out of the room. Could still feel him whispering in her ear, his warm breath cascading like hot tears down her bare body. She wanted him to leave. Didn’t. Did. Didn’t. She changed her mind every time she heard the echo of his footsteps as they pounded towards the door.

She needed time, and was running out of it.

"Stop!" she cried after him. She ran into the room. He couldn’t leave. She just wouldn’t let him go home. She sighed when his hand faltered on the doorknob. She knew how much she cared for him, and how much he cared for her. For once she would listen to her pounding heart.

"Jon! Don’t leave!"

He turned from the door, his arms crossed stubbornly over his chest. He successfully fought impending tears as she threw herself into his arms.

"Don’t leave me. I don’t want you to leave," she begged.

Jon went to pull away, but couldn’t when he felt her soft tears running to the hem of his shirt. So he just stood there. Held her. Enjoyed her body against his. The contact was so natural, so right, and he wouldn’t move himself from the fact that she enjoyed it as much as him. Her sobs stopped when he cooed to her. Jon told her that it was okay. "I won’t leave. Look, I’m sorry I came onto you like that. I didn’t mean to scare you—" he started. He was cut off abruptly when she pressed her lips against his. This time their kiss was passionate, and enthralling. An exchange between two friends that could no longer ignore their desire. They both got into it, until it was utterly satisfying. She marveled at his warm body as it wrapped around hers like a blanket. It was so warm and inviting, the pleasant smell of slightly stale cigarette smoke contrasting his minty fresh breath.

"Wait here a minute," Sheena said as they parted. Jon sat on the living room couch. She hurried into the kitchen and came back with chocolates her older sister always stashed. She binged on chocolate until she was nauseous when she had PMS. Sheena had always teased her for it, but now she silently thanked her sister for having some romantic food at hand just when she needed it.

Jon waited for her, his spindly legs stretching out over the coffee table. His long black dreadlocks spread over his face. His baggy black clothing meshed in with the black leather of the couch. His thin arms excepted her as she lay on top of him.

"Chocolate," he said happily, and let her feed him.

"Yep." She could still tell Jon expected to wake up any minute, that this was a dream. She laughed when he told her exactly what she’d been thinking.

"I just can’t believe this."

Chink.

"Me neither. Jon?" Sheena asked, her eyes suddenly wide and beautiful. Jon was possessed by the sudden impulse to kiss her eyelids…

"Uh-huh?"

"Do you want to—" she paused. Stopped. Weighed her decision. Spoke again, very aware of the hardening point she felt from him, right on her leg. "Spend the night? With me."

At first, she couldn’t read his face. He calmly searched her face with wide, brown eyes, and eventually kissed her again.

"Is that a yes or a no?" she asked when it had ended.

"Where’s your room? Can I see it?" he asked innocently. She got off of him. He leaned over her, making her giggle. That was a yes, she guessed.

She opened the door to her bedroom, and quickly cleaned the junk off her bed. He gazed in wide-eyed wonder at the Motley Crue and Metallica posters that adorned her room. She loved Lars from Metallica, and thought Tommy Lee was hot (even though he wouldn’t be for years). She was a drummer, and loved the same bands as Jon, which was one of the reasons they hit it off immediately. He sat heavily on her bed, laid his long, scrawny body across it. She settled onto his chest.

He rubbed her lower back as he gazed past her to the blank white ceiling above them. His eyes closed when she began to rub his temples.

"Why’d you ask me to stay?" he asked inevitably. He wanted nothing more than to make a move, but he wanted to make sure she wasn’t bullshitting him.

"Because I want you."

"But aren’t you going out with Steve?"

"No!" she answered immediately. He weighed the shock in her eyes. He decided it was genuine.

"But I saw you kissing him—"

Her eyes became forlorn and distant. He wiped her tears away as they filled her eyes. He was suddenly sorry he’d asked. He listened as she explained herself. "That asshole," she hissed. "I was talking to him and then he pressed me against his car. He began to kiss me and when I told him to stop he only grabbed me. I never wanna see him again."

Jon hid a smile. A smirk. "So you weren’t making out with him? Because that’s what I saw when I walked out of the school. I didn’t think you’d ever go out with him. It hurt me. A lot," he confessed. Satisfaction was a warm, wonderful, sticky sensation that filled him entirely.

"No. I hate him," she said. She smiled warmly as she reached into his pocket. Her eyes widened. "So. I see you come prepared." She removed the condom Ryan had given him. Jon tried to explain, but stopped when she silenced him. They started kissing again, and once more her shirt was removed. She undressed him, kissing him all over. Their excitement rose to incredible heights.

Jon swam in the influx of sensation. Her body was wonderful, her curves as splendid as the chocolate she had fed him only minutes ago. Lars and Tommy Lee watched on with their vacant stares as he marveled at her soft touch. He tried his best to be gentle with her, knew that he couldn’t take her as fast as he wanted to. His control almost shattered when he reached down and felt her wonderful warmth with his fingertips. She moaned to him. All became a blooming darkness as he winced. His sight cut short, he used his hands to feel her. She was strong and firm beneath him.

Her cries were wonderful, sweet and clear. Sheena’s hands slid down. Pressing her palms against him, she whispered, "That feels so nice. Jon—"

Sheena couldn’t his gentleness, despite his shaking hands. Clinging together, they moved, calling out loud. Through the door their groans echoed throughout the house, the humming television the only one oblivious to them as it rambled on. Sheena ran her hands over Jon’s short black chest hair as they snuggled afterwards. Like a tape, she remembered him coming to her, how the one second her eyes had opened to see his face, contorted deliciously. That was the last moment. The moment before she bit her lip and felt herself being shot out of a cannon. Never before had she known such ecstasy. Jon had given it to her willingly.

They rested for several minutes. Sheena leaned over him. "I love you," he whispered suddenly.

"Mmmm," was her reply.

"Do you want to take a shower? With me?" she asked. He responded, shaking his head and grinning through his exhaustion. She leaped out of the bed and pulled him out after her. Together, they ran through the hallway and into the bathroom. She turned on the water. He realized he had the condom on. And that it wasn’t good anymore.

"Sheena," he said as he removed the condom and threw it into the trash. "I don’t have any more—"

"Condoms?" she held one up with a grin as she pulled the curtain open. It looked somewhat old, what with the old-fashioned, almost comical ‘Cockatoo’ label on it. He almost refused, but changed his mind when he saw the wonderful body the water droplets caressed so lovingly.

"Alright," he said instead.

The next hour inside that shower were heavenly, so much so that Jon would never forget it. With a more wonderful woman Jon would never be with again. Sheena thought that he was like a little boy, his eyes wide and loving. He whimpered to her like a child. She listened to his shuttered breathing, and held his head against her as she gave him exactly what he wanted. When the old condom was filled she removed it and waited until he was ready again. He was in a haze now; weak, unable to stop her from anything she wanted to do. She touched him tentatively.

"Sheena," he moaned as her roaming hands gained confidence. He guided her. For a brief moment she realized how high on her love he really was, how much he had wanted her. He had the face of a man that had achieved nirvana. She rubbed him until he finished with a shuttered groan.

"You know what I want?" she asked, leaning over him.

"What? I’ll give you anything you want."

"Really?"

"Oh, yeah." He smiled. His crooked teeth showed subtly.

"I want—"

"Yeah—?"

"Some food. Come on. Let’s get something to eat. I’m starving." She opened the door to the bathroom, and instructed him to her bedroom, where he put some pants on. She put her shirt and a pair of pants on. Told him she was going to call Brian to bring them a pizza. He meandered to the couch and lit a cigarette after she told him he could. The nicotine calmed him, helped him relax. He looked at his large hands, which felt swollen, like a paw, after touching her. She was amazing. The post-orgasmic haze that settled over him almost lulled him to sleep.

However, he awoke abruptly as Brian Welch blasted through the door wielding a large pizza.

"Brian!" Sheena called from the kitchen. Then nicknamed "Ham", Brian had long unbraided brown hair, almost as tall and thin as Jon late in his17^th year. He wore a pair of slightly baggy blue jeans, with a gray flannel that had yet to come into style. He headed into the kitchen after Sheena. Jon watched him with far-gone interest, as if he were watching a television show. Speaking of television…there was a large TV in the living room. He flicked it on and watched an old show of I Dream of Jeannie until the conversation between Brian and Sheena caught his full interest.

"I’m gonna get laid tonight. I’m fucking determined," Brian yelled after Sheena as she headed to her bedroom.

"Not by me!" she called back.

"I know. But aren’t you inviting your friends? Who were you on the phone with just now?"

"Um…Stacey and Rebekkah. They’ll be over in like five minutes."

"Which one will I like?" Brian wondered aloud.

"Rebekkah. Definitely Rebekkah."

"Cool!"

Jon groaned at this news. He liked Rebekkah just fine. In fact, she was really nice. But Stacey…argh. His eyes were at cold half-mast as Brian entered the room and noticed him for the first time. Brian introduced himself. As an afterthought he left the room and returned with a beer for him and Jon: a gesture of friendship. Jon excepted it and moved his long legs so that Brian could sit next to him.

"Ice coldies: my friend," he said, and chugged on it. Jon had never heard of an "ice coldie" until then, and laughed. (Little did he know, he’d hear Brian (AKA Head) say that many times in the years to come.)

"I’ve never met you before," Brian said, stating the obvious. He shook Jon’s hand. Jon instantly knew that Brian, for some reason, didn’t go to the same school as him and Sheena. If he did, he wouldn’t be so friendly. Jon could tell Brian was popular: he carried himself with the nonchalance of someone who had a lot of companions. If he went to Highland High he’d know what a dork Jon was, and would want nothing to do with him. Jon was a loser.

It wasn’t fair.

"My name’s Jon."

"Cool. My name’s Brian, but everyone calls me Ham," he said, sipping on his beer, his long brown hair cascading over his shoulders as he tipped his head back to drink.

"Why do they call you that?"

"Because they say my head looks like a ham or something. I don’t know. Something queer like that."

"Why don’t they just call you Head?" Jon suggested, not knowing how common the nickname would be for Brian in a few years.

"Yeah! I think that’s better than Ham." Another satisfied swig as he considered the concept.

"I’ll call you Head, then. No more of that Ham shit," Jon joked. They laughed together. He changed the channel from I Dream of Jeannie to MTV, and they watched the Red Hot Chili Peppers’ latest video. Jon discovered Head’s obvious love for his kind of music, and just as they began to talk about it, the front door opened timidly.

"Where’s-like-Sheena?" Stacey demanded of Head, ignoring Jon. Jon waved to the kitchen. She shot like a rocket in that direction. The one with the long brown hair wasn’t bad looking, Stacey thought as she made her way to the kitchen. But Jon—she never thought any guy could be that scrawny. Until she’d seen him with his shirt off did she realize how ugly Jon truly was. How could anyone ever hug him? It must seem like wrapping your arms around a pile of sticks for Christ sake! Stacey headed to the kitchen, with the full intention of bitching Sheena out for dissing them at the mall. As soon as she saw Sheena, however, her words turned into nothing.

Sheena was way too cheery. Stacey recognized it immediately.

She practically floated from the fridge, beer in hand, to cut up her cheese and crackers. When she noticed Stacey was in the room, she welcomed her with a hug—very unSheena. Her eyes were dilated and careless, and Stacey’s large blue ones eyed them suspiciously. Again Stacey went to say something, but the words collapsed between her two perfectly straight rows of ivory teeth.

She said nothing. But she suspected.

Meanwhile, in the living room, Head watched Jon with hidden interest. Gay? Perhaps. But who cared? He was a cool guy. Sheena liked all different kinds of people, obviously: he could tell that Jon and Sheena had many things in common. The three holes in Jon’s eyebrow and the one in his left nipple told Head that Sheena and Jon were both obsessed with body piercing. He observed Jon’s lanky, bare chest and the soft lisped voice that went along with it. His attention was quickly averted, however, as Rebekkah walked in the front door. She was an early 90’s hippie, what with her long brown hair and Woodstock ’92 T-shirt. He grinned as he saw her long coltish legs beneath her bell-bottoms. Definitely his kind of girl. Sheena was right; Head just hoped Rebekkah was into relationships blossoming from a very impressive one-night stand.

"Jon, come here," Sheena called from the kitchen. Jon excused himself from Head. On second thought, he got up with Jon. Together they walked into the kitchen. Jon crossed his thin arms as Stacey and Rebekkah glanced his way, suddenly self-conscious. Sheena motioned him to her. He walked to her as Head suavely pulled a chair next to Rebekkah.

"Yeah?" he asked Sheena. She had on her wife beater shirt still, but now she had a sports bra on under it.

"Um, excuse me? Where’s the—like—bathroom? I, like—um—um—um—like, like—"

"You can do it," Head said, urging Stacey on sarcastically as she stumbled over her catty words. She shot him a venomous look.

"The bathroom’s down the hall and to the right," Sheena said. Hiding her anger, Stacey left. Rebekkah followed her after Stacey grabbed her by a shirt sleeve and dragged her away. Now that his target was gone, Head rested his head on his elbow and watched Sheena and Jon. His eyes widened when he saw one of Jon’s hands run down the side of her firm body, over a breast. She giggled in a way he’d never heard her giggle before. Jon leaned over to kiss her, but—

"Whoa! I didn’t know you two were hooked up." Head couldn’t stop the words before they slipped from his mouth.

Sheena turned from Jon. "Yeah." Then, to Jon, she said, "Go brush your teeth. Your breath stinks from all those cigarettes. You can use my toothbrush."

"But Stacey and them are in there," he protested, even as he let go of her. She insisted—he wasn’t going to kiss her with tar breath—and so he headed down the dark hall ran down in the nude only an hour before. As he suspected, Rebekkah and Stacey were in the bathroom. He wondered mildly what they were doing. Pressed his ear against the door.

"I don’t see what she sees, like, in him?" Stacey protested.

"What’s wrong with you? What are you talking about?" Rebekkah, of course, in her usual matter-of-fact manner.

"Jon! She’s doing, like, shit! Like, messing around with Jon!"

Cautious, slow this time. "What do you mean?"

"You can’t, like, see it? She’s probably fucking him, Bekkah!" He heard Stacey shudder in disgust. "Can you just, like, imagine? He probably has AIDS or herpes or something like that from all his boyfriends—"

"Shut up about all this gay stuff! If you ask me, I don’t think he’s gay. He just isn’t on an endless quest to be a tough-ass. Face it, Stacey, Steve and them? They’re all fake as hell."

It was a known fact—even to Jon—that Stacey loved Steve (asshole that he was), and secretly despised Sheena for his interest in her. Whenever Stacey made a move on him, he’d run to Sheena. "Well, then, like, totally fuck this! Jon, is like a total fag—I don’t care what the hell you say Bekkah, he’s a fag in my book—and he’s screwing my best friend—"

"You don’t know that."

"Well, I like just know he is—"

As the words slipped from her mouth, she burst through the door, only to see to her horror Jon’s dark, luminous silhouette. He loomed far above her, his large frame stretched to the ceiling. He made eye contact with her. A chill ran up her spine as her shallow, innocent blue eyes gazed into his sad, brown ones. Her mouth worked carelessly in an effort to form words. Then she shut and pursed her lips tightly. She narrowed her eyes at him.

"I’m gay, huh?" He watched with guilty satisfaction as she frowned. As those perfect lips smeared. "Interesting. You think I’m gay, and yet you think I’m screwing your best friend."

He walked away.

Sheena caught him just as he grabbed his shirt and ripped open the handle to the front door. She ran to him, asked him what was wrong, why he was leaving. He told her he was sick of her friends, and that wherever he went he was fucking made fun of. Her anger mounting at his constant sadness, she blurted that she didn’t know what else she could do to make him happy.

"To make me happy? You do everything you do just to make me happy?" he asked in disbelief. She was stunned silent. Urged herself not to speak, to avoid saying something she’d regret.

"I can’t help my friends. It’s not my fault they don’t understand. I’m just happy I can see you for how beautiful you really are," she soothed after a minute. She wiped the solitary tear that dripped—alone—down his long face. Head and Rebekkah had gathered in the hallway. Without realizing it at first, Head enveloped Bekkah’s hand in his. As soon as he realized it, however, he let it go.

Stacey’s suspicions were confirmed when she saw Jon and Sheena hugging. She grabbed her tacky white jacket from the couch arm. She stormed to Sheena and the door. "I have to leave" was all she said in explanation as she slammed it behind her. Jon watched Sheena’s lips purse tightly together. At first he thought it was because she was mad. But when her cheeks brightened and the corners of her pursed lips turned upward in an awkward attempt to hide laughter, he knew otherwise.

Hugged her.

Tried to sneak a kiss, but she was persistent. He once again headed to the bathroom, and brushed his teeth with what he hoped was her toothbrush. The kiss in the kitchen in front of Head and Rebekkah was satisfying after the ordeal.

Hours passed.

Jon and Sheena fooled around, Head only caring because it allowed him to get closer to Rebekkah. She was warming up to him very quickly. Upon discovering that Jon had pierced Sheena’s nipple, Rebekkah wanted it done. Jon did it (with Sheena’s permission, of course). Right before he stuck her with the needle, Rebekkah told him to stop.

"Shh. Just don’t move," Head whispered softly in her ear. He had leaned over her, had buried his head into her bare shoulder. The contact relaxed her. She reached a hand up to bury it into his long chestnut hair. She discovered with satisfaction that it was softer than she’d thought.

"Yeah. What Head said," Jon repeated as he stuck her with the needle. Jon stilled his large shaking hand as he pierced her. Ever since he could remember, Jon had shaky hands. His stepmother told him it was because he was a nervous wreck. Told him that he should relax. She was partially right for once, he guessed. After all, he was a very nervous guy—but he had every right to be nervous. The last time her stepmother had told him to relax was the time she’d given him a bowl of poisonous corn chowder.

It was done. Over. Head leaned over and kissed Rebekkah, able to resist her no longer. She kissed him back just as lovingly.

Jon went outside and smoked a cigarette. When he returned Sheena, Head, and Rebekkah were talking excitedly about something. Very excitedly. Bekkah sat on Head’s lap as they talked.

"What are you guys talking about?" Jon asked, very confused as he failed to summarize what he’d missed from snippets of their conversation. Head’s eyes twinkled as he turned to Jon. He said simply, "They wanna make a porno, man. A porno. You know what that means? That would make us porn stars."

The idea shocked Jon. As always, he realized something that the others had failed to see. "Who’s gonna tape?" Everyone’s face fell. When Jon saw that he’d ruined the mood, he offered to tape. The others seemed fine with that. As they formulated a plot to their film (this porno, unlike most, would have a story line), Jon grinned crookedly. He slapped a high five with Head and said, "Alright! But I get to be the fucking pimp!"

Rebekkah shot him a sideways glance. "Jon," she said, "which one would you like better? Because I wanna compliment you…"

"Okay," Jon said slowly, waiting for her to continue.

"Would you rather be cool in a weird way or weird in a cool way?"

"Weird in a cool way," he answered after a minute of careful deliberation. Sheena elbowed him. Everyone burst out laughing.

For once Jon felt accepted. He didn’t want this evening to end.

Rebekkah stood in her black garb, leaning over Head as she braided his hair for the first time. Jon had suggested it. It would be easier for Brian to keep his hair out of his face while with the girls. Head had been skeptical at first—braids? But when Rebekkah said it was a cool idea he decided to go along. Now they were alone in Sheena’s room; Sheena and Jon were setting up the camera in the kitchen. It was quite a project, one that Head was excited to be a part of.

He was gonna be in an orgy, baby!

"This looks really cool," Rebekkah said as she braided his hair.

"Really?"

"Yeah. It accents your big head rather nicely."

After a second, he shot back, "That’s not the only big head I have." Rebekkah responded with a playful punch to his shoulder. He sat patiently as she braided, twiddling his thumbs nervously. As soon as she’d tied the last elastic, she leaned over him and planted her lips on his. "Done," she said. She got off the bed. He grabbed her hand gently before she could get too far away. She stopped. His forlorn gaze begged her to come back, to join him on the bed…

"After," she promised. Slowly, he stood up, kissed her hand sweetly. She blushed.

The porno didn’t take very long to film; there were only about five lines in the entire thing. The first scene was filmed by the couch, where they had rested the camera. It showed Jon receiving money from Head for the purchase of two very fine young ladies: Sheena and Rebekkah. The next scene showed Head welcoming his ladies into his room, where a blanket laid on the floor, surrounded by a myriad of black candles.

It took Sheena and Rebekkah a few seconds to kiss after they’d wrapped their arms around each other. But at Head and Jon’s insistence they did. Years later, as Sheena watched with Munky, they heard Jon’s hearty "Alright!" from behind the camera. Head’s wide eyes couldn’t help but glance out of the scene and towards Jon as the girls got into it. Head ad-libbed "Man, that’s sexy," before he joined in. Eventually, the two girls, in underwear and bras, stripped Head down to his boxers.

The energy in the room was overwhelming. Jon did a very good job taping as things escalated, catching the action from several different angles. In the middle of the scene Rebekkah unexpectedly grabbed Head. He moved from Sheena’s neck to kiss Rebekkah as she continued to touch him. She climbed onto him. After removing her underwear, she settled onto him. He sat up to hug her.

When Jon realized that two of the three porn stars weren’t pretending, he switched off the camera. Sheena and Jon exchanged shocked glances as the two continued. Sheena urged him to tape it. He did. Head, Rebekkah, and even Sheena lost themselves in the intensity of the scene. When it was time for them to stop they didn’t want to, but Jon—the only one who saw clearly how dazed Head was from the ordeal—got the situation quickly under control.

"Okay, go," he ordered. He shot Sheena sinking her sharp teeth into his neck after smirking to the camera over his bare shoulder. He fainted as blood dripped in tiny rivulets to the blanket beneath them. Rebekkah grinned at Sheena. Together, they bared their teeth and kissed him all over. With her tongue Rebekkah formed "I LOVE YOU" on his bare chest.

The end.

"Alright!" Jon said. He was excited about this, very excited. Sheena put a shirt on, and hugged Jon. She smelled of sweat, of cinnamon-flavored blood capsules.

"Let’s go watch it!"

"Give us a minute," Rebekkah said to them quietly as Head lay there. He wasn’t moving. She waited for Sheena and Jon to leave the room. Then she lay on Head again.

"You okay, baby?" she asked softly. His face twitched. His eyes squinted open. "That was great," he said, and with sudden strength grabbed her. He rolled on top of her. Stuck out his lip like a baby. She played with one of his tiny braids.

"I don’t know," she teased. "It might be rude if we just—"

"You promised."

"I know. But didn’t I—" she didn’t finish her words before he had forced her mouth open.

They all slept over Sheena’s house that night. Jon stayed at Sheena’s house all weekend. Her parents were supposed to return late Sunday night. Or so Sheena thought….

"So, you slept with Jon?" Munky asked after she’d finished the beginning of the story. They were sitting together on the couch. It was about noon now, and to ease the turmoil in his stomach he quickly left her to make two ham sandwiches. She wouldn’t eat. Couldn’t. So he chewed, pretending not to be as sick as she was at the story. It was a strange story; he had trouble believing it.

"Yes, I slept with him," she said solemnly. "Just like you slept with Renee."

He nodded. The situation had been different—but just as unrealistic, he realized. Most girls wouldn’t have totally transformed and then done it again within twenty-four hours. His situation had been just as odd.

"Is that it? You slept with Jon?"

The pieces of the puzzle were coming together.

(No Sheena it wasn’t that asshole! It was me not that asshole?! Your father it wasn’t your DAD it was ME oh god SHEENA)

"No. That’s just the beginning." A fat tear slapped his white T-shirt, which she had borrowed that night. She always wore Munky’s clothes to bed. Always.

Chink.

Sheena’s father unlocked the door to his house and stepped inside. Exhausted, he grabbed a beer, and watched contentedly as his wife dragged their luggage into the house. Suffering from MS my ass, he thought angrily as he watched her weak body drag their luggage into the house. She was lifting them just fine! That bitch always had things to complain about, no matter what she did. Even with that awful MS she managed to cook for him, clean for him, suck his dick: he had trained his beloved bitch well, oh yes. He worked 80 hours a week. When he came home, he was gonna plant his ass on the couch and watch television. His entire family should bend over and kiss his ass. Hell, the entire world should!

His thoughts flew to his little cunt

(Sheena)

He vaguely remembered her car being in the driveway. In her bedroom, maybe? Wouldn’t she want to greet Daddy as soon as he came home? He knew his wife would be bitching to high hell that her MS was acting up, and who would cook his dinner? What the--

With these thoughts he opened her bedroom door. And stopped dead in his tracks.

"Sheena!" Moan. "God, baby."

"Jon…"

Her father watched in shock as two bodies clung tightly together underneath the covers. Jon’s long feet hung from the bottom of the bed. Her father waited until they nearly finished, listened for several seconds to Sheena’s systematic moans, so in sync with the slight bouncing of her bedsprings. Their gasps were cut short as her father’s nearly empty beer bottle smashed against the far wall.

"Dad!" Sheena cried. She pulled up her sheet to cover herself.

Jon jumped into his pants. He had almost reached the door when her father shoved him hard against the wall. Wherever Jon turned he was getting bullied on. This time, however, it was no school prank or after school beat down. The hate in her father’s eyes singed him to the core. He was gonna die. He was gonna fucking die.

"You’re dead!" her father affirmed. Sheena’s wall dented as her father shoved Jon’s head into it. His eyesight bled as the impact quaked through him. That ever-so-familiar numbing sensation as the shock of the impact shook through him. His teeth jammed into his tongue. Blood poured from his mouth. Sheena began screaming.

"Stop!" Sheena yelled, with anger so severe it shocked her father. Wildly, she threw the first thing she could grab, which was her alarm clock. It thudded hard against her father’s back. He absorbed the pain almost instantly. To Jon’s utter shock, he released his hold and ran to Sheena. He threw her against the wall. Called her a bitch and a cunt and a SLUT—

"Stop it! STOP—" Jon yelled as an anger he’d never known filled him, the rage in his voice ripping and monstrous. He wouldn’t let her father touch her. What he was seeing shocked him. He had no fucking right to touch Sheena like that. That stupid, asshole fuck! With strength Jon didn’t know he’d possessed, he grabbed her father’s flying arm. Threw her father to the ground.

Kicked him hard in the face. Watched as a tooth fell from her father’s mouth. As purple clouds formed under his adjacent nose.

Sheena held onto Jon. She kissed him, held him close. He shifted his weight, unsure of whether to leave or to stay. If he left, Sheena would be left alone with this monster. If he stayed, they’d both be dead.

He chose to stay. For Sheena. Whatever happened to him, he wouldn’t let that son of a bitch touch her again.

"You’ll regret that," her father whimpered. Jon expected him to rush at them, but instead he just leaned against the bed and gingerly fingered his broken nose. His nose let loose a sickening crack as he snapped it into place.

"What’s going on here?" her mother shrieked as she opened the door. She had heard the glass break from across the house. It had taken her a long time to get there. The MS she’d been suffering from for the past five years was finally catching up with her. Her heart broke when she saw her daughter in the arms of a shirtless kid skinnier than her. In her bedroom. When her parents weren’t home.

"Keep your hands off her," Jon warned. The hand her father outstretched slowly clenched into a fist and settled in his lap.

"Jon, don’t leave. Don’t leave me. He’ll—"

"What’s going on here?" Her mother was trying not to cry. She was always trying not to cry.

The next couple of seconds wasted away in awkward silence. Softly, her father spoke. Jon felt the authenticity and promise behind his words. "You have five seconds to get your fucking hands off my daughter and get the hell out of here. After that I’m coming after you with a gun. Pray I don’t ever see you again."

"Sheena, I don’t need to leave—" Jon insisted stubbornly. No telling what this son of a bitch would do once they were alone. He would beat her again, probably. He swore to himself that if he saw Sheena at school with a fat lip he’d fucking make sure her father was on a mortuary slab by Tuesday morning…

"Go! He means it!" Their was something not quite right about Sheena’s voice. She wasn’t crying, as she had been before. She wasn’t even there, it seemed. Even as she watched him leave, she wasn’t watching him. She was remembering. What, he wouldn’t know until years later, when Munky casually mentioned that she’d been—

Yes, she watched her first lover run through the hallway. Her mother’s face collapsed within itself. She walked out of the room. She had a dinner to cook. Her father walked past her calmly. Too calmly. Sheena knew she was in for it as his large hand wrapped over her mouth. His rough voice told her not to scream as he led her out the back door and around the backyard. Sheena wasn’t scared. She was beyond scared. She didn’t struggle; that only made it worse, and she didn’t want Jon to suspect anything tomorrow at school. The faint smell of her father’s stink mixed with oil and old metal filled her nostrils as he threw her into the car.

"Put your seat belt on," he said calmly.

"Why? It don’t matter."

"PUT YOUR FUCKING SEAT BELT ON!" he screamed insanely, his knuckles white as they gripped the steering wheel. He didn’t look at her as they pulled out of the driveway. They drove around town a few times, in silence. Then, as she inevitably knew he would, he turned onto the dirt road just past the McDonald’s at the town’s center. He shoved an old Hank Williams, Sr. tape into his dusty tape player. Corny, old-fashioned country music filled the truck as they sped down the dirt road.

He pulled into a deserted dead end. Turned off the radio.

She didn’t struggle when he felt his large hand rest on her thigh.

"You know I love you." His voice was soothing, warm. The same tone, Sheena thought, as those people in the loony bin. They all seem so sane, until you talk to them. Then you find out that they married their brother or killed their parents with a toothbrush. The calm ones, they were the ones to watch out for. Just like the dead calm before a storm.

"Yeah, I know." The dying willow tree in front of her blurred. It couldn’t guess at her despair, no matter how sad it seemed.

Sigh. He was enjoying this, she could tell. He always had, ever since she was a scared little girl. "You’re a woman now."

"I guess."

"You are," he insisted. "And if I were a guy your age I’d want you too. I can’t totally blame him for doing what he did. I mean—"

"You fucking want me anyway," she said. She hadn’t meant to say it. The words had happened. Like she’d known, the calmness in his eyes turned to dormant anger, as if someone had flicked a switch. He rubbed her leg. Ventured underneath her shirt. He fondled a breast.

She didn’t struggle. She knew just as the sky was blue that she couldn’t stop him.

"He must’ve been impressed with your experience. All thanks to me," her father cooed. He climbed onto her, and pinned her down. She pursed her lips together, closed her eyes tight. She wouldn’t let him see her cry. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of hearing her moans. His familiar weight on top of her now seemed less that she was nearly an adult. When she had been a child his weight had been almost unbearable, bearing down upon her, threatening to crush her fragile ribs.

"I know you like it," he said as he started moving on her.

"No, not from you."

"Yes, you do. It’s exactly the same thing as what you did—" he insisted. At her sour look, he spat on her face. She recoiled from it, fell silent. It seemed like forever until he got off of her. Zipping his pants up, he grinned at her. She only put her shirt back on again and sat up. The willow was clear now, unblurred. She wouldn’t let that willow blur. She just wouldn’t. She was an adult woman. She was expected to love those endearing looks: the looks her father gave her, the looks Steve gave her, and the looks Jon gave her. They all wanted the exact same thing from her.

"I’m disappointed in you," her father whined as he started the ignition.

"Why?" What else could she do to make him happy? She had given her father and Jon everything they wanted. And they were still unhappy. So unhappy.

"Because I know you’re good in bed. You just lie there like a dead fish when you’re with me."

"Sorry," she said to the willow. "Sorry I couldn’t make you happy."

She wished for a dramatic moment, a moment when her father would blow up in anger or when she would break down crying. But nothing happened. Somehow that was even worse than the willow staying unblurred. She tried to force the tears now, already attempting to capture the moment with words. She’d go home and write everything down, she knew. She would start a story from the inescapable sorrow she felt. This, in fact, was a good experience for her—

The tears stubbornly stayed inside her heart, where she couldn’t reach them. She was sick. Sick of this taste in her mouth. She had to get out, get away. Inside she should be feeling traumatized, shocked, experiencing an emotion so severe that it forced itself out of her violently. But in reality, she was numb.

So numb. This was not one of her dream world stories.

The drive back to Sheena’s house was pleasant and quiet. Sheena decided that Hank Williams wasn’t that bad.

"What the—Sheena?" Jon asked. He undid the lock to his bedroom window and saw her face. The full moon was bright tonight; he squinted at its sudden light.

"Can I—stay here tonight?" she asked. Her pale skin was made even paler by the moonlight. He was eager to find out if her father had punished her, but in his fatigue only waved her inside. She climbed through the waist-high window fairly easily.

"Nice room." She, like Jon had, admired all his posters. A huge corner held all of his Duran Duran paraphernalia, along with the skirt he’d worn to school a few years ago. Obviously, he still liked the band as much as he had then. He just chose to hide it now. She borrowed his shirt, which he took off and threw to her. He settled back into bed as she put his shirt on. She expected him to watch her remove her clothing, but he didn’t.

She was genuinely surprised.

"Are you mad at me?" she asked. There had to be a reason he wasn’t watching her. What had she done wrong?

She slipped under his covers and into his arms. His face inches from hers, he planted a kiss on her lips and smiled lovingly. He said, "I don’t need to. You might want your privacy, who knows?" Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. So many different people sending so many different messages. She didn’t know who was right, and who was wrong. Had Jon been right before when he gave her those pleading gazes? Was he now only taking advantage of what he had?

Or was her father the one who was taking advantage of what he had?

She was exhausted and frustrated. As soon as she’d returned home that day she’d tried to capture her anger, her numb torment, in words, but had failed. The only thing she got out of the short story was that damned willow. She tried to cheer herself up by saying the tree was actually a metaphor for her pain, but that didn’t work, either. Sure, the willow had watched her father as he used her, just as she had. And the willow had been as numb as she as it heard the crackle and grinding of the stones as they pulled out of the dead end.

No matter how the stones bit their lip and closed their eyes, they couldn’t escape moaning under the grind…

Within seconds after he wished her goodnight, Jon fell asleep. In his warm arms, she continued her thoughts. It was different sleeping with Jon than with her father. So incredibly different. Jon made her feel good, made her feel things she had never known existed. He rose and moved exactly like her father, yes, but somehow it made her feel special. She even moved with Jon. His hands guided her slowly, lovingly. He was gentle and kind.
On that night so long ago, her father had promised that he only wanted to make her feel good as he entered her, but it just felt as if he were ripping her in half. His moans had scared her; there was nothing but pain and fear. The second time had been painful, but not half as bad. By the third time she was used to it. She let him climb onto her, had held onto him guiltily. She made him feel special and wanted, but she felt nothing.

It had all started when her mother started working the night shift. Sheena and her two other sisters were left alone with their father. Sheena was Daddy’s favorite, and he spent all of his time with her. After her sisters had gone to bed, he’d visit her, and they’d give each other massages. He massaged her shoulders, then her back, then—eventually—her tiny butt. In return, he’d make her rub a different place that made Daddy feel good.

He had revealed himself to her one night, and told her the ultimate way to make him feel good was to take her underwear off and lay on her back. She did. The rip-roaring pain, the way his big hands had held her little wrists down. How they had squeezed…

"Sheena! Shhh. Settle down. Settle down, my love," Jon said quietly. When she kept turning over in bed, sobbing, he grabbed her wrists from behind and shook her. She awoke with a start. Her eyes dripped with fear, large and luminous.

"What’s wrong? Can you tell me?" he asked. She only collapsed into his arms. A solitary tear fattened and fell down her cheek. She wouldn’t talk no matter how much he pressed her. When he asked cautiously if it was her father, she said no. So urgently.

"No."

Disturbed, he lay awake and held her close far after she’d cried herself to sleep. She was afraid to close her eyes again, just in case she had another nightmare. He told her that she didn’t have to worry. He’d protect her. In his large arms sleep and exhaustion lulled her back to her dream world.

He glanced at his alarm clock. 3:15. He had about three hours before they had to go to school.

To say the least, he didn’t want to go.

He thought about what Sheena had said in her dreams. The words haunted him until exhaustion pulled the darkness over his eyes like a blanket. She’d sounded like a little girl, high and innocent. "Daddy, I don’t want you to…no, what are you doing? Daddy? It—it hurts. It—stop! Oh, please—God—stop—"

"Shh. Be quiet—"

"Jon! Who’s that—"

"Shh!" Jon insisted, waving his little sister, Tiana, away. Her large blue eyes widened as she noticed that Jon wasn’t alone. Her two missing front teeth showed when she opened her mouth in surprise.

"Are you nakee?" she asked.

"Go away!" he whispered over his bare shoulder at her. Sheena stirred and awoke. She saw Jon waving away someone she couldn’t see. Tiana’s little squeal of surprise filled the room as Sheena sat up and yawned. "Hello," Sheena said kindly. The cute little girl before her looked nothing like Jon; she found out why when he reluctantly introduced them. He was her stepsister. That would explain the cute blonde locks that so sharply contrasted with Jon’s stiff black dreads; the blue eyes that were happy and so innocent compared to Jon’s troubled browns.

"Jon, I need you to come downstairs and get the Froot Loops for me. I can’t reach them and I’m hungry. Really hungry," she begged to him. He opened his mouth to tell her off, but at Sheena’s soft look he said, waving her away, "Sure. I’ll be there in a second. Just wait, okay?"

"Okay." She closed Jon’s door behind her.

They dressed. Sheena borrowed Jon’s flannel and a pair of his black pants that, surprisingly, were tighter on her than they were on him. She watched in mild amusement as he applied his eyeliner, noting at how quickly he did it. She asked him guiltily if she could use some too. She didn’t usually wear make-up, but the eyeliner made her eyes look less tired and weary than they really were. Jon grabbed her hand before she could open his bedroom door. He asked her if she was okay. She lied automatically, saying that yes she was. Her sleep had been fitful since the nightmare, but the memory of her father holding her down—

"Shh, baby, shhh," her dad had whispered so gently. Just as Jon had when he’d waken her up in the middle of the night. She remembered Jon’s voice only hours earlier as he’d talked to her, telling her it was just a dream. Told her to wake up, dammit!

Tiana waited impatiently for Jon downstairs. She already had her bowl on the table, with milk poured in it. He sighed and reached a long arm out to the cabinet, where the cereal lay in a cupboard just above his head. He brought it down for her easily and grabbed two more bowls. He poured the cereal for her and himself. Then offered Sheena some. At first she refused, but at the sorrow in Jon’s eyes she accepted. With her spoon she swirled the cereal around in the bowl. She took two bites before it was soggy. Jon finished half of his and threw it away, while Tiana cocked the cereal box towards her, and intently read the ads at the cereal’s back. After she’d finished her bowl he picked it up from her and put everything away. He scrubbed all of the bowls intently.

"Jon, are you going to work tonight?" Tiana asked in her little voice. She grabbed her backpack near the door. It had Barbie on it. Sheena remembered when she had had a Barbie backpack. Now that she thought about it, that hadn’t been that long ago.

"Yeah," he answered reluctantly. His face fell as he remembered.

The bus for the elementary school roared down the road.

"Bye!" Tiana said. Jon bent down to hug her before she took off for the bus. She almost missed it. Jon and Sheena watched through the window as Tiana's little legs pumped across her yard. The large ominous mouth of the bus accepted her, and roared off. In her mind Sheena played over and over the large golden locks, the plush, pink mouth speaking so eloquently for a small child.

"She’s beautiful."

"Yeah."

"You’re so sweet to her," Sheena told him in all seriousness as Jon threw his stuff in his bag. He looked at her as if she were crazy, then smiled sadly at her. "I have to be. If I fuck around with her I get the shit beaten out of me."

"By your stepmother?" Sheena asked in disbelief. Maybe she could’ve beaten on him when he was a little kid, but now he was so tall. No matter how big or strong his stepmother was, she wouldn’t be a match now.

"No. My dad. He doesn’t know how bad my stepmom fucks everything up, because he’s always gone. But she always bitches to him, so I get it anyway. Because she can’t beat on me anymore." He looked at her. Just as they made eye contact his father walked in, and sat down at the table with the morning paper. He glanced at them. He had a large black beard, offset by white skin and a tall, strong frame.

He was a keyboardist for Buck Owens. This was one of the only times this year where he would be home for a month before embarking on another tour. Then they’d be recording Buck’s next album. To say that Rick Davis disliked his job would be a lie; he’d dreamed of it for years, and now that he finally had the fame he’d always worked so hard for he was satisfied. Ever since he was young, Rick had seen Jon’s overwhelming interest in music, and forbade his involvement in it. He didn’t want his son to know the arduous lifestyle of the music business, the here today gone tomorrow shenanigans that always ruined a musician. This had spawned a sort of despise of Jon to his father. His forbidding it only made Jon more interested. He knew he was talented; he was a natural at the bagpipes and the drums, and his voice—many of the people at the mortuary said—resembled that of Trent Reznor’s.

Besides Rebekkah’s "cool in a weird way" remark, that was the most held dear compliment Jon had ever been given.

The only compliment. It was all he needed.

"I see you are bringing girls over now," his father said skeptically. He eyed Sheena. She was tired, worn. So was Jon. Obviously, she had spent the night, because his father immediately knew that as girl such as Sheena would never wear such baggy, unfitting pants.

"Dad, she was just—"

"Don’t do it again." Final.

"Alright," Jon said, his face downcast.

They headed out the door. As Sheena turned around to close it behind them, Rick told her above the lip of his newspaper,"Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you, too," she said back, only to be answered with a stern, "Hope that this is the last time that we meet, miss. Or I might just have to call your parents about this."

"Okay."

Her parents. Like they would do anything about it.

They drove to school in Sheena’s car in silence. He kissed her in the parking lot as the freshmen went into their entrance. Some of them caught sideways glances, not knowing Sheena or Jon and not caring. The kiss was nice; just what Sheena needed. But when he slipped her the tongue, she declined. Pulled away. Wished him farewell. Walked into the school, where there was surely no solace.

She had turned and walked away from her solace.

A solace of whom could relate to her more than she knew.

*****************************************************************************

Ring!

Jon sat in his usual seat—across the room from the rest of the students—in his second period Art class. The day had been long already, but he knew he’d see Sheena before he ran to work. The last thing the both of them needed was for her to return home; trouble waited for her there. Just as Jon grabbed his folder to continue working on his painting, the Art teacher skipped into the classroom, his hands swinging excitedly at his sides. Mr. Giella was a squat man, with a beard, colonial specs, and beady brown eyes.

He was the only teacher that saw half a shit of talent in Jon.

"Sit back down, everyone! Pop quiz today!" Jon reluctantly slumped into his seat, wondering briefly what Sheena was doing, if she felt as shitty as he did. He thought it likely. With a long, tired sigh, he held his eyes at half-mast. No wonder everyone thought he was so cold.

"Come here."

Jon didn’t think the voice was directed at him. But when it happened again, and he looked up, there was a kid, Jake Kramer, looking right back. Jon couldn’t believe it. He motioned me? with his hand, and when the kid nodded, he sat next to him. Suddenly, he was nervous beyond belief. He nudged into the seat next to one of Sheena’s closest friends. Who also happened to be one of the most popular guys in the school.

Jake was good at everything, damn near perfect—but in a cool way, of course. He was head of the soccer, wrestling, and football teams. Rumored as the valedictorian of his class, he excelled effortlessly at everything he did. Physically, he was everything Jon wished he could be: muscular and ripped, the desire of every girl. However, despite all of his achievements, Jake was willing to help others; as president of the Peer Mediation and Secret Service clubs, he should. He was the best skater in the school, and could play killer bass guitar.

But all Jake knew about Jon was that one day he’d worn a dress to school. Kramer thought the way he was treated was unfair, and besides—he was Sheena’s friend. It was unfair to sit all alone like that. And so, Jake watched as Jon’s thin frame settled nervously against the seat to his left. Jake opened his mouth to say something to ease the tension; but Mr. Giella’s voice silenced them all.

"Alright. Today there’s a pop quiz!" he repeated.

Groan.

"It’ll take about twenty minutes. We are going to delve within ourselves, reveal out true feelings and desires; discover what we wish to achieve in our lifetime through drawing and painting—" Mr. Giella’s voice drifted off, swimming numbly through one ear and out the other. Jon let his mind wander, back to Friday night, Saturday morning. He saw Sheena, bare-skinned, far fairer than he ever imagined. Her body’s curves flowed silkily from her head to her toes. As he thought about her, he remembered suddenly her warm softness as it contrasted with his eager roughness. The shuttered moans reverberating from deep within them both filled the room, becoming more frantic with each passing second. Biting his lip, she rose up to meet him, screaming his name now, begging for him ever so loudly:

"Jon!"

His eyes snapped open as soon as he realized he’d shut them. The rest of the room silently worked on their quizzes. Mr. G stood before him, waving a hand in front of his smitten face.

"Thinking about something?"

"Yeah. Uh, yeah." He swallowed nervously.

"Alright," Mr. G said, a grin behind his frocky beard. He handed Jon a piece of blank paper and black chalk. "Draw a picture of anything you want. Anything. It must represent your life, your experience thus far, and your desires. You have twenty minutes."

Jon looked blankly at that pallet for a long time, thinking not about the quiz but the word that so carelessly cartwheeled down Mr. G’s tongue. Desire.

Desire was so many things to Jon. He desired success, he desired Sheena, and deep down within he desired acceptance. The three things would make him whole, he knew, but naturally he would eventually lose them. Because they would depart eventually, just as everything else in his life had. Every good thing Jon had ever had was stolen from him before he could appreciate it: his pride, his morality, his childhood, his innocence. Like the things he’d desired in his life, the things he’d taken for granted left before he’d enjoyed them.

He looked down onto his pallet only to realize that, as he’d been thinking, he’d also started to draw. Doodle. From deep within him something stirred. Through his desire, he recognized what he’d started and worked on it vigorously. Tears pounded behind his eyes, filling his heart with passion and flowing down into the end of his waning piece of chalk. With every stroke, he came closer; ever so closer to the release he loved so dearly. The release that had tickled Sheena’s heart and made it bleed. Made it beg for him mercilessly as she gripped him tight—

"Time’s up!" Mr. G called. Jon finished his picture with a couple of strokes. He passed it in last. Without looking at them, Mr. G hung the pictures on the wall. He glanced at Jon’s, and smiled. The boy could draw better than any student he ever had. And that was something, because Mr. G had taught for damned near thirty years. If only Mr. G could convince Jon that he was worth something, that he could be somebody in this god-forsaken hellhole. If only Jon could realize for himself that he was more than what his classmates saw...

After a minute of silent reflection, Mr. G began criticizing the pictures on the wall. The first picture he examined was a fairly accurate portrait of a cartoon bunny, drawn by a blonde Michael Jackson fanatic that as yet had difficulty discerning the concept of "left" and "right".

"So, what does this mean to you, Jess? How does this represent your life, your dreams, your wants and needs?" Mr. G asked. He expected a pretty interesting answer from her. As he waited for her to speak, he glanced to Jon. Jon just glanced back, and fixed his stare on the ground, dreading his turn.

"I think—the bunny—like—represents girlishness—and I like to cook, so—the carrot." She said lightly.

Mr. G desperately fought the urge to roll his eyes. After he’d scratched an F into the grade book, he yelled to the class emphatically, "GUYS! You have to learn how to put your heart into something, your soul! If you don’t think about this, it’s gonna turn into a piece of shit! Art is a release, an expression of what’s deep inside—" He looked for approval among his students. They only stared blankly back at him with a practiced emptiness. Except Jon. His head now rested on the table, his gangly black hair a blanket over his head.

"And now for Jon’s," Mr. G said finally. He stood in front of it, and examined more closely the skills Jon mastered: shading, shape, color, form. The picture was of a beautiful young woman’s face and upper body, her thins arms in an X across her breasts. Long locks of gray hair cascaded over her arms and thin stomach. The girl’s down-turned face looked to the lower corner of the page, where a bleeding heart was stabbed with a cross. In her hands—against her heart, was a piece of corn.

Jon’s head lifted slowly, his thin shoulders close together and insecure. The other classmates examined the portrait as Mr. G did, except they snickered to themselves. So, Jon is bisexual! they practically screamed with their whispers and snorts and sideways glances. Jon hoped they didn’t recognize the person whom he’d modeled the woman from. He suddenly wished he were back in his corner, safe and tough and alone.

"Beautiful piece. Magnificent," was all Mr. G could say in criticism. "See, class, how he used the neutrals to create form? The shading is gradual and in his picture there’s a wide range of blacks and whites—light and dark areas. The woman looks real, life-like, as if her stomach were breathing in and out…" He let this sink into the class. Jon wanted to blow a cap in his head as the silence heavied. Mr. G turned to him. Asked him a question. The words hung in the air, at any second to shatter on the tile floor in a million pieces. Come on, Jon, Mr. G begged his student silently. "Did you draw this girl from real life?"

Silence. "Yes." The class hid a sudden gasp. A hidden sneer.

Mr. G, satisfied, rolled on his ankles. "And what does she represent about your life, your experiences?"

"Jon got lucky, man. Real lucky," one of the boys said hoarsely. When no one laughed and Jake told him to shut the fuck up, Jon continued.

"She represents love—and desire."

"Excellent!"

"Who is she? She’s like, perfect," a girl from the corner of the room asked. Jon told her it was no one she knew.

"Alright! We’re just analyzing here, Jon. No reason to get worked up about nothing," Mr. G said before further words could slip from Jon’s mouth. The class broke from their trance. They decided that he hadn’t changed. That he was the same old Jon. The same old fag.

"What does the corn represent?" Mr. G asked finally. It was the only thing he didn’t understand about the piece. It seemed unfit with the rest of the picture, awkward, almost. Snickers rang through the class, and Jon thought hard about his answer. He hadn’t even realized there was a piece of corn in Sheena’s hands until Mr. G hung the picture on the wall. He gave up and just started to speak. He hoped it would make sense.

"Well, the corn is a symbol…"

"Yes?"

"It represents life, I think. Corn grows, and then it dies a horrible death, where it is ripped apart and put through hell after the end of its growing season. Then it’s packaged. But even after it’s been bottled into cans and minced into little kernels—it never stops its fight."

"It’s fight?" Mr. G pressed. His eyes were twinkling.

"Yeah, it’s fight. Because it’s indigestible. And even when people think they’re going to get rid of it or use it for whatever they want, it can’t be destroyed. Can’t be dissolved. It’s a symbol of invincibility." He finished, and glanced down again. Silence penetrated the room. Mr. G stood for a minute, fingering his beard lightly. He scratched an A++ into Jon’s section at the bottom of his grade book.

That’s when the kids started snickering. Soon it was uncontrolled laughter, brimming from their throats and cutting into Jon’s heart as if with a large pair of shears. They were laughing at him, at his painting, at something he’d put his heart into. If they ever knew that Sheena and him were together…no, they’d never know. He’d never let them know. Glancing at the clock as Mr. G reprimanded them all harshly, he realized there were five minutes left to class.

Standing up, he walked to the front of the class. He carefully removed his picture from the wall and put it in his hand. He took the cigarette lighter he kept in his pocket and lit it aflame as everyone watched in horror. His heart burned with his portrait as the paper crinkled and fell within itself. Fell away from him. The heat prickled his hands, and, ignoring the pain, he crinkled the ashes into his hand.

"Fuck you all," he said as the sensation drained from his fingers, traveling up to his arm. He lit a cigarette before bursting out of the room into the hall. Mr. G pursued him.

"Jon! Jon!" a voice screamed. It caused Jon to stop dead in his tracks, right before the door at the end of the wing that led outside. Sheena stood only feet away, tears in her eyes. He dropped his cigarette on the floor of the school in surprise.

"Sheena." The tears that started as he stormed out of Art fell down his face. As his Art class snuck out of the room behind Mr. G to see a good reprimanding, they saw Sheena sink naturally into Jon’s arms. They sobbed together. When their lips finally met and half the boys in the class rushed at him, Mr. G stopped them, held them back with a harsh word.

"Why can’t you tell me? Why?" Jon begged behind his tears. She only shook her head, no. No. The only words she could muster were that she loved him. That she would always. Unaware that an entire class watched them, he slipped his hands into her back pockets. She let his head rest in the nook of her shoulder.

"They hate me. They all hate me," he sobbed into her ear. Sheena’s head turned, and she realized who watched. She kissed him again. A lusty, steamy kiss, one that Jon had to be eased into. And then the bell rang. The scene was dismissed.

Jon meandered down the hall slowly, his thoughts still on Sheena, how she had held him with no regard to the effect it would surely have on her popularity. Her friends could hardly stand it when she was friends with Jon. Now that they were going out, she would most definitely lose some of her friends.

Or she’d dump Jon. One or the other. Either way, Sheena would lose.

He had to worry about the Biology II test he was headed to; he hadn’t studied. He remembered briefly that it was on the decaying processes of living organisms. He knew he’d do well merely from basic knowledge. He could thank his internship at the mortuary for that knowledge. Yes, he may do well on the test, but the price he had paid to gain that knowledge had cost him much more than a good grade in a Science class.

It had cost him his sanity, his life.

"Argh!" he heard to his right, and he swung his head around. Steve’s fist made Jon’s face explode in red. While he was stunned, Steve threw him against the locker to his left, and chucked him again to the right, where he too smacked into the wall. The people in the halls only stepped around Jon as he flew across the hall, not stopping Steve and ignoring Jon. They would only get involved if it involved them, and since it didn’t they wouldn’t be talking shit about anyone. It was none of their business. They had no idea what the issue was, why these people were fighting. Frankly, none of them would have cared if they knew.

"You stupid fuck!"

Jon assumed that Steve was going to pin him up against the wall again, just like he did every other time. But there was such hoarseness in his words, such anger. More potent than Jon ever heard. He thought it was because Jon and Sheena were obviously together, but why didn’t he beat him up before now? It had been almost a month now, and Steve had left Jon alone. The talent show had been great; Jon’s voice, Brian’s guitar and Sheena’s drumming left all in the audience in awe. Especially the students of the school, who had thought of Jon as some total loser. Now they thought he was still a total loser, but one thing was for sure: the guy could sing.

It was a step up in the food chain, Jon figured. Everywhere was a start.

Obviously, Steve didn’t care, because he proceeded unwillingly to beat the crap out of Jon. Jon let him at first; Steve was much stronger. There was no way he could stop Steve, even if he tried. The ever so familiar pain burrowed deep within him, him only blocking when absolutely necessary.

Don’t take this man just hit him just hit him like you hit Sheena’s dad Kick his face in you stupid son of a bitch don’t let him do this to you…The thought was faint, but grew with every passing moment:

Jon didn’t have to take this bullshit. He didn’t. With strength he didn’t know he possessed, he pushed Steve away. His large square fist met Steve’s nose and greeted it with a satisfying smack. Blood drooled in a thick river from Steve’s nostril. Jon just stood there, appalled.

"You’re gonna pay for that." However, Steve only moved away. He may be big, but after that shot he was more cautious. He stood for a second, nursing the pain as Jon fought the urge to bring a hand up to the eye he knew would be black as night as soon as dawn came.

"Why the hell won’t you leave me alone?"

"Because you’re stupid, and you just ruined Sheena’s life." The hatred in his eyes burned a hole in Jon’s heart. He decided to run away

(Because that’s what he was good at, goddammit, he was soooooo good at running away from everything as everything fell away from him…)

But decided against it. He had to stand his ground for once in his life. He found the almost non-existent tap of self-esteem he hid deep within him and spoke. If he ran, Steve may be too weak to get him. But his friends, who had gathered around him as the crowded halls cleared, could. And they looked ready to kill.

Carefully, Jon asked, "What do you mean ‘I ruined her life’? Just because she’s with me and not you doesn’t mean she isn’t—"

"What are you talking about? Don’t you know she’s pregnant? Don’t you know?!!!"

Jon leaned against the wall to steady himself. He didn’t know if he were joking or not. Hoped he was. Jon didn’t have to take this, he decided in typical fickle behavior. This was all a big joke. Sheena wasn’t pregnant—the condoms hadn’t leaked, had they?—and this was all a mean prank that wasn’t funny. Yeah, that’s it. A prank. He began to walk away slowly but spun around when Steve repeated himself, even louder this time.

"Where’d you hear that?" Jon asked in response. His heart raced. This was a rumor someone had started, he was sure. It wasn’t true.

Steve’s eyes flickered. "It’s been going around. You fucked her and now she’s pregnant."

"Yeah, I fucked her," he admitted lightly, and enjoyed the hating look that burned in Steve’s eyes. He wasn’t going to fall for this prank. Not at all. He would tell Sheena about this later, and she’d be mad. They could ruin her reputation by saying shit like that. A standoff lasted for about twenty seconds, wherein each of the boys looked at each other. Jon convinced himself as Steve’s anger grew that even if she was pregnant—which she wasn’t—it was none of Steve’s business at all. After all, why would Steve be angry? All he’d wanted to do was fuck her. He didn’t care about her. He dreamt day and night about her in the vain pursuit of her pussy.

Har-dee-har-har. Score one for the faget.

It was different between Sheena and Jon for sure—they loved each other. He hadn’t just wanted her body; he’d wanted so much more. Like her—like her—

His Adam’s apple sunk to the bottom of his throat as he suddenly realized that he was no different than Steve. For years they’d both dreamt about her, spent all night wondering, always wondering, what her body was like, what her moans sounded like. They’d each wanted to know her lips, to kiss her in places she’d never show. They’d both wanted to hold her and hug her and love her as they were possessed to. The only difference between Jon and Steve was that Jon was the sensitive pretty boy who got her flowers. Steve was the lonely jock who could kick anyone’s ass for her. He could impress her; Jon could woo her.

If Jon had been in Steve’s position—big and strong like him—they’d be in the exact same boat.

He’d beat himself up if he were Steve, too, for Sheena.

Jon vs. Steve: Jon got the goal at the last inning. He was champ, baby, and he’d left Steve in the dust. He’d gotten the girl and ridden off into the blue yonder with her. Yet he was no different than Steve. Never was. Still wasn’t.

There was just something about Sheena.

However, both of them cared about her, which was why Jon realized Steve spoke the truth. Even though he no longer had a chance with Sheena, he still cared for her. Cared that she was pregnant, or supposedly pregnant. The hate in his eyes was no joke, and neither was the sudden sorrow in Jon’s. His sardonic smirk disappeared.

"What? She’s pregnant?"

"Yeah. The condom broke. I’m gonna kill you for doing that to her!" he screamed. With that, he beat on a helplessly shocked Jon until his world swirled in red. He would’ve fought back again, but he was too shocked. Sheena…pregnant? He didn’t remember any of the condoms breaking. Or anything leaking from them afterwards. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be.

Why would Sheena say something like that, though, if it weren’t true?

"Stop it! I said, quit it!" Mr. G was suddenly on the scene. He leaped into the fight and pulled Steve out. Holding him by his shirt, he ordered him off, promising calmly not to say anything if they would all just leave and go to class immediately. They obeyed hesitantly. As soon as they left Jon struggled to his feet and forced his long spindly legs to support him. The world spun rapidly. G’s stubbly hand rested comfortably on his shoulder.

"Why did this happen? Do you need to talk—"

"Please, just leave me alone," he said, tears running down his face. The salty tears stung his fat, swollen lip, making it sting in pain. "You wouldn’t understand," he said more calmly when he read the hurt in Mr. G’s eyes.

He bet Mr. G had never been

(tied down and forced tied down and forced)

with a girl, only to find out a month later that he was the teenage father of an illegitimate baby. As he limped to Biology II, he tried to imagine Sheena’s stomach, swollen and full, her belly button sticking like a cartoon nose from her robust stomach. Couldn’t.

Everyone glanced up from their tests as the door creaked open. Jon limped to the back corner, where he sat alone. Taking the heavy bag off of his shoulders, he buried his head in his desk. Mrs. Laughman walked up to him gingerly. Tapped him on the shoulder.

"There’s a test today, remember? Chapter 4," she said and handed him the thick packet he was to complete before the period ended. She opened her mouth to say something more, but pursed her lips tightly instead and walked away. A minute later Jon limped to the front of the class, handed in the test with only his name scratched on the top in large capitals. He couldn’t think. Fuck this. Fuck school. Fuck life.

Fuck me!

Once the others had finished the test, they whipped out their Algebra II or American History homework and used the class as a study hall. Mrs. Laughman motioned Jon to the front of the room and out the door. He sighed as soon as they were in the hallway. Mrs. Laughman’s beady brown eyes edged in the sympathy. "What’s wrong, Jon? Did you get in a fight?" she asked. She said it as if Jon were some child. He became instantly but helplessly annoyed.

"Yeah," he said reluctantly after a pause.

"Over what? Is it teachers, or anything to do with school? Maybe I can help," she offered kindly.

Jon fought the urge to roll his watery eyes. Teachers were so naïve. So fucking naïve. The thought school was life. School had suddenly become Jon’s least worry. "It has nothing to do with school," he muttered. He felt like a child suddenly, alone and afraid. He felt her wisdom running through him. It was a strange feeling, because even though he towered above this little woman, he felt queerly intimidated by her. He whispered as the tears came, "I just found out my girlfriend is pregnant. We were real careful—"

Mrs. Laughman gave the news a second to seep in. "Who is this girl?"

"I can’t tell you."

"Who is it, dammit?" Mrs. Laughman asked harshly.

Sigh. "It’s—it’s"

"Who?"

"Sheena." He looked away.

"Sheena? Sheena Upton?" Mrs. Laughman asked. Her hand cupped over her mouth. Sheena was so young, and had so much potential…

"Yeah, her. You happy now? I just found out as I was getting my ass kicked. That’s why I was late, why I don’t feel like taking your class today. Maybe they’re all right? You know? Maybe I am just a stupid—"

"Stop talking like that," Mrs. L scolded. He only laughed at her. He was almost giddy at what he said next.

"Why? It’s so true!" His eyes sparkled insanely. To Mrs. L’s absolute horror, he made a gun with his hand and pressed the pointer finger against his forehead. He pressed the imaginary trigger.

Pow.

"Stop, it Jon. This isn’t fair. I’m just trying to help you—" she said after him as he walked away, towards the cafeteria.

"Someday everyone in this school will regret what they’ve done to me. Someday they’ll all be kissing my ass, telling everyone that they knew Jonathan Davis was in their class! Someday everyone will get on their knees and fucking beg for me!" he shouted angrily. The words came from someone else, only becoming clear to Mrs. Laughman years later as she flipped through the channels. She stopped and turned back as she watched Reggie, David, and James (a few of her other students) jumping around with their instruments. Tears fell as Jon jumped with them, his skirt accenting the shining bullet holes around them as he sang.

"Jon! Phone!"

His head snapped up abruptly. Wiping the sleep from his eyes, he realized that his Trig book lay open in front of him, the first two problems completed. He glanced at the clock: 9:45. He still had time to finish it, he thought as he unlocked his bedroom door and slumped down the stairs. He was exhausted; they’d been busy at the mortuary today. No matter how Jon tried, with his waking thoughts he flashed back to the small young girl he’d been trusted to personally prepare for burial. She was a victim of incest; her father had fucked her like a toy doll and thrown her into the bathroom when he was finished. Her legs had been totally snapped back, her sweet face bruised and chalky.

He snatched the phone from his stepmother and walked out of the room, away from her suspiciously hating glares.

No one ever called Jon. Ever.

"Hello?" he asked, unsure. A prank caller would so push him over the edge today.

A small, tinny voice answered him. It was definitely female. "Jon, I can’t take it. I can’t take this anymore."

"Sheena?! Is that you?" he asked insanely, his voice tight, his Adam’s apple a tight throb in his throat. Sheena. He hadn’t heard her voice in three months. It had been true; she was pregnant. In Health—where he now sat alone—he studied the stages of pregnancy. The baby was about the size of a pear now. Sheena would be beginning to show. Her stomach would be popping out, stretching—

With the thought of Sheena being so far away came Huh? Can’t take it anymore? He vaguely remembered a suicide victim he’d operated on. The first thing Jon thought when he saw the crusted slits across his wrists: he couldn’t take it anymore he just couldn’t take it anymore and he just fucking ended it all…

"Oh, Sheena." Jon lowered his voice as he realized that if he spoke any louder he’d sob. Her voice brought back so many memories of the time they’d spent together, of how he’d suffered when he found out he’d gotten her pregnant. As soon as her parents found out they’d taken her away so fast. He never even had a chance to say goodbye.

"I need to make a choice," she said softly. Her voice, Jon noticed, was way too calm.

"Like what?"

"My grandmother said that I could get an abortion if I want to. I decided to call you to make the decision, because it’s as much your choice as it is mine."

"An abortion?" Obviously, she wanted to kill the baby now. The baby they had made together. Had it all been a mistake? Perhaps. But the baby was not. He wished he could be on the East Coast, hugging her and telling her that she could keep the baby, that he’d provide for them. He could surely get a job at the local mortuary. The money he made from that would easily take care of Sheena and the little baby. While Jon worked Sheena could go to night school. Get her degree, and get a job as well. They would make it out fine. But killing the baby as if what they’d done had never happened?

He wanted his life to end as well as hers at the hospital in six months when the baby would be due. If she had to give up everything to save a baby’s life, then he would too. He could imagine the undeveloped fetus, a piece of slimy meat on the mortuary slab after it was sucked out of Sheena’s body with a vacuum hose.

The thought was positively mortifying.

"I need to make a choice. Now. I’m at my grandma’s, and if she finds out I’m talking to anyone I’ll get in big trouble. My appointment at the abortion clinic is tomorrow. I won’t do this if you don’t want me to…" she trailed off. When she sobbed he realized just how far away she really was. He imagined the tears running down her face as the shower droplets had run down her bare body only months ago. She had held that old condom so confidently…

"Dammit, Sheena," he said, his voice tight as it caught deep in his throat. He turned his head away from his step mom’s accusing glares. She stood with the kitchen knife, cutting meat methodically. She winked at him when he looked at her. He shuddered.

"Shouldn’t we talk about this? Like, evaluate what we can do? Maybe I can move down there and support—"

"I don’t want the baby, Jon."

"What?"

Her voice shattered as something clattered in the other room. "I don’t want any of this. I don’t want this baby. But I’ll do whatever you tell me to, since it’s as much yours as it is mine. We did this together, Jon. Together we have to undo it."

Jon checked the tears that threatened to invade his eyes. "I don’t know." When she yelled at him, he said, "What do you expect me to say? To kill it? I can’t do this. I just can’t do this."

"You have to. Jon, my grandmother’s coming…Come on, Jon, Please…"

"Sheena, what the fuck?! How the fuck do you expect to just call me and make this decision—"

"Answer me you fucking asshole!" she burst out. He could hear the shatter of glass against the wall as she chucked something five thousand miles away. "I loved you and this happened! Now tell me! YES OR NO! I can’t do this without you!"

"I—"

Her hysterical voice brought tears as she said, "Yes. No. One little word. It’s all I ask. Either way, my life ends. Our life ends. I’m waiting for one little word."

He closed his eyes tight. Squeezed out a tear. That baby, the vacuum cleaner, the mortuary slab, Sheena’s tears. He’d been right after all, he thought. All of the good things in his life always ended. Always were taken away from him before he had a chance to enjoy them.

Something resonated from deep within him, a vibrating sound that shook through him.

Chink.

The word came out easily. She wished him a good life. Hung up.

Stunned silence diseased the room like a cancerous tumor as Sheena finished calmly. She had cried all her tears. "I called him and told him I wanted an abortion. He told me he didn’t want to, but I insisted. He finally told me I could have the abortion."

"And it wasn’t even his baby," Munky whispered. The last piece to the puzzle was a dark one.

Sheena nodded. "It was my father’s."