Inside-Out
21/8/04 23:37![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ibonekoenThank you to all my betas (you know who you are) for editing this. I did make a poster, which can be found here
Inside-Out
By Ibonekoen and Redkitty
Casey still follows Delilah around like a puppy dog. The guy saved the world from fucking aliens and he still trails after her like she’s the greatest thing since pastrami and a three-paper joint. Never mind the fact that they broke up three months ago. More specifically, Delilah dumped him.
When they got together after the alien attack, I knew it wouldn’t last long. Delilah was just using Casey as a means to play up to the cameras. She likes being in the spotlight and she milked Casey’s fame for all she could. I knew once the media’s interest waned, so would hers.
Cunt.
And ever the drama queen, she had to pick the most public place to do it: the quad, before school started. On any given day, over half of the school population will be milling around on the front lawn, waiting for school to start.
I usually don’t hang around the front doors. I’m normally out by my car, conducting business. However, since the alien attack, I’ve taken to milling around the quad. I’m not entirely sure why. I kinda feel like I have to keep an eye on the little geek. Like he. . .fuck, I dunno. Why do I ever do anything?
I’m Zeke Tyler, by the way. Herrington High’s resident bad boy and rebel without a hope in hell. Pleased to meet you. Not.
Anyway, back to my story. So there’s Delilah and there’s Casey. She’s screaming at him. I’m not really paying attention to her words. I never do. I’m usually staring at her tits. This time though, I’m staring at Casey.
He’s standing there, this startled look on his face. Then the bewilderment slowly segues into horrified shock and then crushed, agonized defeat.
And as I watch those emotions flicker across his face, my heart breaks for the nerd. I’m not real big on showing emotion in public -- people tend to smell anything real and pounce like rabid boy band rejects -- so I get mad in the next instant.
I’ve only killed one person in my life. That was Principal Drake and it was a special circumstance. But at that moment, I’m very, very tempted to kill Delilah. To wrap my hands around her neck and squeeze harder and harder until she turns blue and goes limp, her tendons popping and her windpipe collapsing under my fingers. I get that way a lot. Because stupid phony posers piss me off.
Yeah yeah, I’m fully aware that in a sense I’m a phony poser too, but I’m not stupid. I’m a survivor. And it’s ripping at my gut to see that kid getting brutalized in the way only spoiled bitches like Delilah can brutalize a guy, because he’s too naïve to protect himself. He hasn’t learned yet that honesty only gives people a how-to guide on where to stick the knife in your back.
So I can only watch a few more minutes before walking away. It’s a better alternative than doing something stupid. . .like actually killing the bitch. I got nothing against doing things that are illegal, even conventionally immoral sometimes. I DO have something against getting caught in a way I can’t wriggle my way out of.
Besides, killing Delilah would probably drive Casey right over the edge, the stupid sap. Stupid in terms of street smarts, not book smarts. Casey’s one of the few losers in this buttfuck town that may actually make something of himself, if this little cheerleader episode hasn’t scarred him into a spiraling depression. He could end up a mindless junkie. I’ve seen it happen.
‘Cause the idiot worships the ground Delilah walks on, undeserving bitch. She doesn’t deserve half of the attention Casey gives her.
. . .
Why the fuck did I just think that?
Lately I’ve been thinking weird shit like that. It’s been going on since just after The Incident, as the residents of Herrington like to refer to the alien attack. Can you believe there are STILL people in denial over what happened? Even Stokely, who wasn’t fucking taken until the very end, is unsure about what exactly happened. Only Casey and I seem to know for sure it actually happened. Casey’s still got faint scars on his face from where the alien bitch’s little parasites tried to attack him. I still have nightmares about kissing MaryBeth.
Maybe that’s why I’ve been more focused on him lately. ‘Cause we’re the only people that don’t seem to want to close our eyes and pretend the whole thing never happened. Only his scars are where everyone can see them. Mine are on the inside, where it’s safer.
That’s kind of a metaphor for what makes us different, isn’t it? I remember the moment I realized that.
It was MaryBeth’s first day at school. Casey had gotten rammed crotch-first into the flagpole, not to mention elbowed in the face. Okay, I laughed a little, but mainly so I wouldn’t feel. He’s the walking punching bag of Herrington High. Nobody feels anything for him. Because shit, if we gave a fuck, we might realize what massive jerks we all are.
And unlike me, some people aren’t comfortable with being massive jerks.
Anyway, I was in the boys’ bathroom, selling these two guys fake I.Ds. People will buy anything for a price. It’s all about supply and demand. That’s street smarts, see?
So the guys pay me, take their I.Ds and leave, and I light up a cigarette, debating whether or not I want to go to class, leaning up against one of the shittier stalls.
Then, from inside it, I hear a barely audible “Fuck” followed by the sound of somebody sniffling.
Now, there’s only one person in Herrington High who hides out in the bathroom, and it ain’t me. I’m not hiding. I’m just chilling out until I know all the teachers are in their classrooms and I can make a break for my car.
Why is it different? Because I’m cool and sell weed cut with oregano to jocks who’re too stupid to know the difference, and Casey, the one person in Herrington High who hides out in the bathroom, isn’t and doesn’t. It’s all about marketing.
But anyway, back to Close Encounters of the Turd Kind. Ugh. Alien joke. Forget I said that. There I was, standing in the boys’ bathroom, smoking a cigarette and listening to Casey. I’m not even sure if he was aware I was there. He was cursing under his breath and sniffling. If he WAS aware, he didn’t care, and I like the first option better.
Thinking about it now, I’m grinning like a retard. I liked the way ‘fuck’ came out of angelic little Casey Connor’s mouth and echoed gently off the walls. Good little geek boy swearing? What would his mommy think? Maybe Casey’s not so angelic after all. I like people’s perversions, and not just because they make me money.
“Fuck.” I agreed, cheekily announcing my presence. Casey heard me and bolted out of the stall, looking like a frightened little animal. That made me smirk viciously. I like startling people. Because life is about power.
“Boo.” I said, then took a drag of my cigarette.
He didn’t say anything. Just stared at me for a few moments. Then he bolted for the door like I was gonna hook up electrodes to his testicles. I chuckled as I watched him go, trying to laugh off a pang of disappointment.
I was hoping, see, that Casey and that giant brain of his could understand what I’m too cool to say: turn me inside out, and you’ve got him.
That’s why I keep it on the inside.
But back to the present. I leave the school for the day after the shit with Delilah and Casey goes down, and by the time I get home, I’m pretty fucking depressed about it. Self-preservation, man. I know what was going through that kid’s head, but if I did anything about it, did anything to stop his humiliation, people would’ve known that. No thanks. Don’t want a bull’s-eye on my ass.
Self-fucking-preservation.
Inside-Out
By Ibonekoen and Redkitty
Casey still follows Delilah around like a puppy dog. The guy saved the world from fucking aliens and he still trails after her like she’s the greatest thing since pastrami and a three-paper joint. Never mind the fact that they broke up three months ago. More specifically, Delilah dumped him.
When they got together after the alien attack, I knew it wouldn’t last long. Delilah was just using Casey as a means to play up to the cameras. She likes being in the spotlight and she milked Casey’s fame for all she could. I knew once the media’s interest waned, so would hers.
Cunt.
And ever the drama queen, she had to pick the most public place to do it: the quad, before school started. On any given day, over half of the school population will be milling around on the front lawn, waiting for school to start.
I usually don’t hang around the front doors. I’m normally out by my car, conducting business. However, since the alien attack, I’ve taken to milling around the quad. I’m not entirely sure why. I kinda feel like I have to keep an eye on the little geek. Like he. . .fuck, I dunno. Why do I ever do anything?
I’m Zeke Tyler, by the way. Herrington High’s resident bad boy and rebel without a hope in hell. Pleased to meet you. Not.
Anyway, back to my story. So there’s Delilah and there’s Casey. She’s screaming at him. I’m not really paying attention to her words. I never do. I’m usually staring at her tits. This time though, I’m staring at Casey.
He’s standing there, this startled look on his face. Then the bewilderment slowly segues into horrified shock and then crushed, agonized defeat.
And as I watch those emotions flicker across his face, my heart breaks for the nerd. I’m not real big on showing emotion in public -- people tend to smell anything real and pounce like rabid boy band rejects -- so I get mad in the next instant.
I’ve only killed one person in my life. That was Principal Drake and it was a special circumstance. But at that moment, I’m very, very tempted to kill Delilah. To wrap my hands around her neck and squeeze harder and harder until she turns blue and goes limp, her tendons popping and her windpipe collapsing under my fingers. I get that way a lot. Because stupid phony posers piss me off.
Yeah yeah, I’m fully aware that in a sense I’m a phony poser too, but I’m not stupid. I’m a survivor. And it’s ripping at my gut to see that kid getting brutalized in the way only spoiled bitches like Delilah can brutalize a guy, because he’s too naïve to protect himself. He hasn’t learned yet that honesty only gives people a how-to guide on where to stick the knife in your back.
So I can only watch a few more minutes before walking away. It’s a better alternative than doing something stupid. . .like actually killing the bitch. I got nothing against doing things that are illegal, even conventionally immoral sometimes. I DO have something against getting caught in a way I can’t wriggle my way out of.
Besides, killing Delilah would probably drive Casey right over the edge, the stupid sap. Stupid in terms of street smarts, not book smarts. Casey’s one of the few losers in this buttfuck town that may actually make something of himself, if this little cheerleader episode hasn’t scarred him into a spiraling depression. He could end up a mindless junkie. I’ve seen it happen.
‘Cause the idiot worships the ground Delilah walks on, undeserving bitch. She doesn’t deserve half of the attention Casey gives her.
. . .
Why the fuck did I just think that?
Lately I’ve been thinking weird shit like that. It’s been going on since just after The Incident, as the residents of Herrington like to refer to the alien attack. Can you believe there are STILL people in denial over what happened? Even Stokely, who wasn’t fucking taken until the very end, is unsure about what exactly happened. Only Casey and I seem to know for sure it actually happened. Casey’s still got faint scars on his face from where the alien bitch’s little parasites tried to attack him. I still have nightmares about kissing MaryBeth.
Maybe that’s why I’ve been more focused on him lately. ‘Cause we’re the only people that don’t seem to want to close our eyes and pretend the whole thing never happened. Only his scars are where everyone can see them. Mine are on the inside, where it’s safer.
That’s kind of a metaphor for what makes us different, isn’t it? I remember the moment I realized that.
It was MaryBeth’s first day at school. Casey had gotten rammed crotch-first into the flagpole, not to mention elbowed in the face. Okay, I laughed a little, but mainly so I wouldn’t feel. He’s the walking punching bag of Herrington High. Nobody feels anything for him. Because shit, if we gave a fuck, we might realize what massive jerks we all are.
And unlike me, some people aren’t comfortable with being massive jerks.
Anyway, I was in the boys’ bathroom, selling these two guys fake I.Ds. People will buy anything for a price. It’s all about supply and demand. That’s street smarts, see?
So the guys pay me, take their I.Ds and leave, and I light up a cigarette, debating whether or not I want to go to class, leaning up against one of the shittier stalls.
Then, from inside it, I hear a barely audible “Fuck” followed by the sound of somebody sniffling.
Now, there’s only one person in Herrington High who hides out in the bathroom, and it ain’t me. I’m not hiding. I’m just chilling out until I know all the teachers are in their classrooms and I can make a break for my car.
Why is it different? Because I’m cool and sell weed cut with oregano to jocks who’re too stupid to know the difference, and Casey, the one person in Herrington High who hides out in the bathroom, isn’t and doesn’t. It’s all about marketing.
But anyway, back to Close Encounters of the Turd Kind. Ugh. Alien joke. Forget I said that. There I was, standing in the boys’ bathroom, smoking a cigarette and listening to Casey. I’m not even sure if he was aware I was there. He was cursing under his breath and sniffling. If he WAS aware, he didn’t care, and I like the first option better.
Thinking about it now, I’m grinning like a retard. I liked the way ‘fuck’ came out of angelic little Casey Connor’s mouth and echoed gently off the walls. Good little geek boy swearing? What would his mommy think? Maybe Casey’s not so angelic after all. I like people’s perversions, and not just because they make me money.
“Fuck.” I agreed, cheekily announcing my presence. Casey heard me and bolted out of the stall, looking like a frightened little animal. That made me smirk viciously. I like startling people. Because life is about power.
“Boo.” I said, then took a drag of my cigarette.
He didn’t say anything. Just stared at me for a few moments. Then he bolted for the door like I was gonna hook up electrodes to his testicles. I chuckled as I watched him go, trying to laugh off a pang of disappointment.
I was hoping, see, that Casey and that giant brain of his could understand what I’m too cool to say: turn me inside out, and you’ve got him.
That’s why I keep it on the inside.
But back to the present. I leave the school for the day after the shit with Delilah and Casey goes down, and by the time I get home, I’m pretty fucking depressed about it. Self-preservation, man. I know what was going through that kid’s head, but if I did anything about it, did anything to stop his humiliation, people would’ve known that. No thanks. Don’t want a bull’s-eye on my ass.
Self-fucking-preservation.
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