Goth Girl Rising (10 page)

simsimsimoaning:
:)

xXxjeccatheGIRLxXx is joining the chat

xXxjeccatheGIRLxXx:
do u think brad likes me?

Promethea387:
Hello to you, too.

simsimsimoaning:
totally

xXxjeccatheGIRLxXx:
he ignored me 2day n bio

simsimsimoaning:
hes totally nto u

xXxjeccatheGIRLxXx:
yeah?

simsimsimoaning:
yeah right k?

Promethea387:
Whatever. What are you talking about?

xXxjeccatheGIRLxXx:
come on kyra!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1!!! brad lewis. from the summer

Promethea387:
I don't know. I never pay attention to Brad Lewis.

simsimsimoaning:
what?!?!?!?!?!

xXxjeccatheGIRLxXx:
hes only teh HOTTEST junior @ sb!!!!

Promethea387:
Why do you care if he's into you or not?

xXxjeccatheGIRLxXx:
duh hottness ^^

Promethea387:
So what?

simsimsimoaning:
prometheas a VIRGIN

xXxjeccatheGIRLxXx:
she can stil thik a guys hot

Promethea387:
Get off my case.

simsimsimoaning:
get it overwith

simsimsimoaning:
its no boig deal

xXxjeccatheGIRLxXx:
leav hera lone

simsimsimoaning:
just havin fun

simsimsimoaning:
i don't mean anything

simsimsimoaning:
does promethea still love me?

simsimsimoaning:
:-)

Promethea387:
Yes, you dumb bitch.

xXxjeccatheGIRLxXx:
lol

simsimsimoaning:
i knew it :) :) :) :)

xXxjeccatheGIRLxXx:
how can i make brad lik me?

Promethea387:
LICK you?

simsimsimoaning:
LOL!!!!!!!

xXxjeccatheGIRLxXx:
LIKE me!

xXxjeccatheGIRLxXx:
shit

xXxjeccatheGIRLxXx:
help me out

simsimsimoaning:
jecca needs to get her groove back lol

xXxjeccatheGIRLxXx:
don't make fun - i really LIKE him

simsimsimoaning:
u need new clothes

simsimsimoaning:
god i know he cheks out shari cause she wears that designr slut shit

simsimsimoaning:
fea rnot slutgoth is here!!!!!

xXxjeccatheGIRLxXx:
is kyura stil on???

Promethea387:
Yeah.

simsimsimoaning:
shes no help w/this stuff

simsimsimoaning:
hav u talked 2 him since last week?

xXxjeccatheGIRLxXx:
no :( hes ignoring me ALL MONTH!!!!

simsimsimoaning:
we hafta chang that!

xXxjeccatheGIRLxXx:
ill do whatev u say sim

xXxjeccatheGIRLxXx:
so hell like me AND lick me lol

simsimsimoaning:
thats my girl :)

xXxjeccatheGIRLxXx:
don't want 2 go another month

Promethea387:
I have to go.

Promethea387:
Jolly Roger is knocking.

simsimsimoaning:
avast!

xXxjeccatheGIRLxXx:
walk the plank

Promethea387:
See you tomorrow.

I
LOG OFF TO THE SOUND
of Roger pounding on the door.

"Now, Kyra! Or I knock it down."

I think about letting him do that. That would be cool, actually, just to see if he
could.
Would it be like in the movies? Would the door go flying into pieces, Roger coming through it like some monster or something? or would it just drop off the hinges and fall in one big slab to the floor?

But he won't knock it down. He'll just go get a screwdriver and pop the lock. And that's boring.

So I unlock the door and throw myself on my bed as he comes in.

"We need to talk." He's got Pissed Off going, but he's moving into sad, Tired.

Whenever Roger says "We need to talk," what he really means is that
he
needs to talk and I'm supposed to listen. Ideally, I'm supposed to pay attention and something he says is supposed to magically make me all better (as if there's something
wrong
with me) and I turn into this ideal, perfect daughter.

But he keeps saying the same thing every time. And it's never worked before, so what the hell does he expect?

When I was in the hospital—when I was DCHH—Dr. Kennedy said to me, "Do you know the definition of insanity, Kyra? It's doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result each time."

By that definition, Roger is a total effing lunatic.

"Why did you do this?" he asks, his voice very, very hoarse.

"You always bitch that I only wear black, and now I'm—"

"Not that. Not
that.
" His face is all tight and angry and hurt. "That." He points to my naked dome. "Your
hair.
"

"What the hell do you care? You hated the black dye and the spikes anyway."

"You look..." He sinks into my desk chair and puts his face in his hands and takes a deep breath. I think if I push it just a little bit more, he might actually start crying.

"Jesus, Kyra! Why are you doing this? Why?"

I've never made my dad cry before. I always figured it would feel pretty good to nail him like that, but now that I'm right there, I just feel cold instead. I start shivering. It's just gross and weird and wrong somehow to think of him sitting there bawling his eyes out like a little boy.

"You look like
her.
" He looks up at me. "Christ, you look
just. Like. Her.
"

And now I'm not shivering anymore because I'm totally paralyzed. Just frozen on the bed.

"After all the chemo. And the radiation? Jesus Christ..."

I close my eyes, which is a mistake, because when I do that, I can do more than remember—I can
see.
I see her. All skinny and smooth-headed.

"Why?" he whispers. "Why would you
do
that to me?"

I clench my jaw. I wasn't doing anything
to
him. I was doing something
for
me. I wasn't even
thinking
about Mom.

"Why are you punishing me, Kyra? Why? I just want to help you. I just want you to let me in. I just want—"

"Oh, yeah, Roger? Well I don't effing care what you want! I hate you and I want you out of my life forever!"

He jerks like I punched him and he goes
instantly
to Pissed Off, rising from the chair.

"You think I don't know that? Do you think I don't know that, Kyra? Huh? I would bring her back in a second, in
less
than a second, if I could. But I can't. I can't! so I'm what you're stuck with, OK? I'm sorry you got such a shitty deal, but that's how it is. That's how it is!"

Before I can say anything, he storms out of my room, slamming the door so hard that the whole room vibrates and my mirror falls off the door and the
Sandman
posters on the wall slip.

Wow.

OK, wow.

the room the room the room is rosevomit because
roger left roses and
mom threw up before i came in
perfect timing

("Honey?" she said
In that clouded, confused way.)

cancer had eaten a path to her brain
yum-yum cancer loves brains
like zombies
eat her memory
she has trouble remembering me
remembering the year

(When I was eight years old, I
Had the stomach flu
And threw up in the kitchen
And then in the hallway
And then twice in the bathroom
—Only hitting the sink once)

i should understand
but I can't
fluvomit does not equal rosevomit

dead already, to me
dead and gone
seventeen months of slow death
of hospitals and
hospices and
doctors and
radiation and chemotherapy (latin for "poison")

("Honey, come close and let me see you.")

smell of death above the rosevomit
twelve and i had never smelled death before—
—but i knew
(I knew)
I know

this is what death smells like

S
O NOW
I'
M, LIKE, SERIOUSLY
messed up.

I mean, I can't think. I can't focus. I just sit in my room for a while, staring at myself in the mirror.

Like her.

Yeah. I look like her. I really do.

I don't know how to feel about that. I don't know how to feel about...

OK, I have to admit it: I miss my mom.

My shrink says I hate my mom because she died, but that's stupid because I hated her before she died, too.

When I was a little girl, we got along great. I mean, we were like best friends.

And then ... I don't know. It all changed.
She
changed. Or maybe ... maybe it was me. That's all.

Or maybe it was both of us.

But, see, it's like everything went wrong when I stopped being a girl and started growing up—cramps, boobs, etc.