Hissers (25 page)

“Your parents smoke pot?” Connor asked, as if it were taboo to even say the word.

“Smoke it?” Amanita replied. “They
grow
it. In our backyard. And not a day goes by that it’s not made clear to me what’s more important to them. They come home from work, they get high, they wake up, they get high. The weekend rolls around and they sit in front of the TV, get high and get drunk. Meanwhile their dirty old friends swing by for a bag and look me up and down like they’re gonna offer me money for a blowjob. I’m their fucking daughter and they don’t give a shit who looks at me like that. They don’t give two shits about me, so yes, Seth, I do know how it feels.”

“Then why do you dress like that?” Seth asked. “If you don’t like people looking at you.”

Amanita looked down at her wet shirt, saw her bra showing through it. When she looked up again she was crying. “I don’t know. Because I can. Because…I guess it’s better to get someone, anyone, to pay attention to me than be completely forgotten. I just want…someone…to…to say something nice to me for once. I don’t want to keep hearing about how I was a mistake. That’s what they say:
‘a mistake.’
They told me the truth one night when they were drunk and high, how I was the product of a broken condom and failed birth control. How they never wanted kids.” She stopped to wipe tears from her face, but more kept coming. “Fuck! I…I want to feel like love exists, you know. All day long I do what I want—I smoke and drink to show them it’s fucked up—and no one tells me no, and so I just do it now to feel numb. And I walk around dressed like this hoping someone will just whisk me away to a better place. And right now all I have to offer is my body.”

Nicole blanched.
“Am!”

“Well it’s true. I figure if this can get me somewhere better in life then I’ll do it. I hate living there. I hate being around them. You know why they weren’t at home tonight? I bet they were at their friend’s house smoking it up. I want to be somewhere where people care. Like when I was little, and Dad bought me this dollhouse with these princess dolls. One of the only nice things he ever bought me. And I would just sit and play with that thing all day because it was better than my real house, better than my real life. In the dollhouse everyone loved everyone else. I had this weird OCD thing where all the princesses had to do everything together. If one ate, they all ate, if one went on a date with a prince, they all went. Like a real family. Not like mine, where I needed Dad to open a can of Spaghetti-Os for me so I could make my own dinner when I was seven, but he couldn’t because he was passed out drunk and Mom was asleep on the floor from smoking her brains out. Where I had to eat slices of Wonder Bread for dinner with patches of fuzzy green on them. I don’t even know how they maintain their fucking jobs, the loser stoners. I fucking hate them.” She put her head in her hands and continued to cry.

For once, Seth didn’t feel so alone. He felt bad for Amanita, and wanted to apologize for mocking her but also let her know that he understood. If there was ever a scenario he could empathize with, it was feeling invisible in front of one’s parents.

“That’s why I always go to your house, Nicole. I love your mom better. I wish she were mine.”

“She’s not all she’s cracked up to be.”

“Oh please. She’s a saint compared to my mom.”

“She’s okay. But she’s bitter and angry most of the day. She puts on a happy face for company, but behind closed doors she’s just pissed all the time. Why do you think she loves that dog so much? She hates my father for leaving, and she won’t date because she’s too bitter. So the dog is my new dad. And the dog is a girl.”

Amanita pushed her hair out of her eyes. Her face was puffy and red. “Well, you’re dad was a dick for leaving. I can sympathize with her.”

Nicole nodded. “Yeah. He was a dick. But I have good memories of him. That’s what sucks the most. The guy I remember was a good dad. I wish I knew why he left. I still have this crazy fantasy he’ll come see me someday, like drive up and say hi and have a legitimate explanation for leaving. Makes me hate my life too sometimes.”

“You’re life is better than mine, Nic. Deadbeat dads aside I’d trade with you in a heartbeat. Trade for your brains and normalcy, for your money.”

Nicole was looking into her own lap now. “I don’t want brains. And I only get spoiled because mom feels bad she had to raise me alone. I would give that up to have my dad back. Sometimes I wish I had what you have, a good body, something men would notice about me.”

“What are you talking about? You have a good look, you just need to maybe show a little more leg here and there. Those boys at the park today, they were kinda cute. Older and creepy, yes, but cute. You could have at least rolled your shorts up or bought a higher pair.”

“Actually I can’t.”

“Sure you can. You just gotta try it.”

“No. I can’t. Can we drop it?”

“I’m just saying, Nic, you’re a hottie. Right, Connor?”

Connor stuttered, subconsciously shifted his position. “Um, yeah. I mean, yes, I think you’re very attractive.”

“Girls don’t want to hear the word ‘attractive,’ Connor. Tell her she’s sexy.”

“Am!” Nicole threw a chip at her friend.

Connor stammered again but then got out a somewhat coherent string of words. “Sure, you’re totally sexy.”

Seth could feel his best friend blushing. He was blushing as well. Using the word ‘sexy’ was just awkward for them. It felt almost pornographic.

Am was almost giggling, but opting for a sly sneer instead. “Don’t you want to see her legs, Connor?”

“Am, knock it off!” Another chip hit Amanita in the shoulder.

Connor was smiling out of sheer embarrassment. The poor boy looked like he might run through a wall just to get out of this situation.

“Come on, show Connor your leg. I saw you guys kiss. He’s bound to see it sooner or later.”

“Am, seriously.” Nicole’s demeanor shifted. She was genuinely getting angry.

Finally Amanita relented. “Fine. It’s just a leg. I was just trying to tell you you’re a sexy bitch. You should flaunt it instead of covering up all the time.”

“I cover up for a reason.”

“Which is?”

And then Nicole was crying.

Jesus Christ we all need therapy,
Seth thought.

Sunday, 1:35am

This was the part Nicole had nightmares about, the reason she hated it when Am pushed her to dress a little skimpier. Even her own mother questioned her choice of frumpy clothing. She began to sweat.

Maybe if it were just she and Am she would come clean about her legs. But Connor was here, and Connor was a different story. She wanted to keep him close. If he saw what was on her thighs he’d run to the hills. She needed a distraction to change the subject.

But then she felt Connor’s arm around her, and he pulled her close to him, like he’d done at her house. He was obviously nervous judging by the awkward way he moved closer, but he was good at putting just the right amount of weight against her to make her feel safe. “It’s okay, guys. Let’s just change the subject. She doesn’t need to talk about her legs or anything else she doesn’t want to.”

She appreciated that, wanted to kiss him again for his concern; he was here for her.

But will he be here for you if you lie to him. If you keep secrets. Things are different now. Now we have to be our true selves. It’s the only way to survive.

She knew her conscience was right, that Connor deserved to know all her secrets. But this felt like the wrong place. Seth and Amanita didn’t need to know. Then again, she was surprised Amanita didn’t know all ready. Keeping her habit from her friend for so long had grown exhausting.

And Seth. Seth was Seth. Harmless and just as fucked up.

She stood up and unbuttoned her jeans. She pulled them down to her knees, exposing her panties. She saw Seth’s eyes go wide, but as much as the boy looked embarrassed he did not turn away.

Connor looked as well, but she could tell he did not know what he was supposed to be seeing.

It was Amanita who picked up the flashlight and shined it on Nicole’s thighs. Nicole took a breath and waited for the comments.

“Jesus Christ, Nic.”

Connor shifted around to get a better look. “Are those…scars?”

Nicole looked down now, took in her legs. Scars criss-crossed her thighs, stitched back and forth like lightning. Some were old, some were fresh. Half moon fingernail gouges and thin purple vines still gooey with blood.

Am got up close. “Did you do this?”

Nicole finally managed to stop crying. There was no use anymore. All three of her friend’s wore the same astonished look. “I cut myself,” she said.

“But why?” Connor asked. He seemed sincerely confused.

“I don’t know. Because it feels good. Because it feels like anything. Because there’s no grade involved. Because I don’t have to impress anyone with it or see looks of disappointment if it doesn’t meet anyone’s expectations. Because it’s kills my inner monologue and the pain is better than depression. Because I’m fucked up, that’s why.”

Slowly, Connor got closer, put his fingers on the scars. “It’s not that bad. Mine is worse.” He stuck his leg out and showed her the bandage she’d wrapped around it. It made her smile, his attempt to comfort her, but she was still sickened by the sight of her own flesh and the guilt behind her own self mutilation.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Am asked.

“I don’t know. How was I supposed to tell you? I can’t stop. It…it makes me able to sleep at night, you know. I don’t know why or how.”

Suddenly Am was up and was hugging Nicole. Her arms carried a weight different from Connor’s but satisfying nonetheless. The weight of friendship. “I’m sorry, Am.”

“Don’t be sorry.”

“I just. I don’t know how to be normal. I’m just a brain. I want to be like you. Carefree, rebellious, okay with my body. Not worry about pleasing Mom and school and…”

“Nicole, you’re my best friend. From now on when you feel like you need to do this you call me, okay? Look at me. Call me. We’ll deal with this together.”

“Do you think I’m weird, do you hate me?”

“Yes, but only because you refuse to watch Paul Walker movies with me, not because of this.”

“He’s not that hot.”

“He’s an Adonis and I want his children.” Am hugged her hard enough to make her cough.

Nicole spoke over her friend’s shoulder. “Do you hate me, Connor?”

Connor stood up and put his arm around her as well. “No. And you can call me too.”

Am nodded. “See, you can call your BF as well. Now pull up your pants before Batman and Robin here explode.”

“I’m not even looking,” Seth said from somewhere outside the huddle. “Wait, am I Batman or Robin?”

When Nicole sat back down, Connor was sitting next to her, his arms still around her. “You really don’t think I’m a freak?” she asked.

“I think you may need to talk to someone, but I will help you. I really like you, Nic.”

“You’re too sweet. You really are.”

This time when she leaned in to kiss him, there was no hesitation on either part.

Sunday, 1:34am

They pulled apart and Connor felt a little scared. Nicole’s legs looked pretty bad. She needed someone with good credentials to figure out where her problems stemmed from, although it was pretty obvious—since they’d just all shared their inner most demons—where her problem lay.

On a strange level it also made him feel needed and right now, strangely, he wasn’t having such a hard time accepting that.

“And what about you, Connor,” Amanita asked. “You’re last. Spill the beans. How are you fucked up?”

Seth and Amanita both chuckled. Nicole squeezed him a little harder around the waist. Connor knew it was coming but had hoped he be able to dodge the bullet. Everyone’s face was slick with drying tears but his own.

“Actually my folks and I got along great. My dad was encouraging and funny, and my mom told me she loved me just about every day. And then they died.

“And I ran my mom over in a car.”

And that was the end of their therapy session.

Sunday, 2:12am

For the next several hours the storm grew worse, but none of the teens inside the school knew this; the teachers’ lounge had been built in the middle of the building. Outside gusts of wind whipped down the streets like runaway steeds, tearing branches off trees and knocking over empty garbage cans. The rain snubbed the last of the flames on the crashed plane and washed most of the blood off the streets and into the curbside drains. Cats hunted for mice, and mice hunted for crumbs, and the edacious hissers hunted for the last few remaining residents of Castor who had been stupid enough to hide in their houses. Doors were kicked down, windows were smashed, rain sprayed inside living rooms and bedrooms as the undead wrenched their friends and family from under beds and out of closets and tore them limb from limb. Those who caught the virus before death took them were reborn in seconds, others were simply left to rot as rare hamburger in the bellies of demons.