.i lose myself in all these fights, i lose my sense of wrong and right.

What happened to that person who would give up everything for me? Who would protect me from the monsters under my bed? When I was five, we used to watch Tales From The Crypt together and at 11.30, after it had finished, you would tuck me in. It was a ritual for me to get scared and for you to check under my bed and in my closet for monsters and gargoyles and all the stuff I deemed scary and upsetting. You used to be able to carry me back then. Now, I'm just seven inches shorter than you. Give it a few more years and we'll be the same height. I'll be able to look you in the eyes and tell you what you've done. How you've hurt me and fucked up my life. How scarred I am by your actions.
I always wanted to make you proud of me. I wanted you to be able to introduce me with that proud glint in your eye. Look where that got us. You can't stand my hair; according to you, it's too messy. You can't stand my earrings; there are too many for your liking. You can't stand my music; it's too loud. And I'm not going to change for you. You can shout and rant and rave like the psycho that you are. You can punish me. You can do whatever you want. I won't change. For the first time in a long time, I'm happy with who I am. I'm happy with my hair and my earrings and my music and everything else. I'm happy coming home at two in the mornings, laughing my ass off with Mercedes and Ashley. I've given up on trying to make you proud. I don't need you to be proud of me, because even if you're not proud of me, I'm proud of me.
The gap between us came to a head the other night. The night involving you storming out and the soccer trophy I won in standard six, now broken. I hate the thing anyway. I don't want to look at it anymore and now I don't have to. It's gone. The funny thing is, I never was like you. I just tried to be. To make you proud. We're so different. I've become domesticated, you could almost call it tamed, since I've started spending time with the ScaryBeautiful. MY ScaryBeautiful. It thrills me to say that. And you. You'll never see how your actions have affected me. I won't let you see. I'm taking Daphne's advice on this. I'll never, ever let you in. Not as long as I live. You'll never get to see my kids. Not Laith or Shane or Skylar. They don't need to know that they're related to someone like you.
I don't knwo when things changed between us. Was it after I found out, or way before that? Maybe it was because I stopped playing sports, stopped watching Manchester United games with you late at night. I spent more time at the gym, keeping fit that way. You'd come in late, literally throw money at me and go out again. Then there was the time when I was much younger. You couldn't go a day without fighting with *her*. I spent the nights huddled under my blankets with someone who'd hold me together - every single night, staying up late to tell me that it'd all be okay. It wasn't any of that someone's business, but he cared about me. He still does, and I love him for it. He's not like you at all and thank God for that.
What you did, your addiction, your betrayal, it's driving me. It keeps me up late at night, thinking. It makes me toss and turn and burn, hating you and what you're doing. But you're getting sloppy. And when you go down, I'll be there. I'll make something out of myself and I'm well on the way to doing it. I'm not just some unknown. You're going to hear my voice till you're fucking sick of it. And when you get sick of it, it'll still be there. You won't have a choice. You're just a challenge I have to overcome. And I'll overcome it. I have my ScaryBeautiful, to hold me together when I'm about to fall apart. Which is more than you EVER did for me.
It's different. I'm different from you and for that, I'm thankful. I'm made of better things and I'll prove whatever you said, in front of Carmen and Mercedes and Rowan, I'll prove you so fucking wrong. If I have half a chance I'll grab it. And when I make it, it'll be no thanks to you. No thanks to you AT ALL.

.for tonight.

I push the hair back from my face. It's braided back but the wavy little wisps keep falling back down, looking cute, but driving me nuts. I've stared at this story so long I can't see straight.
I wonder what Trey is doing. I hope he's okay. I feel his ghost with me like a constant presence.
The doorbell rings. Strange. I wonder who it could be. Megan, maybe? Probably someone for Shayde, one of the many lovelorn who fall in her wake.
I put the laptop down on my bed, then go to get the door.
"Hi." It's Coryn, and she is a wreck. Hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, jeans, pristine white sleeveless undershirt. Tears all down her blotchy face. "Coryn, what's wrong?"
Coryn bites her lip, as if trying to keep the pain of whatever it is from showing.
I stand there stupidly for what seems like a long time. Finally I blink, and say "Um, come in."
She does.
"What happened?"
"My grandmother died."
"Oh. Oh, um, I'm sorry." And I hold her in my arms. I think how different it is from holding her usually. It is almost as if we are strangers, yet not. "I'm so sorry," I whisper.
"My grandmother died," she repeats, "and we were really close and she was like my second mother and I just don't know how I'm gonna get through this."
"Oh. It's okay," I say. Which is so stupid. Because it's not. "Um, come in, come and sit down."
"Okay."
"Okay," I murmur.
"When did it happen?" I ask, taking her hand in mine.
"Last night." Coryn's eyes are wild and staring into nowhere, searching, tears falling. "And I could handle that, because she was eighty, you know, but..."
I stroke her hair, silk-soft, and I feel desire rise through me. No, not the right time.
"But?"
"But she got shot. Some motherfucker shot her during a convenience store robbery."
"Oh my God, Coryn..."
She squeezes my hand so hard and I feel so useless, so unqualified to comfort her. I don't know what to say. And she starts to sob, so I just wrap my arms around her and pull her to me.
She just sobs and holds on to me. Just like the grip of her hand, her arms are so tight, and she clings to me.
"My dad was killed before I was born. And my mum had to work all the time to support us, you know, so my grandma, she was it. She raised me. And I don't know how I'm gonna live without her..."
"Oh, Coryn, I'm so sorry."
The shaking of her chest as she sobs intensifies and I have a sudden stupid fear that she'll just explode into pieces.
"I'm so sorry," I whisper, because it is the only thing I can think to say to her. She leans on me, more and more, until she is slipping into my lap. I put a pillow on it and pull her down. Stroke her hair, the way my mum did when I was little. That felt good. Maybe it will feel good for her.
"Tell me about her. What was she like?"
Right away I feel really stupid. She is in no condition to talk, just sobbing so hard.
"I'm sorry, I'm bad at this," I whisper. "But I'm here. So, just let it go. It's okay."
She is crying so hard her face is in a grimace. But when I say that she looks up at me with these wounded brown eyes, and I see gratitude. My hand finds hers and clutches there.
I glance at the clock. It's five after seven. I should have been getting ready for work ten minutes ago. Should I skip it? I really can't. If I skip it, Geoff will fire me, and there'll be no money for rent, and we already need a third roommate.
Still, it's sweet to feel the way she needs me. Because I can't imagine what she's feeling.
I wipe some of the tears from her face. I feel ineffectual, because mostly they soak into the pillow. I guess this doesn't matter. I don't know.
Maybe I am helping, because her sobs slow. She sniffles and hiccups adorably, and I just stroke her hair and hold her.
"I'm sorry. I just had to talk to someone. I knew you would listen."
So she came to see me, not Shayde? Should I feel so happy about that? Probably not, given the way Shayde has treated her. Like Shayde, I was upfront about not wanting a relationship, but I'm not blessed with Shayde's cruel indifference.
"She was just such a strong lady. She didn't take any shit from anybody. She didn't play games. She was tough. But what can you do, when some tweaked out fuck shoots you, when you're at the wrong place at the wrong time?"
"Oh, Coryn..." The brutality of it is obscene. What can I say to her?
"Did they get the guy?"
"No," she sobs, and her hand clutches around mine again, hard enough to hurt the bones under my flesh. And she starts sobbing again. Nice, Kay.
"I'm sorry."
"I know." She smiles, not the grimace of one who is flat-out sobbing, but a real smile. For the first time I feel like I'm doing something right.
~
Kaylen holds my hand as I remember the summer I turned five. "We had this swimming pool when I was a kid. And with me and my cousins, it was crowded. One of those cheap little vinyl numbers that you inflate, you know? And one day it was like a hundred and five degrees, and we were all out there, and she comes out in this bathing suit from the seventies... and just said 'move, toots!' So we moved over and let her in. We started splashing each other and all the time we were laughing at this horrible bathing suit she had on...she just splashed us all, and she was laughing too..."
I smile at the memory. I can remember the honey taste of the candy I had in my mouth, the cold feel of the water, fresh out of the hose, so cold it hurt. I remember the green and gold fabric of Nanna's bathing suit, so out of style it would probably be in style again. I wonder if she still has it. I could wear it to the beach in memory of her... Walk down the sand, with a bunch of gold chains on my bronze skin, picking up girls. And Shayde...
I don't want to think about Shayde. I'm glad she's not here. It would be awkward. And if there's anything I hate, it's causing awkwardness.
"That sounds fun," Kaylen says dreamily.
"Yeah. I have so many good memories."
"That's good," she whispers in that girlish way of hers. "It must be good to have a lot of good memories, to take out and hold on to, um, when it's hard."
"Yeah," I nod. I close my eyes, and for a second lose myself in the way her hand feels, touching my hair.
~
Maybe I'll go out to Radar tonight. It's a little weird now that Sky has taken over, like a completely different place. But not bad weird. And maybe the change will do me good. Same old faces, though. I wish Ade and Sierra would get it together. I wonder what Cleo is doing right now.
God, it hurts to think about her. Fucking hurts, like a red-hot pole up the ass kind of hurt. God, I hate her. No I don't. I want to, though.
I wonder what Coryn is doing tonight. Yeah. I'd like to hook up with Coryn. Sweet Coryn, and her innocent questions about hamsters and brothers. Yeah.
There is like no parking on this block tonight. I think the people across from Megan and Serena - I mean Megan, just Megan, god, that's wrong, just wrong. Anyway, I think they are having a party. I circle the block twice, then squeeze the truck into a narrow spot.
I walk down the block, scratching my head. I hate this haircut already. I wish it would grow. Fuckin' beast having it in my eyes all the time.
Home. God, I like living here. It's an actual house, and every time I come up the walk, onto the porch, I remember that. It blows my mind. An actual house and not an apartment with dykes packed like sardines. But we really need to get a third roommate soon. Like, really soon.
"Hi, honey, I'm home," I say dryly. Wonder why I've never fucked Kaylen? Don't know why, she's cute and all, but no. Just, no. Which is good. Because I don't need yet another fucked-up living sitch.
There is no answer, but when I toss my jacket down on the table I see that Kaylen is here, and... Coryn.
I shouldn't mind that they've hooked up. It makes me look like a total hypocrite. Like an asshole. The feeling snuck up on me in Luminous when I saw them kissing. Wrong, wrong wrong. I know better than that.
But they aren't fucking, or even making out. Kaylen is sitting there and Coryn is lying on her lap, crying her eyes out. Oh my god. Something's wrong.
"Oh my god, Coryn, what's wrong?" I go in and sit down in front of the couch. Her face is at my level then and she opens her eyes. They are all red, from crying. "What happened?" I want to hold her hand, but Kaylen is already holding it.
She only meets my eyes for a second, then she looks down. "My grandmother died," she says.
"Oh, Coryn, I'm so sorry." I look at Kaylen and she gives me a look. Overwhelmed, upset, maybe. I touch Coryn's soft hair, push it back out of her face. "Shit, I'm sorry."
She doesn't meet my eyes. I realize that she feels awkward around me. Shit. Last I saw her I was making out with Janine Perkins at Milk. I remember the hurt look in her eyes. It was fucked up. Shit, shit shit.
Coryn sits up, abruptly, so quickly Kaylen withdraws her hand from her hair. "Thanks," she says, biting her bottom lip. "Um, I should go."
"No, Coryn, don't go." Maybe I can be here for her. Maybe I can repay, you know, make up for the damage I did the other night. Suddenly I really want that.
She sighs, not trying to pretend this isn't awkward. One of the things I like about Coryn, she doesn't play games. She's honest. She sits there, head in her hands, beautiful dark hair falling around her fingers. Long layers, it's a good look for her.
Kaylen is looking at me. She gives me a stricken uncomfortable sort of look, then points to her wrist. The hell? Watch? Oh, the time. Usually when I'm coming in, she's running out the door to work.
Go, I say without talking, with a tilt of my head, glad to have Coryn to myself.
"Coryn, um, I'm really sorry, but I've gotta go to work. Can I call you later, check in?"
She nods. "Yeah."
Kaylen gets up, and presses a kiss to the top of Coryn's head. Sweet. Why didn't I think of that?
What the hell is this? I don't compete. I let them come to me.
Kaylen walks away and I slowly sink down into the couch. I raise my hand to put it around Coryn, then stop. Shit, I don't know what to do. I don't know what she wants me to do.
"Coryn." I push a strand of hair behind her ear. Cute, she's cute that way. "Please don't go."
My neck hurts from facing her. She doesn't really move for a long time. I put my hand on her back and she lets me, so this is good, I guess.
She feels tense, like a brick wall. "What was your grandma like? You were close, right? I remember you saying you were gonna go see her one night." Stupid. But I'm trying.
"Yeah," she whispers. She has such beautiful lips. "We were close."
"Do you wanna talk about her?"
"No, I should... I..."
Kaylen bounds down the stairs in her little orange fairy outfit. She comes up to us, bag slung over her shoulder, with a sad look.
"I have to go, sweetie," she murmurs to Coryn, touching her shoulder. "I'm sorry. I want to call out but if I do I'll get fired."
"No, Kaylen, it's cool." Coryn looks up and I envy the eye contact she's giving Kaylen. "Thanks," she smiles sheepishly, and she looks so adorable. And hot. "Go to work, okay?" She grabs Kaylen's hand and sort of shakes it.
"Okay," Kaylen says. "Bye Shayde." She gives me a look that makes me uneasy. I don't know if it's because of the fact that we both sleep with Coryn, or because she's pissed that I've hurt her, or if it's a threat, or what.
The door shuts, and Coryn just sits there. She's not leaving, but she's just sitting there, hands folded in her lap, slouching in her white wifebeater, looking tense.
I take her hand. Try to think how I wanted to be treated when my dad died. "Coryn, look, I know things are weird between us. And it's my fault. I should have been clearer with you from jump."
"Shayde. Don't."
"Don't what?"
"You don't have to explain. How many times do I have to tell you that?"
And she has said that, repeatedly. Another reason I really like her. She doesn't make demands.
It doesn't stop her hurt though, or the way I can see it in her eyes.
Shit. If I let myself... If...
No. It's shit, love is shit, like I told Arianna Huffington.
I sigh.
"Okay. Tell me about your gram."
She sighs, and I think I've blown it.
"I was named after her. My parents supposedly argued about it forever, before I was born. She was my dad's mom, and he insisted that they name me Coryn, after her. And my mom didn't want to, cause at the time she hated my gram. But then my dad got killed. So my mom named me after her after all."
"That was nice." I'm relieved, cause she is actually talking to me.
"Yeah."
I want to answer those questions she asked me that night, that stupid fucked-up night of Too Hot when all I could do was stare stupidly at her. Tell her that no, I never had a hamster, or a parrot, or a sister, or even a proper dad.
But this isn't about me, and right now, why should she give a fuck about me and my fucked-up life?
But I blurt it out anyway. "My dad was an asshole. He died and we weren't talking."
She looks at me then, and I'm not sure if I should be relieved or not. "Oh, Shayde, I'm sorry."
So damn sweet. No, I'm supposed to be comforting her, not the other way around.
"No, don't be. I just said that because... well, it gets easier. With time. I know it doesn't help now, but... Shit, Coryn, I'm really sorry."
"I know." She swallows, and I see tears back on her face. Shit. She is biting her bottom lip the way she does when she's nervous or upset.
I put my arm around her, and hold her. It feels right, and I don't know what else to do.
~
She holds me, and it is what I want most and fear worst. Danger, danger, my mind keeps screaming. I try to imagine her with a dead father at four.
I hate that she is with a different woman every night, and at most I'll just be one of them. I hate that her arm around me feels so damn good, and that I need it so much. I hate that I don't have the strength to get up and walk out the door, like I should. I hate that I still care about her so much, that the pain behind her silence intrigues me so. Danger, Danger, danger. Bad.
I close my eyes, and again give in. She starts stroking my hair, and I shiver. It shouldn't be turning me on, she means it as comfort. Probably wants me to take off so she can get ready to go out and hook up. But still I'm sitting here.
"I was gonna call you tonight," she says. "See if you wanted to hook up."
"I'm sorry, Shayde, but I'm not in the mood for sex." It comes out more bitterly than I want, and I wince.
She sputters like a cat. "I didn't mean it like that. I meant, you know, get together. Not necessarily sex."
I can feel her watching me, and I don't bother looking, because I know if I do she'll slay me with those big dark eyes, and because I know she's being honest. Because she doesn't have it in her to lie. Something I both admire and hate.
"Like what?" I ask, despite my determination not to.
"I dunno. We could go out, or just hang. Watch a movie. Whatever."
"Really?"
"Really."
I nod, staring into space, no clue what to say or do or decide.
"Let's take a drive. Or go to the beach or I dunno, let's just get out of here."
I look at her again. She's got those big brown eyes I'm falling in love with, not really, but God, I could. She's dangerous, because she means it. She's earnest. And she does care. Just not enough to not fuck other women.
"You wanna take me out?"
"Yeah, sure, why the fuck not, right? We'll go get ice cream or something. Or... go get a bite to eat. Maybe you'll forget how fucked up this is, just for tonight. It'll be totally tit." And she gives that lopsided grin that just slays me.
I close my eyes, and bite my lip. Just for tonight. The qualifier that fucks it all up.
The question is, can I say no? I think of us walking through the waves, jeans rolled up, side by side, and I know there's no way I can say no.
So we go. She drives in her truck and we cruise, windows down, and I stretch my fingers into the night air, feeling the wind run between my fingers. We drive around in the hills for a while, quiet as she navigates the winding mountain roads. Then we go to the beach and we do walk through the waves, just like I imagined.
We sit on the sand, and talk and joke about nothing in particular for a long time before she tells me that no, she never had a hamster, or a parrot, or a sister, or much of a father. But she had a brother, and it helps to remember the happy times he gave her.
And she's right. I don't feel the pain so much, just for tonight. And it is totally tit.

A Carmen-Kim-Me collaboration. Guess which one I wrote.... All that has been posted on this story is purely fiction. Don't think wrong things. Comment. GEDEKGEDEKGEDEK.
<3
CARMEN,
KIMBERLY,
STEPHANIE.

.balderdash.

Played Balderdash with everyone to pass the time on Saturday. Mercedes chose the words and quizzed us all on it. Hilarious results. Check it out.

LABIODENTAL.
ASHLEY: Nope. Something you never want to see.
CARMEN: Labiodentist. Dental? Dentist.
SPENCER: You know. When you get... hair stuck between your teeth.
STEPHANIE: That is a new-wave dental thing that you would find in a pleasure chest.

LIMBUS.
ASHLEY: When a lesbian can't get aroused.
STEPHANIE: Limbus? Someone who's very limber during sexual acts.
CARMEN: You're up against the wall and the other person takes your leg and holds it up and one arm has to be out. That's limbus.
KIMBERLY: Limbus probably refers to a North African gorilla that has very long limbs.
SOPHIE: It's a psychological state you feel when you and your partner have broken up and you're not really in a limbo, but in a limbus.

LOCOFOCO.
SOPHIE: That sounds like a word that Ashley would use.
ASHLEY: Locofoco are, like, local and regional gay people.
SPENCER: A synonym for townspeople.
STEPHANIE: Locofoco is a term that Carmen uses. A lot. Whan she's annoyed with me, she goes, "Locofoco!"
MORGAN: Locofoco. Is that really a word?
CARMEN: Those are the strike anywhere matches.

LIGROIN.
CARMEN: Ligroin is a new dish that Sam is serving at Chilli's.
SPENCER: I think that's actually, um, French.
STEPHANIE: A French person's groin!
MORGAN: Ligroin is the name of Kim's mom's new boyfriend. I think it's James Ligroin.
KIMBERLY: One of my writing teachers. A French man who isn't very well endowed.

LASSITUDE.
ASHLEY: Lassitude's when two people first get together and fall in love.
SOPHIE: It's an energy and a group mentality. And it's got a lot of edge to it. We definately have a lot of lassitude.
SPENCER: Sort of like the audacity and attitude. Lassitude!

LEATHERBACK.
MORGAN: I think that's a nickname for Steph.
STEPHANIE: Sounds like Morgan's new boss. I hope it is.
ASHLEY: An older S&M lady?
CARMEN: Oh, those damn leatherbacks, they come in by the dozens.

LICTOR.
AMY: Victor spelled wrong?
CARMEN: I know him. Lictor is a very good friend of mine.
SPENCER: Lictor is like alcoholic nectar.
KIMBERLY: Lictor is basically slang for, "I licked her."
ASHLEY: Lictor? I don't even know her.

LUBRITORIUM.
CARMEN: A lubritorium sounds like a, uh, laboratorium.
KIMBERLY: Similar to a vomitorium.
SOPHIE: Lubritorium would have to be when you open up a drawer and it's just full of lubricant. And the tops are off and they've been in there for two or three years.
STEPHANIE: It's a place where you go and instantly get oil for your car.

LUBBER'S HOLE.
ASHLEY: They're all so sexual. It's like your mind goes really dirty and you're like, no...
CARMEN: You want me to telly you what a lubber's hole is?! Woman.
SPENCER: I think that has something to do with the gold rush, right?
STEPHANIE: Something inside the uterus that we haven't discovered yet.
MORGAN: The first gay bar in Malaysia.