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Phobia
Apr 25, 2011

I'm a suave detective with a heart of gold in hot pursuit of the malevolent, manipulative
MIAMI MUTILATOR
and the deranged degenerates who only want their
15 MINUTES OF FAME.


OCK.


Awight, I'm in to relive my goth phase (my fictitious goth phase).

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Phobia
Apr 25, 2011

I'm a suave detective with a heart of gold in hot pursuit of the malevolent, manipulative
MIAMI MUTILATOR
and the deranged degenerates who only want their
15 MINUTES OF FAME.


OCK.


haha gently caress I just missed it oh well.

Pray to Dionysus
1297 Words

I want to tell you that I hate Madelyn Holladay. I hated most people in high school so it wasn't an unusual trend, and Holladay was always such a stinkyhole to me. Always had her nose turned down at me, acted like I was subhuman. I hated it.

I ran into Madelyn Holladay twice the night of Domegrassi's Winter Formal. The first time she ran into me. I was heading outside for a smoke. I remember her having her one arm and both starry-eyes tied 'round her date, some dude from the football team. I had both eyes on my phone. Bumped shoulder-to-shoulder with the guy, and string bean that I was, he sent me stumbling back. She giggled and apologized, but she used that condescending tone of hers, the haughty one, made it clear to me that she wasn't sorry in the slightest.

The second time I ran into her. She was sobbing in the girl's bathroom, the one furthest from the gymnasium where no one could see. She groaned when she saw me and made the move to shield her face. That was when she threw up on her prom dress. And that's when I saw that she had thrown up all over the tile floor, just a foot away from the toilet. She just kept it up, crying and vomiting. I was in shock.

Madelyn Holladay, total prep, one of the 'cool kids', went from pompous to pathetic in the span of like an hour.

I want to tell you that I hated her right then. But I can't What I can tell you why I nudged her into the stall and held her hair. I just felt some sort of obligation, like, gently caress you, you chose the wrong bathroom to cry in, now this is your problem.

It didn't take her long to get it all out of her system, which I was thankful for. I propped her up so that she didn't end up I locked the door to the bathroom. Didn't want anyone to walk in on us.

"Where the hell's your date?" I asked.

She didn't respond. She had her back pressed up against the doorframe to the stall. Her sky blue dress was stained with a viscous fruit punch, her two-toned hair tossled into this crazy cat lady mop.

I pressed my back against the door. I adjusted my tuxedo jacket. "Christ, you look like poo poo."

"Wuh?" She lifted her head, snot dribbling down her nose. "What d'you say?"

"I asked where your date is."

She stared at me with those dumb blue eyes of her. Then she snorted, nearly laughed. "Todd? He - " It must have occurred to her that she was supposed to cry. She went from laughing to crying in six seconds flat and never responded to me.

I gritted my teeth. I wasn't really surprised that somebody got piss drunk tonight. Nobody spiked the punch, not to my recollection. So how somebody got booze onto school grounds without the teachers noticing was beyond me.

It didn't matter, I told myself. I waited it out with Holladay, waited while she sobbed and mumbled under her breath like a little child. I waited with her until she was sober, well, sober enough to stand. I held out my arm to help her up.

"Thanks," she muttered, not looking me in the eye. She reeked of fruit punch and stomach acid and I felt myself gag. "Holy gently caress, my dress."

"Forget it," I said, shaking my head. "I have clothes in my car. They might fit you, want me to get them?"

Holladay snorted again. She wobbled on her heels before kicking them off. "gently caress that. Just want to go home."

The dance sucked. All of my friends had dates and I didn't. I couldn't really date anyone, boy or girl. That meant coming out to them, dropping the facade. I was the odd one out of my small circle of friends, the perpetual third-wheel.

So, instead of going back out to the gymnasium and being miserable for the rest of the night, I decided to drive Holladay back home.

I want to tell you that, in that moment, I hated her. But honestly? Seeing her in such a weak moment, I didn't know what to think.

She was sobering up when I finally got her to the car. I gave her the clothes in my trunk, sweatpants and a shirt. She insisted on getting changed in the car, she didn't want to go back inside. I couldn't blame her.

"My parents paid, like, hundreds of dollars for that dress," she said as she put the dress down on some spread out newspaper I set out in the trunk. "They're going to kill me."

I didn't know what to say. So I said nothing, just started the car. She got into the passenger seat, no seatbelt. She curled up in the seat with her head turned away from me.

"He was making out with his ex," Holladay said. "Two weeks after they broke up, can you believe that?"

"Who? Your date?"

"Yeah," Holladay flipped her hair, scoffed to herself.

I caught myself smiling. "This is why I don't date. Too much bullshit."

"You're telling me."

I didn't ask her anything else. I knew enough, didn't want to prod any more. I like to think she appreciated it. I caught her glancing at me as I was pulling onto her street. She had a nice house, red-bricked, Victorian. The lights were out inside, I heard Holladay breathe a sigh of relief.

"You're, like, trans, right?" She asked. "Like, you want to be a guy, right?"

My throat felt dry. I nodded after some hesitation.

"More or less," I said.

"Sorry if that's, like, insensitive or whatever. I really do appreciate this, you helping me tonight. My date drove me."

"It's cool. Don't worry about it."

Holladay nodded. She blinked. "So you're, like, still a girl, right?"

It was more complicated than that. It wasn't just getting custom made tuxes, it was my body, inside and out. Everything about my gender was hard, everything in a state of flux. No-one understands just how hard it is. Holladay sure as hell did not understand, sitting there in my clothes, hiccuping and not looking me in the eye. I didn't understand why she was asking all of this. I just felt obligated to help, I was probably going to ditch the dance anyway. My throat itched. Was she just trying to make me uncomfortable, get a rise out of me?

gently caress. My hands were trembling against the steering wheel. I steadied myself.

"Yeah, I guess," I said finally. "I just don't... feel like one?"

She turned her head to look at me. I looked back. There was a long, long silence.

"You ever kiss a girl before?" She asked.

"No," I answered, hesitated. "Why?

"Dunno," Holladay said. "Just curious..."

That's when she kissed me. She just twisted her body over, knee against the arm rest, her lips lightly dotting mine. It only lasted a moment and for the life of me I can't recall what it felt like. I remember it being wet. I remember her breath smelling of cherry, and how her hand grazed my shoulder.

In that moment, Holladay was weak. I could have pushed her. I didn't. Something must have clicked in her head. She broke the kiss, broke all contact. Eyes wet, she opened the door to my car, got her dress, and went inside her house. Didn't even say goodbye.

We never spoke about what happened. She never treated me like crap again but other than that nothing changed.

I want to tell you that I hate Madelyn Holladay. But mostly I feel sorry for her.

Phobia
Apr 25, 2011

I'm a suave detective with a heart of gold in hot pursuit of the malevolent, manipulative
MIAMI MUTILATOR
and the deranged degenerates who only want their
15 MINUTES OF FAME.


OCK.


Sure, why not, I'm in.

Boaz-Jachim posted:

you write Fallout fanfic and I get mad.
Quoted for emphasis.

Phobia
Apr 25, 2011

I'm a suave detective with a heart of gold in hot pursuit of the malevolent, manipulative
MIAMI MUTILATOR
and the deranged degenerates who only want their
15 MINUTES OF FAME.


OCK.


Also thank you for the critique Titus, you're a swell guy.

Phobia
Apr 25, 2011

I'm a suave detective with a heart of gold in hot pursuit of the malevolent, manipulative
MIAMI MUTILATOR
and the deranged degenerates who only want their
15 MINUTES OF FAME.


OCK.


I suppose Black Griffon and Noah need somebody to help them out of this Friday signup hole they just dug for themselves. I'm in.

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