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CHARLTON, Dallas Faith, [revamp!]
|Dallas Faith Charlton
Group: College Sophomore
Member No.: 891
Joined: 7-October 11
| DALLAS FAITH CHARLTONHey there, glad you could join us. So first thing's first, what do we call you?My name is Dallas Charlton. Thatís it. You donít get to shorten it, donít even get to mention my middle name. As far as the world knows, that is my name Ė not Dal, not Babydoll, not Miss Texas, not Baby. Dallas.Okay, got it. And how old are you, if you don't mind me asking?Nineteen. And no, before you ask, my birthday isnít coming up like every other college sophomoreís in the world Ė it was on August 5th. I was put in school young.Mhm and, now don't take this the wrong way, but are you a guy or a girl?Girl. I get that my breasts arenít up to par with Pamela Andersonís, but Iíd like to think that I at least
look up at the mess you made
such a mess youíve made for us
did you know that the souls you take
and the hearts you break
resemble a female.And are you straight, gay or...?Bisexual. I swing both ways, bat for both teams, however else you want to say it. To be honest, I
do have a slight preference for guys over girls, but when it comes down to the down and dirty of it, Iím just as happy with another girl as I am with a guy.Have we met before? You look so familiar!Youíre not the sharpest tool in the shed, are you? Iíve been at Ellison since freshman year. But no, I think Iíd remember an idiot like you. Youíre thinking of my aunt, Faith, or an actress, Teresa Palmer.Excellent. Now, for the benefit of our readers, how would you describe your appearance?[sighs] Iím not very...
good with my appearance. I donít pay that much attention to it. Itís all confused in my head with my aunt because the resemblance I bear to her is... uncanny, really. So youíll have to excuse me for not being very helpful in this, but Iím five foot seven, have blonde, wavy hair, blue eyes. I... I just donít know. People say Iím pretty Ė God, that sounds so self obsessed Ė but I donít know about it really. Arenít they just seeing Faith, and remembering her? So all the flaws you have... well, when you miss someone, flaws disappear. You set them on a pedestal, so I donít know really if Iím
What else? Iím lean, all muscle and sinew, slight, but donít let that fool you Ė Iím stronger than I look. I am around a hundred and forty pounds of muscle, and Iím not ashamed of that. I worked hard to get that kind of muscle and figure, so
yes, I have some abs. Other than that... I have... long legs? Look, I already told you that Iím bad at this, because I donít really pay that much attention to what I look like, so... use your own eyes. Chances are they see better than I can when it comes to me.And if a stranger had to spot you in a crowd what should they look out for?The girl who isnít wearing heels. No really, thatís probably a big stand out around here. Iíve got a really kind of casual, tomboy sense of style Ė itís jeans and nerdy shirts and casual things. Tanks, loose shirts, mostly pants and not dresses and not skirts. Nothing frilly, just plain, not sequined or overly glittered and ostentatious and mostly basic colours Ė blues, greys, greens, white and black. Sneakers as opposed to heels, and a Tap Out bag as opposed to some Dolce and Gabbana handbag. If thereís any jewellery on me, itís a pair of studs in my ears and my necklace. Itís a charm of om on a leather thong thatís slightly longer than a choker. Itís Buddhist, and Hindu Ė om, I mean Ė and Iím neither, but I like what it means. Global compassion; I probably should have more of that.
The only time I even
think about dressing up is when thereís an occasion. When Iím going out or trying to impress. When I dated, once upon a time, I made an effort. And then you see... well, if Iím going to make an effort, I
make an effort. Plus of not being the most feminine figure to exist is that my back is really good so... I make use of it with backless dresses. It makes me feel almost... feminine? Sexy? I donít know,
something. I have some lace dresses cause... well, theyíre not that ostentatious, and not that bad in moderation and I feel... like I used to. Like a girl. Sue me.
So yeah. Look for the girl that doesnít put a lot of effort in. Iím there, with no makeup on and my hair down and messy or in a rough ponytail, with an arched eyebrow and an I-donít-give-a-shit attitude. Youíll find me easy enough.What's the first thing this stranger would notice about you?Well, isnít that more a question for you to answer, rather than me? [sighs] Whatever. Theyíd probably find me with my nose in a book, or with an arched eyebrow and a bitchy attitude, as you are no doubt noticing. Otherwise... I guess, theyíd notice that Iím...
defensive. Not open and friendly, but private and guarded, and I donít let people near me, donít touch them unless Iím fighting, just... keep them away from me. Otherwise... I guess theyíd notice my Tap Out bag or my antagonism or.... my legs? Theyíre long and... people like that, so... whatever. I still say that youíre more suited to answer that question.Let's just say this stranger decides to observe you for a bit - any habits or quirks they might notice?Iím sure theyíd notice some. In fact, Iím positive about it. Theyíd notice my posture and stance Ė itís very defensive; crossed arms, posture upright to the point where it could slip into threatening with just a little change. And then, my mannerisms which are used so often that they verge on habits themselves, like rolling my eyes or arching an eyebrow. The left, if you wanted to know, because I canít do the right. Or just raising my eyebrows. Or speaking with sarcasm. I mean, really, I use them so often, itís probably classed as a habit.
I donít know what else. I guess, if they actually watched me, didnít just glance over at me, theyíd see that.... I bite my lip when Iím in indecision, and when Iím nervous, I hum or sing. When Iím bored or annoyed, I tap my fingers or fiddle with a pen in my hand if I have one. And I get this face, when I concentrate [chuckles]. I kind of tilt my head, and then my tongue sticks out the side of my mouth... yeah, I look like an idiot, I know, but, I just... it happens. I couldnít stop it if I tried.
And I have this thing that I have to have some hair around my face free Ė and mostly thatís fine, because my hairís down, except if Iím training or in a lab. But I need it down, so thereís something to hide behind. My eyes they... theyíre windows to the soul, and I donít want people to know my soul. So I hide it.So this creepy stranger, what would their first impression of your character be?Depends, what has this stranger heard about me? My reputation in this town isnít exactly
clean. I guess, if Iím alone, Iím quiet. If Iím with other people, that Iím a bitch. If Iím in class, focused. I mean, I could keep going on, but I guess, mostly, that Iím private, standoffish and that Iím antisocial. I donít want people around me, so I definitely donít let them feel welcome. And... well... if theyíve heard my reputation, that Iím a class A whore. Iím pretty much Ellisonís resident slut. Give the rumours some more time, and who knows, maybe I can overtake Harlow and be the town slut as well. Ask Isaac and heíll tell you that thatís pretty much what I am anyway. [rolls her eyes]
But if you donít want to be my friend, and youíre not being an imbecile or a complete ass, youíll get tolerance and respect Ė even if itís a little frosty. Iíll consider what you say, and take it on board Ė itís just when people try and pry or form a relationship beyond sex that I just... no. I canít do it. Forget it. I didnít used to be this Ė sure, I used to be sitting in the corner and watching to see if I wanted to approach you, but I didnít use to so bad. But... things changed.
I changed. And now Iím this, Hallows Edgeís very own psychopathic whore bitch. Pleased to meet me?So, sport, you got any hobbies?I have more than a few; I have many, and I love them all. Mixed martial arts is a big one. Thereís not enough female fighterís in my opinion, and moreís the pity. Itís a good sport Ė vicious, but good. Itís self defence and being fit, and itís the only real way I have to sort myself out. I get rid of my anger, and I can sleep after it, even if my conditions are playing up. MMA has saved me, in so many ways, thatís just the truth of it. Horse riding. It was Dadís attempt at winning me over, because what little girl doesnít love a pony? And he was right that time Ė I love riding. Itís just a horse and me, and the trust, the bond between horse and rider. Nothing else matters, not really.
Reading, as well. I love the worlds that you can fly into when you read. You can be anyone, the dastardly villain, the hero, the wisecracking sidekick, anyone at all. Things are gray, or black and white. I love that, how you can strip off your skin and be anything else, because every bit of you is fluid. Amorphous. You can change in a heartbeat, something that you canít do in reality, not really. I wish I could write, but everythingís clichťd so, I donít even try beyond my crappy little poetry that I never really look at unless somethingís gnawing at me. Photography as well. I wasnít gifted with much in the way of artistic talent, but if you canít draw, and you canít paint, you photograph. Rely on nature, rather than your mind. Iím not very good at drawing, but... how I see things... I have this really good imagination. Vivid, really descriptive, and thatís part of why my art sucks, because I try to do everything and fuck it all up. But I can use my imagination and put it into photos. Maybe thatís another reason for why I like reading, because Iíve got this imagination that just...
explodes with details. I used to see stories in the clouds when I was kid, now I just see beauty everywhere.
Seen the trend yet? I like to be alone, just me. Me and my mind, or me and an animal. I like to rely on me, not on other people. They have a habit of letting you down or walking away. Itís better just to rely on yourself really.Interesting! And what about the things you like the most?Well, hobbies again, obviously. Otherwise... [sighs] I like animals, because... I donít know. Theyíre company and they donít ask much from you, and theyíre dedicated, loyal. Friendly. I just love animals. I find them gorgeous, and probably would adopt a million and become the crazy old animal lady if I could. Music, a lot of music, punk especially. I like
real music, songs with stories that are true and meanings... and I guess I could relate a lot to punk. When you were depressed, youíd turn to it, just to feel that someone else had the slightest
inkling of knowledge about what you felt. You find solace in it.
Green. I like it, because itís... green. Itís calm and placid, and it makes me think of turtles. [Gives a small laugh] Turtles are pretty cool. And ninjas, but thatís neither here nor there. Stars, as well. I like the night Ė well,
did before it was rather forced on me, but the stars... they help me feel like the world is open, that thereís space. Chocolate, and berries. Parkour, and running. I love being in motion, and parkour... itís just brilliant. I found a place to train here, and I did back in New York so... it challenges you. And I like challenges and puzzles. Youíd used to find me every night looking at a thousand piece jigsaw puzzle, just working at it. And thatís part of why Iím going into my course. Finding cures, and drugs to work on diseases... itís a lot of like fitting a puzzle together. Brazilian Jui Jitsu. It started when I was fourteen, when my mother wanted me to take self defence classes. When things....
happened, I stopped, but I found my way back to it. It broke through this shell Iíd developed, helped me cope. So I got into it then, when I was sixteen. Loved it ever since.
What else? Winter. I like snow, and snow ball fights, and reading by the fire, and it doesnít have my birthday, which summer does. I like honesty, and sincerity Ė you could say anything in the world and it can mean nothing, unless you are honest. And I need things to have meaning. I canít stand meaningless things, coincidences. Maybe itís because I was brought up being Catholic and being told everything had a reason, but I find comfort in the idea that everything has a purpose and a meaning to it, a motive with a logic that I can understand. Um... sex. Itís fun. I like it. [shrugs] Iím not a prude.
Joss Whedon Ė and anything at that. I love his wit and the stories he tells. I love manga, and superheroes and superhero movies, and comics grew on me from all of this. I am basically a huge geek inside Ė reference A Song of Ice and Fire, or math or science jokes, or Marvel or DC comics, and I probably understand it. Iím just... a big, huge nerd inside. The most youíll probably ever see it is on my shirts, because theyíre quite nerdy but... otherwise, you donít. The MMA and snark loving person that I am covers most of the nerd, but ... itís there. With the girl who dances Ė very badly I might add Ė when no oneís around and sings in the shower. Little nerd me. I just... canít play the videogames.And there's gotta be things you don't like too, right?Letís talk about videogames again, shall we? I can flip through the air because of parkour, kick ass because of mixed martial arts, and yet I canít make a bunch of
pixels do what I do in real life? It infuriates me, Iím not going to lie about that, it really does. Iím not a clumsy person, and yet I die because I fall off a building when I try to look down? I just... video games and I do not get along, and itís moved beyond a challenge. It actively tries to troll me. [shakes her head] Itís a bitch, to put it bluntly.
Shit music, so a lot of pop, that manufactured
bullshit. It has no soul, and no story, and really, no purpose other than to be a cash cow for some people who are genetically blessed. Plus, most of it is autotuned to the point of being ninety nine percent computer, one percent voice. It just grates against me. Small spaces, because Iím claustrophobic. Thereís no great reason why Iím claustrophobic, just that I am. I wonít even go into a lift unless Iím going beyond thirteen floors, because yes I am fit, but my hamstrings do not need that much work, no thank you. Ah, I hate... vampire bandwagons, and sparkly ones, because being the victim doesnít seem sexy to me. I can get biting during sex, but... no. Donít start sucking blood, I kind of need it. So... yeah. Also, dead. They are
Alcohol. I binged on the wrong stuff when I was young, lost my taste for it. And... after what happened with it, that and drugs... I hate them both. Iíve done pot, and E, and I almost did Coke, and that lifestyle destroyed things. And while weíre on that track, I hate the pills that Iíve been prescribed Ė funny, because my course is all about making drugs, but I hate taking them myself. And I hate hospitals, and I hate therapists. And, in some ways, I hate journalists, twisting things to sell papers. I hate people who canít get over themselves, and I hate people who put themselves before their friends. I hate people prying into my life. Well, half true Ė I hate people trying to find out things about my past. I just want to forget it, pretend it never happened. Itís not healthy but... itís all I can do. Liars. Tell me the truth, have enough balls to do that, donít lie. I donít care if itís graceless or tactless, or harsh, just tell me the goddamn truth. Donít lie.
[sighs] I guess I hate a lot of things. I dislike summer, because itís so hard to ever find a good temperature and, usually, thatís three months of New York with my parents, and an awkward birthday. I dislike the return of eighties fashion, because it was not acceptable even then. Horror movies, as well. They just.. strike too close to home for me. Just... far too close to home. And... curling. You know the sport? I donít get it, and God knows that Iíve tried to figure it out, but I canít. So I give up. I get the physics, I get the use of brooms and the goal, but I just donít get the reason for it to exist. At all.
Ever.Great! So are you keeping any secrets? Don't worry, I swear I won't tell.Isnít the point of secrets for people to
not know? [sighs] Fine, whatever. Iíve got some psychological conditions that no one really knows about. Insomnia. I canít sleep half the time, and when I do, I remember... well, I remember things Iíd rather forget. And then weíve got the PTSD and the depression... so, those are big ones.
Then, thereís the therapist bender, back in New York when I was sixteen. Therapy every Tuesday, sometimes Thursdays as well, at five in the afternoon for one hour, for eight months. I ran through seven therapists in eight months and I
still canít get myself sorted out, but at least with this particular fact about me being secret, no one knows just what a fucked up mess I am. In fact, most of my past is a secret. The fact that I used to do drugs and drink when I was
fifteen, that I had sex when I was fourteen and... what happened in 2008. I donít tell anyone that. Not if I can help it. Basically, anything relating to my past is just... locked away. Hidden and kept secret, because ... no. No. It doesnít get to come across state lines and here to Massachusetts. It stays there, where it is. It canít hurt me now.
And my last secret? Iím a curse Ė thatís what they say about me. Iím a curse, and you know what, maybe itís true. All the things that happened... well, I told you I liked for things to have meaning, right? Well, it canít be a coincidence, and Iím the linking factor so... itís me. Itís crazy and insane but... what if itís true? What then?My lips are sealed. Now, what would you say is your best quality?Have you not been paying
any attention to me? Iím a bitch Ė okay, what bitch has a good quality? Well... if I had to say one... maybe honesty? I donít lie, not to myself, not to anyone. At worst, Iíll just... leave words out. Iíve been doing that a lot since Isaac and I started fighting Ė leaving words out and letting his assume the worst. Itís a good tactic, makes him hate me. Which is... good. I think.
But I think... deep down, itís my ability to care. And I hate it. I would do anything for my friends Ė give up anything, take
bullets for them, no sweat, help them in any way I can, be there for them. And thatís meant to be a good feature, right? But when they die, because of that Ė when theyíre dead on the road because of that feature, how can it be good anymore? How can it be anything other than this
thing that killed someone you cared about?And your worst? C'mon, no one's perfect, kiddo.[points to self] Bitch. Whore. Psychopath. Take your pick, Iíve got a name and insult thatís been thrown at me for basically every possible bad trait in the world. Iím blunt and Iím tactless and Iím withdrawn. But... worst?
God, I just look myself and hate it. Think, Ďshit, Iím a horrible personí. But worst? Well... I hold a grudge. I internalise everything until they all accumulate and I explode, and I have some anger issues, so thereís these massive bits of anger inside of me that I cling to and hold against people. And even if Iím training at MMA to get it out, itís still there. And, Iím proud you know. Proud and independent means that I muddle around in my own mess and donít let people help me. I donít know what my worst feature is, because I see them all.
I used to be worse though. My worst feature used to be that I was selfish.Now how about the other people in your life, let's talk family.Family. Wow. Thatís just such a
pleasant topic for me.
Well, my parents. Thereís my dad, Gerard Charlton. Heís in the banking business, watching the shares market, the Dow Jones. Weíve never been close. Maybe itís because he had me at twenty five and heís never quite forgiven me for coming along and ruining the best laid plans, but I think itís more than that. He used to have a sister, Faith. They were born a year apart, him the elder, and they were close. Itís why my middle name is Faith Ė I was named her after her. Thereís this whole saga about my birth and her death, and then add in the fact that Iím basically her ghost... so yeah, weíre distant, because I donít think heís ever tried to see past Faith and actually see me. So heís never been there for my birthday, and thought that buying me a pony would make up for it. Maybe itís just all too painful for him, but honestly? Iíve moved past caring about it. If he wants to see Faith first, fine. Iím not going to try and breach the gap again. Iím too tired for it, and it wonít change a thing.
Then we have my mother, Abilene Charlton. Sheís the eternal middle child Ė peacekeeper, mediator. Sheís a project manager for a book publishing house, and sheís put more than a few on the Best Seller list too. I got my love of reading from her, I think. I spent more time with her than Dad, because she would make time for me. Weíd read a lot. I must have read To Kill A Mockingbird at least twice before we studied because of her. She comes to my horse shoes, supports me, and I love her dearly. But... things are tense. I donít want to go back to New York, and she wants me there. I donít want to connect with Dad, and she wants me to. I think she gets exasperated by how stubborn I can be, but ... what can you do? Together, they were rough. There was a divorce on the cards but, now...? Itís better. Dadís been home more in the last couple of years, and I canít help but notice that heís there more when Iím not. Coincidence? Iíd been lying if I said I thought it was. Thatís me, Dallas Ė the person who runs her father from his home and almost forces her parentsí divorce. Itís a good life.
Then we have my sister, Cadence. Sheís seven, born when I was twelve, so thereís quite an age gap, so weíre not that close. I feel more like her mother than her sister, and I donít think thatíll ever really change. But I love her. Sheís my gap toothed, adorable baby sister and thatís all that matters to me. Sheís the family favourite Ė or at least my fatherís Ė with her face full of freckles and teenie tiny height. Too adorable. I can see why Dad prefers her to me, and not just because she doesnít look like Faith. Cadence wants to love Ė me? I think he realised after a while, that I wanted him to earn it, rather than be given it automatically.
Iíve mentioned my aunt a bit, havenít I? Want to hear the sordid tale? Faith was my fatherís sister, and she was the brilliant type. The golden girl. Won pageants and was popular and smart and blah, blah, blah. In a nutshell, she was a hard thing to live up to. And she died from cancer. More to it, she died on the same day I was born, within two hours of my birth. While my father was holding my motherís hand in labour, she passed away. The day that my parents announced that they were pregnant with me, was the day that she received the news that her cancer was terminal. I donít know her, I donít pretend to, but I feel haunted by her. Iím basically her spitting image, and Iíve been compared to her so much by my family and people who knew her. I canít escape her, sheís in my name. Sheís in my reflection. Iím her ghost. Sheís part of the reason that I wanted to do medicinal chemistry, just so I could avoid something like this happening to another person. And yeah, maybe I feel guilty, a bit. Maybe I believe Iím a curse, a bit. Because between her and Alex... it just... doesnít make sense for it to just be coincidence. Right?Any pets?Yeah. I have my horse, Gerry. Heís a Danish Warmblood gelding, with the kindest eyes youíll ever see. Heís actually called Sir Geraint, after the knight in King Arthurís court, but his stable name is just Gerry. My sisterís horse Ė little Shetland pony, ball of fluff Ė is his companion horse, just there to eat feed, look pretty and generally just keep Gerry company in the stables. Heís called Harry Ė more appropriately Hairy. He sheds like crazy.
And I have a puppy. Sheís still small, but sheíll grow. Her nameís Dakota, and she was a gift to me for my nineteenth birthday, from Isaac Suzette, back from when we spoke to each other without hurling about five insults every second at each other. [bites her lip] Sheís a Great Dane Labrador cross, and just beautiful. Iím glad that at least he didnít demand her back when I called it quits. I love her.You're doing great, just a few more questions. So where are you from?NYC, the Big Apple. And, if you didnít guess, I pretty much hated it. Itís so crowded, with all the smog. You never see the stars. I felt boxed in and with the claustrophobia, that was hardly helpful at all. I know you need it for my parentsí jobs, but that doesnít mean I have to like it, and I didnít either way. So, Iím not in a big hurry to return there, especially given all the connotations it has which is why I stayed here for the summer. Iíve got a rented place out in Whistlerís Fields that my parents pay for. Funny thing is, this place is feeling more like home than New York has in the last five years or so.I see, cool. So how come you ended up at Ellison?Well, Mum was born here in Hallows Edge, and when her and Dad were going through a rough patch and thinking about a divorce, Mum decided that it would be best for them to have a little bit of time apart. So we came here, Mum, Cadence and I, for what Mum called a ďspiritual retreatĒ during the winter vacation of my senior year I think. I saw Ellison, and I liked it. And I liked the town, as it wasnít New York and I couldnít stand to be in New York any longer. And Ellison had a good course in medicinal chemistry, which is what I wanted to study. I know, call me a nerd for not looking at the weekly keggers. But, basically, thatís the reason. I wanted to escape and Ellison was perfect for it.Almost done. So anything else we should know about you?So... [bites her lip] Iíve been leaving things out. Big things. You can probably see the holes in my story from a mile away. So... fine, Iíll tell you. Just... explain. Just... itís hard, okay? Itís hard to remember and itís hard to explain and to talk about, so just... give me time.
You get the family issues, right? Got the Daddy-was-never-here, but not the issues, not really. Iím not looking for his attention. I donít try and get every guy who so much as glances my way to love me to make up for it Ė despite what people may say about why I sleep around - and I donít hate guys. I just donít like anyone, and thatís for something completely different. Yes, Iíll admit, I have some fears about rejection because he could never really grow close to me, even when I tried, but otherwise... I donít have them. And then, weíve got the whole Aunt Faith debacle since birth. Itís not enough to make someone messed up like I am. How do you get PTSD from the death of someone you didnít even know? Itís not enough. So, even with all of this, I grew up relatively normal, you know? Went to a good school, had friends, all the other nauseating clichť crap that includes blushing and crushing and so on and so forth. I was good at school, had a mind for math and science and liked to read. I rode my horse. I wasnít abnormal.
But somewhere, amongst it all, it went wrong. Being compared to Faith started to feel like a chain or a collar into being this person that I didnít want to be. I wanted to be me Ė
Dallas, not Faith. So, I started to rebel. Went to parties, drank. Did weed. Did whatever I thought the little Miss Perfect Princess Faith Charlton wouldnít do. When I was fourteen, I lost my virginity in my boyfriendís pool room partly because I thought I loved him, and also partly because I was in a competition with a friend, to see who could lose it first. I was
fourteen. I was stupid. But, at the start, it wasnít all bad. Weed and beer Ė that was teenage rebellion to me. It just... got out of hand. Became Ecstasy and harder drinks and more sex. And I, stupid little Babydoll, so afraid of being left behind by her older friends and being rejected, went along and did it all. Didnít see the harm, or let them convince me there was no harm in it.
Iíve thought about it over the years, and I can pinpoint the start. The real start, when things went out of my hands and there was no turning back from any of it. It was a party, and no, I wasnít raped. But... well, then I did have some Daddy issues obviously. And my answers to all of them were rebellion. So I was stupid and drank. God, I should not have started on the tequila. Itís why I hate alcohol now. Tequilla all night, binging on it. No. Never again.
Anyway, so I was making a massive mess of myself, and so was everyone else. Weíre fifteen, turning sixteen, the world is ours, weíre fucked up teenagers, letís get smashed and who gives a shit! We were at that point where your life is just all ďno one understandsĒ. Everything is a melodrama. Then... well, Iím buzzed, and I wake up after... [clears throat suggestively]... and go downstairs to the rest of my friends. And one of them has a cousin whoís in a band. Lizee Danilesí band, to be exact, and they brought with them some groupies. Lizeeís boyfriend, and his friend or his cousin or
something, and heís giving them coke. Heís offering everyone coke. I passed; I was feeling queasy, and almost passing out, but I donít think that was it at all. I think I was feeling queasy because I just knew, in my gut, that this was passing a line. And Alex, my best friend in the world, takes some. Snorts it. So does Amanda. I pass out, and when I wake up, itís whatever. Itís done. But just as I was on the verge of passing out, I remember looking at Lizee and just... I donít even know what, trying to ask her with my
eyes just to
stop them. She didnít. Instead, she brought those people to that party, and started everything.
These were my friends, you have to realise that.
My friends. Next day itís fine, but Alex. Heís just... getting such a kick out of it. Heíd always been this guy to be happy and energetic and draw you out of your shell, but when he was high, he was just so full of life. I donít know what he saw in coke, but suddenly, itís parties all the time for him, and weíre his friends. We come and we support each other because weíre tight, all of us. Weíre a unit. I was back then. I was like, ďletís all be fucked up together!Ē. I didnít realise that I was too busy being selfish to see one of my best friends slowly become addicted to coke.
And then, one day, I wake up to everything. My friend was playing daredevil with trucks on the road, and I was right there beside him. If it had been just him, not Alex and me and Pat, then he would have died. He wouldnít have moved from the road. It hit me like ... [laughs mirthlessly] like a truck. He was hooked. He was hooked on cocaine. Because thatís what we could do. We were all from these families that had money, enough to buy coke and snort it when the folks were out. I didnít do any I swear, but.... well, they did. And I struggle with it for a while, knowing this, because if I tell anyone, then I hurt him. Betray him. I tell myself that itís not worth it, but it is. Because this is Alex and I valued him over how much I enjoyed his company. Still, itís a while. I lose my boyfriend, Sean, that way. We get into an argument about telling someone and I just lose it. It all explodes. And then I go and tell Alexís parents, and I lose everyone else that way. Iím the outcast, the villain of the story, because I betrayed them, got everyone in trouble, but itís all worth it because Alex will be fine. If he gets his life back on track, then Iím fine, even if they never speak to me again. Thatís my first experience with the idea that true selfishness is seeing something happening, something wrong, and doing nothing about it because you risk something. And Iím glad to say that I stopped being that selfish.
And for a while, itís good. Heís on detox. Heís even going back to church, because that was Alex. Mamaís boy and Church goer. Avid Christian. He said God had led him back from the path of sin. Looking back, that should have been a trigger for me to click, but it wasnít. I was just trying to get by without my friends. But when you want something bad enough, you go and get it. Thatís what every Disney movie seems to be about, and that moral is just as easily applied to life, even the bad sides of it. So what does Alex do? He gets drugs. And I hear about him snorting a line again. Just one, just for the quick hit because thatís all he needs and then heís done. You know, I used to believe that line when he said it, but by then, I knew better.
I would give anything to change what I did next. I told you about my anger issues right? Well, they raised their head. I went to his house and we had a massive blowout. I found his stash Ė not that I ďfoundĒ it per se, Alex was predictable and hadnít really changed it Ė and took it. I was going to burn it, but... oh God. He followed me outside. He followed me and he was hit by a car coming around a bend that didnít slow down. They ruptured his kidneys and he bled to death in less than ten minutes. And all I can ever think is
I did that. I caused that. Maybe I am a curse. Itís illogical, stupid, but thereís the thought, and whatís worse is... what if itís right? Alex, and Faith, that canít just happen for no reason! And then, what my parents went through after all of that, how they broke down because of what I was going through... what if itís true?
And itís why I donít talk to people, because you talk, you become friends Ė well, you care. And friends can betray you easily, if you do something that interferes with their life. Caring leaves you vulnerable, puts you in their hands and makes you an easy target. And not only that, but I honestly think that caring can turn you selfish, because what happens to that person affects you. My father cared so much about his sister that he indulged a selfish desire to never be near me. I was selfish enough to let a friend become addicted to coke. What I did Ė taking his stash Ė Iím not saying it was right or wrong, but
God, I wish I could change it.
And then... the after. I hate the after. The after is a massive media blowout that involves me being the villain and being blamed by my schoolmates, my friends, just the public. The after is an exercise three months long in feeling
nothing, in existing in this pit of depression. After is therapy and a cocktail of drugs that numbed me even more. Itís nine days on suicide watch after I cut myself just to prove that I could
feel. After is breaking my parents by being so unresponsive, itís having nightmares for weeks on end, itís just... the after was painful. Still is.
And the aftermath, of all of it. One day when Iím wandering the streets, just trying to escape home and my memories, I come across my old gym, and thereís blood. It used to trigger me, so much, screamed at the sight of it. Flashed right back to Alex on the road. But itís different. MMA broke through, helped me. Led me out of the depression, inch by inch, let have a way to release everything I felt. I transferred schools, focused on school work, on my MMA, had fewer friends then you could count on one hand and withdrew socially. There was the almost divorce, the winter vacation here, and then my graduation, my acceptance into Ellison, and all thatís followed here, which has been a lot of people hating me and a very misguided friends with benefits with Isaac Suzette. Stupid decision, should have known much better. And now Iím here, in this room. I think if thereís any blanks, you can fill them in yourself.
Now it's time to find out about the player! What are we to call you?KRISTEN! [Krisatt, Dalten, Krisper, Lusten, Keelen, Kristeau]And how long have you been on this planet?19 years... but omg, I turn 20 in three months. WTF?!So how long have you been trapped in the wonderful world of roleplay?Too, too long.Any other creations of yours wandering this site?Dallas ďMiss Fucked UpĒ Charlton, Wyatt ďMr SpasticĒ McCarthy, Piper ďMiss MouseĒ Samuels, Lucas ďMr PopularityĒ Tyler, Keely ďMiss DaredevilĒ Page, Beau "Mr Gentleman" GarrettAnd how did you find us?I followed a yellow brick road.Is this app in response to a Want Ad?Nope.Is there anything else we should know?Ilu! And I am posting this just to be safe because I donít remember if I can just edit or if I have to be reapproved and I dun wanna break any rules and I know that Beau doesnít have two threads, but can I still to a revamp? OMG I HAVE NO IDEAAnd finally, the phrase that pays!Mona Lisa, you can totally run my town!And a super special spot for the Admins!Approve/Disapprove (ADMIN ONLY)
|I need you, please? Dallas couldnít remember the last time that she had heard those words. There was something about needing people that made Dallas afraid of it, of leaning on them and giving herself over to them. The idea of being completely in another personís hands frightened her. If she needed people, depended that much on them, when they disappeared.... Donít think about it. Donít think about what had happened the last time. Try not to think about hospitals and broken bodies and nightmares that dragged her screaming from her sleep. Needing someone, wanting them Ė it made her vulnerable, exposed the soft underbelly that Dallas spent far too much time hiding.|
Sheíd taught herself to not need, to not depend on company, but sheíd never expected that someone would need her.
Itís just because he doesnít know. It was the only reason that made sense. He didnít know what happened when Dallas grew close to others, and she should tell him. She should make him understand why they couldnít be anything more than fuck buddies, but she couldnít speak of those things either. She guarded those secrets, pressed them tightly to her chest, and bound herself. She couldnít let him need her, but she couldnít let him know why such a thing was barred to her. She was trapped at an impasse with no right way to turn. Dallas knew that she should extricate herself from the situation, should have ignored his call, but how could she do that? I need you, please? The words echoed in her head, repeating the way they had seemed to fade away as soon as they had reached her ears, breaking away into the faintest murmur Ė the way it hadnít sounded like Isaac at all.
She just had to remain aloof, separate from the situation. As long as she did that, then nothing would change. She just had to stay there until someone better came. That was all. Then she could leave, and he would be glad, and she could calm her rioting head that told her, all at once, to stay and to go.
Part of her knew that this was not the careful zones that Dallas kept around herself Ė this was not the rules and the guidelines that she followed to put people in easily managed boxes. But there she was, lost in a situation so deep that she almost felt like she was drowning in it. This was not them just screwing around, and the thought frightened her. She shouldnít be here, couldnít be here, but there she was. And what was worse? Part of her didnít just want to bide time until someone more suiting came to Isaacís side. Sheíd give way if someone better did come, but she didnít want to say empty things and just sit by his side. She wanted to fix him together again so he went back to being the boy that fitted back into her boxes and made her almost happy.
But Dallas couldnít fix things together. She just broke them.
The concern that Dallas tried to suffocate showed in her wide eyes as she crouched by his side. The wrongness of the image in front of her screamed at her, told her to flee, that she was far out of her league, but Dallas stayed. She couldnít move to run away. The fear of the hospital, the confusion, the plain error in the situation made her body slow to react and her mind indecisive. She was torn between comforting and leaving, and had the capability to do neither. So she did what she did best and most naturally Ė retreated into her head and watched, observing, piecing together all the pieces of the puzzle together until the right move became clear to her. But when the pieces were all circle pegs meant to fit into square holes, what then?
She nodded as Isaac explained the situation, inhaling deeply to let the knowledge sink through her mind. Possibly life threatening, but not always. And his cousin was in a hospital, which only bettered her chances. The logic calmed her mind. See, these are the facts. Nice, cold facts she could deal with. They sorted themselves into boxes and Dallas could draw lines around them Ė people and emotions were harder, shifting and changing even as she observed them. Like light Ė a particle and a wave. Seemingly changes behaviour upon observation. The wrongness was creeping through her, setting every nerve in her body alight, drawing out the comforting facts that did not change, that she could not hurt. God, she just needed to be someone else for this, like a hero in the books she read Ė but she was this, and her composure was slipping. The hospital, the memories... it was all too much. Isaac glanced up, and holding his eyes was like a punch in the gut. This was all too foreign Ė and far too disconcertingly familiar.
Her body locked down as his arms came around her, muscles tensing as Dallas was caught in the unfamiliar situation. This was... wrong. Bad. Not good. Her mind stumbled through the adjectives as Isaac spoke, finally breaking as the admission of fear came. Sheíd seen that fear before, seen it on her motherís face. Seen it on her sisterís. But what did she do about it? Her hands shook on her lap. She had never been here before, not to this place, and the vast unknown of it was terrifying. She wanted to do something but she knew nothing. Sheíd gone so long holding herself separate that she didnít quite know how to reach out to people anymore, and her mind shied away from it. Connection, caring Ė that was pain and weakness, and it tempted the beasts that lurked in the darkest corners of Dallas. But, God, she wanted to do something, and that made her hands tremble, more than the simple unknowing. She wanted to say something to make things better, because Dallas did care. But this wasnít something that a sharp tongue could fix, or her hands could mend, and she was at a loss. All there was, all she had, was her, and Dallas was lacking.
Her hands continued to shake as Dallasís broken comfort zone was breached further Ė but by herself. Gently, she placed a hand on the back of Isaacís neck, rubbing small circles with the pad of her thumb on his skin. Just like on Gerry, Dallas coached herself. T touch. Soothes their nerves. The other hand was placed further down on his back, gently, tentatively, returning Isaacís embrace. She wished she could stop shaking, but she couldnít. At least she hoped he couldnít feel the tremors running through her. ďSheíll be fine Isaac, I know it. And I donít lie.Ē She couldnít tilt his face up to herís, couldnít risk seeing his dead gaze, seeing her mistakes reflected there. ďSheíll be fine, I swear it.Ē She had no right to make that promise, but it was all she had. There was something about Isaac Ė so broken and lost in front of her Ė that pulled out her final option.
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