APACHE MYKISS, DISTRICT FOUR

[Danny]

[bg= 222222][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,450,true][atrb=style,width: 450px;] Dad is an alcoholic. Mom is as messed up as he is. And Cassandra's gone. People never ask me how I do it, though. They never ask me how I keep my composure. The funny thing is, I don't. (Not on the inside, at least.) People always say how much I smile and how happy I look. I guess I should've taken those people's words as compliments. But I didn't. Whenever somebody said that, I felt my cheeks turning red and all of my feelings for them morphing into some type of hatred I didn't even understand. There was one person, though, who knew something was wrong. (She saw my flaws, and I liked that about her.) Her name was Cassandra and she was my best friend. She became the sister I never had, and when I was around her, I could feel the cracks in me being filled, and even though I knew she couldn't fix me, I still pretended like that was the case. (Mom liked Cassandra, too.) Cassandra and I were outcasts, I suppose. We weren't strange kids, we just didn't bother. As we aged together, we started skipping school and training to walk by the ocean or go visit our secret hideout in the depths of my backyard, in the foliage stationed at the edge of my family's land. We ventured back there one day when we were bored, and discovered a cluster of rocks in a circle. It was our place. When we got there, there were two things: a teapot and a teacup. They were each hand painted, and the teacup was filled with rain water. A week after going back there for the first time, Cassandra said, "I have an idea." She grabbed a stick and put her to her wrist. At first, I was delirious to her plans. Then, I saw her put her hand over the teacup as she sliced her skin and a single drop of blood fell into the teacup. "Your turn."

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,222][bg= 222222] I should've said no, but I'm a coward who can't stand up for herself. And that's why everyone thinks I'm happy: because I don't bother asking for help because I feel I'm not important. I took the stick in my right hand and gulped, staring down at the single drop in the teacup as it stared back at me. The stick hurt at first, and I wasn't nearly as strong as Cassandra, so it took a few seconds for the stick to break the surface. Eventually, a sharp pain radiated from my wrist as I saw blood erupt from the cut, and let a drop fall into the teacup. "Now what?" I had asked. "When it rains, we'll come back here and drink from the teacup," Cassandra explained, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. I nodded, frightened of the thought, but I was mostly grossed out because there was no way to tell who previously drank from the cup.

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I gripped the stick in my right hand, my whole body shaking like there was an earthquake beneath us, and then I dropped the stick. "Why?" I asked.

"The next time it rains, we'll drink from it,"

"For what reason?"

"So we can be blood-sisters."

"No," I said. "That's stupid."

And it's okay that I called her idea stupid, because we were best friends and we were honest with each other. And she'd be okay with it, and she'd agree that we don't need to physically be with each other as long as we were always going to be there for one another mentally.

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[bg= 222222][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,450,true][atrb=style,width: 450px;] And that was my first mistake. We did drink from the teacup, by the way. It was four days after, and the rain was pouring down on us, staining our clothes with drops of water, but we didn't mind. The water in the teacup sloshed at either edge and we each took one sip. We could barely taste the blood - there was only water and the small, lingering taste of rust. That was when we were thirteen. When we were fourteen, she finally met Dad. Dad was the kind of guy who worked during the day, and drank at night. Only coming home at the early hours in the morning. And he always made an entrance. I remember the way his eyes looking as scared as mine as he lashed all of his anger out at me and Mom. We shared an eye color, Dad and I, and when we made eye-contact, I was scared. I was scared because we were so alike, and I didn't want that. One time, when Cassandra slept over, Dad came home on cue. We were asleep, but his loud steps and grunts woke us up. I was embarrassed. I heard Dad call for me, and I hated the way he said my name. Dragging out the middle syllable like the rest of the name wasn't important. Truth be told, he was the one who named me. Mom ran into my room before Dad could get to us. She shoved Cassandra into my closet and told her to stay silent. Mom lied with me on the bed as we awaited my Dad. And that was always the worst part: knowing Dad was coming but not knowing when. A few minutes passed, and then we saw the doorknob turn and heard groans behind the door. I pretended to be asleep as Mom stroke my hair. My Dad approached my bed, and even though he didn't talk yet, the stench of alcohol was prominent on his breath. He said something to my mom, something about her being up this late, and then he slapped her. (Whenever I replay this memory over in my head, I always imagine what Cassandra was thinking.) Then, Dad grabbed my hair and slapped me across the face. "Stop!" Cassandra yelled from the closet. I wonder if she knew that was a mistake. She certainly knows now. Dad walked over to the closet, and I don't know what he said to her, but I heard the back of his hand make contact with her right cheek. Then, Dad went to his room.

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,222][bg= 222222] The rest of the night was filled with my Mom talking to us. Her apologizing to Cassandra thousands of times, and me just sitting there, staring at the red mark beginning to bruise on Cassandra's face. Mom slept with us that night, but Mom slept on the ground. Cassandra and I slept in the bed together. We spent the night staring at each other's marks. At one point, I took my finger and gently stroked her face to see if it would hurt her. "That feels good," she admitted, and for some time I just rubbed the side of her face. Then, she leaned in and our lips connected. It was for one second, but my heart lost control of time and beat fast. Then, she turned around, with her back facing me, and fell asleep.

[atrb=width,222][bg= 222222] Mom called Cassandra's parents and told them what happened, and the whole time Cassandra insisted that it was okay, that she was okay. But my Mom thought otherwise, and thought her parents needed to know. We walked outside and waited on the porch for Cassandra's mom, and when he car arrived outside, she stormed out of the front door and asked my mom what she was thinking and why she would put her daughter in that type of danger and why she hasn't told someone about her husband's problem yet. Mom didn't say anything, she only cried. And so did I. People think it's so easy. People think your problems can just vanish in a heartbeat.

[bg= 222222][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,450,true][atrb=style,width: 450px;] After that night, Cassandra and I didn't hang out outside of school for a while. I asked Cassandra if she told her parents and she said no, but she did say that they noticed her mark. Cassandra's parents called the Peacekeepers and they were ordered to take my Dad away. Cassandra said how sorry she was, how this was all her fault and how she could've hid the mark better. I told her it was okay, that this was for the best and this was really a blessing in disguise. And she nodded and we started to see each other more. I know both of us remembered that night, because it was indented in my brain. (My green eyes staring into her brown ones. My dirty-blond hair obeying gravity and laying on the bed as her brown hair did the same. And then our lips touched - my thin ones and her thick ones - and everything was different. But no one mentioned anything.) And I was thinking that was the last we would ever hear of that night, until Cassandra asked me a question. "Do you like me?" "Of course... You're my best friend." "I mean... Do you like me?" I nodded my head and she grabbed my hand for a brief second under the dinner table.

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,222][bg= 222222] That night, we kissed. A lot. It was like the night when my Dad hit us, except there was no Mom sleeping on the floor. There was just the sound of our breaths and our lips touching and our hearts beating. And I liked it. I liked her. With my small ears, I heard her say "I love you," and I stopped for a second because that was the first time someone has ever said they love me. My Mom has never said it to me, she's only said how lucky she is to have me and how grateful she is that I'm such an obedient kid. Dad never really said anything to me when he was sober. "I love you, too," I admitted, although I was half-certain then and completely-certain now.

[atrb=width,222][bg= 222222] "We're best friends, Cass, we can't ruin that." "I know, I know," she responded with a frown plastered on her beautiful face.

[bg= 222222][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,450,true][atrb=style,width: 450px;] I knew it was wrong, but it felt so good. And it was like the calm before the storm, or waiting for my dad to come home. And she knew it, too, I could see in her eyes the worried look our relationship implanted. She didn't want it to end, either, but it had to. And that was because of her parents. They didn't like gays. They said to her that marriage should be between a man and a woman. Finally, Cassandra decided to rip the Band-Aid off and told her parents the truth, she told them that we were in a relationship with each other, but that it hasn't gone further than kissing. (We were fifteen, by the way.) They responded how we expected, they said it must end right now and that wouldn't be tolerated in the Gormish household. We didn't talk for a while, but we both knew that would happen. Her parents got her classes changed so that we would only have lunch together, and only then did we get the chance to talk. And we never ate, only talked to each other as our fingers intertwined under the table. And I loved her, and I thought this would be an obstacle we could overcome. Until Tara Hilman saw us holding hands under the table, and told her parents. Who told Cassandra's parents. And Cassandra has a plan for this, she was going to run away, and she wanted me to come with her.

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,222][bg= 222222] And there I was, a deer stuck in the headlights. All I could do was look at her. I knew how easy it would be, I could just leave my troubles behind like I always wanted. But what about Mom? And what about family? And what about life? And sure, Cassandra was becoming my life but she couldn't always be. So I just stared at her, my forehead scrunched up, and my mouse-like nose sniffling in the cold. My hair tied in a bun as short, thin legs shook. My arms crossed like I was angry, and my mouth opened a bit to expose my white, yet uneven, teeth. And I said no. I said no because I didn't want my life to be a game of hide-and-seek. And I said no because it wasn't really Cassandra who wanted to run away: it was Cassandra my lover. The girl I've started to love like that. But that wasn't the Cassandra I wanted. I wanted the Cassandra who would tell me stories and make me believe I was in that realm. I wanted the Cassandra who though each and every seashell was interesting. I wanted my best friend. "No," I said again as I shook my head, "I'm sorry."

[atrb=width,222][bg= 222222] I agreed with her, and I ran away with her. But the feelings for her faded, and I found our relationship becoming more and more like my parents'. We were always arguing, but we pushed through, and I guess that's what love is. It's not kisses and hugs and sex and feelings. It's tolerating the other person because you know that's all you get and that's all you deserve. But I knew that once I agreed with her, I'd never be happy again.

[bg= 222222][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,450,true][atrb=style,width: 450px;] I'm sixteen now and haven't seen Cassandra ever since.

odair

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,222][bg= 222222] What she did.

[atrb=width,222][bg= 222222] What she should've done.

[bg= 222222][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,450,true][atrb=style,width: 450px;] Speaking | CA4E58 Doing | E88AA5 Thinking | D6BBB4 Hearing | D2E6A7 Other | 3EB8A3 Face Claim | Allison Esposito Palette | Punching in a Dream I realize that in what Apache should've done for the last one, it seems like she'd be unhappy that way, but now she's always haunted by the fact that she let Cassandra slip away from her.

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[Danny]

Finished! I'm sorry if this is very confusing/is missing info. I'm pretty tired and I just had a lot of muse to create her.

[Danny]

Bump!

[pika]

I absolutely love the style of this bio. Very creative <3

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