SOPHIA

But I love him.

No you don’t, you say. I’m way too young to even know what love is.

Do you know what love is? Does anyone? There is no standard for love, no singular definition.

We all have our own method, our own personal philosophy. As to how to treat someone we love, how to accept love.

Love is universal but not universally the same. And no matter how fallen, everyone still needs love.

I know he cheated on me at that party.

I’m not so naive that I think can fix him like some broken doll, putting the pieces of his broken heart together with endless love and understanding.

But I do understand him. Or more like I understand human nature.

We might say we don’t need friends, that we don’t need family in our lives. But the only people who say that are the ones with friends, the ones with family to fret over.

True isolation is terrifying.

Utter loneliness is miserable.

Prisons use this technique to punish those who’ve already been punished, the unpunishable. When the unruly don’t get along, we send them to solitary. It almost always works. They become compliant. They realize that we all need people.

We need people to talk to, to touch, to love. Our existence is only derived from those around us.

We are only visible when we are reflected off of others. That is why we care so much of what others think of us. If no one is near us, do we really exist? Maybe that is why we need others. To qualify and confirm our existence. You know, if a tree falls in the forest…

“You know he’s lying, right?” Isabelle is waiting around the corner for me. Her round bottle cap glasses magnify her eyes to E.T. sized proportions and she refuses to wear contacts because she’s afraid to touch her eyeballs.

“Just drop it, Izzy.” I keep walking. I don’t really want to talk about it. I might understand him, but it still hurts.

She chases after me, hugging her books to her chest. We have gym first period but she takes her books with her.

“He’s an asshole. I don’t know why you stay with him.”

“We’ve been over this already.”

“He does this to you all the time. Do you know how many times I’ve seen you cry because of that dick?”

“You wouldn’t understand. You don’t know him, you don’t know what he’s been through.” I pass by the lockerrooms. I don’t know where I’m going at this point. I just keep walking.

“Yea, yea. He’s the quintessential brooding soul with a dark and troubled past who only you can love. But you’re wrong. There is no good in there. He’s just a bad guy. An animal.”

“Even the worst of us deserve love.”

“Who’re you, Jesus Christ?  Why not write fan letters to Charles Manson? It’s not your duty to sacrifice yourself for him."

“Shut up. I told you to just drop it.”

“I can’t just keep watching you get hurt over and over again.”

“No one fucking asked you to.” She finally stops following me. I try not to run until I reach the end of the hall. When I reach the stairs, tears are streaming down my cheeks. Sometimes my unwavering love wavers.

You make friends over the simplest things.

There’s never any grand gesture, no guidance of fate’s hand.

It’s more: ‘oh you like the Arctic Monkeys, i like Franz Ferdinand’ or ‘Did you see the new Game of Thrones, Danaerys is so cool!’.

Sometimes, it’s as simple as picking up the glasses of a basically blind girl in the third grade. And sometimes those friends grow to be your closest confidante, your emotional stalwart, the one you always run to when the world seems so horribly wrong.

But right now, I just wanted to run away from her.

Maybe because I was afraid she was right.

Lately, it’s been getting worse. He’s become more distant.

I’m not talking about our relationship, that’s always been...different. I’m talking about him by himself.

There’s the classic signs of depression. Yet, he’ll never show it on his face let alone say it. He’s been drinking a lot, partying more, and having unprotected sex with anyone who’s willing.

The first time we had sex was two years ago at party. Max, my boyfriend at the time was drunk off his ass and kept pestering me to have sex.

When we first started going out two years before that, I told him I wanted to wait till we were both sixteen. Such a romantic, right? I told him I’d give him a handjob upstairs but he didn't want to stop there.

I was screaming but no one could hear me over the damn music. If they did, they must’ve thought we were having some banging sex.

By the time Mar walked in, I had given up fighting, letting the heavy weight sit on top of me, too much to throw off. I had no energy anymore. Mar looked at me, I looked at him and I didn’t say anything. What was the point?

Max shouted for him to close the door, and he did, leaving me there in the sweaty dark. I closed my eyes. Sometimes, I can make myself float away from my body. It's a neat trick.

CRASH When I opened my eyes, Mar was flying through the broken door across the room. With a running jump, he drop kicked Max with both feet, sending him tumbling into the dresser next to the bed. He was very light on his feet, great hang time. He'd be good at ballet. I don't know why I thought of that in that moment.

I didn’t get up for about a minute but I could hear the thuds of Max’s head continually knocking on wood.

When I finally peeked over the bed, I could see Mar standing over Max’s limp body, pounding his face, with no signs of slowing. He was killing him. I didn't know why he was doing it. It wasn't to avenge me, I had never met him before. But I didn't want anyone to get hurt. 

I yelled, I pulled at his shirt, I tried putting myself in the way, but he just threw me aside. Flickering in the shadows, an inhuman smile was plastered across his face. He liked it. He enjoyed it.

I don’t know why I did it. I wasn’t thanking him. He didn't save me from anything. Whether max had cum or not, I had still been raped. But he must've looked wretched in that moment. So pitifully depraved. That I kissed him.

He didn’t pull away. I shoved my tongue into his mouth as I wrapped my arms around his chest, hugging him. And he let me. For a minute.

Finally, he pulled away only to throw me on the bed and tear off my remaining clothes. The same bed I had just been being raped on.

I wanted to say no, but I didn't have enough strength to say it. Without a word, he violently rammed himself into me and ravaged me.

It hurt, but I felt present. He violated me, just like Max had violated me but this time I didn’t feel the need to disconnect. Is that love?

There was this high pitched whine like when your nose and throat is clogged and every breath you take, it whistles through some small opening. Except it was Max, with his lungs flooding with blood, ribs broken.

And that's how I lost my virginity the second time, semi-consensually, enveloped by Mar's savage grunts, distant thumps of the bass, and the wheezing of a dying Max on the floor next to me.

Izzy’s wrong. He’s not bad. But he’s not good.

We're all bad and good. But everyone likes to convince themselves they’re a good person. They act the part, pretend on occasion. But they don’t know what lies at the bottom of their souls. They’ve never looked cause they’ve never needed to.

The shadows that lie hidden in the black beneath that sweet veneer mirror we see ourselves as. In him, I’ve seen past that. With him, I’ve shattered through that blinding surface, and what I saw was just an angry, scared little girl who thinks she’s a boy, who thinks being a boy will make her more powerful and strong, who thinks all men give and all women take. Cause that’s all he’s seen.

I finally circle my way back to the gym locker room.

Izzy isn’t waiting for me so I get changed into shorts and a Louie’s pizza T-shirt. I don’t really care about being fashionable, plus it was free.

As soon as I walk into the gym, something is strange. I’m ten minutes late but there still isn’t a gym teacher in sight. One of the students is banging on the office door but no one’s answering.

Today’s dodgeball day and it’s a pretty polarizing event. Half the kids love it, and the other half not so much.

It’s easy to guess why when the ones who are good spend the entire period pegging balls at those who are bad. I’m pretty good with balls though because I play volleyball and soccer.

I catch sight of Izzy in the bleachers with some other studious students doing homework. Well, probably not homework cause Izzy’s not the type to do it last minute, so extra work? I don’t know. She looks up every few seconds till she finds me and then purposely ignores me.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

She’s never had sex, never had a boyfriend, doesn’t really have any friends. You might say her attitude towards me has grown to an unhealthy obsession.

I don’t think she’s lesbian but sexuality is a tricky thing. You grow attached to whoever is near and is nice especially when devoid of a healthy number of social relationships. But I’m not so much a hypocrite to say that I haven’t become reliant on her as she has on me. I don't think Mar counts as a healthy social relationship.

“Hey, what’s up?” Silas sidles up next to me, sidling as well as an elephant could sidle. He’s well over six feet tall, with a barrel chest all slathered up in a thick layer of fat, so he’s huge and imposing and definitely a lineman on the football team. "You and Izzy fighting again?

He must have caught me staring at her. Probably cause he’s always staring at me. He’s also got shiny shoulder length hair that he uses way too much conditioner on. More than I do on mine. But he doesn’t tie it back so it hangs loose. Along with his considerable girth, he reminds me of a shaggy sheep dog. Also the fact that every time I’m alone, he always seems to show up. It’s ok, just some light stalking.

“Yea, lately it’s whenever we talk about Mar.” He wrinkles his already crooked nose, which I find cute but other girls probably don’t. He doesn’t like talking about Mar either.

“It’s just cause she’s crushing on you. I think it’s kinda hot.” Most guys are pervs. I normally just brush it off. If you got angry every time a guy said an inappropriate comment, you’d have to go live as a hermit in the woods.

“You know she’s just a friend. She doesn’t like it when Mar’s bad to me.”

“The best solution is for you to be bad to Mar back. With me.” I laugh and give him a friendly shove, acting like it's a joke when I know it’s not.

“Everyone please gather on the basketball court.” Ms. Kennedy’s voice blasts from above us, from the speakers, echoing throughout the gymnasium. “We’ll do seniors vs juniors.”

There are around 100 of us in total, 50 juniors and 50 seniors, the younger years are in the smaller gym across the hall. The juniors snicker as they gather up. Eight of them are varsity baseball and our team went to states last year. The gym teachers don’t bother splitting us up any other way so the seniors get crushed. Every single time. And I’m a senior.

Seeing my despair, Silas grins. “Hey, don’t worry. I’ll keep you alive.” I feel a tug on my sleeve. It’s Izzy. I look back to my left and Silas is gone. That fast giant.

“Today we’ll be playing volleyball, as you all know, but it will be a slightly different version. Some of the rules have been changed. You’ll figure it out. Most of all, let’s have fun.” Some people held their hands to their ears. Were the speakers always this loud?

“Um...I’m sorry about earlier. Even if I don’t understand him, I’m supposed to be the one who understands you. It’s just you’re too nice for your own good sometimes.” It must seem that way.

I didn’t have that dark and troubled past, as Izzy said.  In fact, I had the perfect childhood. Annoyingly perfect. I had nothing to complain about and when you’re a teen, that’s pretty annoying. I couldn’t very well say my parents would only let me buy either taquitos or pizza rolls at Costco, but that literally was my biggest complaint.

I was smart, not as smart as Izzy, but smart enough to be in some of her classes. I was athletic, not top college level, but a small scholarship for volleyball at Division 2 or 3. I heard those private schools will pay for half your tuition even at Division 3 levels. I wasn’t so hot as to become a slut and rely on my looks, but wasn’t too ugly to not receive the occasional crush or grope.

You see? I was average for above average. Which some might say is the perfect slot. Not too much attention but a good amount to feel somewhat special. The worst part? I actually enjoyed everything. Don't you hate those kinds of people? Yea, I'm one of those. I liked talking with my friends about nothing. I liked my family. I liked going to school, doing homework, practicing volleyball after school.

So why would someone like me be with someone like him. I wasn’t too sure myself.

“It’s ok, Izzy. I’m sorry I got mad. I know you’re just looking out for me. Come on, it’s about to start.” I take her to the back, where it’s safer.

Even without any teachers present, everyone obeys the teacher’s disembodied voice. The boys who were playing around with the balls lay them down on the half court line.

Each team retreats behind the foul throw line and prepares to sprint to the balls in the middle of the court on the teacher’s signal.

“Everybody ready? On your mark, get set, GO!”

Immediately, a few on our team rush forward. A brave but vain attempt to get at least one ball.

Before they can even get close, Jackson stands over them with two balls in his hands. He rolls the other two back to his teammates.

Even though he’s an average hitter, he’s the leadoff hitter. The team relies on him to get on base. What he lacks in hitting, he more than makes it up with speed. Any sort of hit, he’s guaranteed to make it to first. What I'm saying is the boy can sprint. Fast.

Caught out of position, our guys scramble back. But it’s too late.

One. Two. Jackson fires off.

Two down.

From behind, his baseball bros fire off the other two. Another two down.

This’ll be over quick. I roll my eyes. That’s when I catch sight of a strange black box sitting on top of the scoreboard in the corner above the gym teacher’s office. The red light unblinking, watching. Underneath, the timer seems to have been set for thirty minutes, now at 29:30.

Then, the screams start. When I look down, no one's playing anymore. Instead they start crowding around midcourt.

“What the fuck is going on?”

“What happened?”

Everyone in the back presses forward to get a look at what happened. I shoulder my way through the crowd.

Good thing I’m short.

Bursting through the front, I stumble, almost slipping on something wet.

The floor is slick with blood.

At my feet, lies the four bodies or what look like bodies of the four guys who went for the balls at the start.

A giant bloody hole in one torso, a shoulder missing from another, a head gone from the third, and a leg dangling by skin from an absent half a hip. As if a giant cannon had ripped through them. The dodgeballs lay ominously next to them, clean and bloodless.

There is no gunshot, no shout of fire, no explainable danger to set everyone in immediate motion. But like a built up dam, one crack and the foundation crumbles and the fear floods through.

“They’re dead! They’re dead!”

“Run!” Like a shotgun, the crowd scatters.

“Get out of here!”

“Move." Pushing and shoving, trampling over the ones who tripped.

"Out of the way.”

More screams from all sides. I can't help them right now. I have to find Izzy.

“Izzy! Izzy!” I force my way to the back again and find Izzy kneeling on the ground, searching frantically for her glasses. I pull her up by the wrist. “There’s no time. We gotta go.”

I push her towards the edge of the court, but a wall of students block the way.

“Why’d you stop!”

“Keep moving!”

“Move!”

“Don’t push!”

“Stop pushing!”

“Stop or we’re gonna die!”

I squeeze through to the edge of the court. It's bordered with more bodies and blood. This time instead of holes, there are arms, legs, and feet littered outside the court, while bodies bleed out on the inside.

Next to me, a girl screams, pitching forward, shoved from behind. She's gonna die. I reach out to grab her arm. I know I'm risking my life, but I can't just watch her. But her hand slips through my fingers and she falls.

As soon as her head crosses the line, she crumples to the floor, her head rolling away from her neck.

For some reason, my head’s clear, my mind focused. I can't let anymore people die.

First, it’s not safe here. I have to get Izzy away. I grab her and push her back to the middle of the court.

From there, I look around. Everyone’s swarming the baseline, where the doors are.

A few who tried to cross over the half court line is cut up in similar fashion. We aren’t allowed to leave our half of the court. But the ones in the back of the crowd don’t know and keep shoving the ones in the front who are trying to get away from the line. It's some kind of sick pushing war.

I look over at the juniors.

The same thing is happening at the opposite end of the court but Jackson and the baseball team rip away the pushers at the back of the crowd. Somehow, he's quickly calming things down on his side.

More screams from the unfortunate ones on my side. I have to do the same. I can’t let them die anymore. I need to take control. Like Jackson.

“STOP! EVERYONE STOP!”

No one can hear me. I rush to the back of the crowd.

“You have to stop. They’re dying up there.” No one bothers to listen. I try to pull on people but they just elbow me away. What can I do to save them?

Defeated, I collapse in a heap next to Izzy. Sitting in a puddle of blood and vomit, surrounded by screams, I feel like a newborn baby, useless, unable to do anything except cry about the chaos.

I don’t want them to die. I don’t want anyone to die. But I can’t do anything. I can’t stop them. I can’t stop them from killing themselves.

“Please. Stop. Stop pushing. Stop dying.” I whisper to no one. At least Izzy is alive. She lays next to me, curled up in fetal position, with her hands over ears, trying to block out the massacre.

In the back of my mind, I can’t help but think that once enough people die, the ones at the back will become the ones at the front, and there will be at least some left alive.

But I could save them. If only I could save them.

Suddenly, someone pulls me up off my feet and onto his shoulder. It’s Silas. Thank god.

“EVERYONE! SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Some of them turn around. “AND STOP PUSHING! YOU’RE KILLING PEOPLE!” His voice reverberates across the gym. The mob finally pauses. The ones at the front gratefully take the chance to escape from the edge of carnage and what would’ve been their imminent deaths. “It’s your turn.” Silas looks up at me. The only time he’s ever needed to do that.

“Listen up guys. Please don’t try to leave. If you step out of the court, you will die.” From on top of Silas shoulder, I can see the entirety of the court. There’s around 20 of us left on this side and 30 on the other. Jackson must have gotten to them faster than I could. The juniors are listening to me closely, too. “If you cross the half court line, you will die. If you get hit by the ball, you will die.”

"How do you know?"

"Who are you?"

“What the fuck is going on?”

“Who’s killing us?”

“How are they killing us?”

“There has to be an explanation.”

"I have no idea what is going on or who's doing this to us. But if you don't follow the rules of the game, you will die. If we just play the game, we might all be able to live."

"Game?"

"Did she say game?"

"What kind of sick game is this?"

“I don’t believe any of this shit. And I sure as hell don’t fucking believe you.” A junior with a mohawk shouts. Was his name Fred? “Does anyone else believe this crazy bitch?” Murmurs of approval and disapproval ripple through the remaining survivors.

“Don’t you see the bodies everywhere?”

“Exactly. I’m not staying here to become one of them.” He starts walking towards the door.

“Let me down, Silas.” Silas complies. “You have to believe me. Please. You're going to die.” I take a step before Silas catches my arm. I almost crossed the line.

“You’re wrong and I’m going to prove it.” Mohawk tries to act nonchalant but he falters at the line of bodies. Again, the little voice tells me his death will prevent further deaths. He’ll show everyone that I’m right. But I can’t. I can’t just let him kill himself.

“Wait! Stop! Jackson! Stop him! You know what’s going to happen!” Jackson doesn’t move. He’s probably thinking the same thing. He’s one of those. Or should I say one of us.

Before Mohawk steps over, he glances back at us. The entire gym looks back at him expectantly. “Don’t worry guys, I’ll go and get help. Stay here.” His voice shaking, belying his assuredness.

“Please don’t do it. We can all survive.” He takes the step. For a second, we all believe he’s made it. I knew he wasn't going to but I still hoped.

“See guys. I’m fi-” His smiling face distorts. Then splits in the middle, one side sliding down grotesquely like a stroke patient, until it’s impossible to match it up. And he falls to the ground, his body separating into two halves. The screams begin anew followed by more crying and vomiting.

“Shut up. Shut up! SHUT UP!” This time it’s Jackson who gets everyone’s attention. “Francis might be dead but Soph was right. If we’re gonna survive, we should listen to her for now.” This was what he wanted. Order through fear.

“What should we do, Soph?”

“If we can’t leave, what are we supposed to do?” I had no idea. When did I become the leader? I didn’t sign up for this. I just wanted to save them. Jackson’s non intervention policy left me with the responsibility. The manipulative prick. What am I supposed to do?

As if to answer my question, the dodgeballs spin and start rolling. Each one splits off into a different direction, stopping at the nearest person's feet. Four balls, four people.

And of course, one of them stops in front of me.