A Brand New Goth Girl

[15]

I felt a brisk surge of energy standing in the hallway, even as the day weighed upon me. Possibly a second wind? It had to be more than that. Call it being rebelliously contrary to the gravity of exhaustion. Just processing and integrating the new truth of Beatrice into my identity should’ve been enough to sap everything that I had and invite several days of sleepy, necessary recovery. The only reason I wasn’t doing that was because any reasonable person would’ve expected me to.

Why didn’t I cry? Lily shed more than her share. And Rosa shed exactly the amount one might expect from a regular girl processing the reality-twisting implications of everything that happened today. She was a regular girl, of course. Something still felt wrong though….Whatever. Everything felt different lately.

Kasey was tidying up in the meager kitchen along the wall, focusing on cleanup and making last call for fridge leftovers before they had to be evicted. Rhea attempted to reason with her for just one more day, especially for the sake of her potato salad. Kasey flashing the reusable container half-stuffed with the radiant excess seemed like clear evidence that the salad was well on its way to horrors involving strange colors and pulsating new intelligences. The decider was inviting Rhea over to do a sniff test. She soon scowled and cast her little spud child into oblivion. Clinging, clawing stains saturated the sink until the hottest of hot water boiled off the evil within. Still not as bad as anything my former roommates had to exorcize from the pits of our fridge.

Out of curiosity, I prodded Beatrice’s culinary remnants. She laid claim to a plastic container of brine-swimming feta, swirled seaweed salad, imitation crab pieces, and a huge bag of apples. Kasey deemed each still good, but that wasn’t enough to get me to sample anything. I could really go for some potato wedges and a taco though.

The area above my right eye ached. But, when I rubbed it, the discomfort swiftly migrated over to my left. The sensation felt like a combination of dry eye and strain. Surely a side effect of getting blasted in the face by whatever silicon or quartz dust the strange light contained. My vision didn’t feel affected at all.

It was clear the evening was winding down as no one could muster up enthusiasm after the remains of the cheesecake were thoroughly indulged. All these girls were nice beyond measure to humor and encourage me throughout the day. I struggled to reciprocate. What could I possibly do for them?

I was brand new to all of this. I sampled Kasey’s food and kindly shared what words I could wrangle. When Norah first arrived, her clothes received my careful compliments. Then, I ran away. I returned with Lily, pressed to resolve her schism with Norah. Followed by more wandering. But I learned so much about the intimate roads ahead. Followed by dinner with escaping to sin. Watching the efforts of others in the cafeteria filled more time than any of my contributions. And then there was Rosa.

Finding her so low. And the confusion about why she felt so tortured. The places around my eyes renewed their aches when I dwelt on those recent events. I could blast it, bathe it in purifying, pink illumination. That both seemed like a relaxing notion and one geared towards triggering the worst of my anxieties.

Commentary about the remnants in the fridge along with grocery plans for the next few days monopolized lingering discussion topics. Prosaic mentions of casual annoyances and passing conversations lent everything slight shades of normalcy. I could imagine that I just existed in a girls’ room, and no one had yet noticed the incongruity. Taylor is so quiet and courteous.

Something like that happened once before at my mother’s workplace. I’d been neglected, dismissed as little more than a statue off to the side. It was soon like I’d glimpsed past the Veil. Several bored ladies chatted with one another, at first about their nails, and then slipping into discussions about boudoir photos and whether certain ones were sexy enough to land them a man. Choices of guys were shuffled through with uncertainty about which one seemed best to fuck.

Earnest, insistent commentary reflected between them about how men sucked because they were never interested in pleasing women. Beyond the boudoir, some just straight-up whipped out their softcore porn with fervent hopes that it might land them a boyfriend. The imponderables included wandering questions about dick sizes and what turned men on.

This spell was only broken when elements of clothing came off to share concerns about marks around asses and bra strap rashes. They slowly realized I wasn’t just another one of the girls, and secretarial matters reasserted themselves. I always wondered if they were just teasing or tormenting me in ways that I never quite understood. But now I had to consider the notion that it was simply foreshadowing my fate. I’ve done far more than any of that, yet still felt like a distant observer.

I could ask anything. Well, probably anything. And it wouldn’t be unreasonable. We dealt with tampons. Nothing came to mind. It wasn’t as though I felt like I had absorbed the true knowledge of what it meant to be a girl and the mysteries were patched. Far from it. I didn’t even have the foundational ledges from which to leap toward unknown possibilities. Vague terminology, such as douching, orbited my brain without any solid base to cling to. Regular girls had years of painstaking puberty and decades of random experience to iron out everything. I had hours of uncertainty.

Asking Rosie what it was like to be a girl crawled to the top of my mound of questions, which were both desperately necessary and yet thoroughly impossible to pose. I could die in all kinds of new ways if she found my absurd questions embarrassing. Memories of when she was my nightly shower fantasy gave me the ghost of rigid sensations that would never press forth again. Seeing her in her underwear both did something for me and yet felt glibly clinical. Instead of what happened, I wanted her to quiver and release blissfully while I was deep inside her. Fill her with biting, teasing pleasures until her mind absolutely melted away. Not that I was man enough then or anywhere close to it now.

Eventually, the YouTube selections continued with a mixture of short films and samples of plays. Debates about their quality monopolized the evening. Whenever a questionable presentation of a woman popped up, it felt like at least someone in the group had to take it upon themselves to dispel the clichés for me. They drew a line between insecurities and neuroses. One clip with the concerns of a new worker pressed down by the antagonism of the other women in her workplace. Working through uncertainty and troubles to find eventual success. And a short about a woman who was painfully obsessed with her niece’s grade school crayon drawing of her because she was large and rounded in it, eventually leading to her ritual burning of the art.

Norah in particular pointed out all the warning signs that the main character was “totally unstable” for losing her mind over a five-year-old’s drawing of her. My biggest takeaway lesson was to be wary of how many girls are nuts beneath a smiling façade.

I admitted to myself that I had a certain idealism when it came to women. Probably from a lack of experience filled in by notions and snippets more than thoughtful realities. But it made sense in reflection. Girls are people, and people are inherently flawed. Even an idyllic notion of humanity suffers cracks and schisms. I wanted to believe Rosie though. I wanted to trust what I saw in my roommates. I hoped that the sweet visions might shadow great notions. Bring the gift of special light to others. But it was just technology blasting through a simple rock.

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

I put on the face of calm normalcy even while I wanted to cry for a dozen, pointless reasons. Someone knocked on the door and Norah took charge of answering it. As promised, one of the RAs showed up. Colin… Or Carol.

Rhea gave a pleased smirk at Carol’s swaths of blonde hair. Once again, so many blonde heads. But each had a certain nuance. For all my artful experience, I strained to define specific tones of blonde, but I could see and feel the delineation. Carol’s hair should’ve earned a special color name, hinting at honey but dipped in ash while avoiding brown. It fell like a curve with the locks secured behind her ears for the most professional impression, despite her sci-fi pants. Rosie had a blinding radiance to her sunny hair which retained a sharp, yellow tone. Rhea’s was calmer, indulging in the twisted and shaped sparkle of honey to wield her hair like a fancy rope in hand. Kasey, with her understated dome reaching for her neck, had the quietest blonde color of all. Not cooling ash nor crazy caramel but a creamy bronze with fair chestnut allusions. And I was just blackness.

Carol personally delivered the critical details of free phone calls, next day scheduling, new services, messages home, and counseling concerns. In addition to that reiteration, she shifted her eyes over each of us and asked if there was anything in particular we were concerned about. Kasey spilled out about Drake and whether part-time and gap year students were affected. Between the slim uncertainties that Carol could provide along with careful anecdotes, a foreboding chime arrived on Kasey’s phone.

She didn’t even need to say anything, the answer wore grooves on her face. Her shoulders slumped, and she leaned back on the couch with a slow gulp. Hesitation gripped her fingers before she carefully turned the screen to display the photo she received.

Someone else held a camera that took a photo of a young woman with brunette hair spread across her shoulders wearing a pale blue, almost white top with a navy blue skirt that dove out of sight. On her lapel were details of a business and her name but that part was slightly out of focus. The woman had brilliant blue eyes and a sheepish expression as though she recognized that something was amiss but was too nervous to say it out loud. Her bust accented this point. It wasn’t huge like poor Zach or even Lily. Nor was it modest like mine. Marshall was probably the closest of those I’d glimpsed today. Not that this distinction would have made any difference to Kasey. Mole hills or mountains, she dropped down against the cushion as though she were a mylar balloon on its last legs.

Rosie cautiously attempted a small hand on Kasey’s shoulder, as though fearful too much of a touch would crumple her the rest of the way or set off an unseen land mine. Kasey drifted between open staring and eyes squeezed shut. What could possibly be said?

We waited through silence until she slid away from Rosie‘s touch and muttered, “I need to text him back…” Morbid paleness fluttered across her cheeks as she retreated to her room. Carol didn’t have much else to say after that. She just provided a temporary helpline for additional matters that hadn’t been brought up. Once she was gone, I tried to scoot over and comfort Rosie. She listlessly accepted.

The rest of the evening petered out from there. Rosie thought about leaving, but I found fresh uncertainty fluttering through her eyes. I still couldn’t comprehend how or why my benefactor confused my freshman crush. Perhaps she encountered the equivalent of energetic, golden dust to the face and the results led her astray. Had it done more to me than I expected? Despite so many expected uncertainties, I knew the details of my life. Of course, the same would be said by anyone who had their thoughts and perceptions perfectly altered. But then what Norah said about being a burly trucker before might as well have counted. We had to be sure of something.

I chose to believe in Rosie. And help her to believe in herself. It was just a vague plan, but I sensed that she wanted to stay around me. When she fell asleep again, I would be ready to clear away her confusion and restore her truth. I just had to be patient for the right moment.

The dorm wandered into the motions of your average evening. Music began to cautiously emerge, and the sounds of homework filtered through the walls as clicks, clacks, and creaks. Sounds far from anger but doused in panic escaped from Kasey’s space. It felt achingly wrong to listen, but I didn’t want to put Beatrice‘s earbuds in. Not yet.

I couldn’t hear every word said, but I heard enough. Flailing hope that this all has been some rude prank, or some confusion about a coworker. Something… anything that meant an alternative she couldn’t conceive for a cruel impossibility. Silence settled, like a dark, primeval forest on edge until the punctuated, frantic scream burst through. Kasey wailed with inhuman agony. Even though I couldn’t see what was going on, I felt that Rhea went to her side. I wanted to be there too, even if I couldn’t provide comfort. Just to do something. Instead, the haunting pleas cursed my ears like some distant horror movie or a phantasm of the past. Would shining a light on her do anything positive? Would the horrific gift at my side ever do anything positive?

I took a long sip of water and plunged Beatrice‘s earbuds deep into my ears with her hair as soft curtains. It wasn’t enough. I fumbled with her music accounts to pull up any random melodies. Her choices weren’t bad, but none of them fit the mood that I wanted. Maroon 5 had enough of an energetic distraction and pace of lyrics that I didn’t have to think. Same went for Jason Mraz. Just a smattering of recent popular music I didn’t care about. I ran through the words as both a lament and an enchantment. My head rose.

A figure stood to the side, near the doorway, as though Norah had come to peek in on me. Seeing glasses led me in that direction. But they were different glasses. Dark frames with a silvery sheen but sharp lines. Norah’s didn’t have as much of an outline, more like gold-traced ovals floating around her face. Someone strange was looking at me, someone I didn’t know.

Their hair was brown and full, curling sharply toward their shoulders. Figure reminiscent of Lily but absolutely not her. Where I was at in the music slipped away in surprise and so did the puzzling aberration, as if she were a pareidolia made of tangled smoke. Jumping up from my chair, I swiftly inspected the doorway and checked as many places as was reasonable. I even unreasonably scanned the ceiling for some deft ninja clinging to it. Nothing.

A gut feeling passed from the top of my head to where it belonged in my stomach. My benefactor? Could that have been her? If so, she seemed so normal. Like anyone around us. Why did she make an appearance? Did she know about my doubts, feel my bitterness and anger, or disapproval of her gift? She wasn’t a god or goddess though. That’s what the message said. I waved through the air, less with hope to touch her and more with insistence to dispel whatever trace of her might remain. I eventually stopped when Rosie spotted me. No explanation was asked for.

Kasey’s wails quieted at some point. We each managed some small form of comfort for her. Rosie gave up her blanket. I brought her some warm tea. And her true roommates did the heavy emotional lifting, which was enough to get her to curl up quietly in her bed.

Returning to my bedroom, I was left with enough things I could do to distract myself.