✯ E V E L Y N ✯

I awake in my four-poster bed to the sun streaming pink light through my sheer curtains.

I'm not sure what I expected, but I anticipated the fact that I'd wake up alone, and that's why it hurts a lot less. My hair is a tangled mess, my tired limbs tangled in satin sheets but I've never felt more awake. The thought of what happened last night is enough to send my heart rate escalating. Jesse. All of him. Every sigh, every kiss, every thrust. All of him.

And, as I stare at the ceiling with a stupid smile on my face, I conclude that I am not gay.

∞

The benefit of having my birthday on a Friday is that things can calm down over the weekend.

The next day Eva hired a cleaning crew to clean up the mess that was my party (it was too much for the maids), and breakfast was ready by the time everyone was awake.

I spent the weekend catching up with my relatives, eating leftover birthday cake and, most importantly, thinking about Jesse.

I haven't heard from him since Friday, but I guess we need a few days to actually comprehend what went down that night. When I look back, the thought that we actually had sex always throws me off-guard. I know if I didn't have the necklace I would have assumed it was all a dream.

I head to my locker as I walk into school, glad I caught the earlier bus so I wouldn't be rushing to get ready for class. The usual sound of laughter and jeering fills my ears as I walk through the hallway, my eyes firmly thrown forward.

I catch a few curious eyes on me but I shrug them off, focusing on getting through the thinning crowd. Because of my insomnia, I didn't sleep through the weekend, and this morning I woke up earlier than everyone else. I finished every last bit of my homework, which hasn't happened in possibly five years.

"Evelyn!" I turn my head to the direction of the voice, and I see one of the populars - whose name I can never seem to remember - smirking at me. The ditzy redhead at his side cackles, her laugh like nails scraping against a chalkboard.

I look away, biting my lip in confusion and a bit of anger. And then, as if everything is thrown into a new light, I see the eyes on me. And I hear the voices.

"Holy shit."

"Jesus, I didn't know it was her."

"He could do so much better."

"Isn't she that quiet psycho that always cuts and talks to herself?"

"I heard her brother died in an accident a couple of years ago."

"I heard she killed him one night 'cause he took her razors."

"Well, she must be good in bed if Jesse chose her."

"He didn't choose her, dumbass, it was the bet."

"She's got a nice ass, though."

"She's a suicidal little freak."

"Damn, I'd cop a feel for fifty bucks."

I clamp my teeth down on my tongue as the words float my way. My boots feel heavy on my feet as I drag them, but I lift my head up high and continue walking.

See, the thing about life is that wherever you go, people will judge you. No matter what you look like, where you're from or how much they know about you. It's all about whether you let them weigh you down with their or whether you be a queen, keep your head high and your standards higher.

I try to keep my head high.

I'm bullied on a daily basis. Teased, mocked, humiliated. It's nothing new. I've heard all the rumors before, but they don't hurt any less.

When my locker is within my eye-line I stop in my tracks. My pulse picks up and a fresh wave of horror hits me.

Various words are scratched onto the front of my locker, as well as 'whore' and 'freak' scrawled in caps with a permanent marker. That explains the crowd near my locker. As I approach it, everybody steps away from me, putting fifteen feet between us. I ignore the cruel words and mocking laughter thrown my way and unlock my combination lock, only for its contents to spill out.

Except my books don't fall out. Dozens upon dozens of white slips of paper flutter to the ground. There's a series of high pitched of giggling from the other side of the locker room, and I look over to see Villette and her usual gang of bitches and pricks laughing as they watch me. I'm sure half of the school is watching, phones at the ready to record a humiliating moment.

I try to swallow the lump in my throat, my nose stinging as tears make the world swim in my vision. Don't cry. They want to see you cry. They want to see you at your weakest. Don't give them the satisfaction. Inhaling and blinking back tears, I turn my back on everyone and pick up one of the notes.

This is a poem for Evelyn
If you aren't her, then bye-bye
In this poem I'll be teaching you
The ways in which you can die

You could fill a car with carbon monoxide
And inhale very deeply
Or you could jump right off a cliff
(That one is a bit too easy)

Maybe you'd like to cut your wrists
It's not like you don't do that right now
Let yourself bleed to death
As you take your final bow

There's also the option of shooting yourself
A bullet to the head or the chest
There's also shooting from the mouth to the brain
But you can choose which you like best

If you'd like to die a painless death
Maybe drowning is your thing
Fill your lungs with water, not air
As you slowly sink

Jumping in front of a car sounds nice
But then, you did that before
You have so many options Evelyn
Or should I say: Jesse's whore

So pick one of the above
Either way you'll be drowning in red
Don't you want to be with Evian?
Either way, you'll end up dead.

The tears are falling down my cheeks faster than I expected them to as I finish reading the poem. I cover my mouth to mask my whimpers as my shoulders cave in, trembling. The note slips through my fingers and flutters to the ground, and I have to refrain from covering my face and running out of the school. Laughter rings in my ears, and bile rises up my throat.

And, despite the fact that there are kohl tears running down my face and my face is hot, I pick up another note. The five-minute warning bell rings, but hardly anyone moves from their positions. They're too busy laughing at my reaction. Soon a teacher is going to walk in and notice the big crowd, then butt into the situation and make it ten times worse.

My eyes skim over the short note, and at the last word my heart stops in my chest.

Just want to let you know you mean nothing to me. It was all part of a bet. I had to gain your trust and fuck you within five months, and guess what? I won. I won more money than you're worth. Consider whatever that was between us over. I never loved you.

- Jesse.

Through my ragged tears and hyperventilating, I sense eyes drilling into me, and my eyes connect with dull gray ones. Lifeless. How is it that a few days ago they had been so full of life and love?

Jesse stares back at me blankly amongst the crowd of populars. A blond is attached to him like a leech, but he doesn't seem to be paying any attention to her. He's looking straight at me, straight in the eyes. I don't bother rubbing the running mascara from my cheeks. I don't bother covering my face to hide it. I want him to see how much he's hurting me - how much he has hurt me. I want him to feel something other than impassivity aimed at me.

Nothing.

He maintains eye contact but doesn't show any emotion, and that's when I break. The tears come down faster, the truth hits me harder, and I can't breathe. I grab handfuls of the papers, ripping my bag open and shoving them inside with force. Everything ceases to exist now. I'm thrown into my own world. I stuff the papers inside, crying a little more when I see razors in my locker amongst a sharp knife. I don't even know how people managed to get them inside. I just need to get them out.

I need to get out.

I haul my bag over my shoulder, slamming my locker shut and securing the lock. They're all laughing at me like I'm a laughing stock. Because you are. Like a clown, You're a form of entertainment to them. They want to watch you break down, and they're pissing themselves laughing at you. I push past the crowds, my shoulder aching from the intentional bumps into them, knowing I'll have bruises later. But for now, I couldn't care less. I need to get out of here.

And so I get out of there. I get the hell out of there and run until I'm out of breath and on my knees, screaming into the wind.

∞

☾A L I Q U I S☽

"I never loved you.

"I admit, you grew on me, like a disease. I loved how you'd beg for my attention. How you'd do anything to make me smile, or laugh, but in actuality, I was laughing at you. I liked manipulating you and playing with your feelings.

"You're so naïve, Evelyn. So stupid and weak and vulnerable. You're a freak, plain and simple. You don't know the difference between a vegetable peeler and a razor. To you there is no difference. You cut with whatever you can find. Broken glass, a knife, anything sharp. And you only do it for attention. Sure, you're fucked up in the head, but the only reason you cut is because you love the reaction you get out of people.

"I hope you liked that little poem someone wrote for you. Consider it a gift from everyone to you. You say you're in pain; so we'll put everyone out of their misery. It's like killing two birds with one stone. Except, it's really only one bird that's going to die.

And that birdie is you."

Evelyn can't move. Her limbs are frozen in place, heavy and stiff as she tries to lift them. She opens her mouth to scream but nothing comes out. It's as if she's screaming into a black void, her voice getting lost in a dark place that's actually within her.

Jesse stands at the foot of her bed, unaffected by the fact that she's in nothing but a pair of shorts and a thin camisole. Her bed covers are half-on her, and goosebumps cover her exposed skin as a gust of air blows in through the window.

"I know this wasn't mentioned in the poem," Jesse begins, whipping out a knife from his pocket. The tip of the butcher's knife catches the light and flashes in Evelyn's eyes. "But it's another way of you dying. It's my personal favorite. But I guess that's because I'll assist in your death." Her heart drops, panic rising within her like an overflowing sink until the tears that should be falling freeze in her eyes. Her mouth is sewed shut the second she opens it, an invisible force securing her wrists and ankles to the bed so she can't move.

"In my hand I hold a knife

That I'll press against your throat.

After the dirty deed is done,

Your ticket to hell will be sold.

Let me trace some words over your stomach

Cut the skin off your face,

I'll peel away your insecurities

Make you feel like less of a disgrace.

You're not going to be able to scream -

Remember, this is what you prayed for,

You told me that you want to die

Well death is what I've got in store.

I'll make your death a painful one,

Carve words into your skin.

I'll watch the blood trickle down your arms

Oh, birdie, let's let the fun begin."

Jesse smiles, his mouth full of razor sharp teeth that elicits an internal scream from Evelyn. His irises turn charcoal black 'til the color is spreading around his eyes, like an infection. All that's left are whirlpools of darkness in place of his eyeballs.

His steps are slow and deliberate, menacing. The knife in his hand is as light as feather, and he loves the feel of the handle against his palm. He stops in front of the terrified girl, a sinister smile upon his lips. "Don't worry, little birdie, I'm going to make you feel all better," he whispers, running the tip of the knife over her arm.

He can almost smell her blood. Rich, coppery and thick with fear. He presses the tip deeper into her skin, dragging it across in careful motions. Evelyn shakes on the bed, writhing and convulsing but she can't physically move. She can only feel the sting of the knife. The pain consumes her body, as he carves out her flesh, scarlet blood running in thick streams over her pale skin.

"You look so much prettier in red," Jesse hisses, a satisfied grin curving his lips as he slashes the blade against her face. The pain, the helplessness, the numb feeling in her limbs . . .

"I think it's time you ended up dead."

Evelyn wakes in a cold sweat, lungs burning and mouth wide in a silent scream. The darkness pressing against her eyes evokes panic within her for a moment before she realizes it's night time. A hand grips her upper arm, and it takes all she has not to shriek.

A lamp flickers on to her right, and the light falls upon a face, sleepy but alert eyes fixating on Evelyn's small quivering frame. "Hey, what's wrong?" Tara yawns, rubbing her eye as she yearns to fall back asleep.

At that moment Evelyn remembers her relatives are still over, and she shares a bed with Tara while Amora and her cousin Janice sleep in separate waterbeds.

Evelyn pushes back a damp clump of hair, shaking off her nerves as shadows dance in her peripheral vision. "Just a bad dream. Go back to sleep," she answers in a hoarse voice, heart thrashing in her chest.

Tara squints at her, sensing the distress that rolls off her like waves. "You sure?"

Evelyn nods, faking a small smile. "Sleep, T." Tara offers her a wan smile and switches off the bedside lamp before she settles, soon falling into a deep sleep.

In a house with over two dozen people and yet so alone. Evelyn stares into the darkness, heart jumping every now and then when she thinks she sees someone in the dark or hears a strange noise.

This time, unlike in the nightmare, she's able to cry, and so she does. She cries until she's gasping for air and choking on her own tears. Her eyelids redden and are swollen by the time she has calmed down, but she couldn't care less. Jesse's words are bouncing around in her mind, wrecking havoc in there.

It was all part of a bet.

I won more money than you're worth.

"I never loved you."

It's insane how less than twenty-four hours ago she was blissfully unaware of anything bet-related. But now, she realizes that it's the way everything goes. The second something good happens to you, it's ripped apart from your hands and burned right in front of your face until you're left with the ashes and dust.