I wonder what it means, to be shallow. Are you shallow when you're happy? Because nothing really matters, since you have so much of an abundance of good things?

Or are you shallow when you're depressed, but you pretend to be happy? Maybe shallow is both of these. Either way I'm noticing a trend: shallowness is connected to happiness.

When you're happy and you have everything, it's easy to shrug off problems. But when everything is wrong, suddenly, the smallest inconvenience seems impossible to overcome.

Nathan isn't shallow, at least, I think he isn't. Neither am I. We're both depressed. Both lonely. We both overthink too much, and everything is always hurting. But in a way, we are shallow, because we keep pretending to be happy, since everybody around us wants us to be. So maybe being happy is ... is what? Pretending?

Sorry. I'm rambling. Not even sure what I'm rambling about.

Ah yes, being happy. Nathan was terribly unhappy. When we were together, it's not like we were happier or anything, but it was liberating. Because we didn't have to hide around one another. We could be ugly people. We could be angry, mean and ruthless. We could be depressed. And we knew that the other person wouldn't judge us.

But most people in our social circle aren't like that. For most people in our social circle, being vapid, shallow and uninteresting IS happiness. Happiness is derived from people envying you, from people wanting to BE you.

"Make yourself at home, I guess," I grumbled as he got in my apartment. He was just supposed to walk me home, of course, since Randy bailed after throwing a jealous fit. Nathan had provoked him. Or maybe it was Nathan and I flirting which had provoked Randy. Either way, he'd bailed on us. I'd tried to stop him, but Nathan seized the opportunity to walk me home and told me Randy would be fine. So I followed Nathan. And now we were at my house.

"Nice place. It'll be much better than your last one once you get around to redecorating," he told me as he eyed the very barren living room and the walls covered in red paint.

"Yeah, it's alright, but I really need to get curtains." At that moment he noticed all the giant windows and how easy it was for any peeping tom to creep into my intimacy.

"Your neighbour must enjoy the view," he smirked while looking back at me.

"Yeah. He's an old man, too. I've seen him creeping around his balcony one too many times for him to be fully innocent." I also knew he was spying on me because I brought home a guy once, and the dude told me as he started eating me out that my neighbour was watching, after which I quickly turned off the lights. But Nathan didn't need to know that.

Nathan didn't say anything. Instead he took off his boots and went to casually lie down on my couch, arms behind his neck.

"What are you waiting for? Come here." I fidgeted uncomfortably, unsure of whether I should take off my boots or not. What if my feet didn't smell nice?

Yeah, I know. Not the most feminine, romantic detail, but we girls have issues like these too.

He raised an eyebrow and edged me on, so I did it anyway before slowly going up to him. When I was next to him I stared at him and kind of just stood there. I wasn't sure what I should do. Nathan smirked at me before grabbing my right arm and pulling me towards him. I fell on his chest, after which I timidly looked up at him. Yup. Still hot. The slicked back dirty-blonde hair, those chestnut-colored eyes, that whole 'haven't shaved in 3-4 days' look ... he was dangerous, alright. That confident smile was still on his lips and I now felt extra nervous, so I started talking. Can't remember what I even prattled on about. I just know he was amused, kind of like a cat that just caught a mouse and that liked staring at the poor thing right before delivering the final blow. Like that. Predatory is the word, I guess.

He kissed me then, and I let him. Just like last time, I didn't feel anything. He grabbed the back of my head and there it was again, that urgency, that need.

I wish I felt the same way. Instead all I could think of was Jenny. Did her lips feel completely different? They must have, right? More plump? More like lipstick? Something like that.

I kissed Nathan back and started stroking his chest and his arms. So nice. So firm. I thought of Jenny's skin, the few times we'd touched each other for one reason or another. Her skin was so soft. I'd never touched anything quite like it. Must have been all those expensive skin creams she used. Or maybe it was just her, I don't know.

You know I always miss her, even though I hang out with her all the time? It's like I'm longing for something, something that's not there. Maybe I'm longing for her to see who I really am. Thing is, she'd probs hate me if she knew. I'm realistic. Jenny's pretty homophobic. She doesn't take too kindly to lesbians, although she loves gay guys. What would she do if she knew her best friend's a lesbian? She'd snap or something, probably. She'd hate me. And I can't have that. I know she probably doesn't really care about me – how genuinely can you care about someone you don't even truly know? You can't. That's why falling in love with someone who doesn't love you is ridiculous. It makes no sense. You're really in love with yourself. You want someone to love you because you can't love yourself. In my heart I wish the cute Jenny I sometimes see behind closed doors was always there, but in reality I know she never will be. The real Jenny is the one the world sees. It's the one she wants to be so desperately.

Then maybe that means that the real Renny is the bitch that let all those poor girls die? The real Renny is this superficial, beautiful cunt who's always out partying. She's this submissive girl who Nathan's fucking right now. She's this totally straight girl with no care for anyone or anything but who's super into her looks and into fashion. Maybe that's the real Renny. If so, what and who am I? Who's the other Renny? Is the sad Renny who wants more a disease?

I remember thinking all that back then, as Nathan had sex with me, as he bit me and choked me and kissed me. And despite the roughness of the sex the kissing was tender, because I knew Nathan wanted the same thing, deep down. He also wondered if the shitty, douchy superficial Nathan was the real one, or if the real him was the depressed kid whose father beat him and called him a pussy every day. Was the real him the rich handsome jock who bullied kids back in high school, or the smart kid he really was who loved reading books about Biology and Physics, the one who aced all of his classes?

And did he even want to go to the fancy Ivy League school he went to, or did he go because his whole life he was told that that's what he should do? Was he proud of his own accomplishments, or was he proud because his father was?

Was he totally gonna break up with the girlfriend he didn't love someday, or would he marry her because their families knew and liked each other?

Was he the sociopathic guy he tried to be, or was he an overly sensitive boy who got beaten up too many times and who used his fists instead of crying?

When he kissed me I could feel that sadness, the other him. I could feel his feelings for me. I knew he had feelings for me. Love? Could you call it love? I loved him too, in a way. I cared about him. But it might have just been empathy, because I knew what it was like, to live a life that wasn't yours, because you grew up seeing no other option. I knew what it was like to feel trapped. We were free together once, long ago, but then social conventions came back, and now even when we were together we were trapped in a way. He was the dangerous asshole. I was the superficial girl playing hard to get, the snarky girl that didn't always let him have his way, as opposed to the broken nerdy lesbian he'd fallen in love with. In another life we would have been friends, maybe. We'd have been great as siblings. I think we would have loved each other deeply. As it was, we were just fucked up beings who used the other to forget that they weren't free.

He rolled to the side and brought me against his chest when we were done. Not gonna lie, the sex was good. I still enjoyed it, in a way. I wondered if it made me less of a lesbian. I didn't think I was bi though, despite only fucking guys, ironically. I'd rarely been attracted to other girls, too. Jenny's the only one who's made me feel this way. But to be honest, my 'attraction' towards guys was more of a resolve than anything else.

I had to be normal. I had to pretend, because it felt like no one had ever liked the real me anyway. Only my beauty mattered. Jenny would have never even looked at me in middle and high school. Nathan would have probably bullied me, hah. We'd have hated each other. He'd have harassed me while hating himself for it deep down, and I'd have hated him while feeling bitter and sad that I was once again called ugly and looked down upon by a jock. Funny, isn't it?

Renny?

--

I snap out of my thoughts. Ginger cop is giving me a weird look.

"Are you okay?" I blink a few times and realize I basically zoned out. My throat feels heavy and it feels like I wanna cry for a second. But then I get a hold of myself, like I always do. The lump disappears and my eyes are dry. I feel nothing.

"Yeah. Sorry bout' that."

"Can you tell us about the second girl?"

I inhale deeply.

"Sure."

--

And here we are again kicking off the weekend with another Morbid update! Hope you guys liked this one, as it's one of my favorites. What does happiness mean for you? Have you ever felt completely alone surrounded by people, but pressured to pretend to be happy or to be someone you're not? If so, when? I especially like this chapter because it gives more depth to Nathan and it talks a bit about the social pressures men face, and what can cause them to act a certain way. So yeah, let me know what you guys think in the comments, and don't forget to vote and add Morbid to your reading list! Next chapter introduces the second victim, and let me tell you -- if you thought what happened to Melissa was bad, you're in for a wild ride.