You know how sometimes you read something and picture an exaggerated version of it?

I was reading Peter's blogs and he said something about sleeping in airport lobbies. I imagined him asleep in some packed full lobby with a 14 year old girl wearing a Fall Out Boy shirt curled up in the seat next to him asleep. Except they don't notice eachother ever because they're both dreaming. Because they're both normal people.
Her hero and his hero.

TRUE FUCKING LOVE.

"if i bashed your head in how good would the secrets be that poured out.

sometimes i am just letting you shine.
even with all the greens and honey in these eyes.
growing up became growing old.
ive learned to keep myself quiet.
to be a stow away in this life.
to not make waves but sometimes scream and fight over nothing so great at all.

Hurt the ones you love. Love the ones you hurt.

death is a circle
that keeps closing in on all my friends
hit the brakes
dodge the bends
"gum drops and chimney tops"
this is the minutia of city flats
i want to paint the sun on my wings
than you can have it back
hell is having your choice of anyone or anything
this band that plays just for youi
singing "fuck you" turnpike blues
spiritual mediums just scratching
at dull sentimental backs
declawed memory itches
break your leg in the generational gap
wells vomit childhood wishes
the midas touch in reverse
and could it get worse
the crabapple doesnt fall far from the tree
tin man syndrome
you got big dreams, watch me break them
and for everything ive seen
and all ive had
god must be
a mean lonely man

honey is for bees, silly bear
besides theres jelly beans everywhere
its not what it seems, in the land of dreams dont worry your head just go to sleep
doesnt matter how you feel
lifes just a ferris wheel
its always up and down, dont make a sound
when you wake up the world will come around
its just sweet weather and peacock feathers
in the morning itll all be better
dont worry your head just go to sleep.

im exploding just too slowly for anyone to take notice.

life is more than alright when you let yourself know it. theres not a hole in your head or your heart if you dont want there to be. its funny how people get nostalgic for the worst times in your life. people sometimes seem to miss the person i was when i was just in a self hating haze or fantasize that i miss or should miss someone who made me feel as worthwhile as a pile of dirt and spent their entire life decieving me. thanks to my friends who have let me grow into something new. i am listening to blues. i am having great conversations with friends. i am writing. i am walking the dog. i lying in the sun. i am riding a motorcycle. i am lauging. i am being in love"


You've read it before.
Read it again.
I love him.

"dont for a second think i have forgotten you or the way you make me smile on gray days or in stormy weather"

For a second I thought you did.

You could trade mistakes for sheep and count me away forever at night.

I've learned to keep myself quiet because talking is of no use if no one listens.
Persuasion is only another word in the dictionary if the persuaded plugs their ears.
Put me down or fix me.

I won't tell you to stay anymore because I know you can't.
I won't cry when you leave because it's not goodbye.
More like see ya later.
Kind of.

I miss walks and no sleep and you.

I have a love/hate relationship with laying in the floor at 4am when I realize I'm losing everything.

My friends aren't really my friends anymore.

It's okay to break down.
It's okay to let yourself go.
It's okay to forget to eat or sleep for days on end.

It's okay. Except it's not.

Letting go isn't worth it and forgetting doesn't fix anything.
Makes things hurt worse, really.

Sometimes I wish I could fast forward through everything that we're gonna go through, but other times I'm glad we have to go through those things.
Because pain lets you know your alive and I don't like feeling dead.Even thought it's easier.

I'd like to think there was a time when I actually gave a fuck, but I can't promise anything.

It's funny how everything- from the dog across the street, stuck out in to rain, to the TV that I don't really watch -makes me know how alone I am.

I guess I've kind of accepted it.

Don't try to argue with manics.
You only waste your breath.

I can't wait to find someone who will always be there.
Never ending.
Never leaving.
Because I need consistency.

I have been deprived of the vitality of it.

Keeping your eye on the clock doesn't make anything but your brain run faster.

The truth about loneliness it never gets better.
It's either there or it's not.

And right now it's in full bloom.

Seperated at birth.

Y/Y?

I vote yes. Cept I'm chubbier.

HAY THERE LONG LOST BROTHER!

Tana Marie Hayes

Left: Tabatha Hayes.

Right: Tana Hayes.

That was their last picture together.

I remember something. Everything about it. What we were wearing. What we said. You making me wear your jacket because you didn't think mine was thick enough. About 8 months before the accident. It was Christmas. You came to Florida to visit. We went to the beach the night you got there and it was the first time you had ever been. I remember you laughing at how you couldn't see anything because it was so dark, but you really wanted to collect some seashells. So we did. We spent hours on the beach laughing and stuffing seashells in your purse. It hurts so bad to go to the beach and think of you. Only because I know we can never do that again. I miss you so fucking much, Tana. Every day. Every single day I wake up and think about you. Think about how you'll never get to swim in the ocean, or dance in the rain, or sit and watch the clouds.

It hurts so bad. Everyone says it'll get better with time, but it hasn't. It still hurts just as bad to see your picture on the entertainment center or to here Mom and Mamie talk about you. It hurts to see Jon cry and miss you. It hurts to see Tabby alone when you should be with her.

I miss you, Tana.

Chapter 8: You're still the good-for-nothing I don't know.

NOTE: YES, I'M AWARE THAT I SWITCHED BACK TO PRESENT TENSE.





When we get back Spencer is asleep and Aleks and Ryan are cuddled on the couch. There's a movie playing, but I don't recognize it. I nudge Brendon a little towards Ryan and Aleks. They need to talk.

"Bren." I whisper. He lets out a pitiful whimper, but doesn't say anything. "Aleks, can you help me in the kitchen?" I ask.

"Can't Brendon help you." Ryan cuts in.

"Aleks is taller." I state and Aleks slides off the love seat. "Can you get me a powerade off the top shelf?" I ask once we're in the kitchen. He nods happily and reaches for it.




"Fuck you, Brendon!" I hear Ryan yell before the door slams.

"Shit." I whisper. Aleks moves quickly back to the living room. Brendon's sitting on the love seat with his head in his hands, obviously crying. I rush over to him, grab his hand, and pull him behind me towards the bedroom.

"What the fuck happened?" I whisper urgently.

"I don't know, Jase. I don't fucking know." He breathes. He's pacing and wiping at the corners of his eyes.

"What did you say? What did Ryan say?"

"He told me I was being a bitch and I told him that he hurt me. I didn't tell him how. I should have fucking told him, but I didn't and he left. He fucking walked out." He's close to hyperventilating.

"Brendon, calm down. You need to breathe. He'll be back."



Spencer is awake when we reemerge from the bedroom. He looks utterly confused. So does Aleks. And on top of Aleks' confusion, he looks heartbroken.

"Spence, can you go get Ryan. Just tell him he needs to come back here. We need to talk about this." Spencer nods and leaves, still looking confused. And I tend to Brendon's very near breakdown.

Turn this up, I'll tune you out. Another night alone in the city.

I'm
losing
everyone.

Chapter 7: My Insides Are Copper. I'd Kill To Make Them Gold.

Ryan and Aleks had seemed to hit it off. They were on the love seat, surprisingly close, talking and laughing about god knows what. Brendon was dancing around to some unwanted, particularly aggravating music that he refused to turn off.
"Brendooon." I whined. "Please. Put on some good music. That shit's making me want to kick babies." He pouted as he rummaged through a CD case.
"How about Counting Crows?" I nodded in approval and he played the CD. He took a seat on the floor in front of the couch, "When are you gonna have that baby? I'm tired of you being so cranky."
"You've got about 4 more months of it, Bren. I'm not due 'til December." I laughed.
"Shit. Those things sure do have to cook a while, huh?" Brendon had always been like my little brother, despite the 3 months he had on me.

"Hey! Lovebirds! Not on my couch, kay?" Spencer said, tossing a pillow at Ryan and Aleks who, at the moment, were pretty close to jumping each other's bones. They laughed nervously and slid apart. Brendon didn't even look in their direction, just stared intently at the floor between his legs.
"Bren?" I nudged his shoulder.
"Hm?" He looked up at me. He looked kind of aggravated and I could tell he was trying to hide it. I gave him a questioning look and threw my glance over to Aleks and Ryan. He just turned back to picking at the carpet. I looked up at Spencer who looked completely uninterested, then over to Aleks and Ryan who were back to canoodling.
"Hey. Bren. Do you want to ride up to the store with me? I need Pop-Tarts." I asked, rolling off the couch and grabbing my keys off of the coffee table. Spencer started to protest, but I gave him that look and he shut his mouth.
"Uh. Yeah. Sure." He answered.

"So, what's going on, Brenny?" I asked once we were in the car.
"Huh? What do you mean?"
"You're not very good at playing dumb, ya know. What's up?" He just sighed and looked out the window.
"It hurts to see him with someone else." He mumbled.
"Ryan?" He nodded. "Have you told him how you feel?"
"No. It hasn't exactly come up."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean I don't really see him all over another guy very often."
"Oh...well maybe you guys should talk. He's not gonna know how you feel unless you tell him."
"It doesn't matter, he obviously doesn't feel the same about me."

Spencer Smith: Jasey's baby daddy.

OMG ROFL.
SPENCER SMITH: MAKING MAN CURVES SEXY SINCE 1987.

I'd TOTALLY do him.

Just saying.

Bare Me New Bones.

Elizabeth Bathory
Countess of Transylvania, vampire: Born 1560/61; died, August 21, 1614.
In order to improve her complexion and also to maintain her failing grasp on her youth and vitality, she slaughtered six hundred innocent young women from her tiny mountain principality...
The noble Báthory family stemmed from the Hun Gutkeled clan which held power in broad areas of east central Europe (in those places now known as Poland, Hungary, Slovakia, and Romania), and had emerged to assume a role of relative eminence by the first half of the 13th century. Abandoning their tribal roots, they assumed the name of one of their estates (Bátor meaning 'valiant') as a family name. Their power rose to reach a zenith by the mid 16th century, but declined and faded to die out completely by 1658. Great kings, princes, members of the judiciary, as well as holders of ecclesiastical and civil posts were among the ranks of the Báthorys.
Adopting an exalted name did not alter some basic familial preferences among lesser lights however, and in order to consolidate more tenuous clingings to influence there was considerable intermarriage amongst the Báthory family, with some of the usual problems of this practice produced as a result. Unfortunately, beyond the 'usual problems' some extraordinary difficulties arose (namely hideous psychoses) and several "evil geniuses" appeared, the notorious and sadistic Erzsébet the most prominent of them.
Truly, she was evil enough to be recognized as one of the original "vampires" who later inspired Bram Stoker to write the legend of Dracula -- but unlike Stoker's story, she was real.
Unusual for one of her social status, she was a fit and active child. Raised as Magyar royalty, as a young maid she was quite beautiful; delicate in her features, slender of build, tall for the time, but her personality did not attain the same measure of fortuitous development. In her own opinion her most outstanding feature was her often commented upon gloriously creamy complexion. Although others were not really so equally impressed with the quality of her rather ordinary skin, they offered copious praise if they knew what was good for them, as Erzsébet did not accept unenthusiastic half-measures of adulation; and she was vindictive.
She was only 15 when she was 'married off' for political gain and position to a rough soldier of (nevertheless) aristocratic stock and manner. By reason of the marriage, she became the lady of the Castle of Csejthe, his home, situated deep in the Carpathian mountains of what is now central Romania, but which then was known only as Transylvania. Located near no exciting urban center, the castle was surrounded by a village of simple peasants and rolling agricultural lands, interspersed with the jagged outcroppings of the frozen Carpathians.
While the picturesque setting embraced a bucolic tapestry of ideal small fields, meandering stone walls, quaint cottages, a few satisfied brown cows, and goats with tinkling bells about their necks scampering amongst the chickens, life here was uneventful. The castle was typical for its day and place: cold, dun, gloomy, damp, dark; unlike the cozy thatched houses of the peasants below.
While her husband was pursuing his passion, the soldier business, and off on various campaigns, for Elizabeth -- who did not wish to amuse herself in the out-of-doors where those loutish peons were grubbing in the mud -- life became poundingly boring in very short order. Being an energetic teenager, although one with a view and experience of life which was 'special,' she set about finding novel amusements to occupy her days.
Her tastes were of a certain slant, and consequently she began to gather about herself (as her ample financial resources readily accommodated) persons of peculiar and sinister arts. These she welcomed into her presence, affording them commodious lodging and lavish attention to each of their most singular needs and interests. Among them were those who claimed to be witches, sorcerers, seers, wizards, alchemists, and others who practiced the most depraved deeds in league with the Devil and too painful to mention even in a story such as this. They taught her their crafts in intimate detail and she was enthralled. But learning such unspeakable things was not enough.
War in the 16th century was a brutal affair. While fashionably fighting the Turks and attempting to gain information from prisoners captured, her husband employed a horrid device of torture: clever articulated claw-like pincers, fashioned of hardened silver; which, when fastened to a stout whip would tear and rip the flesh to such an obscene degree that even he, a cruel man, abandoned the apparatus in disgust and left it at the castle as he departed on yet another heroic foray.
Elizabeth was not alone in her 'unusual' interests. Aware of Elizabeth's complex preoccupations, and amused by them, her aunt had introduced her also to the pleasures of flagellation (enacted upon desolate others of course), a taste Elizabeth quickly acquired. Equipped with her husband's heinous silver claws, she generously indulged herself, whiling away many lonely hours at the expense of forlorn Slav debtors from her own dungeons. The more shrill their screams and the more copious the blood, the more exquisite and orgasmic her amusement. She preferred to whip her 'subjects' on the front of their nude bodies rather than their backs, not only for the increased damage potential, but so that she could gleefully watch their faces contort in horror at their most grim and burning fate.
Her husband died in 1604 (some say 1602) of stab wounds imposed on him by a harlot in Bucharest whom he had not paid, and Elizabeth immediately dreamed of a lover to replace him, since she never cared for him in the first place -- so much for her mourning. However, the mirror showed her that her prurient indulgences, as well as time, had taken their toll on her appearance. Her 'angelic' complexion had long since faded to something less than perfection; she had reached 43. Her desire for a lover did not fade; she raged deep within, cursing time.
Such a simple interest as a new husband was not to rule the day, it was merely a detail. With the demise of her husband, prowling highly placed men began to smell a ripe opportunity to seize the power and influence encapsulated in the Báthory name; likely by acquiring her and then eliminating her. As well, she was next in line to become King of Poland, and she wanted the job. This seeming anomaly was possible within the governing constructs of the time, and the office of queen held no political weight. At the same time, she was educated beyond all those around her, reading and writing four languages while the prince of Transylvania was an illiterate boor (who bathed regularly -- every year on his birthday).
Maintaining her youth and vitality became central to this developing plot; the absolute divine right to power she understood was hers to keep and protect would be essential to the attainment of all that she sought. Vanity, sexual desire, drive for political power all were seamlessly blended into a central primordial passion. If she lost her youth, she could forfeit all.
Her mood deteriorated markedly and one day, as she viciously struck a servant girl for a minor oversight, she drew blood when her pointed nails raked the girl's cheek. The wound was serious enough that some of the blood got onto Elizabeth's skin. Later, Elizabeth was quite sure that that part of her own body - where the girl's blood had dropped - looked fresher somehow; younger, brighter and more pliant.
Immediately she consulted her alchemists for their opinion on the phenomenon. They, of course, were enjoying her hospitality and did not wish to disappoint, so, fortunately, they did recall a case many many years before and in a distant place where the blood of a young virgin had caused a similar effect on an aged (but generous) personage of nobility and good grace.
With such clear evidence at hand, Elizabeth was convinced that here was a brilliant discovery; a method to restore and preserve her youthful glow forever, or at least until she got what she wanted. The advice of her 'beauty consultant,' a woman named Katarina, concurred that her clever realization was most surely sound.
Elizabeth reasoned that if a little was good, then a lot would be better: she firmly believed that if she bathed in the blood of young virgins -- and in the case of especially pretty ones, drank it -- she would be gloriously beautiful and strong once again.
For years, Elizabeth's trusted helper in her various secret pleasures had been Dorotta Szentes. Now with her, and other 'witches' to help carry the load, Elizabeth roamed the countryside by night, hunting for suitable virginal girls as raw material for her difficult quest.
When back in the castle, each batch of young girls would be hung, alive and naked, upside-down by chains wrapped around their ankles. Their throats would be slit and all of their blood drained for Elizabeth's bath, to be taken while the heat of their young bodies still remained in the thickening and sticky crimson pool.
And every now and then, a really lovely young girl would be obtained. As a special treat, Elizabeth would drink the child's blood: at first from a golden flask, but later, as her taste for it increased, directly from the stream, as the writhing and whimpering body hung from the rafters, turning pale.
Although she had held off her political foes, after five years of this enterprise Elizabeth at last began to realize that the blood of peasant girls was having little effect on the quality of her skin. Obviously such blood was defective and better blood was required.
In early 17th century Transylvania, parents of substantial position wished their daughters to be educated in the appropriate social graces and etiquettes, so that they might gain the 'right' connections when ripe. Here was an opportunity.
In 1609, Elizabeth established an academy in the castle, offering to take 25 girls at a time from proper families, and to correctly finish their educations. Indeed, their educations were finished.
Assisted by Dorotta Szentes (known also by the graceful diminutive "Dorka") these poor students were consumed in exactly the same beastly fashion as the anguished peasant girls who preceded them. This was too easy, and Elizabeth became careless in her actions for the first time in her dreadful career. During a frenzy of lust, four drained bodies were thrown off the walls of the castle.
The error was realized too late, for villagers had already seen, collected, and begun to identify the girls. The disappearance of all those young women began to be solved; the secret was finished.
Word of this horror spread rapidly and soon reached the Hungarian Emperor, Matthias II, who immediately ordered that the Countess be placed on public trial. But, her aristocratic status did not allow that she be arrested. Parliament at once passed a new Act to reverse this privilege of station (lest she slip from their hands) and Elizabeth was brought before a formal hearing in 1610. Interestingly, no authority seemed inclined to offer any form of attention to these matters when merely peasant girls had been the subject of Elizabeth's blood-letting for five years previous.
By the final count, 600 girls had vanished; Elizabeth admitted nothing. Dorka and her witches were burned alive, but the Countess, by reason of her noble birth, could not be executed. Katarina was somehow seen as another victim, and was set free.
So, Elizabeth was damned to a death while alive. Sealed into a tiny closet of her castle -- and never let out -- she died four years later.
Elizabeth did not ever utter even a single word of regret, or remorse.
A note of interest: When Elizabeth was 25 years old, Stephan Báthory (a prince of Transylvania and her uncle) was elected King of Poland.
The last regularly scheduled trans-Atlantic passenger ocean liner ship in operation was named the "Stephan Batory" (a typical spelling variation.) It ceased operation in 1991, and its ports of call were Gdansk, Poland, and Montréal.
© Jerome C. Krause

Chapter 6: You Can Take Your Time, Take My Time.

The next few days seemed to drag on but when Saturday was finally there it went by too fast. I was pacing back and forth in the kitchen waiting. Spencer wasn't back from the studio yet. On top of the normal being pregnant sickness, I hadn't been able to keep anything down all day from nervousness. The small apartment smelled strongly of Febreze. Or maybe it was just my highly inclined senses. I rested my hands on the bump protruding from my hoodie. No one knew. No one but me, Spencer, and a few of our friends. I was about to walk a hole through the floor when the door bell rang. I stopped in my tracks and stared at the door. It rang again. I pulled my hoodie around me and walked shakily towards the door. The boy who stood on the other side was a slightly bigger version of the one that left 4 years ago. His hair was styled in relatively the same manor and he was still tall and skinny. He still wore the dark wash skinny jeans and ridiculous t-shirts. And he still had that same pitiful, crooked smile.


"Hi." I murmered, my eyes welling with tears. A smile spread across my face and he leaned in to hug me. I felt at home. It was a familiar embrace that I had desperately needed for 4 years.
"Wow." He said, pushing me back at arms length and looking me up and down. "God, Jasey. I've missed you so fucking much." He pulled me back into a hug. I was crying. We were still standing in the doorway.
"I've missed you too, Aleks." I took his hand and lead him inside.
"Well...what's going on with you?" He asked as we sat down on the couch, highschool style.
"Uh...a lot, actually. I've got a boyfriend, you talked to him on the phone the other day, his name's Spencer. I'm pregnant." I patted my stomach and a look of shock washed over his face. "Haha. Yeah. We've got a bun in the oven."
"For real? That's uh...not what I expected."
"Yeah me neither." I laughed. "So...what's up with you?"
"Not too much. I've got a place upstate and I'm going to school to be a writer. Nothing major." Just then Spencer came through the door.
"Oh! Spence's home." I got up to go meet him at the door. "Hey baby."
"Hi." He smiled.
"This is Aleks. Aleks, this is Spencer."

"Oh my god. It's so nice to meet you." Aleks squeeked. He was apparently familiar with Panic! At The Disco.
"It's nice to meet you too. I've heard a lot about you in the past few days." Spencer laughed in response to Aleks' reaction.
"You never mentioned you were dating Spencer SMITH." He whispered as he turned around. I just laughed.
"Anyway. Uh. Are Ryan and Brendon coming over tonight?" I asked. A huge smile spread over Aleks' face. Spencer nodded and tossed his jacket over the back of the recliner. I grabbed it and scowled at him, taking it to the bedroom. I heard him chuckle as I walked off. Right then. That's when everything was perfect.

Chapter 5: They Call Kids Like Us Vicious and Carved Out of Stone.

4 years. 4 fucking years and he finally calls. Wow. I didn't really know what to say. I mean, you're best friend disappears for 4 years and then out of the blue calls you one day. What was I supposed to say?





"Aleks...What happened?"
"Jasey, I'm sorry. I just...I couldn't come back."
"You could have fucking called me." I was trying my best not to cry. Spencer looked more and more confused by the second.
"I couldn't...I couldn't risk getting caught." I could hear the tears in his voice. He sounded just as pitiful as he had 4 years ago.
"Well...where do you live?"
"Upstate New York." He sighed. "You?"


"Manhattan. My big city rock star dreams never really came true. You need to come visit me."


"I planned on it. God. You don't know how long it took me to find you. I've been trying for almost two years. I've missed you, sis."
"I've missed you too, kid. I really have."





Our conversation continued for a good hour and Spencer eventually gave up on trying to figure it out. I had to explain everything about my past to him after I got off the phone.
"He's coming down this weekend." I explained.

"Good. I'm glad you guys finally found each other, Jase. This is one of those tragic Lifetime movie stories that never actually happen in real life." He said apologetically.

"Yeah. Except this one is real life. We need to clean and shit. Make the apartment presentable." And I was right. There was no way I was letting anyone in here in it's current state of chaos. There was clothes everywhere and nothing was in order. I stood up quickly and grabbed a pile of laundry and carried it to the washing machine. Spencer went to work on the bedroom. It wasn't too bad, but it wasn't exactly neat either.

A little over 2 hours later the apartment was spotless. I collapsed onto the couch and Spencer did the same beside me, resting his head in my lap. I ran my fingers through his dark hair and sighed. I wasn't sure if things were getting better or worse. I was ecstatic to have found Aleks finally, but I was scared. He disappeared for 4 years, things don't just immediately go back to the way they were. So much had changed. We weren't 17 anymore.

"Heyyy babbyy." Spencer whispered, caressing my stomach. I smiled down at him. The baby kicked at the sound of his voice. Another thing Aleks wouldn't expect: I was about to be a mom.

Chapter 4: When All You Want Is One More Saturday.

4 years later

The sun was just barely peeking through the blinds. I still hadn't slept. Not unusual. I pulled the covers up over my head and buried my face in the pillow. Spencer was still asleep. He stirred a little as I tried to get comfortable. I moved closer to him and relaxed a little. I hadn't slept properly in about 4 years. Since the night Aleks left.

"Did you sleep?" Spencer whispered. I shook my head into his chest. He put an arm around me and pulled me to him. I felt at home. Safe. But not safe enough to sleep. The sun was coming through the blinds extremely strong now. I through the covers back and climbed out of the bed. No way I'd be able to sleep. I heard Spencer sigh as I reached the bedroom door.
"Jase..." I slammed the door and headed for the bathroom. There was probably no hot water, but it was worth a try. I turned the faucet on and let it run for a few minutes. None. Of course not.

"Jasey! Phone!" Spencer called over the running water.
"TAKE A MESSAGE!" I yelled. I filled the tub with cold water and climbed in it. It was numbing.

My temper had worsened over the years and I was thankful to have someone like Spencer who could handle me.

He handed me my cell phone as I emerged from the bathroom, clad in a blue and white striped towel.

"Who was it?" I asked.
"Aleks? He said it was important." My heart skipped a beat.
"Al-Aleks?" He nodded. I took the phone and stared at it.
"Well...are you going to call him back or are you just gonna stare at the phone all day?"
"Oh. Yeah." I hadn't told anyone about Aleks. No one knew that I knew he had ran away. None of the people in my life today knew he even existed. Stacy was the only person I ever told and I hadn't talked to her since I moved. Almost 3 years now.

I opened the phone and pushed the green call button twice. It rang three times before a vaguely familiar voice answered.

"Aleks?" I whispered.
"Jasey..."

People never change.

You're the same person you were four years ago. You just look different. I'm glad you're happy. I'm glad you're not forcing a smile anymore. But everything I had. All the hope I had stored in you...is gone. We don't relate. I think you're forgetting about us all. All the car crash hearts that you created and got through so much shit. I still love you. I still worry about you. But I'm letting you go. I have to. This would be funny if I didn't mean every word of it. I mean this. Good luck baby. I'm so redundant. I'll change my mind tomorrow. But for now. I've let you go.

I can't stand this.

This isn't going to be poetic or anything. I need to vent.
Kay.
I feel like i'm going to be alone forever. Like...there's absolutely NO ONE out there I could put my all into and love forever. But maybe there is. Maybe there's someone out there that feels just like me that I'm meant to be with. And if there is then that person is gonna be all alone in their most desperate times. Just like me. What hurts the most is knowing that there could be someone out there that hurts this bad and has no one to fix it. I want to fix it. I want someone to fix me. I want someone that I can love and hold and lay with. Someone that loves me for me. Someone that feels just like me. I know he's out there somewhere. He has to be. And I need him. And he needs me.

I want to make myself believe you're up there, but you're not. You're just dead.

It's been almost two years. I miss you like crazy.

Chapter 3: Seventeen Ain't So Sweet.

6 months later.





"Jasey. Phone." Stacy said, handing me the cordless. She was being her normal, pleasant self.
"Hello?" I asked.


"Jasey. This is Mr. Perry. Have you seen Aleks?"


"No. Not since school today. He's not home?"


"No. I haven't seen him since last night. Tell him to call me if you see him." He sounded angrier with every word. I nodded then realized he couldn't see me.


"Yeah. I will." I hung up the phone and swallowed the lump in my throat. shit. I thought. I knew what this meant. Aleks was gone. He hadn't let anyone know where he was going or even that he was leaving.

I was crying and didn't even realize it.

"Why are you crying?" Stacy sneared.

"Aleks...he's gone." I mumbled.

"Wait. What do you mean?"

"I mean he fucking ran away." I snapped. I stormed up the stairs before she could say another word. This was one of my worst nightmares. I grabbed my phone to send a text his way.

To: Aleks.
Message: Are you alright?

I waited for near an hour before he finally replied.

From: Aleks.
Message: I'm fine. Don't worry about me. I'm fine. I love you.

To: Aleks.
Message: I love you too. Be careful.

My mind couldn't quite grasp what was happening. Aleks was gone. I had no clue where he was going, but he was gone and I probably wouldn't see him for a while. The real hell is your life gone wrong.

Get some sleep. Except I need you more than I need a nap, ever.

WHEN ALWAYS SOMETIMES JUST MEANS NEVER.

I miss you and you're not even gone. I've got words stuck to my fingertips. The rings around my eyes are just umbrellas to keep you and the rain out. You feel less like home and more like a stranger. Kiss me back to sleep? Nothing seems the same anymore. I need you and them back. I can never sleep because I'm so scared of waking up dead. I can't even put into words the way I feel so alone right now. The house is empty except for my dog and he's asleep. Maybe I could get up and be productive but that would ruin the mood. I want for us to be the same as we were. All of us. All the same. Because change like this sucks. And because we can never really change back. Can't imagine how you feel. Wish you'd think of yourself more. Or maybe less. I'm not sure. Tell me that I'm disrespectful and I've got a bad attitude. I'll back you up. I think if I talk too loud I'll wake someone up. I hope you get it.
Don't leave me.
Don't turn your back on me.

Sometimes it's headaches and sometimes it's heartaches.

Hate me for everything I say and do. I'll hate you just for being you.

Visual Aid: I felt creepy getting these pictures.

Stacy: The bitch.

Aleks: The wreck.

Jasey: The rock.

Chapter 2: I Don't Blame You For Being You.

"Aleks, wake up." I whisper. It's 6:30AM. We're still curled up on the floor and he's still shirtless. He moves a little and groans in pain. I help him sit up. "C'mon, get in the bed." He clutches the right side of his abdomen and crawls onto the bed.

"I think I've got a broken rib." He mumbles.
"It wouldn't surprise me. I'm gonna go tell dad what happened. I'll be right back."
"No. Come her." He pats the bed beside him.
"Aleks..."
"Jasey..." He matches my tone. "I wanna cuddle."
"Fiiiine." I laugh a little and crawl up next to him. He wraps his arms around me and lays his head on my chest. I hold him tight, but not too tight. This is typical Aleks. He craves affection and always has. I've got no problem showing a little bit of it.

Stacy, as usual, interrupts the sweet moment. Her head is wrapped in a sickening hot pink towel and she's dripping water all over my floor.
"Jasey! Why he hell is HE here again?" She scoffs at the lump of battered boy beside me. "And where is my blow dryer?"
"Shut the fuck up, Stacy. It's under the sink." She storms out and slams the door behind her. Most of her actions are unnecessarily bitchy.
"Why is she like that?" He whispers. I can hear the tears catch in his throat.
"Because she has no soul. I dunno why, really. Just ignore her." He nods into my chest. There's a warm spot forming on my shirt, right under his cheek. "Shhh. Don't cry, baby." He doesn't say anything. Neither do I. We just lay there in silence.

"Jasey, can I talk to you?" Dad's standing in the doorway staring questioningly at Aleks. I nod and slip off the bed.
"Yeah?" I ask.
"You know he's not supposed to be here." He explains in his quiet, apologetic voice. Dad holds no problem with me or Aleks. Mom and Stacy do.
"Dad, he had nowhere else to go. He can't stay at his house anymore."
"Why can't he?"
"Because...h-he told his dad he's gay and his dad beat the shit out of him for it." He looks shocked.
"How bad?"
"Pretty bad. I'll explain to mom later, but for now...he has to stay." He nods and gestures me back towards my room.
Aleks is still asleep. I grab a pair of skinnies and a new t-shirt from the closet and get dresses. I don't bother with my hair, just pull it into a loose pony tail. Mom, dad and Stacy are at the kitchen table eating. I sit down across from mom.
"So you snuck that boy in again?" She's got that tone.
"He has a name."
"I don't care, Jasey. You know the rules and you just broke an extremely obvious one." She's raising her voice a little with every word. Dad opens his mouth to say something but decides it's probably a bad idea and closes it.
"His dad hit him again."
"I'd probably hit him too if he was my kid." Stacy scoffs.
"Shut the fuck up, Stacy." I snap.
"Jasey." Dad stops us before we actually start.
"He told his dad that he's gay. He told him and he beat the shit out of him."
"That's what he gets for being a fag." Stacy murmurs. She doesn't think I can hear her. I push my chair back and grab her by her pretty, blond pony tail and push her against the refrigerator. I've got her pinned.
"What the fuck is your problem, Stacy? What makes you think you can talk about ANYONE like that?" I yell. I'm no more than three inches from her face and she looks scared shitless.
"Get off of me!" She whines.
"You're a cold, heartless bitch." I give her one last shove and retreat to my bedroom. She's crying and mom's commenting on my unnecessary behavior. Aleks is curled into the fetal position at the head of the bed. He's crying.
"You heard, didn't you?" I ask. He nods.

Chapter One: After Everything I've seen and All I've had, God Must be a Mean, Lonely Man.

I was in that state where you're not quite asleep because your brain still regesters everything that's going on around you, but you're for sure not awake when my phone went off. Midnight texts were nothing out of the ordinary. I fumbled for my phone in the dark, found it under a pillow, and flipped it open.
From: Aleks.
Message: Asleep or dead?

It happened again. He never texts me this late unless something happens.

To: Aleks.
Message: Awake and unafraid.

No more than a minute later my phone vibrates again.

From: Aleks.
Message: I'm coming over.

Long story short; Aleks' dad is an abusive asshole. Most of it happens at night, and when it does, he comes to my house. He lives 3 doors down. I slide out of bed and pull a hoodie over my shorts and v-neck-tee. The knees socks I was wearing had rolled down around my ankles. I pull them back up to their proposed spot and open my door as quietly as possible. The light under Stacy's door is off and my parents' bedroom door is pulled to. The coast is clear. I tip-toe down the stairs. Kingston stirs in his bed beside the couch. I open the door and he lifts his head, growls, realizes who I am, the goes back to sleep.
Aleks is coming up the road. I let the door click shut behind me. The July air is warm and stagnant. The hoodie was unnecessary. He's crying. His hair's a mess and he hasn't changed his clothes in more than two days. Anyone else tmight call the tall, dark, thin figure walking down the sidewalk sketchy or creepy. To me it's the sadest thing I've ever seen.I met him at the end of the driveway. His eyes are bloodshot and the left side of his face is swollen and bruised. There's a trickle of blood running down his cheekbone. He winces as I wipe the blood away with the sleeve of my hoodie. I'd seen the aftermath of their fights plenty of times, but in the eleven years we'd been friends, I'd never seen it this bad. I was scared to hug him. Scared to touch him. I take his hand carefully and lead him into the house. Kingston doesn't move a muscle this time. There's still no light coming from under Stacy's door.
Despite the fact that we're twins, we're the complete opposite of each other. She's popular and preppy and captain of the cheerleading squad. She hangs out with the jocks and plastic bimbos and hates kids like me and Aleks. I'm an outcast who sticks to "talk shit, get hit." and fucks up the blond bimbo's faces when they throw things at new kids.
I close and lock the door behind us before turning on the light. "C'mon" I whisper. I direct him towards the bed and he sits down. He whimpers slightly and another tear forms. "Here. Take off your shirt. Let me see." I helpp him pull the black Chiodos shirt over his head.
"FUCK!" He groans.
"Oh god. I'm sorry." There's a bruise about the size of my arm that reaches from right above his belt, up his ribs, and to the middle of his back. Among that there are other tiny bruises and cuts. Both of his wrists are bruised and swollen. There's a line of bright red, puffy cuts all the way up his right side and I know they're not from his dad. He's staring down at his shoes in shame. I crouch down in front of him and tilt his chin up. The light illuminates the bruises and the gash over his left eye."Aleks, what happened? How did this start?" He just shakes his head and looks back at his shoes. They're three year old Converse All Stars and he refuses to part with them. At the moment they seem extremely interesting. "Aleks...please?"
"I told him." He mumbles.
"Told him what?" He doesn't answer. "What the fuck did you tell him?"
"That I'm gay." I don't know what to say or do. All I can do is try my best not to cry. I pull him into a careful hug."I told him because he asked me what my deal was and so I told him and he h-hates me even more now and I don't know what to do cause I can't go back home and...I just don't know what to fucking do, Jasey." He's sobbing into my shoulder. His voice is muffled by the fabric and I can barely hear him, but I hear enough.
"Shhhhh." I slip down onto the floor and pull him down with me. I've never seen him cry like this either. "Shhh. We'll fix this. Things will get better." I rock him like a small child. He's still crying. I'm still crying. I don't think I can fix this.