what if I were 2 tell you something about you[open

[main;82ABA7]
[speech;297D95]
[emphasis;A0D4A4]
[adhd;278064]
[other;EEE7D5]

I don't know why they had to go and mess with my schedule today i always complain about nothing changing but routine is the only thing that holds me down and without it the world starts rushing even faster until i'm nothing but a bundle of overstimulated senses that has to go run move before everything becomes unbearable and send me outside during what would usually be my time slot for Music Therapy, but the purple ink that shimmers faintly in the sunlight against the skin of my forearm seems to mock me with the absence of the only good part of my day, replaced now with roaming around the carefully-patrolled sunlight with nothing to do everything is too bright even underground and now in this new environment of sun and breeze and sounds of the forest crashing around in my head it's too much to handle at once and oh god please someone just give me a pair of drumsticks so I can think straight but twiddle my thumbs until the hour passes and I can retreat back inside and away from Outdoor Recreation: 1600h-1700h.

They just don't get that I won't get any better. I won't take my meds (and dammit I'm an adult now and they can't make me swallow those zombie pills), I won't try to train myself to sit still it's so hard to stay in one place because the world is too fast and i have to keep up but everyone else is so slow that i just can't make myself stick around long enough to pay attention no matter what because it almost hurts to not throw myself into the raging current and let myself become the blur that i live in for any stretch of time, and everyone should just know by now that there's no alternative therapy that's ever going to work better than my drums. Just thinking about the painstakingly cared-for set that's sitting all lonely in the corner of my room makes my fingers itch for a pair of sticks my hands are too still and i don't like it and there's nothing more i want in the world to just get out of all this lightsoundsmell tsunami that keeps crashing over my head and go back inside and play until i'm so tired that the world slows down to give me a rest and the rhythms from my hands can work their way through my veins and remind me that i'm still here and my foot tap out an inaudible kick drum beat against the odd softness of verdant grass, every nerve ending alive and on edge because my focus is nonexistent long gone and I have to move before this buzzing in my head takes over and I break down.

For most people Outdoor Recreation is an opportunity to lie in the grass and bask in the sun, all quiet and still and everything that makes my skin crawl with apprehension when I think of forcing myself into such a stagnant state. No one questions me when I leave the group of people I've known since childhood they all look at me with this look like pity because after graduation they became doctors and accountants and all those jobs behind a desk that i could never have because i could never stay still so instead i got shuffled through more jobs i couldn't do and then they just sent me back to the school to teach kids music because they finally figured out i was useless without the beat and kind of useless with it too and take off at a brisk pace towards I-don't-know-what. It's almost like they know the idea of being an island of motion in a static sea has never been fun for me, that I'd rather bounce off the walls alone, where there's no one to judge me.

It's easier when there's no one watching. Easier to let my fingers drum out frantic little snare solos against the sides of my legs as footsteps provide a bass line, imagining that this is almost as good as what it would be if I'd been allowed to have my usual time to take out all the tension that thrums through every cell in my body with a pair of wooden rods against unyielding mylar until the shockwaves shoot up my arms and it feels for once like I can actually breathe easy in a world that floods my lungs. I don't pay attention my mind just doesn't want to zero in on things because it takes more effort than i've got in me and even when i can concentrate just for a little bit it hurts and i have to move because the longer i try the faster the world goes and i'm paralyzed with fear that it'll leave me behind and as much as i hate the warped insides of my own head i'm tied to this beautiful disaster that i live and knowing that makes me not want to let it go to the gradual fade of muttering human voices until there's nothingness in their place; the only thing my mind will cling to for more than a fleeting moment is the impromptu rhythms blooming step-tap-tap-step-taptaptap-step-tap from the motions of my feet and never-ceasing hands.

I guess they thought reflecting upon nature's glory would calm me down, that the sunlight on my skin and the wind through the overlong light-brown mop of my hair would have some sort of magical, peaceful affect that would replace my hyperactive antics with nirvana-like tranquility. Or maybe the neighbors were just complaining about there are so many things alive out here and it's not peaceful at all with all the movement and sound and there's an honest-to-god squirrel running up a tree trunk a few yards away with sharp little movements that remind me of myself the noise again. Either way, the focus I have never possessed still refuses to come, my eyes widening into energized pools of electric blue as they rush to take in everything at once, darting around from tree to ground to that squirrel to the sky to the guy standing a few feet away and--

Oh, hello, strange dude in the woods. Didn't expect to see you here.

It's odd to see someone who looks as out of it as I always, always feel, but I don't have time my mind won't let me stop to think about who he is or why he's here because i'm standing still and my head has to kick into overdrive to make up for the movement my body won't provide to ruminate on this fact before he starts, surprised. "Holy crap, Ninja?"

I jump as well, spring-wound body sending me whirling around to look behind me. "Where?!" Oh. He means me. I guess that should have been apparent it was always so funny when the teachers said i was slow because i wasn't i was fast i was faster than any of them could handle and the information was just to slow for me to process from the beginning, but I've never been too great at picking up on things. The fear of rogue shinobi circling the bracken ready to slice me limb from limb with all varieties of weapons assuaged, I turn back to the guy he's a little younger than me with big dark eyes but that's all i notice because there's another squirrel on the tree behind him and the way it moves is fascinating with a half-there grin, fingers starting up their drum solo again. "Nah, man. I'm not a ninja. That'd be wicked awesome though, not gonna lie. Leaping through the trees and stuff. Throwing ninja stars. Cutting stuff up with swords. Hey, speaking of trees, there are a bunch of them out here. Where is here? I'm kinda lost. I'm not sure what time it is. If I get off schedule again they'll be majorly pissed. But I mean, I think they messed up my schedule today anyway. I have no business being out here. But the trees are cool. And the squirrels, like that one over there. Hi, I'm Jace."

And the sad thing is that I'm proud of myself for being a bit more coherent and on-track than usual.

<><From the start, it's never silent><>

"Is it really num-chucks? That's such a weird pronunciation. And your inflection is different too. Maybe you just have a cool accent. I always thought it was nunchucks, like, you know, nuns. Have you ever seen a nun? I saw one on TV once, and it was weird. Why do they wear those head-things?" People always told me that I didn't have a filter but whatever i think just comes out and there's really no way to stop it even though sometimes i really want to because i know i sound stupid and i annoy people but i swear it isn't my fault they seemed to think it was something I could help, that the convoluted mess that falls out of my mouth every time I try to speak coherently i have real thoughts i really do and sometimes they're deep and valuable and i want to make them heard but something always interrupts them because it's all so distracting and i can't concentrate long enough to get them out is something I manufacture intentionally. They all act like my life isn't hard and they're the ones suffering as a result of my chemically-imbalanced, warped little noggin, and even though I'm generally pretty sunny there are times when it makes me want to punch them all in the throat.

"All squirrels are evil, blame them for the schedule mess-ups," Mysterious Guy throws somewhere into the mix, but I'm on a tangent and dammit it's one of the ones where I just can't stop, every rapidfire articulation accented with the continuing tattoo that my fingers play out in soft taps against the fabric of my jeans. I give new meaning to being tightly-wound i'm always twitching bouncing drumming and it really does tire me out sometimes but even then i can never bring myself to stop because after so long the movement is who i am and if i stop i'm afraid my heart might too with my too-wide smiles and constant motion (my feet are rooted to the ground by the force of my willpower but the rest of me has to move); there are some days when I wonder if my insides are really an assorted variety of springs.

Despite the fact that I hate them with a fiery passion, my mind is drawn back to the memory of what it feels like on the rare occasion when I actually take my medication. I'm not exactly fond of the side effects, but it makes the world slow down but it's in the most awful way and there's no clarity and i feel like i'm just dead and shuffling through life without any spark and i'd take the rushing and movement and lack of focus over being a zombie any day because i can't i just can't take those little white pills that turn me into something other than who i really am right now when I'm buoyed on a tidal wave of word vomit, that little orange plastic bottle on my nightstand is starting to look pretty tempting sometimes i take them because on really bad days it's all too much and it makes the rushing and this buzzing in my head that's the sound of everything at once come to a halt and even though i want to be stronger than this quick little monster called adhd i can never quite seem to find my strength on the days when even drumming doesn't help amid the blurring rush of pointless verbalization and Mysterious Guy's odd stare and that damn squirrel that's still running around on the tree.

"Why are squirrels evil? I think they're cool. I mean, come on, just look at the little guy. It's not like he could steal your wallet or anything. Well, I guess he probably could, but I doubt squirrels are actually smart enough to plot petty theft. I had my wallet stolen one time. My mom says I probably just lost it, but I know for sure that some douchenozzle took it. I don't lose stuff. That often. You would think living in Thirteen would be incentive not to steal since if you get caught they'll hand your ass to you on a silver platter, but noooo. Although I did steal some pencils from school one time. But that was because my friend dared me to, and they totally didn't miss them, so I guess that's different…"

"…Hey, hey?"

"I was like, ten years old, too. I doubt they would have arrested me for snagging some pencils in fifth grade. But I mean, a wallet? That's serious business. Not that I had anything in there. Just my ID and stuff, but it was a pain to get all of it replaced. Maybe one of those ninjas you were talking about took it," The briefest pause to breathe, a scintillating grin there was this really pretty girl that sat next to me in math class in ninth grade who told me i had the most gorgeous smile she'd ever seen and i forget her name but i remember that she had really shiny brown hair and she smelled like peaches and that we ended up awkwardly making out in a supply closet before the semester was over that flashes even white teeth in the afternoon sun. "Wait… what was I talking about? Ninjas? Dude, I want to be a ninja. I bet there's like a secret legion of rebel ninjas that no one knows about, like an elite force. It's like an autonomous collective of professional badasses…"

"…Really, for God's sake… Jace?"

"Yeah? Hey, you remembered my name, cool! I don't think you told me yours. But you might have. I don't pay very close attention to things. What's your name? You look like an Elliot. I'm just gonna call you Elliot, okay? It suits you better than whatever your real name is. Oh man, it would be really cool if your name was actually Elliot. It'd be like I was psychic or someth--"

Oh, hello, strange dude in the woods. Didn't expect you to mouth-rape me all of a sudden.

I'm not sure what makes me give pause, because the fact that I've given pause for once in my life is enough to almost knock me off my feet in shock (as if the shock of having a random stranger jumping me wasn't enough), the combination of these two mental thunderbolts making me suck in a sharp breath and stare with widened babyblue eyes that don't really see anything it's such a change to see nothing instead of everything at once and this oh my god this is clarity and it's not the bad kind the pills give me but it's like the world's slowed down enough for me to breathe and i'm still distracted but it's not by everything rushing together it's by the little things like how my muscles are relaxing a little bit and i can feel my eyelids fluttering shut and holy hell am i actually reciprocating this mayhem and foolishness and he kind of tastes like raspberries and--

WOAH THERE.

Heavy lids snapping back to their upright and locked position, I jump back like I've been burned on something (my lips do tingle like I've been macking on Mom's curling iron instead of some creepy creeper in the forest), the springs in me tightening back to their normal quivering tension in such a short time that it's not even funny. Still, for a while motion my body's telling me to move but for some reason i can't even though everything is starting to rush again and through it all i can't even force my fingers to start their drumbeat again evades me, leaving me with mouth agape and eyes the size of the moon staring owlishly at the darker-haired boy.

Silence. Blink, blink. More silence. Blink again.

"Dude! What was that, man? I mean, I know that there are some people out there who are more affectionate than others, but I usually draw the line at bro-hugs, ya know? Especially since I just met you… Um, Elliot. Did I say I was calling you Elliot? Yeah, I did. Anyway, I mean, I appreciate the gesture, but at least buy me dinner first or something. That was totally unexpected. Do you do that to everyone you meet? Because I have a few single lady-friends who would love to meet you if that's the case. I could totally hook you up, Elliot. But I think some tact reform would be in order. I'm pretty sure getting all up in someone's grill right out of the starting gate is socially taboo."

Ah, there are my words. All ten million of them.

I decide to go ahead and like Elliot. True, while I'm not exactly copacetic with being macked on by random strangers, he seems a little more tolerant of me (kissing someone means you at least can tolerate them, right?) than most people they don't say anything most of the time but there's this look in their eyes that they all think i can't see that just screams that they think i'm less of a person than they are just because i can't stay still and it's like they think i'm adhd first and jace second and i hate it tend to be. It's rare to find someone who will actually attempt to carry on a conversation with me that isn't Jace, try to focus, okay? or really, it might be better if you just took your meds, and I feel the beginnings of a real, genuine, grateful smile start to pull at the corners of my mouth as he starts to respond, something about spazzy arms that I don't really pay attention to because of that squirrel behind him really reminds me of myself because it just darts around everywhere and never really makes any progress toward anything that matters my infinitesimal amount of concentration being drawn to the way his lips move around the words rather than the words themselves. It's an odd thing to notice, but it's noticing something for once, so I can't complain or question it. Much.

"…C'mon. You talk so much."

Just when you decide to believe that someone is chill with you. And I try to keep my face from crumpling and the hurt from skating across my features, I really do, but despite my effort I feel my smile die abruptly and my eyes lose their spark as they drop their gaze to the bright green grass surrounding my feet. I should be used to in now, I should, but it was always so awful in school when people made fun of me and said i was weird and then devyn always had to stick up for me and i felt so weak for having to be protected by my twin sister because i just couldn't stop long enough to defend myself that old familiar sensation of something very sharp stabbing into my chest and my stomach sinking into my shoes makes an appearance, and I'm faced again with the realization that I'll never get used to it. Being a freak. People calling me on it. Never being the right in the head.

Elliot keeps talking, and if I wasn't going on an inner angst-fest and being unnecessarily butt-hurt about the fact that he told me the truth i know that i talk to much but sometimes when i get started i can't stop and i know it's annoying because hell i annoy myself sometimes but it doesn't stop it from hurting when someone says something about it because it just makes me remember what a mess i am I might laugh at the irony about how our roles have switched and he's the one blathering on about things while I stand in more-than-sullen observation. But after what he said, I'm afraid to open my mouth again for fear that a another tidal wave of words would spill out, too fast for me to stop. So I bite back my response, Yeah, I have a ton of friends who are girls, but most of them have dark hair. My best friend Ophelia has dark hair and she's really pretty, why do you only want to know about my blonde friends? My sister's blonde, and even though I love her she's kinda mean and uptight. Maybe you should look for something other than hair color for your romantic selections, just saying. That's kinda shallow, Elliot, but I mean, I guess kissing strangers in the woods and then telling them they talk too much kinda makes you two-faced, so maybe being shallow isn't your worst flaw, opting for an incredibly uncomfortable stillness and silence that makes my veins burn and my teeth dig into my bottom lip with the herculean effort of maintaining it.

It reminds me of back in school, when I'd get the same feeling every time I'd try to sit through math class or actually read my English assignments instead of staring out the window or drumming on my desk. It would just get so hard to stay still and I'd eventually end up moving or losing my train of thought or i'm really starting to hate this damned squirrel because it's distracting and what the hell am i doing out here anyway i should be sitting in my room behind a drum set because that's the only place where i feel normal bombing a test because I just didn't work the same way the other kids did. I caught crap for it, being that hyper kid, Devyn caught crap for being that hyper kid's sister, and worst of all, my mom caught crap for not raising those children up right, they need a father. And as much as Mom and Dev swore that it wasn't my fault, I'd catch one of them crying every once in a while and the guilt would be enough to make me knock back one of those awful pills every day for about a week until I couldn't stand them anymore and the whole cycle would start again.

"I'm sorry," I mumble in lieu of answering Elliot's question, painfully still arms finally giving into the impulse to move and starting up their drum solo against the sides of my legs again. "I do talk too much. I try not to, but sometimes I just start and it's like I keep running off at the mouth forever. I kinda have ADHD really bad and it makes things difficult."

I don't know why the hell I'm saying it, because normally I would never own up to having a legitimate problem to anyone, much less a complete stranger with a penchant for mouth-raping people. It's not that I'm ashamed (although something in me does this odd little cringe whenever someone says those four letters it always makes me feel like being who i am is wrong and there's a name for it and as much as i'll swear that i'm not my adhd when the doctors go throwing all that medical jargon around it makes me feel like that's all i am and gives me that look that makes me feel about two inches tall), but I don't like sticking labels on myself; other people do enough of that for me. And under Elliot's gaze with those bottomless-looking dark eyes, I can almost feel spaz and awkward and freak scrawling themselves out across my forehead.

"But yeah, I should probably go. You know, go talk to the scheduling people. I'm supposed to be in my room playing drums right now, and I really don't want to get stuck walking around outside for the rest of forever if there's some kind of glitch in the computer. Nice meeting you, Elliot. Sorry for bugging you." Actually feeling my face flush, I turn on my heel and head back what I hope is the direction I came from, trying to focus on something other than how disproportionately mortified I feel. I don't look back.

I tell myself that there's nothing worth looking back for.

<><I don't want to be sad anymore, and how I wish I was in love><>

I've never had many friends it was always just me and ophelia and malakai but we didn't really count as friends in the beginning because we were all so different from everyone else that it was more like us banding together to stop the world from eating us alive in my life, but if I had to guess, I'd probably say that Ro (whose name turns out to be the furthest thing from Elliot I could have never imagined) is a pretty good pal. Sure, there are rough spots, the times where he retreats into his own head and my inane babbling can't bring him back, the times when my inane babbling ends up keeping him here longer than he wants and before I know it there's the sharp snap of a rubber band stinging my arm and a for God's sake, just shut up for like two seconds, okay? reverberating in my ears.

Yes, there are rough spots. But we manage.

But the one rough spot that refuses to be smoothed over is a certain incident of lip contact that occurred a few weeks ago. We don't talk about it. We don't. It's just one of those unspoken rules like how I'm not supposed to prattle on about anything that doesn't involve my single lady friends for more than five minutes and how Ro's supposed to share his lunch with me when his sister cooks, since no one in my family has enough culinary skill to make anything more palatable than what I can get in Thirteen's dining hall anyway (Brynn's food, though... I'm fairly convinced that the woman's some kind of kitchen goddess). We haven't talked about the incident since it happened, and part of me knows that neither of us really want to explore it for fear of what we'll find as if i'm not weird enough with my constant twitching drumming moving and if you add being sexually confused into that i might as well just become a hermit because life with other people is hard enough already and i'm not even going to think about it i'm not because there are certain things that you can't take back once they embed themselves in your mind buried underneath what could potentially just be written off as hormonal imbalance and the heat going to our brains, but every (rare) time that there's silence between the two of us I can just feel it hanging there, too heavy and altogether present to be comfortable. But we don't talk about it.

We don't.

"Hey," I answer his brief nod with a bright smile and energetic wave, eyes immediately drawn dev always tells me that i'm more of a chick than any guy she knows because while most dudes pride themselves on stoicism my heart is right out there on my sleeve and my emotions march themselves across my face for everyone to see but i can't help it because it all moves to fast for me to stop it even if i wanted to to the brown paper bag clutched in his hand. "What'd Brynn make today? Dude, it smells good and you're like, five feet away. You are sharing with me, right? Because the dining hall menu today is some kind of stroganoff that I think might have something in it that's alive, and I'm really not cool with trying to choke that stuff down. So yeah, what kind of day have you had? Mine's been okay. Kids got off early today because of some kind of assembly, so I didn't even have to teach except for like the first two periods of the day. It's been kind of boring, just sitting around and filing sheet music and stuff. Oh hey, there's Ophelia and Dev. Hi!"

My focus breaks apart from Ro and our one-sided conversation long enough for me to send a frantic wave that's just shy of flailing in the direction of my sister and best friend, who have apparently finished their lunch and are ducking out of the dining hall to pursue some other adventure (translated: Dev is off to do her job and Pheels is tagging along like she always does), before my attention snaps back to Ro and I pick up my train of thought as easily as if I'd never and as odd as it is he really does make it a little easier to concentrate where otherwise i'd be lost put it down.

"But yeah, what are you scheduled for next?" Physical boundaries have never been my thing (and if he wants to bitch at me about it I won't hesitate to inform him that they're not his thing either), so there's no hesitation in the motion of me reaching across the table and closing my fingers around his wrist, yanking it toward me until I can place our forearms side by side and examine the activities inked into the skin on each of them. "Man, we're never scheduled for anything together. It's a good thing I teach because we never see each other anywhere but school. But yeah, I've got Music Therapy after this; I think the computer glitched again because they gave me an extra hour. Not complaining, though. Totally not complaining."

It never ceases to be odd when someone asks the inevitable question so, what do you do? and I reply with I'm a music teacher. Well, teacher's aide, technically, but I do get to teach a lot and they let me use the teacher's lounge and everything and it's pretty cool, but it's kinda weird because I'm only a year older than a couple of my students. And while it's rich for the same troupe of people who spent thirteen years throwing me in detention and otherwise attempting to crush my spirit like a nasty bug to now have to treat me as a coworker instead of that annoying little shit from their fourth period History class (and I've heard Acerbus say those actual words before, not that he ever made any effort to hide them), there are times where it makes me feel a little more alone than I already do most of the time.

This stretch of thought has left Ro and I hanging in another one of those odd silences, and I feel it again, that heaviness in the space between us, unspoken and foreboding and everything that kind of makes me want to get up and run away even though I pride myself on having better self-control than that (most of the time). But still, it's uncomfortable, even more so when I realize that I still haven't released my grip on his wrist. Sighing, I let go, using my free hand to push a few stray strands of hair back from my forehead. "Dude, we're gonna have to talk about it sometime. We can't just keep dancing around it like this."

"What are we talking about here, dude? Your sister is shucking hot, and your 'best friend' is smoking. God, dude, you never did set me up, did you?" Ro throws out in a strained voice that's supposed to be good natured, like he doesn't know that I know him better than that, and I'm not quite sure what it is i know exactly what is but it's a mix of so many things like protectiveness and possessiveness for more than one person and maybe just maybe a little bit of jealousy that he doesn't look at me that way that makes my eyes harden to an icy glare and my lips purse in very easily seen displeasure.

"I'm not setting you up with Ophelia. And you're not Devyn's type." The words take form in that voice, the flat, colorless one that likes to appear when I'm upset or cautious or territorial or, in this case, all three. I'm not worried about Dev, she's proven time and time again that she can take care of herself when it comes down to the suitors she never seems to have time for, but there's just something about the way Ro seems to watch Pheels whenever she's around that causes a shiver or irritation to shoot up my spine. See, I've got this thing where I believe that once I put my fingerprints on something that it's mine. Maybe it's childish and selfish, and maybe Ophelia and I aren't like that anymore and haven't been like that with each other for almost four years, but we were once upon a time and that's all that matters. And it's even worse when she reciprocates it, when she grins at Ro with a smile that was always mine before and laughs with my laugh and reminds me how fragile my grip is on everything I hold close to my heart, because those precious lipfingerprints that mark what I call my own decorate both of them with pretty little brands that only I can see, and watching them smiling and laughing with each other and leaving me to my own lonely devices when they're both mine, mine, mine is almost more than I can handle. "Besides, I don't think Pheels likes you that much. She's weird with people. Don't take it personally."

i've never liked lying but sometimes i just have to when the truth has the potential to make me lose everything and i'm more scared than i'd ever want to admit when i think about everything in the world that i've ever loved running off somewhere far away where i can't follow and leaving me alone with all these things that are so much heavier than i'm able to bear on my own...

When my thoughts let me tune back into the real world and not the darkest corners of my mind filled with all those nasty insecurities that never see the light of day, Ro is gone, and really, the startling pain of his absence isn't all that surprising given my when your world moves as fast as mine does everything and everyone always seems to leave so when i find someone that will stay for a while i tend to make them a part of me even though it only makes it hurt more when they move on too and with the exception of ophelia they always always do eventually tendency to assimilate entirely into anything that makes me feel grounded and normal in a world that blurs together too quickly for me to ever feel like I can do anything but let the tide of it carry me along (maybe I'm just weak and the reason no one stays is they can stand up through the rush when all I ever do is give in, and I'll always be this lost, lonely thing inside). There are some people that would say I have abandonment issues, and I wouldn't exactly disagree with them except for the fact that it's not really so much an issue as it is an irrefutable fact.

People always leave. Always.

A minute to close my eyes, take a deep breath, and slide them open again, pulling the shutters across the wide aquamarine windows that have this bad habit of showing exactly what I feel. Stand up, pick up my tray of untouched food and do my level best to ignore the bitter loss regret knowledge that it's never good enough taste that stains the backs of my teeth. Blink, blink. Sigh. Move on.

After this disaster of a conversation, I'm honestly glad that I don't have to go back to school and try to teach when I've got so much emotional baggage sitting on a mind that can only handle a few things at a time before everything goes to hell in a hand-basket. It's not that I hate my job or anything, in fact, I like it quite a bit better than any number of other unpleasant careers I could have been forced into. It doesn't get much better that being paid to play music all day, and really, I kinda have a way with the younger kids, maybe because they have a funny way of knowing that I'm just one of them stuck in a grown-up body, so we get along better than I ever did with any of my teachers. There are those little moments that make it worthwhile, watching all the little underdogs thrive in a way I never seemed to, seeing the shyest of my second graders crack a smile when she learns to play the recorder before everyone else in her class is even able to hold one the right way, watching everyone's jaw drop when that dreamy-gazed Summarell girl in my senior class whose eyes are almost as blue as mine opens her mouth to sing, teaching Ophelia to play the piano and playfully threatening to flunk her if she doesn't practice… The pros outweigh the cons any day of the week, but right now I just can't.

It's not even that far of a walk from the dining hall back to the apartment, but my normally spring-bottomed feet seem to drag and the distance feels like a million miles before I'm slipping the same old key into the same old lock and turning the same old knob on the same old door, and for a moment everything seems so monotonous and nothing seems worth it anymore ophelia always says i'm more of a drama queen than she is and sometimes i'd agree with her but sometimes life just hurts and it's not possible for me to smile and pretend that everything's okay when nothing ever is as I step into the living room with a sigh, putting on a halfhearted grin for my mother's sake (she worries about me too much already, no use making her fret over even more things that she can't help). "Hey, Mom. Dev working late again?"

"Dev's always working late. She's going to work herself to death someday." I want to say that Mom should know something about working herself to death, working at innumerable odd jobs to raise two kids on her own, but I know better. She's one of those people that will wave off any sort of praise, saying she was just doing her job, even though Dev and I both know that she's the closest thing to a superhero that either of us has ever seen. It's her quiet determination that made both of us who we are, even though Devyn is a slightly more uptight but otherwise perfect replica of her whereas I'm a spaz and only seemed to inherit her facial structure and Little Engine That Could-esque tenacity.

Working up another one of those lazy half-smiles, I sit my bag of Music Theory papers that have to be graded by tomorrow down on the table and edge around the various other clutter so I can pull her into a quick hug, looking down into what will be Dev's face in twenty-some years, big brown eyes framed by barely-noticeable crow's feet and full lips pursed in concern that never seems to leave, pressing my lips into a tousled nest of blonde waves that are becoming streaked with more and more gray as the years pass (I may be short compared to most guys but she's tiny, five-foot-nothing but with a strong, confident way of carrying herself that was something that only Devyn seemed to get, and a death glare that could stop Goliath in his tracks that I've mastered after years of having it used on me). "She'll be fine, Mom. Dev is… Well, Dev. It'd be weird if she wasn't being perfect at everything. Good thing you've got me to screw everything up and balance her out."

"Don't talk about yourself like that, J," she says, brows knitting together as she reaches up and does that annoying mom-son thing where she tries to fix my hair even though I like it messy. "I worry when you're down on yourself, sweetheart. It's not like you. Oh, I nearly forgot, your friend's here. The one Ophelia's taken such a liking to… Ro, I think? He's in your room, anyway."

And there's that twitch of annoyance at the mention of Ro and Pheels together in any sense of the word, but I'm a skilled enough actor to hide clenched teeth with a closed-lipped grin and nod. "Okay, cool."

The acting disappears when I shut my bedroom door with an emphatic click, though, the little laser guns behind my eyes switching from stun to kill as I stare down the taller boy, not even knowing how to put what's going on in my head why did you have to just bust into my life and turn it all upside down and it's not like i don't have enough to deal with already without you and ophelia wanting to dance off into the sunset and leave me in the dust when the truth is i need the both of you to the point it's kind of scary and just who the hell exactly do you think you are that gives you the right to play around with my heart like that into coherent words.

So I don't.

I just fling myself behind my drums because that's the only place besides beneath the glowing stars on Ophelia's ceiling that I'll ever feel safe, wrapping my hands around the first pair of sticks I can find and manufacturing such an intricate, complicated beat that for a few blissful minutes I just lose myself in it and forget that anything else even exists. The problem with that is that I remember. I look up, slightly out of breath, arms tingling and hair even messier than before and eyes locking onto a pair of bottomless dark ones, and I remember everything in me that wants to say a million words but can only stare accusingly and grind out a few sentences. "You knew what I was talking about, Ro. Don't even try to lie and say you didn't, because you knew. You know. So we can either talk about it calmly like grown-ups or we can keep sweeping it under the rug until it happens again and the whole cycle starts over. Take your pick."

<><In the sickness of you, I'm just a white blood cell><>

They always said I was slow. Doctors, teachers, all of those people i never really thought their opinions were worth much because how much could they really know if they called me slow when in reality i was faster than any of them could ever dream of who like to pretend that they know the inside of my head better than I do. And I let them talk because after hearing about what a disappointment I am for nineteen years I don’t get angry about it anymore. Really, I don’t. But that idea, that phrase is the one thing that can still manage to put my teeth on edge and really make me feel like no matter how much I try to be like everyone else i gave up on that a long time ago because i’d sooner be hated for who i am than loved for who i’m not that it will never be enough. And it’s not even the actual words that do it, but rather that look, that pointing out the obvious because Jace is too slow to see it on his own tone of voice that Ro adopts as he looks at me with those damnable dark eyes of his and acts like I’m the slowest thing in the world. Just like the rest of them.

“You’re a goddamn dude, Jace.”

I’m not sure what it is about that statement that makes me laugh, but I don’t like it, something that should be uplifting twisting on my lips until it’s this bitter, convoluted thing that’s so weighed down with a malicious intent that it makes something in the back of my jumbled mind flash an inaudible warning i’ve never been like this before because it’s just one of those rules that you can’t argue like dev will always be on time and ophelia will always be there when i need her (except for when she isn’t) and i’m not mean to people because i know too well how it feels that gets lost behind eyes that narrow to aquamarine slits and a mouth that’s so used to smiling cramps up at the foreign motion of an actual sneer. “No shit, Sherlock. The thing is that you didn’t seem to mind the fact that I’m a dude when you decided to kiss me.”

There. I’ve said it. The words are in the air, the silent taboo has been broken, and it’s all laid out so he doesn’t have a choice to bury his steel vault of a head in the sand anymore. That selfish part of me says that maybe I’m only mad because I’m jealous of him, and maybe I am. Ro can hide from his demons by wrapping himself in a thick cloak of memories that never leave while all I can ever do to get away from mine is drum until everything else falls away, and maybe, just maybe I wish that for a little while I could understand what it’s like to have the world locked up tight and unable to escape instead of watching it slip through my fingers like I’m trying to catch smoke with my bare hands. There are all these warring forces in me that envy him and hate him and hint at a feeling that’s even scarier than anything I want to think about right now, not when the flood of words builds and presses at my throat and threatens to spill in a tide of lost, broken, half-formed thought over a wall of insecurities a mile thick.

“You think I’m not scared? I’m not confused? Try pulling yourself out of your own head and take a look at how this affects someone besides you, Ro.” The sentences shouldn’t feel so thick on my tongue, like I’m talking around a mouthful of cotton. There shouldn’t be this tension thrumming behind my ribcage, and damn it all, there shouldn’t be liquid fire lapping quietly behind my eyes until I have to squeeze them shut and breathe once, twice, stale underground air filtering through constricted lungs that don’t want to cooperate none of me ever wants to play along with what the world wants and maybe that’s why everyone leaves because i’m too dysfunctional for their comfort until I have a marginally better grasp on the last fragile strings of my sanity even though looking back up at him pulls at the spider-silk strands until they scream in protest. “It’s not easy for me either because I don’t know what I want or who I even am anymore and you just refuse to acknowledge that it even happened! It happened, Ro, it did, and you plugging your ears and pretending otherwise won’t change it! But no, you’re only concerned with your blondes and your flirting and your trying to steal my best friend, and the fact that this has really messed me up means nothing to you because you’re a selfish, immature little prick!”

I’m on a steady crescendo and the fact that Mom can probably hear a muffled version of my tirade from outside doesn’t escape my notice, but all I can really bring myself to pull my rapid-fire almost-focus onto is this thing trying to claw at my soul until it’s ripped to useless ribbons and the fact that I still have a white-knuckled grip on my sticks, the worn wooden surfaces that have beaten out a million things that sat on my shoulders and slowed me down in my whirlwind world doing nothing to bring the comfort that they always have before. I’ve never felt this… hopeless? Lost? Torn? I don’t even know myself anymore, and I can’t help but feel i always swore that i’d never lose myself because myself was all i really had and now i feel what it’s like to be left with absolutely nothing in a world that doesn’t want me that the boy perched on my bed has robbed me of that sense of identity. I hate love want never know where I stand with him, and that ambiguity threatens to destroy me.

“I’m messed up and I don’t know how to be normal but then you come in with your goddamn eyes and I start to feel like maybe I can be something someone will want but I can never hold onto anything and everybody always leaves! Everybody!” I’m frantic by this point, drowning in a sea of emotions that twist and warp and hurt oh god please just stay because i can’t take one more person giving up on me and i need you more than i should and i’m sorry but loneliness is something i just can’t do like nothing I’ve ever experienced. “And I knew it! I knew you'd leave too because they all do and the harder I try to hold you here the more you want to go!"

The last word is punctuated by my arm snapping forward, and the drum stick is sailing through the air, cartwheeling across the room before I even have time to register what’s happening. It makes contact in a split second, smacking against the back of his head with a sharp crack that makes me wince even though right now I’m angry enough to just haul off and punch him square in the jaw if I had half a mind to (but that’s always my problem isn’t it never having half a mind to do anything). It’s almost like the stick took all of that fury from me and sent it flying away too, because the next thing I know I’m slumping down defeatedly behind the safe haven of my drum set and casting weary eyes in the direction of the boy with all the world’s memories. “You know, if I didn’t like you so much, I’d really, really hate you.”