A Disastrous Obsession

fiCTion

a DisasTrous obsession

by CoDy TiGue

Editor’s Choice

You always said prom would be perfect. You would find the right girl and both of you would dance the night away. Nothing would hold you back. Not your abusive dad or submissive mother. Not your drug-addicted brother or your anorexic sister. You wouldn’t let anything stop your effort to get the girl of your dreams. Not your house, which was actually a trailer. Not your clothes, which were most definitely hand-me-downs. Not even your own head. You swore and swore that your night would be perfect. You promised all of your two friends that you would do anything. You said anything. And you meant it. You were going to do anything. Absolutely anything to get the girl that you want. Charlie has always been in your classes. You and her were a little below average, but that doesn’t bother you. It doesn’t bother her either. Well, it might bother her, but you don’t know that. You haven’t seen the way she cries and screams at night. Haven’t seen how she rips apart her vocal chords as she realizes that she may never be enough. That she will never be an astronaut or a mathematician. But that’s okay, or it would be okay, if it were her fault. But she knows that it isn’t. She can’t change her brain, and neither can you. Even if you are set on doing so. Test scores never mattered to you. Maybe that’s why you never noticed how she was lacking in that department. You always watched her in class. You would steal glances and peeks. Sometimes you would even watch her for long periods of time before she would notice, but she always smiled at you. Never once did she act creeped out, and she never got upset about your actions. That’s what sets Charlie apart from other girls in your mind. She is open and friendly, while other girls are caged and defensive. They act like they weren’t born to be with a man. You think of Charlie all the time. Everyone knows that. She is constantly running around in your head. You fantasize about her smile and voice. You think her voice is so perfect. While you

haven’t ever had a conversation with her, you have heard the angelic sound in plenty of your classes. She tries to answer every question the teacher poses; most of her answers are wrong, but that doesn’t stop her. She perseveres; that is another quality you love about her. Since fifth grade, you knew it would be her. That she would be the girl with you at prom. That you and her would dance the night away. You would be Prom King, and some other random girl would be queen, but you would object and demand that the crown goes to the rightful owner: Charlie. Everyone would cheer and holler in agreement. Even the actual Prom Queen would accept this. She would know that she didn’t actually deserve it. You told your friends in eighth grade about the plan. You and Charlie. They laughed. You yelled. They yelled. Then you lost your friends. They didn’t care about your feelings. They didn’t care about Charlie. You knew that they had lost sight of the real world. They were all in a fictional world where they believed that nothing magical could happen: a world where love doesn’t exist. But later they came back to you. They apologized. You didn’t. You stayed strong. You didn’t let your guard down, and you most definitely didn’t let Charlie go. Although, you did accept the apology. You knew you would need friends to survive. You weren’t stupid enough to believe otherwise. The years went by, and Charlie and you got closer. You and Charlie still haven’t had a real conversation, but there was that one time when she said, “Excuse me.” That singing voice spoke. Spoke to you, that is. You smiled. A smile that crossed over your entire face. She didn’t see it because she kept her head pointed down, but you knew she could sense it. You moved out of her way, and she left the room. A sort of perfect harmony. You knew from that moment on that you didn’t have false hope. There was something between you and Charlie. Something that no one could deny. So you set up your plan, and it was time to set it free. You have the chocolate bar in your pocket. You hope and pray that it doesn’t melt because that could make things go wrong. Doubts and worries fill your head as you walk down the hall. You see her. Right there. How could she just be right there? How could a person that perfect go to your high school? A wave of nausea crosses over your body, but you push it away. Nothing is going to stop you. This is a plan that is seven years in the making, and you aren’t going to let anything stop you. You take a step. Then another. You reach your hand into your pocket. The smooth edges of the wrapper greet your hand, and a sense of ease overcomes your body. You know everything will be perfect. It will all work out, and then it will be happily ever after. That’s all you have thought of until now, but you are sure that it is enough. Nothing can get in your way. You stop three feet from her. She doesn’t notice. She is so entranced with the objects in her locker. Maybe she is staring at the picture of her brother. Or her history book on the top shelf that she never uses. She might even be staring at her drawings. The little ones of dinosaurs and horses that she draws along the back wall of the locker. It’s been a few days since you have checked her locker, and you wonder if there are any new and unique drawings. You’ll have to check later. “H—he—hey,” you say after you finally find the right sounds. You smile and hope that she doesn’t notice anything. That she doesn’t see the terror forming within your stomach. “Oh,” she says, surprised. She jumps back a little. Maybe you are too close. Or you scared her. This is going to work. This is going to work. You know this is going to work. “Hey,” she finishes with a smile. You knew it would work.

“Hey, Charlie,” you say. Why did you say hey again? You don’t even know. “I’m Jeremiah. From English. And Spanish. And Math. And PE. And History. And Art. And… lunch.” You are nervous. That is for sure. She laughs. “I know who you are, Jeremiah.” You smile back. You have no idea what to say. “Yeah. I know you do, but I just—ummm—wanted to make sure—that you, uh—didn’t think I was—like—someone else.” That was a great sentence. You could use it for every pick-up line. It would bring all the girls running and screaming. “Oh. Okay. Did you need something?” All you need is her. You know that. You want her to know that. And she will. “Ummm, yeah.” You go silent. She stays silent. You look at her eyes as she looks everywhere except at you. You dig into your pocket and grab the item. You pull it out and extend your hand. “Gum?” she asks. You look at your hand. An empty gum container sits in your palm. “Oh. No. Wrong thing.” You dig back into your pocket to find the right wrapper. You finally get your hands on it. You pull it out and once again extend your hand. She looks up at you with a curious look. “Here. It’s for you, Charlie,” you say, shyly. “Oh, thanks, Jeremiah,” she responds, partially confused. She grabs the chocolate reluctantly. She looks at the wrapper and then looks back up. “Open it,” you say. “Open it? Why?” “There is something inside.” “Oh, really? Something like chocolate?” You laugh. She giggles slightly. She is nervous, too. Everyone is nervous at the beginning of a love story. “I can’t open it,” she says. “Oh. Why?” you say. Now you are the confused one. “I’m actually allergic to chocolate, Jeremiah. I’m sorry.” It’s like a bus hits you. Who is allergic to chocolate? Is that even a thing? A chocolate allergy? You have never heard of that before. But Charlie wouldn’t lie, so it must be true. “Don’t—be sorry. My fault. I can open it for you,” you stutter out. “Oh... okay.” She hands the chocolate bar back to you and you begin to fumble with the wrapper. You pull one end, and it rips. You try to get the chocolate out, but for some reason you can’t. Then all of a sudden, the candy slips from the wrapper and slams into the floor. Chocolate shards shoot across the hallway and under people’s feet. A piece of gold paper flutters in the air, but you catch it before anyone else does. Once again you extend your hand, this time with a golden slip in your grasp. Charlie gives you a questioning look. She slowly grabs the paper and pulls it up to her face. She reads it; it takes her a

while to read the sentence, but it would have taken you longer. You watch her face as she begins to understand the words. You are formally invited to go with Jeremiah to the Senior Prom! You hear her read it again; this time she reads it in a whisper. You know what she’s doing. She is so surprised that she’s making sure it’s real. Making sure that she didn’t miss any fine print. “So?” you ask after trying to be patient. “Oh,” she looks back up. Her eyes seem glazed over with a sort of disorientation. Why would she be confused? Again, she looks everywhere except at your face. Maybe she’s nervous. You know she’s nervous. That’s normal. Now she just has to remember how to say yes. “Like Charlie and the Chocolate Factory,” she says, mustering up a smile. She looks uncomfortable. A weird feeling spreads in your body. “Cool.” “I thought—thought it was cre—creative.” “Yeah, yeah.” Her voice shows otherwise. Frustration starts to fill your veins as negative possibilities invade your mind. This can’t be happening to you. You won’t let it. “So… What do you think?” “It’s thoughtful. I guess.” “I meant—like—about going. With me?” “Oh? Oh. I. Umm. Oh. Uh. Yeah.” “What’s wrong, Cha—Charlie?” “Oh. I don’t know.” You notice a few people are staring now. Their beady eyes pry into your conversation. This gets under your skin. Why are they staring? They should be doing their own thing. They need to leave you alone. Anger slowly builds from your feet up to your chest. “What’s your answer?” you ask, too sternly. Charlie jerks her gaze quickly up to your eyes. She hears the tone. You didn’t mean it, but you like the attention. You like her looking at your eyes. Maybe being stern isn’t a bad thing if it gets you what you want. “Jeremiah. I just… I don’t know. We don’t know each other that well.” Her voice finally answers your question. It took her long enough. “We can get to know each other now. And on the way there.” “Jeremy, I don’t know. I think we should go with people that we know.” “I don’t know anyone else. And that’s not my name.” “But you don’t know me.” “Yes, I do.” “How?” She looks up at you. She stares and waits. What are you going to say? Are you going to tell her everything? How you watch her? How you dream of her? How you wish for her? How you know she is the one? How you know you and her are endgame? No. Not yet. That would be too strong. You know that. That is one thing you do know. “I just—just have this feeling.” “That doesn’t mean you know me, Jeremy—miah” It all becomes too much for you. You can’t take it anymore. So you press the red button. The self-destruct button for your plan and all of your dreams. Everything goes away in a flash. A huge

explosion occurs in your brain. She is making this too difficult for you, so you have to ruin everything. You have to destroy all of your thoughts and dreams of hope and desire. Everything goes away in the nuclear blast inside your head. “So what are you saying?” you say with the stern voice. You are done playing games. No more waiting and asking. You’ve done that for too long. You can’t just sit back and wait until she decides that you aren’t a creep or a weirdo. “I just think it would be better if we went with other people.” You almost snap. There is a thin wire—a very, very thin wire—that is holding you back. Holding you from the pain and anger that you want to set loose. The pain of suffering that has stemmed from years of abuse and mistreatment. Nothing ever goes the way you wish it would. No one ever listens to you or pays attention to what you have to say. This was the one thing you could count on. The one facet of your life that you knew was guaranteed and for sure, but now that’s not true. Maybe it was never true, but you never knew that. “Other. People.” Sternness seeps out of your voice with every word. There is no longer any nervousness or calmness. No niceness or happiness. All there is is sternness and anger. A writhing anger that you can’t contain. An anger that you don’t want to contain. Something that you are ready to set free. “Oh,” you continue. Your arms are flailing around as you take steps to emphasize your words. Plenty of people are staring as fear and tears fill Charlie’s eyes. “I understand now, Charlie. Oh, I understand. We don’t know each other enough. Not like we’ve been in class together for—What? Like seven YEARS! But, oh, yeah, we definitely don’t know each other. If you don’t like me, you could have just said so.” Charlie looks like she wants to curl up in a ball and hide in her locker. She starts to speak, but the only things that come out are squeaks. You look at her. A tyrannical look that would match nicely with the devil’s face. You look and wait for an answer. Charlie realizes this. She swallows. Then speaks. “That—that’s not it.” “THEN WHAT IS IT?” you scream back. Your patience has been worn very thin and that wire is almost completely gone. “Jeremy…” “That. Is. Not. MY NAME!” The hallway is silent. All eyes are on you. Echoes of your voice stream down the hallway. “We don’t know each other,” she says. “We’ve never even talked to each other before.” “Oh. Well, whose fault is that?” you say. That’s all the energy you have. You can’t say anything else. You won’t say anything else. So you turn, and you leave. Eyes watch you, but you don’t care. Sometimes you look back and watch as people flinch away from your stare. They jump back and dart their eyes away. The counselor tries to stop you. You keep walking. Nothing is going to stop you. Not again. So you keep your stride through the hallway and through the parking lot. You get in your car, and you leave. You don’t look back. You just drive down the highway. Thoughts of pain and terror fill your head. You are going to be alone forever. No one will ever want you. Not the girl you love. Not any other girl. So what’s the point of trying to fall in love in the

normal way when it doesn’t work? A thought appears in your head. Why play the normal game when you can change the rules? Don’t break the rules; breaking them would be wrong, but changing them is something different. You can come at this love thing from a different angle. Aren’t teachers always saying that varying viewpoints are important? So that’s what you will do. You look to your left at the cars speeding by. You look to your right at the steep embankment that leads to trees. Will you choose option one or option two? One will hurt others and cause more problems. Two will hurt you; that’s what you want. You grip the wheel and spin it as far right as you can. The car veers right and flies off of the embankment. The trees quickly race to meet you. You smile at them with joy. Here comes your second option—your best option. You hear a crashing sound, but nothing else. You don’t feel anything or hear anything. Nothing happens. Nothing hurts. Nothing feels at all. All your feelings leave, but that’s okay. You did what was needed. So now you wait; you wait until your dreams come true. *** You wake to a blinding whiteness. You know what happened. You aren’t even partially surprised by the hospital walls. The doctor tells you that you are seriously injured. That you are lucky to be alive. You don’t care. Not about your injuries or the crash. All you care about is if the luck will follow over into your next plan. The plan that formed right before the trees and your car became one. Prom is five months away. You hoped and prayed that you had given yourself enough time. Looks like your luck stuck through to this part of the plan, too. The doctor said you would be out in a couple of weeks. This would depend on your performance. You know how to play your cards, and you are going to be out of here when you want to be. The world is your sandbox and everyone else is a toy. The accident showed you that you can do as you please. The plan worked out well. Social media eats up the crash. Everyone comments about the fight and the accident. They know how your heartbreak caused the wreck. People partially blame Charlie. Those are the sane people. Others say it was your fault, but you ignore them. They don’t know what they are talking about. Quickly, the plan’s phases are completed. First, the crash. Then the social media coverage. After that is the step that matters. The one you can’t control. But it works out. Like you knew it would. Charlie comes to the hospital. Chocolates and balloons cover her arms. She looks timid, but she’s still pretty. She’s beautiful. You knew she would come. She had to, and she did. As she walks into the room, a pressure leaves your chest. You smile. She smiles. Her gaze still darts away, but you know that can be fixed. For now, that doesn’t matter. “Hey,” she says. “Hi,” you say. You make it sound strained. You want her to hurt. To hear the pain that you don’t even feel. You are drawing her in. Pulling her. Dragging her. She grimaces. She knows she caused this. She is the reason that you stormed away. The reason that you crashed the car. The reason that you are in the hospital. Part of you wants the torture of guilt to eat at her. To tear her apart and make her desperate. So desperate that she would do anything to make it up so that she can balance her soul. You wish for her pain, but also her happiness. “How are you?” she mutters.

“Well, good. I guess. Considering the wreck, that is,” you respond. She flinches at the mention of the crash. You know she is being tortured. That’s good. You’re glad. That makes her even more of a pawn. “I’m sorry about…Well, about everything. The fight…and the wreck.” She finally admits her mistakes. “It’s not your fault. Truly, it was mine.” “It wasn’t yours. I wasn’t being nice. I was arguing with you. And then that led to the crash. It’s all my fault.” She starts to cry and then sob. She is torn in half. Her heart has shattered, and now it is time to put it back together. Draw the fly into your web, spin her up, and keep her forever. “Come here,” you say. You hold your arms out and she comes into the trap. The trap of warmth and comfort. A trap that you enjoy. You hold on to her as she cries. Her tears soak into your gown. You feel the droplets soaking one area and feel the runoff streaming down your stomach. It’s a weird sensation, but it brings you joy. The tears of your lover are washing your skin, and you feel enlightened. You found your power, and now it is bathing you. It is washing your sins away from your skin. “Charlie,” you say, softly. “Yeah?” she asks as she keeps her head on your chest. “Don’t beat yourself up over this. Let’s agree that it is both of our faults. Does that work?” “I guess.” “You were wrong, but so was I. We are both in the same boat. If you sink, then I sink.” “So, you aren’t mad?” “No, Charlie. I forgive you. I hope you forgive me.” You feel the edge of her mouth spread into a smile as she responds. “I forgive you.” “So we’re good now?” “We’re good.” You both stay there for a while. Her head on your chest. Your hand on her back. You’ve been wishing for this. You have been hoping this would happen. But you knew it would happen. It was bound to happen. You played your cards, and you got a full house. “Jeremiah…” she speaks softly. “Yeah?” “I’m sorry about saying no.” “It’s fine. I understand.” “Well, I thought about it more.” “Yeah?” “And I think it might be fun. You know…to go to prom together. If you want to, that is.” The prey is caught. The prison is spun. She is here to stay. “That would be perfect.” You both smile. You stroke her hair as she stays on your chest. You touch each strand of her hair. Your hair. She is yours now. There is no escaping for her. She might try, but she won’t succeed. First, there is prom, but it isn’t over afterwards. She may not realize that now, but she is in for life. She signed the contract with her tears as they snaked across your warm skin and soaked into your veins below.