Superstition: All That Comes Before

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<>\ <<playlist "chapters1_2_3" loop play>> <>\ Taking one last look around the house I grew up in, I try to imagine it as it once was. It used to be my home. The place I always imagined when I thought of safety and happiness. The place where so many of my memories began and where they ended. I would come rushing in from school, eager to finish my homework so that I could scamper off to my room and play. The living room couches where I buried so many things between the cushions, hoping that my mother would never find them. The backyard where I played and discovered the tiny bit of nature that I could. My room … the one place that stimulated and championed my imagination and dreams for the future. The one area that was mine and showed all who entered who I was. That was what this house once was. Now, a somber and suffocating air has shrouded any memories that contain even a light of hope. <<if $dark_burns>>The acrid smell of residual smoke still whips around my nostrils and fills my lungs.<<else>>The lights are off, and no matter how often I flick the switch, they don't cut back on.<</if>> It is horrendously cold even for a day in autumn. I don't even think it's because of the outside; it's just that the house is no longer as warm as it once was. Reminders of that horrible dream cause me to fight a shiver and my scar to itch. <<if $dark_burns>>I can do little more than softly rub at the fabric of my jacket, just barely feeling the bandages that rest underneath. I don’t dare mess with them, not wanting to be chided by my uncle again.<<else>>I do my hardest to avoid scratching at it, therefore avoiding my uncle’s ire.<</if>> Yet another horrid memory I’ll be forced to deal with for the rest of my life. Weeks in the hospital, filled with strangers entering and exiting as I lie there in torturous pain. I remember how one specific nurse would remind me how brave I am. I never felt particularly brave. <a data-passage="1.00"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

Regardless of whether I should do it or not, absentmindedly I <<if $dark_burns>>rub at my arm.<<elseif $dark_control>>scratch at my chest.<<elseif $dark_truth>>scratch at my jaw.<<else>>rub at my eye.<</if>> I turn my back to the house, tightening my grip on my bookbag and suitcase, and head back outside and towards my uncle's SUV. He's off to the side, speaking to the man who's supposed to <<if $dark_burns>>repair and<</if>>sell the house. <<if $dark_burns>>He keeps reassuring Uncle Matheus that he’ll be able to fix the house up and put it on the market, no problem. I also hear him add that dead previous owners won’t tank the buying price even if they died in the house. A house fire hardly scares off potential buyers.<<else>>He keeps telling Uncle Matheus not to worry; dead previous owners won't tank the buying price, especially since they didn't die in the house.<</if>> My uncle looks bored with the conversation, so I get into the car; he'll be along soon. //Die in the house//. The phrase keeps repeating in my head as I work tirelessly to purge every fragment of that horrible nightmare. I fail, like I always do. It happened three or four weeks ago, but feels like it happened that morning. I'm there in the room, watching as my mother's skin shrivels up and thins until nothing but a pulsing and nauseating mess resides in front of me. Then even that vanishes as only bones remain and bones turn to ash. [[Cry.|1.00Cry]] [[Vomit.|1.00Vomit]] [[Squeeze my eyes closed.|1.00EyesClosed]]

I'm surprised I still have tears to shed. The last few weeks have been nothing but me crying and sometimes sleeping. My uncle and the nurses have tried to get me to eat, but all the food smells like my mother's bubbling flesh. Sleep offers no respite. The darkness looms, eager to engulf me as it was meant to, reminding me that I don't belong here. I should be with the darkness. I should be with my mother. I don't realize my sobs have grown loud enough to catch the adult's attention. My uncle immediately rushes away from the man and opens the door, looking at me with worry and tired eyes. <<include "1.01">>

It all feels too real, and my empty stomach doesn't help as nothing but acid ascends from my stomach and up to my throat. I throw open the door and lean forward, letting it all out and trying to calm myself down before I end up regurgitating more. "$name," I hear my uncle shout. By the time I look up, he's right beside me, rubbing my back and asking me what I need. <<include "1.01">>

Trying to calm myself down, I squeeze my eyes closed, hoping it will stave off all my other senses. It doesn't. That … that dark spirit. I can still see its eyes boring into mine. The feeling of it touching me and the stench of all those things that crawled out of the wall. It hardly works for me to imagine all that, despite knowing it was a dream. That none of it was real. But it's right there. All of it is right there, and the darkness is towering over me, ready to swallow me whole. A scream tears from my throat, and I hear my uncle's voice, a lifeline in the darkness. I blink, coming back to the present. And there he is, Uncle Matheus, standing by my side, the door now open. His hands rest on my shoulders, a grounding force in the midst of my sudden panic. <<include "1.01">>

"I -" I start, <<if hasVisited("1.00Cry")>>hiccuping out the word.<<else>>the words tumbling out of my mouth.<</if>> "Shh," he answers, stopping me from saying anything else as he throws his arms around me and captures me in his tight embrace. "<<if hasVisited("1.00Cry")>>Just keep crying.<<else>>I know. <</if>> It's okay." I do as he says, and once <<if hasVisited("1.00Cry")>>I am finished<<else>>I feel better<</if>>, I realize that the other man has disappeared. "Ready to go home?" <<if hasVisited("1.00Cry")>>I hiccup,<<else>>I nod,<</if>> frowning at the word but nodding regardless. I suppose my uncle sees the trepidation on my face as he pouts. "Let's go get some ice cream first? Or would you like something else?" I wipe at my snotty nose, the tears and snot mixing together to make a viscid concoction against my hand. I want to scream that I want my mother. I want her in front of me and hugging me, reassuring me. I want her. Not that … I shake my head viciously. <a data-passage="1.01.1"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

He drives to Dairy Queen, and we eat inside the car. It's a treat that I rarely get to do because my mother always feared I'd spill it. I frown as I continue to eat more of the ice cream I ordered than the burger; she was probably right. "Come on, $name," Uncle Matheus says, using his lips to point at the forgotten burger. "You'll have to eat something or <<if hasVisited("1.00Vomit")>>what happened earlier will just keep happening.<<else>> you'll get sick." <</if>> "I'm not hungry," I complain, and he nods in understanding. "Do this for me. Eat at least half of it and maybe a few fries." [[Cry.|1.01Crying][$atcb_emotion to "crying"]] [[“No! I don’t want them!”|1.01Outburst][$atcb_emotion to "outbursts"]] [[Shove it in my mouth.|1.01PassiveAgg][$atcb_emotion to "pass_agg"]] [[Ignore him.|1.01Ignore][$atcb_emotion to "ignore"]] [[Try and do as he asks.|1.01Calm][$atcb_emotion to "calm"]]

<<if settings.choiceShow>><<notify 10s>>Roe is prone to crying. Sometimes, it all becomes too much, and Roe has no other outlet besides crying. They are not trying to gain sympathy, just trying to calm the tempestuous emotions within.<</notify>><</if>>\ I know what he wants, and I know why he wants me to, at the very least, try. But I don't want to. I don't want to eat anything but this ice cream. The very thought of eating the burger or even the fries just makes me sick to my stomach. The ice cream helped; perhaps the sugar overpowers the acidic smell that usually burns my nostrils and causes me to flinch from food. But the burger … the fries, all of it just disgusts me right now. "Hey, come on," I hear my uncle say, and upon feeling his finger crossing my cheek, I realize that I'm crying. I hadn't realized it until now, but I'm not wholly shocked either. <<if hasVisited("1.00Cry")>>Like earlier, I have found that crying is the only thing my body seems able to do now.<</if>> “Don’t eat it,” he sighs, putting the car in drive and shaking his head in dissatisfaction. “But this can’t continue, $name. Otherwise, I’ll have to take you to the doctor.” I know he’s right, but my sobs don’t care. With shaky hands, I continue sipping my treat, placing my forehead against the cold glass and closing my eyes as if that will quicken the coming of night. <a data-passage="1.02"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

<<if settings.choiceShow>><<notify 10s>>Roe is prone to outbursts. When upset, Roe has no problem screaming back, hitting, and breaking some things. Some may even call it a tantrum.<</notify>><</if>>\ "No!" I shout, grabbing the burger, opening the door, and throwing it to the ground. The anger tucked away inside continues to roar, inspiring me to get out of the car and step on it. I pound it into the ground, not caring about the mess I'm making or how odd it feels under my shoe. Once I'm done, I jerk around to face my uncle, who only stares at me with sadness. "I don't want the burger." We stand there staring at one another, and he is the first to break, glancing away as tears begin to leak from his eyes. I calm down as I watch him, not knowing what to do or if I should do anything at all. I feel like the cause, but I'm not sure I'm apologetic. I want to break something else, throw more things, and scream at the top of my lungs. So, I just get back into the car and slam the door, looking everywhere but at my uncle, as I continue to eat my ice cream. The ride is silent. <a data-passage="1.02"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

<<if settings.choiceShow>><<notify 10s>>Roe is passive-aggressive. Roe will do precisely as the person asks or says, but they're not doing it because they're some obedient sheep. Oh no, they'll do it their way and make sure you regret it.<</notify>><</if>>\ I slam my ice cream cup down in the cup holder as I pick up the burger and begin to eat it without considering manners. I don't swallow as I take bite after bite, ignoring my uncle as he tries to get me to stop. Soon, my mouth is full, and I turn to him with rage alight in my eyes. "Is this what you want?" I question, though I am entirely sure that it all comes out sounding like one long sound with no inflections to even differentiate that multiple words were said. I swallow some of the food but make it a point to keep some in my mouth. "Happy now?" "No," he answers flatly, rubbing his brows. "But you said you wanted me to eat," I continue, swallowing a bit more as my stomach tells me to stop; it can take no more. "So, I'm eating." He glances over at me and, after closing his eyes for a minute or so, quietly puts the car into drive and leaves the fast food parking lot. I snatch up my cup and return to sipping the rich, frosty substance. Staring mindlessly at the passing unfamiliar scenery and thinking about how this is not the way to my house. <a data-passage="1.02"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

<<if settings.choiceShow>><<notify 10s>>Roe is the type to ignore the speaker and the problem. Whether by literally ignoring it and continuing to do what they are doing or walking away, showing they have little care, Roe is not the type to stick around or show their care when emotions are high.<</notify>><</if>>\ I heed him no attention as I continue to drink my milkshake, wondering if I'll need a spoon to finish the rest. "$name, I'm not doing this because I want to be the not-fun guy. You need to eat." I continue sipping my ice cream, watching a stray cat wander into the parking lot in search of food. Turning, I grab my burger and, after rolling down the window, toss it out towards the cat. It takes a minute before it approaches but soon does, grabbing hold of the meat. I glance back at my uncle, who looks nearly ready to explode. I shrug. "The cat needs to eat." My uncle says nothing else, simply driving to his house while my mind stays on that cat as I sip the rest of my ice cream. <a data-passage="1.02"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

<<if settings.choiceShow>><<notify 10s>>Roe is calm. Though they may not wish to do something or agree with what is happening, Roe will take a more diplomatic stance and try to make do.<</notify>><</if>>\ I gaze over at the burger, and though I want to vomit just at the idea of eating it, I do as he asks. I take bite after bite, using the fries to break up the monotony. All the while, I push past the urge to throw it all up, ignoring my stomach as it screams at me to stop, that it's not hungry and doesn't want this food. I swallow and gaze over at him, not realizing that a few tears have found their way to my cheek. I rub incessantly at them. "Is that enough?" I question in a soft voice, and he nods slowly. I put the burger down and return to the ice cream, resting my head on the window as I mindlessly sip at it and my uncle drives. The passing scenery is unfamiliar, and all I can think is this is not the way to my house. <a data-passage="1.02"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

Getting out of the car, I stare at my uncle’s house as if I had never visited. It’s a decent-sized house, bigger than mine, with a larger front yard, but boring as well. His is well-manicured, with shamrock-colored grass and only a few patches of brown. A single small tree sits closer to the house, encircled by bushes that also line the sidewalk and the border of the house in a neat fashion. It's pretty. The type of house that makes me imagine a cute little family is living within, but it has no character, not like mine. The front of my house looked like eternal autumn, and patches of wildflowers always called for those playing to be mindful. A lone, great tree towered over the house, shielding the roof and always calling me forth when the sun was high above, while the wind soothed my nerves. The branches were strong enough to support a swing, and there was this one area where the roots bordered a hole that fit me perfectly. There, I would grab a book to read or a sketch pad to draw. I can't play here; I can only run back and forth. There's no giant tree to climb or attach a swing to. My toys aren't here. And it's not mine. None of this is mine. "Come on," my uncle mumbles, grabbing my suitcase and bag from the trunk and approaching the front door. I begin to follow ... [[... but realize I left my penguin toy.|1.02StuffedAnimal][$atcb_plushie to "penguin"]] [[... but realize I left my flamingo toy.|1.02StuffedAnimal][$atcb_plushie to "flamingo"]] [[... but realize I left my elephant toy.|1.02StuffedAnimal][$atcb_plushie to "elephant"]] [[... but realize I left my leopard toy.|1.02StuffedAnimal][$atcb_plushie to "leopard"]] [[... but realize I left my horse toy.|1.02StuffedAnimal][$atcb_plushie to "horse"]] [[... albeit slowly.|1.02.1][$atcb_plushie to "none"]]

I start to follow when I realize I'm about to leave my stuffed animal behind. With vigor, I throw open the back door and unbuckle its seatbelt, grabbing the $atcb_plushie and yanking it to my chest. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry," I repeat over and over, attempting to calm my thundering heart. I pull away to stare at it, sadly admiring the patches that rest all over the creature from where a much younger and rougher me created holes and tears. Mother sowed them up. It was so easy to hear her gasp in shock as I ran to her, trying not to cry as I showed her yet another hole. "We'll have to take it into surgery. Wait here." She'd sit me down at one of the kitchen tables as she disappeared into the laundry room. Randomly, she would leave, giving me updates and asking if I wanted a snack or juice box while I wait. When she returned, she would sigh and use a bunch of words I didn't exactly understand but always made me giggle. And then voila! There it was with a new patch, but it was good as new. The memory causes me to harshly rub my eye. Who would patch it up now? Who would perform surgery? I doubt my uncle knows how to do any of that! "$name?" I hear Uncle Matheus call out, and a second later, he rounds the back of the car to see me standing there. I want to ask if he knows how to surgically stitch up my $atcb_plushie. If he knows what to do and how careful he has to be. But the only thing that comes out is a squeak. "My mommy," I start, showing him the stuffed animal, but nothing else makes it past my trembling voice. I want to shout and scream. I want to stomp my feet and pound at the ground. I want to cry until I can't cry anymore. I just want my mother back. "Shh, come on," he says, taking and squeezing my hand. "Let's get you inside." <a data-passage="1.02.1"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

//You've been here before//, my brain snaps at me. I had complained to my uncle everyday while in the hospital, telling him I'd rather sleep and stay at his house. And now I find myself not wanting even this. I'll never see my old home again. My bed is here, but I won’t stare at the same ceiling. This house doesn't have the same creaks, and I'll have to relearn the places I can hide and those that will give me away. I'll have to figure out which areas are odd versus those that feel like a haven. <<include "1.03">>

Inside, it only gets worse. I never noticed how boring and sterilized it all looked. My house felt like children were welcomed. It encouraged me and my friends to sprint down its halls, only warning us to calm down when we accidentally swayed too far to a wall with a picture frame. This one looks like it'll chide me for just sitting on the couch. I follow my uncle up to the room that I’ve been occupying. My room. He has one other room, which is odd since it’s such a big house. But I guess only one side is really that big. The stairway leads up to a walkway that connects to his room, my new room, and the bathroom. That’ll be my bathroom since he has one to himself. The room is big too. Uncle says that it’s perfect for growing up into. It’s bigger than my //real// room. Much more space and even a window nook. My uncle calls the closet a walk-in closet, and it makes me wonder how strict he’ll be about mess. [[I was never a messy kid anyway.|1.03Neat][$atcb_neat to 1]] [[I wasn’t the best at cleaning.|1.03Messy][$atcb_neat to 2]] [[I cleaned, just my way.|1.03MeClean][$atcb_neat to 3]]

I was never a messy child to begin with. My mother always praised me for that trait. I even sometimes had fun with organizing my room and placing everything in its proper place. <<include "1.04">>

My mother always scolded me about cleaning up my room, and when I asked why it mattered because it wasn't her room, I got into trouble for being "smart at the mouth." The only reason my room ever stayed clean after that was because she would check it randomly, and if it wasn't clean, I couldn't go outside. When she got sick, the checkups stopped, and my room once again descended into madness. <<include "1.04">>

I cleaned up, but according to my mother, it was never to her level of clean. I always hated that. She always pointed out that a messy room would keep me from knowing where everything was, but I always knew where my things were. I wasn't stupid. <<include "1.04">>

That thought leads into another and another about how everything will be different. That I don't know what is right and wrong here, what I can do and what I can't. I continue to walk around as if I hadn't just spent the previous nights here. Not all of my stuff had been delivered the last time I was here, but now the room looks claustrophobic and behaves like something it's not. "Everything alright?" my uncle questions, setting down my bag and suitcase. I nod, turning my back to him. "Alright. Well, I'll be downstairs if you need me. Try to get situated." He doesn't say it, but my mind fills in the rest of that sentence. Try to get situated because this is your home now. <a data-passage="1.04.1"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

That night, I sleep in //my// bed under the roof of a house that I should be familiar with, but I'm not. I should be happy. I always loved visiting my uncle, and sleeping here always felt like an adventure for reasons I'm not sure of anymore. "Alright, I …" my uncle says, looking around and shrugging, "I don't know what your mom usually did." [[“It’s fine.”|1.04Fine]] [[“Nothing.”|1.04Nothing]] [[Reminisce.|1.04Reminisce]]

"It's fine," I reassure him as I move the blanket around nervously. "I'll be okay." "Are you sure? We can start something different." I'm unsure whether I like the idea, so I simply shrug. "Maybe another night." He nods, seeming to be happy enough that I'll consider it. <<include "1.05">>

"Nothing," I blurt. "She did nothing. She couldn't get out of bed." It always feels like everyone forgets that she's been bedridden for a little more than a year. The only times she left it was with the nurses' aid. I remember wishing I could help her but was always told that I was far too little to be of service. If she fell, I wouldn't be able to pick her up, no matter how much I thought myself stronger than what they gave me credit for. "Right," Uncle Matheus hums. <<include "1.05">>

"She used to read me bedtime stories, chapter books!" I recount, remembering the memory so vividly. "Or sometimes the two of us would create the story, and we would keep adding chapters and more chapters." And I sigh, rubbing my eyes. "I see," he starts, looking to add more but remaining quiet. <<include "1.05">>

He heads towards the door … [[... flicking on the night light as he goes.|1.05NightLight][$fear_darkness to true]] [[... turning to look at me one last time.|1.05NightNight]]

<<if settings.choiceShow>><<notify 10s>>Roe is afraid, to some degree, of darkness. They will now only feel comfortable sleeping when there’s a night light present, and true darkness will terrify them.<</notify>><</if>>\ <img src="images/divider.png" style="float:center"> I smile, thankful that he did it without needing me to remind him. I suppose the more I'm here, the more he'll remember. I never needed a night light before, but the events of that night have caused me to reevaluate some of my fears, darkness now being one of them. At first, I felt childish, as only babies are afraid of the dark, but that sentiment shifted my first night without one. I screamed and hollered as I tried to escape the hold of that creature, realizing that I'd probably never truly feel safe again. I close my eyes, thankful that true darkness is not what greets me. Bringing the covers around me, I try to fast-forward time. <<include "1.06.1">>

I wave at him, at least succeeding in getting a slight smile as he turns and closes the door behind him. Bringing the covers around me, I close my eyes and try to fast-forward time. <<include "1.06.1">>

It is still night when I awaken from almost choking on my own sobs. I can't honestly remember what I was dreaming of, but it's not hard to figure out what it was. I miss my mom. Even while bedridden, she was there. I knew death was approaching, but at that moment, it still seemed like it wouldn't come for years and years. Part of me even believed it would never come. She was going to get better. One day, I'll wake up to the smell of pancakes and run into the kitchen to see her cooking in her favorite apron. She'll be wearing a giant smile, and I'll hug her until my muscles groan from use. <<if $atcb_plushie is "none">>I squeeze the covers tighter.<<else>>I squeeze my $atcb_plushie tighter, burying my face in its fabric.<</if>> I've had the realizations before, but every time they come back, they shock me all over again. I will never be able to hug her again. To see her with my own eyes. To listen to her voice or feel her hands in my hair. She's gone. My mom is gone, and she's never coming back. <a data-passage="1.06"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

<img src="images/divider.png" style="float:center"> When I wake up, I stare blankly at the bare walls. Sitting up slowly, I wonder what this room would have looked like if the right occupant had gotten it. This was supposed to be my uncle's child's room. I think they discussed the gender, but I never remembered. Not that it matters because they're dead now. It seems that everyone we know keeps dying. Does this mean that Uncle Matheus or I will die next? From what I understand, we're the last two members of our family. There might be others but no one has talked much about them. I'm not sure I want to be the last one. To have to live a life knowing that everyone I loved is now gone, and I'm all that remains. The image of that beast starts to appear, and I rush out of bed as if it will help me escape things trapped in my mind. Heading to the bathroom, I grab the step stool, step up onto it, and then cut the water on to wash my face and brush my teeth. I catch sight of my reflection and find myself staring. <<if $dark_sight>>Like always, my stare goes straight to the scar resting over my now miscolored eye. I almost touch it but abstain.<<else>>There are few thoughts as I do, getting lost in something but nothing until I remember where I am and shake my head.<</if>> Finishing up, I head downstairs to the kitchen, where I hear my uncle moving about. The smell of eggs, spice, and what I think is chorizo is heavy in the air. <a data-passage="1.07"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

It's odd having someone else cook for me. After my mother became bedridden, I was the one cooking. Never anything that needed a lot of preparation, the nurses that would sometimes be up and about always got scared I'd burn something down even though I reminded them that I was six or, most recently, seven. I had gotten used to eating cereal and oatmeal mostly. On the good days when the nurses who liked me brought home groceries, I would have microwaveable breakfast sandwiches or bowls. "Are you feeling up to eating now?" he asks, and I shrug, providing no help. "Well, let's see if you eat some of these burritos. I already have some sofkee prepared. Do you want that instead?" My stomach rumbles at the idea of being able to sit quietly and sip on the sour liquid. The many times I would come to visit and my uncle placing with a cup or bowl of it in front of me. I recall him saying his grandmother taught him and that maybe one day, he'll teach me. I nod, and he slides a steaming cup over to me while he continues to cook. I watch for a while, my mind starting to go blank. At random points does it seek to remind me where I am, who's in front of me, and that my mother isn't here. She's gone and never coming back. I then try to purge my mind of all thoughts, only to end up repeating the cycle. <a data-passage="1.07.1"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

"Done," my uncle announces, sliding a plate over to me. Once he's done ambling around the kitchen, he takes a seat at the table with me. "So, I guess we should talk about how we'll make our schedules work." "Huh?" I question, pausing a moment to glance up at him. "To make sure I get you to where you need to go. School, extracurricular activities, stuff like that." "I don't do any of those," I tell him, still picking at the food. Thankfully, it doesn't smell, but I'm not sure I'm hungry. I know I need to eat, like Uncle Matheus said the previous day; I'll probably get sick if I don't. "Well, you're only eight." He pauses to see if I'll correct him; when I don't, he continues, appearing relieved. "You have plenty of time to get into different things. You should." [[“I like sports.”|1.08Sports]] [[“I like drawing.”|1.08Drawing]] [[“I like the computer.”|1.08Computer]] [[“I want to act.”|1.08Act]] [[“Can I do the scouts?”|1.08Scouts]] [[Don’t react.|1.08NoReact]]

"I like sports." "Okay, that works. We'll see what we can do once you get settled." <<include "1.09">>

"I like drawing," I point out, and he smiles widely. "You know, I do too. I paint." "I never knew that," I shout, almost sounding upset when I'm really just amazed. "Maybe we can set aside Sunday for painting and drawing day?" I nod, excited to see how that will go. <<include "1.09">>

"I like the computer. My school has a computer club." I wasn't really sure what all they do, as, at the moment, we were just learning how to type. But it was fun. "Okay, that works. We'll see what we can do once you get settled." <<include "1.09">>

"I want to act," I tell him. "Okay, that works. We'll see what we can do once you get settled." <<include "1.09">>

"Can I do the scouts?" "Oh, like the ones who do stuff outside and sell cookies?" I nod, and he flashes a bright smile at me. "Sure. I don't see why not. We'll see what we can do once you get settled." <<include "1.09">>

"So, no extracurricular activities." <<include "1.09">>

He nods. "Well, I have to be at the factory by nine so I can drop you off at school. You'll have to take the bus back, though. We don't live near the school, so there's no walking." I finally stop picking at the food and stare at it as yet another realization hits me. I won't ever see my friends again. I will never return to my old school and see the teachers I liked. I liked the food at my school and the playground. I had been a good student. <a data-passage="1.10"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

Tears begin to well up in my eyes, and I am unable to stop them. So many things are changing, and I want to take no part in any of them. I don't want to meet new people and what if the teachers are mean? What if they don't have recess? What if the food is nasty and the bus driver is mean? The thoughts don't stop coming, and to make things worse, I can hear the shadow laughing and telling me that I should have went with it. Its voice strikes fear deep into my heart, and I wonder if I'll ever be rid of that minacious sound. "Hey, look at me," I hear my uncle say, and sniffling, I do as he says. "It's going to be hard, I know it will. Trust me, it will be. But we're going to get through this together. You and me." He holds out his pointer finger, and though I'm confused about what to do, I reach out with mine. Just before mine touches his, he taps my nose, then my forehead, and in my confusion, kisses my forehead. My look of befuddlement causes him to laugh as he heads back to his chair and continues to eat. Though I can feel the sobs still residing in my throat, I try to copy him. To eat. <img src="images/divider.png" style="float:center"> 1. Changes [[2. Condolences, for Your Loss|Chapter2_Condolences]] [[3. Someday It'll Get Better|Chapter3_Someday]] [[4. Love Me, Love Me Not|Chapter4_Love]] [[5. Midnight Conversations|Chapter5_MidnightConvo]] [[6. Freshmen|Chapter6_Orientation]] [[7. Good Ol' Party Days|Chapter7_FirstParty]] [[8. Meeting the Roe|Chapter8_MeetingRoe]] [[Back to Navigation|Start]]

<>\ <<playlist "chapters1_2_3" loop play>> <>\ I know what death is. I understand its intricacies and what it all means. For one reason or another, we will all die. We will all meet our end, whether surrounded by loved ones or completely alone. There is no coming back from death, no return, and no second chances. No matter what my books say … there are no happy endings. All of this, I know. I understand. But I’ve never had to witness it. The death of my mother brings with it foggy and abating memories. One reason soon replaced by a much darker one that holds less sense than the previous but is no less vivid. <<if $dark_control>>Did a bullet steal her life and rob us of our future<<elseif $dark_burns>>Did a sudden fire steal her from me<<elseif $dark_sight>>Did a car crash rob her of any life she could have had<<else>>Did her sickness just catch up to her, causing her to close her eyes one final time,<</if>> or was it a nightmare and … I suppose it doesn’t really matter what the truth is as she was taken from me, and now I have to stand here and smile at strangers I’ve never seen before as they hug me and say, “My condolences for your loss.” I didn’t know what that word meant before, and now I can’t stand it. <a data-passage="2.00"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

A man approaches, wearing a uniform that resembles a priest’s, but otherwise, his disconnect from the profession is perspicuous. Perhaps I shouldn’t judge someone solely based on how they decide to present themselves for a funeral. But his mannerisms are too lax, and the way he holds himself is far too sloppy. He has the air of someone mildly interested in the happenings around them but otherwise could and wishes to be anywhere else. I give him an odd look as he nods in greeting. “$name Roe, I presume?” He crouches so that he’s more on my level. “You have my deepest condolences for your loss.” “Thank you for coming,” I recite. “The refreshment table is just over there, and the bathrooms are down the hall. The service will start soon.” My uncle coached me on precisely what to say, doing so with an annoyed gleam in his eye. I try to ignore how many times he has had to do this. //“You’ll have to jump from one corner to the next to ensure people don’t hunt you down. Also, never look bored; they’ll use it as an excuse to approach. Even worse, you’re a child, so people will think you’re confused and don’t understand what happened.”// I should have remembered that last part. Perhaps I should have started crying, making the air as uncomfortable as possible. Hardly anyone here knows what to say to a child who now finds themselves parentless. <a data-passage="2.01"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

“Thank you,” he nods, glancing around before focusing back on me. “I heard about what happened.” <<if $dark_control or $dark_sight or $dark_burns>>\ I shrug. “It was in the news.” Thankfully, I was in the hospital when the story was circulating, only finding out due to the gossiping nurses and my uncle. “Yea, it was.” He frowns as he continues to regard me. “But I heard that you were really confused. That there was something else.” I match his frown. He says his following words in a low voice, ensuring only I can hear him. “I heard that you had a nightmare with monsters, and that’s what caused your scars and killed your mother.” “Who told you that?” “I heard.” “From who?” He seems slightly exasperated by my constant counter questions, but my patience with this stranger has gone from low to rock bottom. I didn’t want to talk to anyone, especially not this weird man. How could he have heard that but from the nurses? Either the nurses or my uncle, and I doubt my uncle would have told him unless they knew one another. But then, why is he talking to me and not to him? So, then the nurses, but he—like I said before—resembled a priest more than anything. Maybe they believed that he could help me or make me feel better. <<else>>\ “Did my uncle tell you?” I question, cocking my head to the side. I don’t recognize the man and can’t see my uncle telling some random stranger what happened to me. “Oh, no, I heard it.” “From who?” He seems slightly exasperated by my constant counter questions, but my patience with this stranger has gone from low to rock bottom. I didn’t want to talk to anyone, especially not this weird man. How could he have heard that but from the nurses? But then that begs the question of why they would tell a priest? Maybe they thought he could help me. Make me feel better. <</if>>\ Right now, he was just managing to annoy me. “Look,” he says, shifting, “I just want to know the truth. I want to know what //you// saw. What do you think happened to your mother that night.” [[“I don’t know.”|2.01IDK]] [[“Can you leave me alone?”|2.01LeaveMeAlone]] [[“It was a monster.”|2.01Monster]]

“I don’t know,” I tell him, stepping back. It isn’t an entire lie. I genuinely don’t know what is real and what is not. A nightmare that feels like reality and reality feeling like some obligatory dream. Two parts scream to be given attention, and a part of me is scared to even consider it. <<include "2.02">>

“Can you leave me alone?” He seems taken aback, glancing around before leaning in again. “Look, I know it’s scary, but it’s okay. I won’t judge you or think that you’re crazy. I can help.” “Help?” I ask, even more bothered by what he may be alluding to. “I can’t …” he frowns, trying to find the right words. <<include "2.02">>

“It was a monster,” I mumble, still scared to say it out loud. The nurses thought I was losing my mind, my uncle believed I was traumatized (which isn’t wholly untrue), and I’m not even sure, but I remember that thing. I remember all that he did. “Can you describe it?” “It was like a shadow,” I say, shrugging. “Anything else? Tell me everything you can remember.” “I don’t know,” I say, feeling weirded out. It was nice to have someone not think that I was utterly crazy or lying, but he seemed a bit too eager to learn all of the details; it bothered me. <<include "2.02">>

Regardless of what really happened to her, I am now motherless and spent weeks in the hospital with an enfeebling injury that will never leave me. I suppose the man believes that I’m about to cry and quickly tries to walk his statements back. He stumbles over every other word, frantically trying to pick himself up before once again tripping over a slackened tongue. Thankfully, my uncle saves both of us. “Can I help you?” he asks, looking the man up and down while putting a protective hand on my shoulder, angling himself so that his body shields me from view. <a data-passage="2.02.1"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

“Uh, Father Dominic,” the man greets, extending his hand for my uncle to shake. I catch sight of a tattoo resting on his wrist, a circle with what looks to be a star, but the cuffed part of his shirt prevents further investigation. “I’m not religious,” my uncle tells him. “But God still watches us all,” the priest chuckles awkwardly. I glance up at my uncle, finding that he sees nothing humorous about any of this. “You can stay, priest. I’m sure others will enjoy listening to you mouth off about how God has a plan for us all. But leave my ?nephew out of it. Understood?” The man nods, about to say something more when my uncle walks the two of us away. I frown at the words of my uncle, repeating them again and again in my head. Did some mighty and all-powerful deity have a plan? Did I … could I—with everything going on—believe that a greater being was watching over all of us? [[I … I could. I did. I pray and hope.|2.02PrayHope][$atcb_religious to true]] [[I don’t know. I don’t want to think about it.|2.02DKThink][$atcb_religious to false]] [[No. Not after all I had seen.|2.02NotReligious][$atcb_religious to false]]

I’m not too prideful to admit that some concepts may be beyond my understanding. There were a lot of things that I still didn’t understand. What the sun was and why it looked different than all the other stars if that’s what it was? What makes a tornado form, or how did a caterpillar become a butterfly? Where did babies come from?! One day, I like to think that I’ll be told these things or figure them out, and with that said, I suppose my belief is the same. Something that I can’t quite understand, but maybe someday I will. For now, I choose to believe that there is something there. Mother believed, and so I do too. <<include "2.03">>

I don’t know. It was a tricky question that gave me a headache each time I decided to dwell on it. There were so many moving parts and if's and maybe’s that followed every question. I would ask my uncle about it, but I know how he felt about the subject. After his wife and child died, he stopped believing. I remember my mother saying that the bottle was the only almighty he needed back then. I never really understood what that meant; I still don’t. I just know I always envisioned him praying to a bottle, and it made me giggle. <<include "2.03">>

If I ever did believe that some mighty being watched over us, I no longer did. My father died before I could ever meet him. My auntie and cousin were taken before one of them could take a single breath. And now my mother has been ripped from my grasp. How could one believe that some benevolent being was caring and watching them when those things and even more heinous things happened in the world? It was just too hard to believe that this world could run on anything akin to faith. <<include "2.03">>

I think my uncle is about to ask me what the man said, but instead, he remains quiet. He guides me into the large room where the ceremony should occur. Many others are already in attendance, most of them talking and eating the food set out while a select few cry or dab their eyes with tissues. They make me frown. “It’s about to start,” my uncle tells me, having me take a seat at the very front, close to the casket that holds my mother’s body. I stare at it. A giant wooden box that is supposed to keep her body for the rest of eternity. [[I don’t want that for me.|2.03DontWant]] [[Seems lonely.|2.03Lonely]] [[I guess if that’s tradition.|2.03Tradition]] [[I don’t want to think about it.|2.03NotThinkAbout]]

The idea of being trapped below the dirt and in a box makes me extremely nervous. It makes me feel trapped, and part of me feels the need to pull on my uncle’s shirt and tell him that we need to help her. She shouldn’t be trapped like that. We need to make sure she is free. What if her spirit wants to see the sun or the sky? She shouldn’t be trapped in that darkness like that. But I remain quiet, playing with my <<if $dark_burns>>gloved hands<<else>>hands<</if>>. <<include "2.03.1">>

It all felt so lonely. She wasn’t buried with a stuffed animal or a toy that she loved. No pictures or videos to keep her company. She would be trapped in that dark box all by herself. The thought almost makes me gasp, and so badly do I wish to pull on my uncle’s shirt and tell him that we need to help her. But I remain quiet, playing with my <<if $dark_burns>>gloved hands<<else>>hands<</if>>. <<include "2.03.1">>

I don’t exactly understand it, but it’s what everyone does. And if everyone does it, that means it’s okay, right? Maybe I just didn’t understand why, or there was something that I was missing, like when people say ‘bless you’ when you sneeze. Either way, I remain quiet, keeping my thoughts to myself. <<include "2.03.1">>

My frown is set upon my face, but I choose to empty my mind of all the possible things that may happen once we truly bury her. I don’t want to think about any of it. I really don’t want to think about it. <<include "2.03.1">>

Yesterday, I went through every book that I had. Turning pages to figure out what the heroes did when their loved ones died. None of them had an answer to the question. The few storybooks I had that talked about death explained it in such a rudimentary way that it made me feel silly. <<if $atcb_emotion is "crying">>I remember how my actions slowed down, the hope that I would find an answer lessening with each book until I just gave up. I closed the book, and I cried. I cried out of fear and the pure want to see my mother again.<<elseif $atcb_emotion is "outbursts">>I remember feeling a rush of anger and then ripping at the pages. I only grew angrier when I realized what I had done. I was no closer to an answer, and one of my favorite books was now ruined.<<elseif $atcb_emotion is "ignore" or $atcb_emotion is "calm">>I remember my actions slowing down as I realized that they wouldn’t hold the answer to my problem. I gave up. I placed the pile of books back in their home and laid down. What was the point of anything else?<<else>>The hero found out the enemy killed their loved one, and they took revenge. They vanquished the evil and were celebrated by the rest of the kingdom. But the enemy for me was scary and vague. A figure or a moment that I couldn’t just vanquish at risk of it also consuming me. And it didn’t answer my question, or if it did, I didn’t like the answer.<</if>> <a data-passage="2.04"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

People I have never seen before approach her open casket, whispering things too low for me to hear while they wipe away their tears. They all bow and pray as if the body resting inside is some important figure demanding their obeisance even after death. I find myself wondering if this is what she would want. If she wanted people to bow and pray over her like this. It feels like all eyes turn on me when it’s my turn. “You don’t have to go up there,” Uncle Matheus whispers, a doleful look on his face. “Trust me. It may be better to just sit here.” It’s not that I don’t believe him, but I want to be brave. Everyone else did it, and they didn’t know her as I did. She was //my// mother. I approach boldly, imagining myself as the hero in those books. The hero sees their departed loved one for the last time, and utters an oath. I prepare it, but all that bravado is flushed away once I am there. There she is, with a serene look on her face. “She looks as if she is sleeping, no?” the priest asks, and I shake my head. “No.” The numerous times I saw her asleep, she looked like she had already spoken with death and made peace with the idea of seeing the afterlife. Her mouth was always ajar as she fought to breathe and never-ending movement behind her closed eyelids. She would twitch in her sleep, and terrifying spasms would take hold of her body, causing her to fall out of bed. She smelled of stale musk and mildew, and no matter how many times the nurses washed her and her clothes, the odor never vanished. And now, she looks at peace, quiescent in her final bed. As if the mere esse of death is all that it took for her to finally understand and meet tranquility. [[And it shakes me to my core.|2.04ShakeToCore][$fear_death to true]] [[And I say my farewells.|2.04Farewells]]

<<if settings.choiceShow>><<notify 10s>>Roe has suddenly realized that they have a fear of death.<</notify>><</if>>\ While another would say she looks at peace—and they would not necessarily be wrong—I see something far more grotesque. This isn’t her. This isn’t my mother; it is a cadaver stolen and painted up to look like her. Why does she regain her beauty in death? The last two years have been hard on her. She resembled more of a decrepit old crone than a fair maiden. The only times she even had a semblance of life was when she had enough energy to leave the house, and even then, she still appeared sickly. Before me rests a lie, and everyone but me seems to have willingly become enthralled. “Are you okay?” I jerk around at the feeling of something touching my shoulder and bump into the coffin. It wobbles, and the crowd gasps at what they predict will happen, but nothing does. Her body is once again motionless, and I decide to go. I dart out of the claustrophobic room, but that is where my plan ends. There is nowhere to go. <a data-passage="2.05"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

But I don’t care to elaborate any of that for the priest. In fact, I’d rather he give me time to say my final farewells in peace. Glancing over at him, it takes a moment for him to pick up on what I am silently conveying, and once he does, he raises his hands apologetically and moves away. I turn my gaze back to my deceased mother. What does one say to their mother? Do I speak about a memory the two of us shared? Do I talk about how I will try to be good so she doesn’t have to worry? [[“I hate you.”|2.04HateYou]] [[“I’m so sorry.”|2.04SoSorry]] [[“Don’t leave me.”|2.04LeaveMe]] [[“Goodbye.”|2.04Goodbye]] [[“I love you.”|2.04LoveYou]]

Thousands of questions rush through my head, but there is only one emotion that I can actually pinpoint. Anger. There is a rage like no other inside of me. One that burns so fiercely that it makes my scar itch and causes me to ball up my fist. The world around me fades, and right then and there, it’s only her and me. Her peaceful face and my tearful one. “No,” I growl, “no. It’s not fair. It’s not fair that you look like this when all I got in the last two years was you in bed and being sick. None of this is fair, and it’s all your fault. I hate you!” I scream. “I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.” I repeatedly shout the words, shaking my head as I want to grab and throw something. I want to rip something apart. I want to hug my mother. Her body is once again motionless, and I decide to go. I dart out of the claustrophobic room, but that is where my plan ends. There is nowhere to go. <a data-passage="2.05"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

As I stare at her, I can only wonder what she was thinking right before it all ended. Was she thinking about my father, the man I believe she loved? Was she thinking about how much she didn’t want to die, or was she ready? Was she … was she thinking about me? What if I had been the cause of a lot of her problems? If my existence was the issue and I had made it all worse? How often did she have to put me first and sacrifice herself and her needs? How many times did I make her job harder than it was ever supposed to be? I wrap my arms around myself as those thoughts spread farther, grasping everything and infecting it. Me. What if I’m the evil and not the hero at all? “I … I’m sorry,” I squeak out in fear, trying to calm a thundering heart. “I’m so sorry, Mom, if this is all my fault. I never wanted this.” How many times did I yell at her when she made me mad? How often had I wished for her to disappear or for me to disappear? What if this was me - Her body is once again motionless, and I decide to go. I dart out of the claustrophobic room, but that is where my plan ends. There is nowhere to go. <a data-passage="2.05"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

Thousands of questions rush through my head, but only one seems unmovable. What happens when this day is over? In the books, the hero said their goodbyes and embarked on their quest, and never again was their loved one thought about. It was all about slaying the enemy. I wasn’t ready to slay anything or to free a kingdom from an evil that scared me senseless. I wasn’t prepared to be without my mother. I reach forward as if to grab her hand, but I fear what her hand would feel like in mine stops me. Instead, I push myself up on my tiptoes and whisper. “Please don’t leave me. Not yet. I’m not ready to say goodbye or see you go. I’m not ready to do this without you. I don’t want to. I don’t know how, but … come back. I’ll do anything. Please.” I want to beg. My quest would be to find the magic elixir. The one thing that would bring her back. Her body is once again motionless, and I decide to go. I dart out of the claustrophobic room, but that is where my plan ends. There is nowhere to go. <a data-passage="2.05"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

So many memories, some far more pleasant than the others, but even the bad ones seem … perfect. The memories of the two of us going on adventures. Or the ones where she would punish me. The ones where she helped me. And the ones where she taught me something I was curious about. The ones where she seemed frustrated and shouted. But then there were also the ones where she apologized and taught me about forgiveness while asking for mine. “Goodbye, Mom,” I manage to choke out as the sobs cling to my throat. “I don’t want you to worry. I’ll be okay. Really,” I say as I rub my eye. “I’ll be okay. Promise.” I wonder if the dead can tell if you’re lying or not. Her body is once again motionless, and I decide to go. I dart out of the claustrophobic room, but that is where my plan ends. There is nowhere to go. <a data-passage="2.05"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

So many memories, some far more pleasant than the others, but even the bad ones seem … perfect. The memories of the two of us going on adventures. Or the ones where she would punish me. The ones where she helped me. And the ones where she taught me something I was curious about. The ones where she seemed frustrated and shouted. But then there were also the ones where she apologized and taught me about forgiveness while asking for mine. I rub at my eye, shaking my head. “I love you, mom. Did you know that? I love you so much.” I cry. Something touches my shoulder, and I whip around, bumping into the coffin. It wobbles, and the crowd gasps at what they predict will happen, but nothing does. Her body is once again motionless, and I decide to go. I dart out of the claustrophobic room, but that is where my plan ends. There is nowhere to go. <a data-passage="2.05"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

I rush outside, squeezing my eyes closed as the spring air hits me, and I breathe in the subtle yet fragrant smell of a flower or tree. Whichever one it is smells good. The type of smell you would discover while walking through a park. Trudging over to a nearby playground, I plop down on a swing and kick at the dirt underneath my foot. A few minutes later, I hear the door open and turn to see my uncle standing there. He doesn’t motion me towards him, nor does he seem to want to come over. He simply stands there, and for a moment, I wonder if I just envisioned him. Finally, he starts to head towards me. He sits on the swing next to me, quiet as he rocks back and forth. “How are you?” he finally inquires. [[“I want my mom.”|2.05Mom]] [[“I’m okay.”|2.05Okay]]

My eyes well up with tears as I wrap my arms around me. “I want my mom!” “Hey, come here,” my uncle starts, opening his arms, and I instantly rise and embrace him. “It’s okay. It’s okay.” I bawl my eyes out, holding nothing back. <<include "2.06">>

I fight back a sniffle and nod, “I’m okay.” My uncle chuckles, causing me to look over at him as he shakes his head and looks up to the sky. Tears run down his face. “No, you’re not. And it’s okay, $name. It’s okay to not be okay.” I don’t know if it’s the words or just seeing my uncle cry, but it becomes impossible to hold my own tears in as I get up and rush into his open arms. “It’s okay,” he repeats, hugging me tightly as we cry together. “It’s okay.” <<include "2.06">>

She has been dead for almost a week, and I still haven’t quite grasped that fact. But seeing her lying in that box, peaceful and content, appearing nothing like she did when she was alive. I realized that she isn’t coming back. I will never, ever hear her voice again. I will never see that smiling face or smell her wearing her favorite perfume. I will never feel her arms wrapped around me or hear her read me stories as she makes all the funny faces and voices. I will never taste her pancakes or her weird but cool drinks. She’s gone. She’s gone, and she isn’t coming back. And the only thing I want is her. It feels like so much time passes with just the two of us there. My head rests against his chest as he softly swings us, neither of us saying much but I’m sure nothing needs to be said. <a data-passage="2.07"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

“I remember the first time I met your mother,” he says after a long pause. “Your father was so excited for me to meet her, nervous, really. He didn't know what to say, how to act ... It made for some hilarious situations even though he didn't want that. He just wanted me to meet the girl he was crazy about.” “Crazy about?” I question, and my uncle hums. “It means, well, at least in this context, you’re in love with someone a lot. You’re crazy about them, which is a good thing. And wow, did he love her. I was so happy for him. I knew who I wanted to marry in highschool, and I knew he always felt weird about me and Val. That he worried he wouldn't meet anyone.” “Do I look like my father?” I question, rubbing at my eye. “Hell no,” Matheus laughs, ducking his head as if someone would chide him for cursing in front of me. “You were … are, a spitting image of your mother. I … I was happy about that back then. I didn’t see my brother in you, so it meant I wouldn’t be haunted by his memory.” “Sometimes I feel like I never even had a father,” I admit, and my uncle hums. “Yea, I’m starting to wonder if our family is cursed regarding fathers. My brother died before learning he was a father. I was fated to never be one, and we never knew our father.” He frowns. “Does it bother you that you never met your father?” [[“No.”|2.07No]] [[“Yea …”|2.07Yea]] [[“Others find it weird.”|2.07Weird]] [[Shrug.|2.07Shrug]]

“Not really. Some kids at school had a dad, but then he left and never came back, and they seemed a lot sadder than me. Some didn’t know their mother or father. It’s always been just mom, so I was never really sad.” He nods his head. <<include "2.08">>

“Yea, kinda. I wish I knew him. Many kids at school have dads, and they talk about everything they’re supposed to do with you, and I just sit there quietly because I know I won’t ever be able to get that. It sometimes makes me feel like I won’t grow up the right way.” “Come on, $name, please don’t think that. I can tell you right now he wouldn’t want you to ever think that.” I want to shrug, but I don’t, nodding in understanding. I now didn’t have either parent, so if I did keep that mindset, then I truly wasn’t going to grow up healthily. <<include "2.08">>

“The other kids find it weird. They sometimes pick on me and say that he died to get away from me.” “$name, why didn’t you tell me. I would’ve talked to your old teachers.” “That wouldn’t stop them,” I tell him. “They’ll just be mad I told someone.” Kids are mean. I learned that then, and I know it wouldn’t get any better with the passing of my mother. <<include "2.08">>

I shrug. The thought comes and goes, never staying around long enough to figure out how I truly feel about the subject. I knew I had a father, just like I know he died before I was born, and that was basically where it all ended. I never knew him. It’s like when I heard about my uncle’s wife and child. I was sad, but I had never had a chance to meet them. <<include "2.08">>

“Is it going to stop hurting?” He frowns, tightening his hold on me. “Honestly? I don’t know. It hasn’t for me. But I can say it doesn’t hurt as much. There are some days that it doesn’t hurt at all, really. But then there are days where it hurts like it just happened. There are days when I just sit there and question everything.” He laughs dejectedly. “There are so many days where I sit and just wonder what could be and just remember.” He frowns but doesn’t allow the silence to sit for too long. “You know, I like to think it’s not pain you feel in your heart. It’s… it’s them pinching you to remind you that they’re still with you and aren’t going anywhere.” [[“I’d rather a hug.”|2.08Hug]] [[“You must get a lot of pinches?”|2.08Pinches]] [[“Are they really still here?”|2.08StillHere]]

“Why can’t they just hug me instead?” I pout, “pinches hurt.” “Then let’s change it to that. Or we can just say that I receive pinches, and you receive hugs. Which one do you like more?” I frown as I think it through. “Do you like the pinches? Do they hurt?” “Sometimes.” “Would a hug feel better?” He smiles down at me and nods. “Then hugs it is.” “Hugs it is.” <a data-passage="2.09"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

“You must receive a lot of pinches?” Uncle Matheus abrupts in laughter, shaking his head as he playfully pinches my arm. “Yea, just like that one.” I finally manage a small laugh. <<include "2.09">>

“Are they really still here, or are you just saying that?” “Why? Do you believe something else?” I shrug, not really knowing the answer to that. He hums. “You may feel differently later, and that’ll be okay. But I like to think that they are. There’s this law in science; you’ll learn about it, I’m sure. But it’s called the conservation of mass and it states that matter cannot be created or destroyed, instead it’s conserved. And since everything is made of matter, it can’t be destroyed, so it sticks around. And I like to think it sticks around things that are familiar to them.” I’m not entirely sure what he’s talking about, but the way he says it makes it sound true, and I like the sound of it. <a data-passage="2.09"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

I glance back at the building, feeling my heart slowly fall at the thought of what lies within. “Do we have to go back inside now?” “You know what … no, we don’t. If you want to go, then we can go.” “What more do we have left?” “They’ll carry her coffin into the graveyard and place her in the hole and cover it. After that, people will just stand around and talk.” [[Stay.|2.09Stay]] [[Leave.|2.09Leave]]

The idea of them lowering her into a dark hole bothers me, but something tells me to be brave. It’s almost over, and I’m doing this for her. Taking a deep breath, I reach my feet and turn to my uncle. “Let’s go back in.” “You sure?” “Yea,” I say, a hint of doubt to my words but I try to cover them with bravado. “I’m sure.” “Then come on,” he states, getting to his feet with a huff. “Let’s go brave a few more minutes of people giving us their condolences.” “I hate that word,” I mumble, grabbing his hand as we walk back towards the building. “Oh, me too. Me too.” We enter the building, and though I don’t know exactly what will happen next, I know I’ll at least be able to give my mother one last goodbye. <img src="images/divider.png" style="float:center"> [[1. Changes|Chapter1_Changes]] 2. Condolences, for Your Loss [[3. Someday It'll Get Better|Chapter3_Someday]] [[4. Love Me, Love Me Not|Chapter4_Love]] [[5. Midnight Conversations|Chapter5_MidnightConvo]] [[6. Freshmen|Chapter6_Orientation]] [[7. Good Ol' Party Days|Chapter7_FirstParty]] [[8. Meeting the Roe|Chapter8_MeetingRoe]] [[Back to Navigation|Start]]

The idea of them lowering her into a dark hole bothers me. I barely wanted to see her in that box. To think that she will be put in something even darker is a scary thought and one that I am okay with missing. “I want to go.” “That’s all you have to say.” He retrieves his keys from his pocket and jingles them. “Don’t you have to tell them?” “I’ve done this far too many times,” he smiles, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I think I can get a pass this one time.” He takes my hand in his hand, and we walk to his truck. I tell myself not to look back, to keep my eyes forward as he pulls away from the building. But I fail. I glance into the side mirror and utter one last goodbye. <img src="images/divider.png" style="float:center"> [[1. Changes|Chapter1_Changes]] 2. Condolences, for Your Loss [[3. Someday It'll Get Better|Chapter3_Someday]] [[4. Love Me, Love Me Not|Chapter4_Love]] [[5. Midnight Conversations|Chapter5_MidnightConvo]] [[6. Freshmen|Chapter6_Orientation]] [[7. Good Ol' Party Days|Chapter7_FirstParty]] [[8. Meeting the Roe|Chapter8_MeetingRoe]] [[Back to Navigation|Start]]

<>\ <<playlist "chapters1_2_3" loop play>> <>\ @@.center; - Trigger Warning - Dark subjects. Some scenes containing suicidal thoughts and attempts by a minor (will be further labeled for navigation). If you or someone you know is contemplating suicide then please [[seek out those that can help|https://988lifeline.org]]. @@ <img src="images/divider.png" style="float:center"> My eyes dash to the table I’m meant to approach and sit at. Fear seizes my actions as I attempt to find a way to avoid the inevitable. Most days, one of three things happen during my lunch period. The first, and the rarest due to my extreme and fortunate luck, is that I end up squished between the boring class members. Those students probably don’t even know I exist because they are content to keep to themselves or their chosen friend groups. They’re like the greenest of pastures when the rest of the world is little more than mud and tar. The second is the worst. In front or behind me will be those who seem to have made it their sole purpose to make my life horrible. The ring leaders are two guys, Tyler and David. They constantly believe it their job to remind me of all my shortcomings and what I am without. The two alone are enough to make one go crazy, but following them is a bunch of mindless puppets who copy their behavior, parroting back whatever they say in hopes of escaping their ire. I sometimes dream that one day they will one day grow tired of the pointless antagonizing and either aid me or simply walk away, leaving the two boys hopelessly outnumbered. But, I have to constantly remind myself that I’m not living in a fairytale. The third is a consequence of the second. [[I was sent to lunch detention.|3.00Detention]] [[I bolted to the library.|3.00Library]] [[I fled to the bathroom.|3.00Bathroom]]

One mishap during lunch showed me a way to avoid eating next to my bullies. And so, I embraced the chaos. I embraced getting into //just// enough trouble to land me in lunch detention, but no further reprimands. After a while, the teacher in charge of it realized that I was doing it purposely and simply told me to always report there, no matter if I had landed myself in trouble or not. I had come to learn that she was not as bad as many made her to be. Our conversations were always enlightening, and I felt like I was getting some insider knowledge about teachers and their feelings. <<include "3.00">>

There were times when I was able to see what was about to happen and circumvent it before the worst was to pass. No teachers blocking me, no one’s attention set upon me, so I would bolt. At first, I wandered the hallways, realizing how silly and out of place I looked while carrying a lunch tray stacked with food. I soon realized that the wisest course of action would be to head to the library. Hardly anyone ever entered there, and I knew a room that should not be closed off. At first, I surrounded myself with books, silence, and food. Keeping an ear out for the lunch bell so that I could head back to my class with no one the wiser. But soon, one of the librarians noticed my comings and goings. I feared I would be sent back to the lunchroom, barred from returning at such a time. Instead, she pointed to one of the rooms used for singular testing and told me to spend my time there as I’d be less likely to be disturbed. <<include "3.00">>

It wasn’t my most ingenious idea, but it was the only place I knew that would offer me some serenity from what happened at the lunch table. I was far more comfortable handling the smells and unhygienic surroundings than having milk and food wasted on my clothes or food taken off my tray to feed another. I was left undisturbed, and that was all that mattered. <<include "3.00">>

Today is the first situation, thankfully, but just barely. My two antagonizers reside a few kids in front. Enough to spare me, but if they choose to glance around and find themselves lacking in the entertainment department, I’ll be their goal. I glance around to see if any teachers are on patrol, thus stopping me from making an escape. //Lucky// for me, two stand at the double doors carrying on a conversation that does not look like it’s nearing an end. It seems that I’ll have to sit at the table today. <<if hasVisited("3.00Detention")>>The lunch detention teacher has been absent for the week, meaning that I just don’t have it and will be forced to mingle with the other students.<<elseif hasVisited("3.00Library")>>I can try and tell the teachers that I’ll be eating in the library but—like in the past—they may just turn me away.<<else>>And just like that, the bulk of my appetite flees.<</if>> <a data-passage="3.01"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

I try to imagine myself as a tiny speck. Insignificant. Invisible. Irrelevant. I sit and pick at my food, listening to the conversations of those around me as I try to efface myself. The truth is, I have no friends, a fact that I’ve come to grips with. [[I didn’t want any.|3.01DidntWant]] [[I tried … I really did.|3.01Tried]]

It’s a choice that I made after the constant bullying, as well as facing my own issues. Tons of kids seem excited to get to know me, hear my tales, and learn the person behind all the hype. And I suppose that’s when I begin to retreat. The more eyes seem to land on me, the more I retract into an amorphous shell that I hardly find comfortable. <<include "3.02">>

I try to make friends, but each attempt feels more like a pathetic throw of a boomerang. I throw it, hoping someone will catch it, but instead, it comes right back and hits me upside the head. After a while … Well, you stop throwing the object. I’m used to it, though. It doesn’t bother me as much as it once did. Or … that’s what I say whenever the topic presents itself. <<include "3.02">>

It wasn’t //that// bad when I first got here. Kids were mean. <<if $dark_control>>They mainly teased me over anything they felt to be a physical flaw. It didn’t last long.<<else>>They teased me over my scars until that got old, and the teasing began to lessen.<</if>> And then they teased me when they learned that both of my parents had died. The teasing never lessened like I expected once that truth was out. I suppose there was far too much ammunition now. Movement to my left grabs my attention and brings me back. I watch as a few of the students shift seats, easily avoiding the lackadaisical scrutiny of the teachers on watch. My heart thuds as I try to swallow the fear rising in my throat and fight the shiver that rides my spine. “$name!” Tyler grins as he heavily pats my back. “I was wondering where you were.” [[Ignore him.|3.02IgnoreHim]] [[“What do you want?”|3.02WhatYouWant]] [[“Fuck off.”|3.02FuckOff]]

Focusing on the food I will probably not be eating, I try to keep my face a neutral mask. “You’re boring,” Tyler snorts, reaching forward and grabbing my juice. “Guess I’ll just take this while you ignore me.” Staying true to my previous decision, I continue to do just that. I ignore his stare that threatens to bore a hole through the side of my face. Ignore how he slurps the juice that isn’t exactly free. But mostly, I ignore the voice deep inside me that chastises me more than my aggressor. A voice that calls me weak and a pushover. A … a bitch. Finally, Tyler sighs. “Alright, you win. You’re no fun when you’re like this.” He smirks as he pushes my tray closer to me. “But aren’t you hungry?” <<include "3.03">>

“What do you want, Tyler?” I ask, looking to my right. The student there is paying me no mind, caught between a conversation with their friend and their lunch. “I,” he sings as he reaches for my juice, “want more juice. And remembered that you don’t mind sharing.” “Sure, why not? Take it. It’s not like I paid for it.” “Exactly. That’s what makes you so nice. Always sharing.” Confusion crosses his face as he looks at me and then my tray. “Aren’t you hungry?” He pushes the tray closer to me. <<include "3.03">>

“Fuck off,” I growl under my breath. “Ohhh,” he sings, “cuss words. That’ll make me think twice.” He leans in, “I bet your parents wouldn’t be happy to hear that.” The amount of control I practice should be applauded. If I hit him, it won’t matter who emerges as the victor. My classmates will just call me vicious. $name again <<verb 'let' ?his emotions get the better of ?him and <<verb 'takes'>> it out on someone. The few who even pay enough attention to know Tyler is the bully will just shrug. The teachers won’t care at all. “Hey,” Tyler shouts, hitting me harshly as he pushes my tray towards me. “Are you going to eat? You’re hungry, right?” <<include "3.03">>

“I’m not,” I answer, pushing it back to its original position. “You sure?” He once again pushes it towards me, but this time, I put my hand to stop it moving. He doesn’t let up, though, and we both end up pushing on it. “Stop messing with me,” I hiss. “Stop messing with me,” he mimics, causing my temper to flare even more. “Fine.” He removes his hand, and at the last moment, I realize what’s about to happen. The tray goes sliding forward, ramming into the tray of the person sitting across from me and knocking it into her lap. Tyler and a few of my other classmates laugh as the girl jumps from the table, squealing as her pretty, bright sundress is now covered with today’s poorly made meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and greens. Her already open milk carton spills all around her and towards those sitting next to her as they, too, try to avoid the spreading chaos. “Rachel -” I start, but Tyler beats me to it. “Wow, $name. That was really rude.” Her eyes cut to me. <a data-passage="3.03.1"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

“Seriously, freak?!” she screams, attracting the teachers’ attention. “Now, what am I supposed to do? This is my favorite dress.” “I … I can help,” I try just as the teachers arrive, everyone fussing over her as tears begin to well in her eyes. “What happened?” one of them asks, and the entire table suddenly becomes a chorus, all singing my name. “$name just pushed ?his tray into mine,” Rachel tells them through her sulking. “I’m sure $name didn’t do this on purpose.” “Yes, ?he did. ?He’s always trying to make ?his_ problems someone else’s. Everyone has to feel bad for the orphan or else.” I ball my hands into fists, fighting every urge to defend myself. It will do no good. The teachers will just think Rachel’s words are true, and in the end, I’ll be sitting outside the Vice Principal’s office alone. Plus, I know how some of the teachers see me as well. Their thoughts are hardly any different than what Rachel just said. Losing a parent, going through trauma, it doesn’t matter and it surely can’t be used as an excuse to slow down in one’s pointless studies. “Didn’t you know,” Tyler smirks, “$name is a witch and curses people to death.” <a data-passage="3.04"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

“Enough,” the teacher barks, pulling even more attention. “Rachel, come with me. We’ll get you some clean clothes at the nurse’s office.” “Those clothes are ugly, though,” she whines as the teacher leads her off. “Nice job, $name.” “If it had spilled on me, I’d throw my milk on ?him.” “?He’s so annoying.” “Poor Rachel.” “Such an idiot.” <<if $dark_sight>>\ “$He can’t help that he’s basically half blind.” “Sounds like a personal problem.” <<elseif $dark_truth>>\ “If ?he<<verb "'s" "'re">> not careful someone’s gonna slap ?him and give ?him another scar.” “Rachel would love that privilege.” <<elseif $dark_burns>>\ “Did you see ?his arms? It was probably from a spasm attack, my mom told me about those.” “Sounds like a personal problem.” <</if>>\ They keep coming until it slowly begins to fade, not because they move on to different conversations but because I force their voices from my head. I want to scream. To yell at each and every one of them. To throw my tray straight at Tyler’s face. <a data-passage="3.05"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

I want this day to be over. Darting into the restroom, I slam the door to the stall, caring little as it only bounces off the lock and creaks open. I need to catch my breath. I can’t catch my breath. My heart is pounding, and it feels like everything is moving extremely fast, yet not fast at all. It is as if everything has frozen in time while I’m soaring through faster than necessary. Breathe. A mistake. Breathing only causes my chest to ache, and I oscillate between just wanting to catch my breath and sobbing. It hurts. It always hurts. Everything always hurts. I just want it to all stop. <<if $atcb_religious>>Why pray when it doesn’t do anything? They never hear me. And if they do, then is it just another example of being ignored and unloved? What was the point of any of it? Of having faith if this is the end result?<</if>> “Hello?” someone questions, and I cover my mouth, trying to steady my breathing as I close the door. “Are you okay?” I imagine releasing the door to let it open. Letting the speaker see who it is, and they ask me what’s wrong. I imagine I’d finally be able to talk to someone about everything bothering me and, thus, make a new friend. I imagine. But my imagination is never the reality. I learned that the day I imagined a monster taking my mom instead of the reality of her slow and haunting death. After a few more minutes, the owner of the voice leaves and I wonder if that was my one attempt to finally get a friend. Doesn’t really matter. <a data-passage="3.06"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

<img src="images/divider.png" style="float:center"> The rest of the day goes by slowly as if it wants to punish me for not being more aware at lunch. I’m the talk of the day as everyone finds themselves engrossed in discussion about what I did to Rachel and how they feel oh so bad for her. I’m met with nothing but judgmental glares and barely hidden snickers. When the day finally does come to an end, I’m overly elated and practically race towards the bus parking lot. I make it outside, with the buses right there in the distance waiting for me to board. From there, all I have to do is go home. Get on the bus. And go home. “Freak!” I hear someone shout, and I do nothing but quicken my steps. The bus is right there. The end of this horrible day. “Hey!” Tyler shouts, grabbing my bookbag. “Do you hear me? I’m talking to you.” [[Shove him.|3.06Shove]] [[Punch him.|3.06Punch]] [[Walk away.|3.06Walk]]

Turning, I shove him. Hard enough to get my message across but not so that he’ll fall and it’ll initiate anything more than a warning. “The little freak is going to fight back this time?” Tyler questions, surging forward and tackling me. I land with a hard thud, happy in the fact that I’m wearing a bookbag that cushions the fall even if the books within still send pain radiating through my back. I can hear kids screaming, encouraging the fight as my senses begin to grow frantic. Part of me tries to block the punches being sent at me while another seems like it has had enough and has left me to defend for myself. He lands a punch on my cheek, pain blossoming as I can feel tears rushing to my eyes, and I begin to act frantically. I claw and punch at anything I can, just hoping to do some damage of my own and mentally cheering when I hear him hiss. <a data-passage="3.07"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

I’m not exactly sure which I can blame my following action on. The pure hatred and anger I have for the boy who seems unrelenting in his goal to harass me or the simple want and slight glee at the idea of releasing energy that has been quelled for days on end. I suppose it matters little. I turn, letting the bookbag fall to the ground as I land a jab on the nose. A violent pain blossoms in my knuckle before shooting up my arm. It feels like my hand has just made contact with a rock, and though my brain conjures up a fitting insult, I also can’t get over how much that hurts. Tyler shouts out in pain, holding his now bleeding nose as he stumbles backward. “I’ll kill you,” he yells, throwing his bag at me before charging. He manages to land a punch to my cheek before I grapple him off me and to the ground, hoping to hit him again, but he blocks most of my wild swings. <a data-passage="3.07"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

I fight his hold just enough to keep walking forward. Suddenly, my body lurches forward, and the ground, despite my attempts, grows closer. An orchestra of ‘oohs’ rings out as my body slams into the pavement, my teeth painfully digging into my lip and surely cutting through. The pain is too much, and despite how much I scream at myself, I can’t keep the tears to myself. They stream down my cheeks as I brush my hand over my bruised chin. “Are you crying?” Tyler laughs, nudging my leg. “Oh shit, you are. Fucking crybaby. You didn’t even fall that hard.” I refuse to think my next action through. I no longer care about the consequences after all that has happened today. I move and grab his ankle, yanking as hard as I can as he falls on his ass, and those surrounding us laugh. We are nothing but entertainment to them. They don’t care who’s in the right or who will win because, at the end of the day, they’ll walk away unharmed and with something to gossip over. “You asshole,” he shouts, lunging towards me. I attempt to crawl away, but he’s faster, already on top of me and delivering wild blows to my face. He misses most of them, or I’m able to block them, but a few manage to land against my cheek. <a data-passage="3.07"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

“Hey!” a teacher shouts, jogging over to us. “Break it up.” They grab Tyler as another teacher, one that I hadn’t spotted beforehand, grabs me. “Let go of me,” Tyler shouts, thrashing in an effort to get to me. There is nothing but pure hatred in his eyes, a rage that seems unnatural for a boy his age. [[“What did I ever do to you?”|3.07EverDoToYou]] [[“Yea, let him go.”|3.07LetHimGo]] [[Stay quiet.|3.07StayQuiet]] [[Try to regain control.|3.07RegainControl]]

“What did I ever do to you?” I scream, answering it a second later. “Nothing. I never said or did anything to you, but you keep messing with me. Just leave me alone!” “Calm down,” the teacher holding me says, and I fight the need to tear myself out of their grasp. Calm down. Calm down after I’ve just been attacked after the day I had all because of the boy right in front of me. <<include "3.08">>

“Yea, let him go so I can finish what he started.” “You wish,” he shouts back, and both of the teachers bark at us to quiet down. <<include "3.08">>

I remain quiet, glaring a hole in the asphalt. The pain in my cheek is starting to heighten<<if hasVisited("3.06Walk")>>, along with the one on my chin and the inside of my lip where my teeth tore through.<<else>>.<</if>> Tyler has hardly anything to show from our tussle, and I can only hope that it’s only surface-level. I pray he’s standing there trying with all his might not to cry. <<include "3.08">>

I pay no attention to the teachers or Tyler, focusing solely on my breathing and the pain rousing all across my face. I’m going to bruise, and regardless of whether I’m suspended or not, it’ll stick with me for at least a week, maybe two. I’ll have to walk around the school with that bruise, listening as even more people speak about what happened. The insults they’ll have. Balling my hands into fists, I try to rid my mind of the thoughts. They’re not helping me keep calm. <<include "3.08">>

<<if $gender is "female">>\ “Seriously, young man?” the teacher holding onto Tyler begins to question. “Did you just fight a girl?” “Looks more like an it to me,” Tyler hisses. “Apologize,” the teacher orders, and Tyler only snorts. “I don’t want an apology from that loser.” “I’m the loser,” he snorts. “<<if hasVisited("3.06Punch")>>You definitely //lost// that fight. But you’re a liar too, so you’ll tell everyone you won as if they can’t see your stupid face.”<<else>>Can’t hear now either, huh? Did I hit you too hard?”<</if>> He looks furious, but the teacher doesn’t allow for anything else to be said. <</if>>\ “All either of you had to do was get on the bus and go home.” He mumbles something else under his breath before nodding to the teacher holding me. “I’ll handle it from here.” I’m released, and part of me wonders how much trouble I’ll get in if I try and punch Tyler. I’m already going to be in big trouble, so why not make it worth it? <a data-passage="3.08.1"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

“Do either of you take the bus home?” “I do,” I confess, still staring at the ground and paying little attention to whatever Tyler’s answer is. I wonder how Uncle Matheus will react this time. Will he be disappointed or unsurprised? How many times can I find myself in trouble before he has had enough? I focus on one scenario after the other, anything to leave the here and now. “Alright, which bus is yours,” the adult states, motioning for Tyler and me to follow. Despite having released Tyler, the teacher makes sure to keep the two of us separated. “Bus 204.” Nodding, he grabs his walkie-talkie and orders another to hold the appropriate bus. My stomach churns, and part of me wants to throw up. They’ll blame me. Every student there will watch me get on the bus and know what happened as well as why they’ll be late getting home. Their parents will ask what happened … I bite my lip, trembling as I try to hold the tears in and silence the voices that reassure me that this is all my fault. I want to disappear. I want to go somewhere far, far away. I want to go back to when my mother was alive, and I never knew this school even existed. <a data-passage="3.09"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

“You, young man,” the teacher starts, pointing to Tyler, “what’s your name?” “Tyler Sheffield.” “Alright, Tyler, head to the principal’s office, and if you’re not there, then that’s just more trouble you’ll find yourself in. Go. Now. They’ll be expecting you.” Tyler sends me one last glare before doing as he’s told, leaving me with the exasperated teacher. “And your name?” “$name Roe.” A flicker of recognition and understanding enters his eye as he nods. “Look. I know about your mother.” [[“Don’t bring her into this.”|3.09LeaveHerOut]] [[“So what?”|3.09SoWhat]] [[“I didn’t start this.”|3.09DidntStart]] [[Let him finish.|3.09Finish]]

“Don’t bring her into this,” I snap. He doesn’t seem bewildered by my response, and thus, it makes me even madder. They think they know me. They act like they expect me to react and act out when I have never done anything. All that I’ve ever done is react, but they paint me as the aggressor each and every time, with no proof. “One of the things you need to work on is that attitude.” “I’ll add that to the list,” I mumble, ignoring the incredulous look he offers me. I don’t care what he has to say. Or what any of them say, for that matter. <<include "3.10">>

“And?” I question before he can get another word in. “She’s dead, so what? What does that have to do with him hitting me and me getting in trouble for it? He bullies me along with his friends, and they never get in trouble; I do. I’m the one who gets pulled off to the side and has to sit outside the class.” “You need to tell a teacher when this happens.” “I do!” I yell at him, caring little for the reproachful look that he sends me. It’s always the same thing. What’s the point in talking when they never hear you? “You need to work on that attitude and fix that lack of respect.” “Oh, do I now?” I mumble. I’m already in trouble; I see little reason to keep my thoughts to myself. <<include "3.10">>

“I didn’t start this!” “No, but you participated in it.” “What was I supposed to do? Let him hit me and push me and kick me?” “You come and tell one of us what is going on.” I bite my tongue so harshly that I think it begins to bleed. I wonder if he hears himself? A child pushes you down to the ground, and the first thing I should do is try and get away to find a teacher, not defend myself. No, I should seek one of them out and hope and pray that I won’t get in trouble. <<include "3.10">>

“I know how hard it is for a child to lose someone so important to them and to have to go through all of this. You’re strong. Everyone knows that. You don’t have to prove it by taking it out on other people’s faces. Understand?” I don’t, and I say nothing. Sighing and shaking his head, he points to the only bus that still sits in the parking lot. <<include "3.10">>

“Alright, go and get on your bus. I’ll be calling your guardian later to discuss your actions and punishment.” Remaining silent, I turn and head to the bus. Thankfully, the bus driver sits me in the front, and I tune out the whispers all around me. I want to curl up and go to sleep, but my heart is pounding as I think about my uncle and how he’ll react when he gets that phone call. I should be used to this, and he should too. This won’t be the first phone call, and I doubt it’ll be the last. <a data-passage="3.11"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

<img src="images/divider.png" style="float:center"> Entering the quiet house, I do a sloppy job of creating a sandwich before curiosity gets the better of me. With trepidation haunting my steps, I head to my bathroom and cut on the light, wincing at both the appearance and the pain. I look twisted … like the monster that hides away in caves, afraid of the light. The livid bruise on my cheek is so close to my eye that it looks like the edge wants to swell, but it at least gives me a break. Ultimately, this won’t leave a scar, not like my other one. There will be no visible evidence that this day ever happened, and for some reason, that thought seems to haunt me far more than I believe it should. This hurts just as much as anything else, but I’ll have no proof. If I talk to a doctor, they won’t ask if the day I was punched and got a bruise still hurts. They won’t ask about the pain I collected like tulips in a fully blossomed meadow when I was bullied. None of it will come up. Nothing discussed. [[It hurts. Everything hurts so much. :: Trigger Warning - Suicidal Thoughts ::|3.11HurtsSoMuch]] [[When does this get better?|3.11GetBetterWhen]]

When will the pain stop? Will this be something I just must contend with every day? I would like to think that when I’m an adult, all of this will disappear, but will it? My mom will still be gone. The pain of being bullied day in and out won’t just vanish. That creature that haunts my memories may or may not disappear. And finally, my scar will still be here. What if I’m shunned forever? My peers forever gazing at me in judgment as I’m rendered as nothing more than a problem. I’ve heard some kids whisper to their friends about their own pain. I’ve seen the marks that mar their skin as they ran fresh blades across the sensitive parts of their skin. My heart thuds as I look at my arms, imagining going further. It will hurt, but will it hurt as much as everything does now? Could I really escape this? And who will miss me? Uncle Matheus? It’s selfish to put such a weight on him, yet another death. But isn’t it just as selfish to do all this to him? To make him stress day in and day out? I choke on a sob that I didn’t even know had formed. Am I ready to make that big of a leap? To plunge into a depth that I will never rise from? The thoughts fill me with such dread and fear that the world feels like it begins to spin, and I grow sick. I don’t know, and I don’t know if that answer scares me more than actually knowing. <a data-passage="3.12"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

When will the pain stop? Will this be something I just must contend with every day? I would like to think that when I’m an adult, all of this will disappear, but will it? My mom will still be gone. The pain of being bullied day in and out won’t just vanish. That creature that haunts my memories may or may not disappear. And finally, my scar will still be here. What if I’m shunned forever? My peers forever gazing at me in judgment as I’m rendered as nothing more than a problem. Is there a chance that I could turn this all around? That a bit more optimism and effort on my part could make my middle school days something I’ll actually look back at and smile? Bullies no longer being an issue, grades rising, and teachers patting my back and admitting that they were wrong. I’d laugh if it didn’t hurt to move my cheeks. Despite how pleasant it all sounds, it is far too treacly to ever truly be a possible reality that I’ll face. So then I find myself back at square one, or not even that far. Back at the questions of when and how. Questioning a reflection that seems disinterested in hearing anything I have to say. My heart shifts. It trembles, and I can’t help but wonder if this is what it feels like to feel it crumble inside your chest. I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t want this, nor do I think I ever strived for this outcome. I just … I … <a data-passage="3.12"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

I dart from the bathroom and head straight to my bed, hoping to escape some ugly truth I’m not ready to confront. <<if $atcb_plushie is "none">><<else>>I practically suffocate my $atcb_plushie from how hard I hug it, wishing to transfer even an ounce of my emotions into it so I could feel just a little less. <</if>>I don’t care about how loud I scream for a mother that will no longer hear me. I don’t care about the cuss words that flee off my tongue as I curse the creature that I blame a portion of my trauma on, imaginary or not. But I do care about how much my hatred for myself hits me straight in the heart. I hate that after all these years of curating these emotions, that one is the strongest. There is no one I blame more than I blame myself. Not that beast, not Tyler, not the teachers, and not my mother. Just me. And I go to sleep with that hatred burning far brighter than before. <a data-passage="3.13"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

<img src="images/divider.png" style="float:center"> “Hey,” Uncle Matheus starts, rapping his knuckles on the door. “$name. Can we talk? I brought your favorite snacks.” Talk. Can I handle a talk? Can I handle the look of disappointment that he may give me? And what if he doesn’t offer that? What if he looks at me in pity like that teacher did earlier? I’m so sick of people, even those closest to me, assuming they know how I should feel when no one ever asks me. No one listens. No one cares! //Your mother would//, a voice snickers. //But you killed her.// She did, though. She always could tell when something was bothering me, and even when she was sick, and her awareness began to slip, she would notice the look in my eye, sit me down and ask. She listened. And I miss her so much. [[Open the door.|3.13Door]] [[“Yea, come in.”|3.13ComeIn]] [[Act like you’re asleep.|3.13ActAsleep]]

I sigh, exiting the bed and walking to the door to open it. He offers a sincere smile as he follows me into the room, resting the promised bowl of snacks on the top of my dresser beside the uneaten sandwich as he sits on the edge of my bed. <<include "3.13.1">>

Inhaling and exhaling slowly, I nod my head, forgetting an entire door is standing between us. “Yea, come in.” A moment later, the door opens, and Uncle Matheus walks in with a bowl of snacks. Resting it atop my dresser next to the uneaten sandwich, he sits on the edge of my bed. <<include "3.13.1">>

Tugging the blanket around me<<if $atcb_plushie is "none">><<else>> and rearranging my $atcb_plushie<</if>>, I shift so my back faces the door and my eyes are on the window. “$name? Are you awake?” The silence prolongs and after a while, I hear his footsteps take him away from my door. He’ll want to speak about this in the morning, but I’m not sure if I’ll be in the mood. I’m not sure of anything anymore. <<include "3.14">>

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I tell him, grabbing hold of my pillow and staring at the wall. “I know. But we have to figure something out, or you’re going to be on the road to getting expelled. You’ve already arrived at suspension.” “So?” I mumble. “That school is stupid. What’s the point of going to it?” “The point is an education. One that you’ll need. Don’t you want a future?” “I can have a future without going to school.” “True,” he laughs, “but it won’t be a very bright one. Or maybe you’ll prove me wrong. You usually do.” Sighing, he hangs his head, silent for a while longer. “I know you miss her. But this isn’t the way to convey that.” <a data-passage="3.13.2"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

“It’s not my fault!” I shout, fighting the tears. “Why does everyone act like I invited the bullies to mess with me? I exist, and so they mess with me. They’re the ones who call me a freak and an orphan and a parent killer. And I get in trouble.” A sob clings to my throat, refusing to come out as I choke on it and shake my head. “I just want to be left alone.” “What do you want me to do? Talk to the teachers?” “No!” I say abruptly, shaking my head for extra emphasis. “It’ll make it worse if they even do anything. I’ll be known as a snitch, too.” “Better than coming home with a black eye.” “You don’t understand,” I mumble. “I know, and I’m sorry. I’m …” he sighs. “I’m doing my best. And I know that this can’t keep happening. You’re suspended for two days because this isn’t the first time.” “I’ll let you sleep on it, okay? I’m not going to promise that I’ll go with whatever you say. But I promise that I’ll take it into consideration.” I want to ask what the point is then, but mostly, I just want to sleep. I want him to go, and I want to close my eyes and imagine that this day never happened. <a data-passage="3.14"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

The storm inside me rages on, and there is no quelling it. No point in talking sense to it or trying to starve it as it has plenty of material to dig through and feed on. What do I do when it all hurts? When time doesn’t heal the wounds because they decided to permanently stamp themselves onto my psyche and body? What do I do when all I want is my mother, but she left me? There is a darkness even worse than that creature I imagined that night. Or maybe that creature is this darkness. When I ran away, believing I could escape its grasp, it had actually reached and infected me. It is part of me and, over time, has been destroying me. I choke on a sob, not even realizing that I had been crying this whole time. Is this to be my life? Each day, fighting in hopes of avoiding an ineluctable circumstance? Behaving as if I’m not blinded by ignorance? //Stop thinking. Stop thinking,// I tell myself again and again, but the darkness encroaches regardless. It wraps its arms around me and claims me as theirs. It sings my praises while simultaneously confirming every fact I ever attempted to shield myself from. I’m part of it, and death follows me. It will never leave me. My greatest friend. My single ally. The sole thing that will destroy me. <img src="images/divider.png" style="float:center"> [[1. Changes|Chapter1_Changes]] [[2. Condolences, for Your Loss|Chapter2_Condolences]] 3. Someday It'll Get Better [[4. Love Me, Love Me Not|Chapter4_Love]] [[5. Midnight Conversations|Chapter5_MidnightConvo]] [[6. Freshmen|Chapter6_Orientation]] [[7. Good Ol' Party Days|Chapter7_FirstParty]] [[8. Meeting the Roe|Chapter8_MeetingRoe]] [[Back to Navigation|Start]]

<>\ <<set $crush to false>> <<playlist "chapters1_2_3" fadeout>><img src="images/divider.png" style="float:center"> <<playlist "chapter4" loop play>> <>\ @@.center; - Trigger Warning - Homophobia. Due to location and year, same-sex relationships are not common and highly frowned upon. Therefore, these routes will be vastly different. @@ <img src="images/divider.png" style="float:center"> I lean against the car door, strumming my finger to the music playing from the radio as I watch the numerous cars that flit by. It’s a Wednesday. Two more days, and I’ll be free to enjoy another weekend before having to repeat all of this. In two years, I’ll graduate … hopefully. [[I’m just being negative, my grades are great.|4.00GradesGreat]] [[My grades are decent.|4.00GradesDecent]] [[I don’t even want to think about the classes I’m failing.|4.00GradesFail]]

It isn’t precisely my grades that cause me to worry, as it is my attention span and the pain that comes and goes. Tests, assignments, all of that came naturally, with there hardly ever being a need for me to study. But it behaves more like a bandaid than a true salve towards the real reason. Studying and getting good grades is nothing but a distraction. A self-pat on the back while the rest of the world feels like it is burning around me. <<include "4.00">>

My grades are decent enough to escape the ire of teachers and my uncle, but that’s about it. If any of them ever wished to say something about me doing more or having far more potential than I’m showing, well, they wouldn’t exactly be wrong. <<include "4.00">>

Truthfully, the last thing I found myself caring about was my grades. I know I’m failing at least two classes. A third and a possible fourth may be on the list as well. I’m not stupid, but I hardly feel compelled to show that when teachers have already given up on me and repeatedly stated that I’ll be good for nothing. One even said that teaching me was a waste of their own talents and time. <<include "4.00">>

Those thoughts seem as fleeting as the late winter temperament that hovers on the other side of the glass. It seems unsure whether it wants to rain or snow, so it just stays in a dismal middle. The sky portrays its irresolute thoughts by allowing its navy and gray clouds to clash for dominance. Something feels off. Labeling exactly what makes me feel that way feels nigh impossible, but it remains. An itch you know is there but lingers no matter where you scratch. “You know, I have a sneaking feeling that you’re not listening to me,” my uncle says, pulling me out of my thoughts and, I suppose, back to whatever topic he chose to harp on. [[“Sorry.”|4.00Sorry]] [[“You’d be right.”|4.00BeRight]] [[“Did your mom lecture you this much?”|4.00Lecture]] [[Hum.|4.00Hum]]

“Sorry, I was thinking.” “About what?” I shrug. “Nothing important, it’s just that … Do you ever feel like something bad is going to happen, but you have no proof? It’s just a feeling?” “All the time.” “Did you -” “No,” he immediately answers, sighing heavily. “No, //that// came out of nowhere and completely blindsided me.” <<include "4.01">>

“You’d be right about that. What were you talking about?” “Does it matter?” I shrug. “Probably not. Not unless it was important.” “I have a feeling that what’s important to me is not what’s important to you.” There is a hint of sadness in his voice that I choose not to point out or linger upon. <<include "4.01">>

“Did your mom end up lecturing you this much when you were growing up?” “No, she gave us a single warning, and when we did the opposite, we got an ass-whooping for it.” “Must’ve been terrible.” “No, actually. But let’s back up, you think I’m lecturing you?” “Aren’t you?” He rubs his eyebrow and looks ready to mumble a prayer. “No, $name. I’m not lecturing you. But I am trying to help.” I remain quiet, keeping certain thoughts to myself regarding what he believes to be help. <<include "4.01">>

I hum in response, fastening my gaze on the window and the passing scenery. That feeling that I had brought up is still there. Only it feels like it’s burrowing inside me now. Digging itself deeper and deeper to try and avoid scrutiny but ensuring that its presence is still felt. <<include "4.01">>

He says nothing else for the remainder of the ride, pulling up to the curb to drop me off but not unlocking the door. “$name … I,” he stops and shakes his head. “Have a good day at school.” I get out, closing the door behind me. [[And then turn to say goodbye.|4.01SayGoodbye]] [[Apologize.|4.01Apologize]] [[Keep going.|4.01KeepGoing]]

Something inside chastises me for my actions. I turn to fix my mistake but find my uncle already pulling off. Silently, I watch the car go. [[Our relationship was good.|4.01RelationGood]] [[Our relationship wasn’t the best.|4.01RelationWorse]] [[Our relationship was … something.|4.01RelationSomething]]

My insides yearn to tell him that he’s doing okay, that it’s not his fault. This is new to him, just like it’s new to me. And I need him to know that. I turn to say as much but find that the moment to do so has already slipped out my hands as my uncle is already pulling off. [[Our relationship was good.|4.01RelationGood]] [[Our relationship wasn’t the best.|4.01RelationWorse]] [[Our relationship was … something.|4.01RelationSomething]]

I don’t bother to turn around or even wave a farewell as I hear the car pull away. I turn and enter the school, thinking about the two of us. [[Our relationship was good.|4.01RelationGood]] [[Our relationship wasn’t the best.|4.01RelationWorse]] [[Our relationship was … something.|4.01RelationSomething]]

Despite the bumps in the road, our relationship was actually pretty solid. Sometimes I annoy him, or he annoys me. Sometimes, he wants to help me, but I don’t allow him to, and sometimes, I try to help him, and he just waves me off, but it’s all out of love. <<include "4.02">>

There were definitely ways for our relationship to worsen, but it was difficult for me to imagine what they may be. We hardly talked, and when we did, it was only about all the things I was doing wrong or <<if hasVisited("4.00GradesFail")>>how my grades could be ten times better.<<else>>how silently keeping my pain to myself wouldn’t help.<</if>> <<include "4.02">>

I wouldn’t say our relationship is rocky, quite the opposite. But we definitely find ourselves sailing amidst choppier waves than usual. There are times when all is fine, and yet, times when I feel it is my job to remind him that he isn’t my father. Sometimes I miss him being my uncle. I’m young, but that doesn’t mean I’ve completely forgotten those memories. <<include "4.02">>

It’s odd to think that the only reason I never felt this way about my mother is that she wasn’t around long enough for us to get to this point. On one hand, it could be seen as an unsullied memory, never having to worry about how she would have reacted to me or what she would do. But the same could be said about what she would have done? As my mother, would she be better than my uncle? Would I be different if she had been here to raise me instead? My attention shifts due to ... [[... accidentally running into someone.|4.02NotPopular]] [[... a plethora of people calling out to me.|4.02Popular]] [[... a few tapping my shoulder in hello.|4.02Normal]]

My attention shifts due to accidentally running into someone. I mutter out an apology, not truly caring to stick around and hear them tell me all the ways I should’ve been paying attention or how rude I was. One would think I’d be more observant. A sea of students that I had to navigate my way through, and I always managed to do a dismal job of it. Walking towards my locker, I catch sight of my … [[... boyfriend.|4.02PF][$atcb_int1 to "men"]] [[... girlfriend.|4.02PF][$atcb_int1 to "women"]] [[... my (male) crush.|4.02Crush][$atcb_int1 to "men"; $crush to true]] [[... my (female) crush.|4.02Crush][$atcb_int1 to "women"; $crush to true]]

My attention shifts due to the plethora of people who call out to me. I put on a smile as I wave at those I don’t know, and greet by name those that I do. It is incredibly odd to have gotten to this point in my high school career. A lot of these people loathed me in middle school, seeing me as the orphan wearing a scarlet letter on ?his chest. Now, half of them either wished to be my friend or at least showed some kind of convivial attitude. And even odder, I took to it naturally, as if I had just been waiting for everyone else to realize what they had been missing out on. Walking towards my locker, I catch sight of my … [[... boyfriend.|4.02PF][$atcb_int1 to "men"]] [[... girlfriend.|4.02PF][$atcb_int1 to "women"]] [[... my (male) crush.|4.02Crush][$atcb_int1 to "men"; $crush to true]] [[... my (female) crush.|4.02Crush][$atcb_int1 to "women"; $crush to true]]

My attention shifts due to the few taps and hey’s that I receive. I wouldn’t say I was popular, no, not even close. The majority of the student population didn’t know me, and I was quite fine with that development. But, I was known enough for friendly faces to be dotted throughout the hallway. Enough that I didn’t have to sit through every class feeling like the odd one out when the teacher called for us to partner up. Walking towards my locker, I catch sight of my … [[... boyfriend.|4.02PF][$atcb_int1 to "men"]] [[... girlfriend.|4.02PF][$atcb_int1 to "women"]] [[... my (male) crush.|4.02Crush][$atcb_int1 to "men"; $crush to true]] [[... my (female) crush.|4.02Crush][$atcb_int1 to "women"; $crush to true]]

<<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>\ <<if $gender is "male">>\ … my boyfriend, or more like a special friend that I’m forced to treat like everyone else whenever we’re in the presence of others. Neither of us is too excited to learn just how homophobic our classmates are, and we definitely don’t want to capture the gazes of the adults. I haven’t made up my mind about when I want to come out to the world, and neither has he, but it won’t be now. <<else>>\ … my boyfriend. The two of us have been talking for four months, a bit of a record for me. There is always something that gets in the way. Sometimes, that something is me, while other times, it’s just life and the pressures of trying to meet so many expectations and deadlines. <</if>>\ <<else>>\ <<if $gender is "female">>\ … my girlfriend, or more like a special friend that I’m forced to treat like everyone else whenever we’re in the presence of others. Neither of us is too excited to learn just how homophobic our classmates are, and we definitely don’t want to capture the gazes of the adults. I haven’t made up my mind about when I want to come out to the world, and neither has she, but it won’t be now. <<else>>\ … my girlfriend. The two of us have been talking for four months, a bit of a record for me. There is always something that gets in the way. Sometimes, that something is me, while other times, it’s just life and the pressures of trying to meet so many expectations and deadlines. <</if>>\ <</if>>\ “Hey,” Blake greets, “is everything okay?” [[Be honest.|4.02Honest]] [[Lie.|4.02Lie]]

<<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>\ <<if $gender is "male">>\ … my crush. I hadn’t exactly said anything, nor could I say anything because of who we are. A guy falling for a guy is just a recipe for disaster. An open invitation for the many bigots to voice their opinions on a matter that I didn’t ask them for. What I was truly curious about was whether or not he knew or if he even understood how I felt. Did he feel the same? Or did he simply see me as a dear friend? Or not even that? That’s the thing about crushes; the end result so quickly turns the noun into a verb. <<else>>\ … my crush. I hadn’t exactly said anything for several reasons that change with each passing day. Fear, worry, anxiety, and doubt all play their parts, and each passing day starts with a common kind of excitement and ends with a unique brand of denial. What if he rejects me? What if he laughs in my face or tells me that he definitely never saw me in such a light? That’s the thing about crushes; the end result so quickly turns the noun into a verb. <</if>>\ <<else>>\ <<if $gender is "female">>\ … my crush. I hadn’t exactly said anything, nor could I say anything because of who we are. A girl falling for a girl is just a recipe for disaster. An open invitation for the many bigots to voice their opinions on a matter that I didn’t ask them for. What I was truly curious about was whether or not she knew or if she even understood how I felt. Did she feel the same? Or did she simply see me as a dear friend? Or not even that? That’s the thing about crushes; the end result so quickly turns the noun into a verb. <<else>>\ … my crush. I hadn’t exactly said anything for several reasons that change with each passing day. Fear, worry, anxiety, and doubt all play their parts, and each passing day starts with a common kind of excitement and ends with a unique brand of denial. What if she rejects me? What if she laughs in my face or tells me that she definitely never saw me in such a light? That’s the thing about crushes; the end result so quickly turns the noun into a verb. <</if>>\ <</if>>\ “Hey,” Blake greets, “is everything okay?” [[Be honest.|4.02Honest]] [[Lie.|4.02Lie]]

“When is anything ever really okay?” <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>He<<else>>She<</if>> nods. “So you’re having one of //those// mornings.” “What do you mean by that?” “Nothing,” he says almost instantly, clearing <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>his<<else>>her<</if>> throat. <<include "4.03">>

“Yea, why wouldn’t it be?” “You just don’t look like you’ve been having a pleasant morning. Skipped breakfast again?” I roll my eyes as I begin inputting the code to my locker. <<include "4.03">>

“Am I still okay to come over for our study break later?” “Um, yea. My uncle didn’t change his mind or anything. He even left me some money so that we could buy some pizza.” <<if $crush>>\ “Great. Depending on how fast we get done, I may try to get some work done on my other project, too.” “Planning to sleep over?” “You know,” <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> starts, tapping <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>his<<else>>her<</if>> chin in thought, “could I? My mom won’t care. Will your uncle?” “Oh, I … I would, um … I’d have to see.” The words finally leave my mouth, a personal triumph that I’m not dumb enough to try and duplicate. The idea of <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>him<<else>>her<</if>> sleeping over. Of my crush mere inches away while I rest … it’s … A lot? Too much right now? A trap to get me to fall even harder for someone I may not be able to have? “It’s fine,” <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> sighs. “It’ll probably be too late by the time you ask him.” [[“Are you sure?”|4.03Sure]] [[“Yea, probably.”|4.03Probably]] <<else>>\ <<if ($gender is "male" and $int is "men") or ($gender is "female" and $int is "women")>>\ “And,” <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> sings, before motioning to <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>himself<<else>>herself<</if>>, “he doesn’t mind that I’m … a <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>guy<<else>>girl<</if>>?” “He thinks we’re just friends.” <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>He<<else>>She<</if>> nods slowly, causing me to stiffen as I look <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>him<<else>>her<</if>> over. “I just -” “No, it’s fine. It’s not like I’ve told my parents or anyone else either. I think I was just hoping maybe one of our parents was okay with it … us.” [[“I’m sure my uncle wouldn’t care.”|4.03UncleNoCare]] [[“I can’t tell you how my uncle would react.”|4.03UncleUnknown]] [[“I don’t think he’ll be supportive.”|4.03UncleNoSupport]] <<else>>\ “And he doesn’t have a problem with the two of us being alone together?” <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> questions. “Oh, I mean. I don’t think so. Do your parents?” “Yes," <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> laughs. "That's why I told them it's a study //group// not just a partner.” “Oh, well. He didn't say anything. I don’t think he expects anything to happen.” “And it won’t,” <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> quickly adds, causing me to stifle a laugh. “Yea. So, I don’t think he’s worried about anything.” <<include "4.04">> <</if>>\ <</if>>\

“Are you sure? I can try to call him or even leave a message. And if you drive yourself, you could bring an overnight bag just in case.” <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>He<<else>>She<</if>> offers me an odd look that I do my best to avoid, choosing to bury my head and attention into my locker. “No, no it’s fine. I want to go back home.” “Ah,” I answer, glad that <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> can’t see just how disappointed I am. <<include "4.04">>

“Yea,” I agree almost instantly. Hiding my face by burying it into my locker. “He rarely is able to pick up his phone when he’s at work. By the time I can get a hold of him, you’ll probably already be on your way.” <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>He<<else>>She<</if>> nods. <<include "4.04">>

“I have a feeling my uncle just wouldn’t care.” “Seriously?” “Yea. He’s always seemed pretty chill and just relaxed about stuff like that. I mean, I could be wrong, sure. But nothing that I know about him tells me that he’ll freak out or try to disclaim me or say my favorite line ‘you’re just confused.’” “Must be nice,” <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> sighs, “I know for a fact that my mom would burst into tears and my dad would just ignore me and act like I hadn’t said anything.” I hum in understanding as I place some of my things in the locker and take out others. <<include "4.04">>

“I have no clue how my uncle would react to me breaking that news to him. I can see him going either way. Maybe even not answering me immediately because he’ll need to think it through.” He snorts, shaking his head. “I hate the idea of that. What is there to think through? It’s not like I just told you to go rob a store or something. I’m telling you something that only affects me. Imagine someone telling you that they want burgers for dinner and your response is ‘huh, I don’t know how to react to that. I have to think on it.’ I’m not telling you to be in the mood for a burger as well.” “You’re preaching to the choir,” I snort, rummaging through my locker and grabbing the books for my first and second classes. <<include "4.04">>

“Honestly, I’m not sure he’d be supportive. From the little bits that I gathered, he grew up in a relatively strict and traditional household.” “But that doesn’t mean he’d act that way.” “Yea, I agree but it’s not like I would know. We’ve never talked about the topic in general.” <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>He<<else>>She<</if>> nods in agreement and I take a moment to remember which books correspond with which classes and grab them from my locker. <<include "4.04">>

“Is there anything you need to put in here before I close it?” “No, I ended up going to my locker before I came over.” <<if $crush>>\ “I’ll see you at lunch?” I inquire and Blake nods, waving goodbye to me as <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> heads towards <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>his<<else>>her<</if>> own class. <<include "4.05">> <<else>>\ “I’ll see you at lunch?” I inquire and Blake nods, moving in for a quick kiss. [[One that I welcome.|4.04Welcome]] [[One that I allow.|4.04SimplyAllow]] [[One that I shy away from.|4.04ShyAway]] <</if>>\

I welcome it, worrying only about being caught by the roaming eyes of a nearby teacher. Thankfully, it’s just us and a hundred other students who all mill about and are far more concerned with their own business than ours. <<include "4.05">>

I allow <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>him<<else>>her<</if>> to kiss me, ignoring the feeling that stirs in my gut. It’s not the first time, but that’s not what really worries me. I can ignore the frequency because I’m still so confused about why I had it in the first place. Is it butterflies? Or disgust? Do I … Do I not like Blake like I should? But I do. I just … push the thoughts away. With everything going on, I find it wise to at least put this on the back burner. <<include "4.05">>

I move just before <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>his<<else>>her<</if>> lips make contact with mine, choosing to stare at the ground to try and relieve some of the awkward air now between us. “Should have expected that,” Blake sighs. I would love to have a comeback. To be able to give <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>him<<else>>her<</if>> the exact reason as to why I constantly move away and avoid any kind of affection. The issue is I don’t have one. I have no idea why I do it. <<include "4.05">>

Going the opposite way, I head to my first class, praying as I enter that the day will pass by relatively fast. I don’t have the patience, and despite telling myself that I should focus on the lesson, my mind wanders. The latest topic that seems to take up all of my brain power is the last month. To call it turbulent would be downplaying all that seemed to happen. Dreams that I can’t quite place or shake and involve the dark figure from my childhood. The anniversary of my uncle’s deceased wife and child. A series of parent-teacher conferences where multiple teachers simply spoke about how worried they were about me. Funny enough, most of them spoke about moments just like this one. My mind slipping and class being the last thing on my mental. Glancing at the teacher, she seemed more worried about answering questions than anything involving me, a trait that I wish most of them practiced. Adults who would rather diagnose me with a series of disorders and seemed more keen on telling me how I should feel were not helpful and never would be. I’ve handled this on my own all my life, and I have no doubt I will continue to do so. <a data-passage="4.06"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

The bell stating that the first lunch period is ending and the second is beginning comes just in time. I rush out of class and towards the cafeteria, heading for my usual table. <<if $crush>>\ Typically, I beat everyone else, but today, it appears I’ll be second. Blake is already there, speaking to a <<if $gender is "male">>guy<<else>>girl<</if>> that I’ve never seen before. My pace slows as I watch them hug, and part of me feels disappointed. Of course, I don’t know the whole story, and frankly, they may just be friends and nothing more. Another part questions what right I have to feel anything. I’ve never told Blake about my feelings, primarily due to … //Note: If you choose “I’ve never been in a relationship” then the variable for $virgin will also be set to true for the remainder of the story and cannot be changed in the main story. The LI you choose in Superstition (if you choose any) will be the first person you have ever dated and will be your first kiss.// [[Fear of being cheated on again.|4.06RomCheat][$fear_romance to "cheating"]] [[I know how clingy I can be … others hardly like it.|4.06RomClingy][$fear_romance to "clingy"]] [[My jealousy, it ends up setting me back.|4.06RomJealous][$fear_romance to "jealous"]] [[I’ve never been in a relationship.|4.06RomNoRel][$fear_romance to "romance"; $virgin to true]] [[Just normal nervousness.|4.06RomNorm][$fear_romance to "none"]] <<else>>\ [[I practically race there. I missed Blake.|4.06RomClingy][$fear_romance to "clingy"]] [[Freezing in place as I watch Blake hug someone.|4.06RomCheat][$fear_romance to "cheating"]] [[Practically snarling when I see someone speaking to Blake.|4.06RomJealous][$fear_romance to "jealous"]] [[Stopping to check what’s for lunch.|4.06RomNorm][$fear_romance to "none"]] <</if>>\

<<if settings.choiceShow>><<notify 5s>>Roe has been cheated on before, and the experiences have soured them regarding trust.<</notify>><</if>>\ <<if $crush>>\ Blake wouldn’t be my first crush, and if it went further than that, <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> wouldn’t be the first person I dated either. Two. In the past, two of them decided having the best of both worlds to be better. Why not date me and someone else? I summed it up to being a fluke the first time it happened. <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>The guy was an asshole <<if $gender is "male">>and probably terrified of the idea that he was dating a guy. I moved on.<<else>>and that was the end of that.<</if>><<else>>The girl was an asshole <<if $gender is "female">> and probably terrified of the idea that she was dating a girl. I moved on.<<else>>and that was the end of that.<</if>><</if>> But the second time, it planted and cemented doubts that I didn’t realize I had. Could it be me? Was I broken and didn’t realize it, but everyone else had? Since then, I haven’t really put myself—or my now safe but caged heart—out there. <<else>>\ My steps slow as I watch Blake hug a <<if $gender is "male">>guy<<else>>girl<</if>> I don’t recognize, a bright smile decorating <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>his<<else>>her<</if>> face as <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> pulls away. When was the last time I’ve seen <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>him<<else>>her<</if>> smile like that? Was it even directed towards me or just a situation? Dark thoughts of something else enter my mind, telling me to investigate and be wary of whatever //that// may be. I’ve been cheated on two times already. I summed it up to being a fluke the first time it happened. <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>The guy was an asshole <<if $gender is "male">>and probably terrified of the idea that he was dating a guy. I moved on.<<else>>and that was the end of that.<</if>><<else>>The girl was an asshole <<if $gender is "female">> and probably terrified of the idea that she was dating a girl. I moved on.<<else>>and that was the end of that.<</if>><</if>> But the second time, it planted and cemented doubts that I didn’t realize I had. Could it be me? Was I broken and didn’t realize it, but everyone else had? I hadn’t completely closed myself off, Blake being the obvious proof of such thoughts. But that didn’t mean the thoughts just disappeared and after seeing //that//, they are back in full force. <</if>>\ <<include "4.07">>

<<if settings.choiceShow>><<notify 5s>>Roe has grown to be quite clingy, an aspect about them that they can neither stop nor fix.<</notify>><</if>>\ Even now, my heart has been thumping wildly without my knowing it. Between the short four or five hours between when I last saw <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>him<<else>>her<</if>> to now, I’ve missed <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>him<<else>>her<</if>>. In the past, those I’ve grown close to have always disliked it. Or no, better yet, it wasn’t a problem in the beginning. Everyone always seems to love the idea of being wanted and needed by someone until it wears off, and suddenly, it’s a problem. If someone were to ask me if I saw my clinginess as a problem, I don’t exactly know what my answer would be. Personally, no. I don’t even view myself as being clingy as much as it is that I like to be near those I admire and adore. But in respect to everyone who has come before, yes, I suppose so. <<if $crush is false>>\ But my steps end up slowing as I watch Blake hug a <<if $gender is "male">>guy<<else>>girl<</if>> I don’t recognize, a bright smile decorating <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>his<<else>>her<</if>> face as <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> pulls away. <</if>>\ <<include "4.07">>

<<if settings.choiceShow>><<notify 5s>>Roe is known to have some jealous tendencies.<</notify>><</if>>\ <<if $crush is false>>\ My steps slow as I watch Blake hug a <<if $gender is "male">>guy<<else>>girl<</if>> I don’t recognize, a bright smile decorating <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>his<<else>>her<</if>> face as <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> pulls away. When was the last time I’ve seen <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>him<<else>>her<</if>> smile like that? Was it even directed towards me or just a situation? I suppose it is a boon to know I have a jealous spirit. At least I can admit that part, while others will deny it while showing every sign saying otherwise. But that is where any positives end because I do a pitiful job of keeping it under wraps. Whenever I see Blake with someone else, a pit of envy opens up and consumes me. I try to hide it, but I can’t help the expressions that cross my face or the words that make it past my lips. I give <<if $gender is "male">>him<<else>>her<</if>> a lookover as I near, trying to calm the need to call out and question <<if $gender is "male">>him<<else>>her<</if>>. I’m sure there’s something to say about trust here, but I couldn’t care less. <<else>>\ I suppose it is a boon to know I have a jealous spirit. At least I can admit that part, while others will deny it while showing every sign saying otherwise. But that is where any positives end because I do a pitiful job of keeping it under wraps. Whenever I see Blake with someone else, a pit of envy opens up and consumes me. I try to hide it, but I can’t help the expressions that cross my face or the words that make it past my lips. <</if>>\ <<include "4.07">>

<<if settings.choiceShow>><<notify 8s>>Roe has never been in a relationship, the nuances lost on them.<</notify>><</if>>\ I’ve never actually been in a relationship before. Rarely have I ever had time to imagine myself with another, and there was never really anyone I cared to get close to. Blake is one of the first, and I’d be lying if I said I felt comfortable with any of this. It isn’t that I’m uncomfortable with them, but I am uncomfortable with my lack of experience. Half of the students here have probably already had sex, a whole lot more have had their first kisses, and here I stand, not having even held the hand of another. Perhaps that kind of inexperience would be something that Blake found fascinating … or something that <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> would balk at. Part of me … a large part, believes it better to leave it there. No need to investigate further. <<include "4.07">>

<<if $crush>>\ It was just normal anxiety about whether or not someone liked you as much as you liked them. Every little thing they do is thought over and put through a thought grinder that asks ‘what could this mean’ until every scenario besides one is processed. And that one scenario is, of course, the one that ends up being the one that happens. <<else>>\ Before entering the lunchroom, I check one of the bulletin boards where the lunch menu for the month hangs. Ugh, country fried steak. Rolling my eyes in disgust, I continue forward, nearly coming to a halt as I watch Blake hug a <<if $gender is "male">>guy<<else>>girl<</if>> I don’t recognize, a bright smile decorating <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>his<<else>>her<</if>> face as <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> pulls away. When was the last time I’ve seen <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>him<<else>>her<</if>> smile like that? Was it even directed towards me or just a situation? <</if>>\ <<include "4.07">>

“Hey,” I greet, smiling as I sit, “who was that?” Blake hasn’t glanced at me yet, and something deep within me stirs nervously. “Um,” <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> finally starts, shaking <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>his<<else>>her<</if>> head as if exiting a trance. “A friend from my fifth period. <<if $gender is "male">>He<<else>>She<</if>> needed some notes, and I had them.” “Ah,” I answer disinterestedly. “Are you eating today?” “Probably not. They’re serving chicken fried steak, or whatever they //think// counts as that.” <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>He<<else>>She<</if>> snorts as the rest of our lunch table approaches, all of them greeting each other. I exchange pleasantries, hoping to chase off any dark thoughts. [[And I achieve that.|4.07AchieveThat]] [[And I do … sorta.|4.07Sorta]] [[And I fail miserably.|4.07Miserably]]

By now, I’m a master at ignoring problems, big or small. It helps that I just invest in listening to the others, nodding and smiling as my friends hop from one conversation to the next, and I add my thoughts here and there. I spare Blake a look or two, never really focusing on <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>him<<else>>her<</if>> for long so that I never have time to stop and question if everything is good between us. Never long enough to stop and go back to replay the various moments that may give me a deeper insight into <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>his<<else>>her<</if>> mindset. <<include "4.08">>

I’m used to doing this, ignoring problems and behaving as if everything is fine. I’ve long since learned to hide the cracks resting against my porcelain mask. Cleverly using gold and silver to make intricate patterns to tell a story that even the wearer has lost. Mostly, I listen to the others, humming as they tell their stories and answering here and there. Occasionally, I glance over at Blake and feel all the fears and doubts bubble to the surface, screaming to be noticed. But when Blake feels my gaze and glances over, I’m back on the conversations. <<include "4.08">>

Every time I think I’m okay, that I’m not worrying anymore, I glance over at Blake and see that <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he’s<<else>>she’s<</if>> spacing out. What if all of my fears actually have some merit. When have I ever gotten a break in life? And it isn’t like this is the first time. Blake has caused me to worry like this multiple times. Has seemed far away even though <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> was sitting right there, close enough for me to reach out and touch. <<include "4.08">>

I’ve been friends with Blake since the start of high school, the two of us meeting at a camp that I was sure would be a big mistake at the time. But Blake and a few others had made that summer worthwhile. An inside look at what a semi-normal life could hold for me. One where I wasn’t ridiculed for what I did or didn’t have, what I looked like, and what my past defined for me. To say that <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> saved me wouldn't actually be truthful. To say that camp and the time spent with <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>him<<else>>her<</if>> and others did would be more on the mark. I spent an innumerable amount of time with <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>him<<else>>her<</if>> though, enough to have it blossom into what we have now. Worry and doubt. Lunch ends with me no longer paying much attention to the conversations at the table. The next class passes by in much the same way, and the one after that until school ends. <a data-passage="4.09"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

<img src="images/divider.png" style="float:center"> As soon as I get home, I shower and transport my bookbag from the kitchen to the living room. Blake should be over in a bit, and while I wait, I go ahead and order some pizza. This wouldn’t be the first time Blake has acted weird at school, but I’m sure we can move past whatever is going on. Or maybe it's nothing and I just need to stop assuming such things. Twenty minutes later of me going back and forth with myself, the doorbell rings. “Hey,” I greet, letting Blake in, <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> nods a greeting as <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> heads towards the living room. It’s not the first time <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he’s<<else>>she’s<</if>> been over and though <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he’s<<else>>she’s<</if>> never made it upstairs, <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> at least seems comfortable enough with this floor of the house. “Did your mom drop you off, or did you drive?” “I drove myself,” Blake tells me, “she said she didn’t feel like being bothered to drop me off or pick me up.” “Round of applause for laziness.” <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>He<<else>>She<</if>> laughs, nodding in agreement as <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> starts to remove <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>his<<else>>her<</if>> studying material. “I already ordered the pizza, by the way. And yes, I ordered your favorite.” “You know me so well,” <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> comments. But what should have been a positive and reassuring statement feels more like a backhanded compliment. <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>He<<else>>She<</if>> doesn’t smile or look calmed by the idea that there is at least one person on <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>his<<else>>her<</if>> side. Instead, <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>his<<else>>her<</if>> frown makes me think that our closeness is a problem. One that <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> knows that <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he’ll<<else>>she’ll<</if>> have to rectify one of these days. The same anxiety from earlier today hits me again, only this time, I can’t easily persuade myself that I’m just making things up. <a data-passage="4.10"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

We study in silence, only speaking to one another when we’re confused by something or have to compare notes. By the time the pizza arrives, the awkward air has heightened, noxious and suffocating. I feel like I've been put in a group with someone who despises me but has never vocally stated such a thing. The type of person where you can be cordial with them but never really have to because the two of you have never really had to interact. To feel this way about Blake feels wrong when up until very now, <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> was always the one to put me at ease. Going to school was interesting //because// Blake would be there. I would be able to see <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>his<<else>>her<</if>> smile. I could escape from my home life for just a moment. For a moment, I could imagine that everything was alright because Blake made it so. [[Have a smoke break. (This will give you the Troublemaker trait)|4.10Smoke][$atcb_troublemaker to true]] [[Ask if everything is okay.|4.10Ask]] [[Just … just ignore it.|4.10Ignore]]

“I’ll be back,” I mumble, getting to my feet and going upstairs. I shift through my dresser, moving clothes out of the way until I find my packet of cigarettes. Of course, my uncle didn’t know that I smoke, though I’m sure some part of him hypothesized as much. Clothes and the backyard smelling heavily of cigarette smoke, not to mention that time I got caught with a bunch of other kids after school. When we were caught, I had finished, so my punishment was lighter since no one truly caught me performing the act. Walking outside, I light it and take a long drag. Closing my eyes, I focus on nothing as best as I can. “$name.” I turn to see Blake approaching, slowly closing the door behind <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>him<<else>>her<</if>> as <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> comes to stand beside me. <<include "4.11">>

Taking a deep, unsteady breath, I ask, “Blake, is everything okay?” <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>He<<else>>She<</if>> glances up at me and smirks. “Is it that obvious that I’m bothered?” “Yea.” <<if $crush is false>>That’s all I say instead of saying that this isn’t the first time. It’s not the first time I’ve felt a chasm between us, widening every time we decide to ignore its existence.”<</if>> <<include "4.11">>

I ignore it, focusing on my notes to the point that I reread the same section five times. Clearing my throat, I try to regain focus, maintaining it for a while before the air again causes me to worry. Stealing a glance at Blake, I find <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>him<<else>>her<</if>> peering at me. “Why do I feel like I’m the only one studying?” <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> asks, balancing a textbook and notebook on <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>his<<else>>her<</if>> lap. All that while my textbook has remained on the same page since I first zoned out. “My mind isn’t completely here,” I answer honestly. <<include "4.11">>

<<if $crush>>\ <<if hasVisited("4.10Smoke")>>\ “Those things aren’t good for you.” “As I’ve been told,” I huff. <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>He<<else>>She<</if>> walks further out into the yard, heading towards the small swing set that was used by a much younger me, one that I have an easy enough time remembering. That's primarily due to the fact that I feel like I have hardly changed. Still haunted by the same miseries, chased by the same fears, and falling into the same pits. The only difference is that younger me could act out and face fewer repercussions. Taking a seat on the small swing, <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> asks, “can I ask you a question?” “Sounds a bit ominous,” I chuckle, shifting uncomfortably. “Yea, sorry. I just … this has been on my mind for a while now. If you like someone, what do you do about it?” //Never tell them and allow any possibility of changing that fly by//, I think. “It’s a crush,” I start carefully, fiddling with the cigarette, “sometimes there’s nothing to do.” <<elseif hasVisited("4.10Ask")>>\ <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>He<<else>>She<</if>> takes a deep breath in. “Can I ask you a question?” “Sounds a bit ominous,” I chuckle, shifting uncomfortably. “Yea, sorry. I just … this has been on my mind for a while now. If you like someone, what do you do about it?” //Never tell them and allow any possibility of changing that fly by//, I think. “It’s a crush,” I start carefully, fiddling with my notebook, “sometimes there’s nothing to do.” <<else>>\ “Yea, I think I can relate.” “I ... see,” I say slowly, not wishing to continue this conversation but finding it near impossible to turn away from it now. <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>He<<else>>She<</if>> takes a deep breath in. “Can I ask you a question?” “Sounds a bit ominous,” I chuckle, shifting uncomfortably. “Yea, sorry. I just … this has been on my mind for a while now. If you like someone, what do you do about it?”//Never tell them and allow any possibility of changing that fly by//, I think. “It’s a crush,” I start carefully, fiddling with my notebook, “sometimes there’s nothing to do.” <</if>>\ <a data-passage="4.11.1"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a> <<elseif ($atcb_int1 is "men" and $gender is "male") or ($atcb_int1 is "women" and $gender is "female")>>\ <<if hasVisited("4.10Smoke")>>\ “You know, I really hate when you smoke. It’s disgusting.” “As you’ve told me before. That’s why I don’t do it when you’re around me.” “And now?” My stomach shifts, and I feel like I may vomit. Remarkably, I maintain my calmness. I glance over at <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>him<<else>>her<</if>> before bringing the cigarette back to my lips for another puff. I should stop soon so the smell doesn’t begin to set into anything. This night doesn’t seem like it’ll end well, and the last thing I want is to add him lecturing me to it. “You’re breaking up with me?” I finally voice, tilting my head back and looking at the stream of thin smoke. “Aren’t you?” “How … how did you guess that?” I shrug, fighting the need to laugh and ask <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>him<<else>>her<</if>> how stupid <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> believed I was. Blake’s thoughts were evinced with every word uttered and action taken. I could’ve headed Blake off a week ago, but the truth is, I was hoping it was just a lapse in judgment. The days where everything seemed fine and <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>his<<else>>her<</if>> smile seemed genuine made me think that I could convince myself just like <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> was persuading <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>himself<<else>>herself<</if>>. Every hug, kiss, smile, and flirt … was maximized to hide the bloated issue underneath. “You’re not as sneaky or hard to read as you believe.” I bite my tongue. I don’t need to go further. I don’t need to talk about how <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> failed to fool me or how I let <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>him<<else>>her<</if>> go on because it was all entertaining. If I do, I may break. “But we were fine this morning.” <<elseif hasVisited("4.10Ask")>>\ “$name,” Blake finally says after a bout of silence, “I think … no, I know that we should stop this.” “Want to go to another subject?” I question, paying little attention as I lazily chew on a slice of pizza. I wouldn’t be upset by a change. My eyes feel like they’re beginning to cross. “No,” <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> sighs, “I mean the two of us. Whatever you want to call what we have going on.” “I’d call it a relationship.” “No, it’s not,” <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> chuckles dispiritedly. “At best, we have some weird-ass friendship.” “I don’t typically go and kiss my friends,” I point out, much to <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>his<<else>>her<</if>> annoyance, it seems. “We kiss when no one’s looking, and it’s just the two of us, so how should I know whether or not you do that.” I shake my head, ignoring the thudding in my heart as I look <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>him<<else>>her<</if>> over as if appearance alone will clue me into what’s going through <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>his<<else>>her<</if>> head. “Where did this come from? We were fine this morning.” <<else>>\ “Yea, I think I can relate.” “I ... see,” I say slowly, not wishing to continue this conversation but finding it near impossible to turn away from it now. “$name,” Blake finally says after a bout of silence, “I think … no, I know that we should stop this.” “Want to go to another subject?” I question, paying little attention as I lazily chew on a slice of pizza. I wouldn’t be upset by a change. My eyes feel like they’re beginning to cross. “No,” <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> sighs, “I mean the two of us. Whatever you want to call what we have going on.” “I’d call it a relationship.” “No, it’s not,” <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> chuckles dispiritedly. “At best, we have some weird-ass friendship.” “I don’t typically go and kiss my friends,” I point out, much to <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>his<<else>>her<</if>> annoyance, it seems. “We kiss when no one’s looking, and it’s just the two of us, so how should I know whether or not you do that.” I shake my head, ignoring the thudding in my heart as I look <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>him<<else>>her<</if>> over as if appearance alone will clue me into what’s going through <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>his<<else>>her<</if>> head. “Where did this come from? We were fine this morning.” <</if>>\ <a data-passage="4.10SSR1"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a> <<else>>\ <<if hasVisited("4.10Smoke")>>\ “You know, I really hate when you smoke. It’s disgusting.” “As you’ve told me before. That’s why I don’t do it when you’re around me.” “And now?” My stomach shifts, and I feel like I may vomit. Remarkably, I maintain my calmness. I glance over at <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>him<<else>>her<</if>> before bringing the cigarette back to my lips for another puff. I should stop soon so the smell doesn’t begin to set into anything. This night doesn’t seem like it’ll end well, and the last thing I want is to add him lecturing me to it. “You’re breaking up with me?” I finally voice, tilting my head back and looking at the stream of thin smoke. “Aren’t you?” “How … how did you guess that?” I shrug, fighting the need to laugh and ask <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>him<<else>>her<</if>> how stupid <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> believed I was. Blake’s thoughts were evinced with every word uttered and action taken. I could’ve headed Blake off a week ago, but the truth is, I was hoping it was just a lapse in judgment. The days where everything seemed fine and <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>his<<else>>her<</if>> smile seemed genuine made me think that I could convince myself just like <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> was persuading <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>himself<<else>>herself<</if>>. Every hug, kiss, smile, and flirt … was maximized to hide the bloated issue underneath. “You’re not as sneaky or hard to read as you believe.” I bite my tongue. I don’t need to go further. I don’t need to talk about how <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> failed to fool me or how I let <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>him<<else>>her<</if>> go on because it was all entertaining. If I do, I may break. “I wasn’t trying to,” <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> huffs. “Answer this one question for me.” I flick the cigarette to the ground and step on it, picking it up after I snuffed it out. <<elseif hasVisited("4.10Ask")>>\ “I … I think we should end this.” “Want to go to another subject?” I question, paying little attention as I lazily chew on a slice of pizza. I wouldn’t be upset by a change. My eyes feel like they’re beginning to cross. “No,” <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> sighs, “I mean the two of us. This relationship.” I pause, hearing the words but not really understanding them. I don’t know why, especially when the pit in my stomach has been telling me this day was coming. There’s no reason to be shocked; it was a matter of time more than anything else. And the answer has revealed itself to me. Now. But none of that stops the hurt and confusion. The bit of rage that sparks or the feeling of being discarded. Blake’s thoughts were evinced with every word uttered and action taken. I could’ve headed Blake off a week ago, but the truth is, I was hoping it was just a lapse in judgment. The days where everything seemed fine and <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>his<<else>>her<</if>> smile seemed genuine made me think that I could convince myself just like <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> was persuading <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>himself<<else>>herself<</if>>. Every hug, kiss, smile, and flirt … was maximized to hide the bloated issue underneath. “Just answer this one question then.” <<else>>\ “Yea, I can relate to that.” Blake looks around, as if searching for something that <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> knows <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> won’t find before finally sighing. “Um, $name,” <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> starts, moving the books to the table and using <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>his<<else>>her<</if>> now free hands to rub at <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>his<<else>>her<</if>> brow. “I think we should break up.” I pause, hearing the words but not really understanding them. I don’t know why, especially when the pit in my stomach has been telling me this day was coming. There’s no reason to be shocked; it was a matter of time more than anything else. And the answer has revealed itself to me. Now. But none of that stops the hurt and confusion. The bit of rage that sparks or the feeling of being discarded. Blake’s thoughts were evinced with every word uttered and action taken. I could’ve headed Blake off a week ago, but the truth is, I was hoping it was just a lapse in judgment. The days where everything seemed fine and <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>his<<else>>her<</if>> smile seemed genuine made me think that I could convince myself just like <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> was persuading <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>himself<<else>>herself<</if>>. Every hug, kiss, smile, and flirt … was maximized to hide the bloated issue underneath. “Just answer this one question then.” <</if>>\ [[“Why?”|4.10Why]] [[“Why did you agree to tonight?”|4.10AgreeToTonight]] [[“When did it stop?”|4.10WhenStopped]] <<if $fear_romance is "cheating">>[[“Are you cheating on me?”|4.10CheatingOnMe]]<</if>> <</if>>\

“Yea,” <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> sings whilst shaking <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>his<<else>>her<</if>> head. “But isn’t that just letting what could be a good opportunity go? I mean, I know all about the fear; hell, I’m experiencing it. But what if we could have something amazing?” //We.// That single word causes me to pause as I argue with myself on exactly who the second part of that //we// is. Could <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> have accidentally misspoken, referring to the person <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he’s<<else>>she’s<</if>> interested in? Or did <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> actually not realize what <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> had just said and that we was me? It doesn’t help that as I ponder what Blake might’ve meant, <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> looks up at me with such a pure look in <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>his<<else>>her<</if>> eyes. Could <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> be talking about me? That’s all wishful thinking, right? There’s no way. <<if ($atcb_int1 is "men" and $gender is "male") or ($atcb_int1 is "women" and $gender is "female")>>Especially since we’re the same gender and though <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> may not be bothered by that, the same can’t be said about the beliefs of others. But then … what if that does bother <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>him<<else>>her<</if>>? Our friendship ends if I reveal that part of myself, and Blake recoils. There is no way either of us can move on from that and just shrug it away as if nothing happened.<</if>> But what if I’m just making up excuses out of fear and I could have something beautiful if I just admit it. What if just the littlest amount of hope and bravery could reveal an amazing future? [[Reveal your crush.|4.10RevealCrush]] [[Give advice.|4.10Advice]]

Taking a deep breath, I summon every ounce of bravery and open my mouth. “Blake. I like you. And I mean, I like you, as in, I would want to date you. I’ve had a crush on you for the longest time but kept it to myself for obvious reasons because what if you don’t like me? What if you just start laughing at the idea of the two of us ever together? Stuff like that can make things awkward and fuck up friendships.” My mouth keeps moving, trying to talk away the butterflies and nerves that seem content with residing in my belly. By the time my mouth closes, Blake is looking at me with an unreadable expression that turns those butterflies into rocks. I can’t just say, ‘Ha, joking!’ It’s done. <<if ($atcb_int1 is "men" and $gender is "male") or ($atcb_int1 is "women" and $gender is "female")>>\ “I … I um …” Blake starts, <<if hasVisited("4.10Smoke")>>standing up and heading to the door.<<else>>gathering <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>his<<else>>her<</if>> things and looking towards the front door.<</if>> “I need to go.” “Blake,” I start, wanting to reach out but already hearing the voice tell me how I fucked up. I’m an idiot. “No, no,” Blake murmurs, shaking their head as <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> stares at me, that unreadable expression shifts to sadness. “I really wish you didn’t tell me that. Why couldn’t you just keep it to yourself?” “I …” What does someone say in response to that? I shake my head. “I thought it would be better to be honest with you.” <<if hasVisited("4.10Smoke")>>\ “I really wish you hadn’t.” <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>He<<else>>She<</if>> reenters the house while I stay where I am. I was going to put the cigarette out to not give Uncle Matheus any ammunition for later but fuck it. I sit on the steps and clear my mind the best I can. Anyone who said that it was better to admit your feelings to your crush, even if they do put you down, lied. This night, and for all I know, the rest of the school year would have gone much smoother if I kept quiet. I should be used to everything falling apart in a single night. <<else>>\ “I really wish you hadn’t.” With <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>his<<else>>her<</if>> things collected, <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> while I stay planted in my spot. Anyone who said that it was better to admit your feelings to your crush, even if they do put you down, lied. This night, and for all I know, the rest of the school year would have gone much smoother if I kept quiet. I should be used to everything falling apart in a single night. <</if>>\ <img src="images/divider.png" style="float:center"> [[1. Changes|Chapter1_Changes]] [[2. Condolences, for Your Loss|Chapter2_Condolences]] [[3. Someday It'll Get Better|Chapter3_Someday]] 4. Love Me, Love Me Not [[5. Midnight Conversations|Chapter5_MidnightConvo]] [[6. Freshmen|Chapter6_Orientation]] [[7. Good Ol' Party Days|Chapter7_FirstParty]] [[8. Meeting the Roe|Chapter8_MeetingRoe]] [[Back to Navigation|Start]] <<else>>\ “Oh …” Blake starts, attempting to find the right word. It’s not the response I would have given if I had felt the same about someone, but maybe there’s still hope. That thought feels like a pathetic attempt to grasp something I know isn’t true. “I don’t feel the same way about you,” Blake tells me, shaking <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>his<<else>>her<</if>> head as <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>>shifts awkwardly. “I … I don’t know what else to say. It’s awkward now.” “We can just forget everything I said in the past five minutes. Let’s just head -” <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>He<<else>>She<</if>> shakes <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>his<<else>>her<</if>> head. “I think I’ll just go. I was pretty much done with studying anyway.” Despite <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>his<<else>>her<</if>>words, <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> doesn’t immediately leave. <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>He<<else>>She<</if>> looks like <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> wants to say something else but then finally <<if hasVisited("4.10Smoke")>>just goes while I stay outside. I was going to put the cigarette out to not give Uncle Matheus any ammunition for later but fuck it. I sit on the steps and clear my mind the best I can.<<else>>gathers up <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>his<<else>>her<</if>> things and go.<</if>> Anyone who said it was better to admit your feelings to your crush, even if they put you down, lied. This night, and for all I know, the rest of the school year would have gone much smoother if I kept quiet. I should be used to everything falling apart in a single night. <img src="images/divider.png" style="float:center"> [[1. Changes|Chapter1_Changes]] [[2. Condolences, for Your Loss|Chapter2_Condolences]] [[3. Someday It'll Get Better|Chapter3_Someday]] 4. Love Me, Love Me Not [[5. Midnight Conversations|Chapter5_MidnightConvo]] [[6. Freshmen|Chapter6_Orientation]] [[7. Good Ol' Party Days|Chapter7_FirstParty]] [[8. Meeting the Roe|Chapter8_MeetingRoe]] [[Back to Navigation|Start]] <</if>>\

“I …” I would keep quiet. I would forget about it until it no longer meant anything. I would bury it until it was so far under that the crush just one day vanished. And after all of that, I’d regret never opening my mouth. “I’d tell them, but only if you are sure they’ll be receptive. Everyone always says phrases like ‘what do you have to lose’ and stuff, but you do have stuff to lose. A good friend turned associate all because of something that may not even last a month. I think that if you have to question whether or not you should say something, then maybe it’s too early. Figure out exactly how much you like them and then from there decide.” Blake stares at me for a moment before bursting out laughing, shaking <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>his<<else>>her<</if>> head as <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> sighs. “That’s… actually really good advice. <<if hasVisited("4.10Smoke")>>Do you become wiser when you smoke or something?”<<else>>Studying does wonders for you.”<</if>> “Hmm,” I hum with a small but sad smile, “guess so.” “But really, thanks. I’ll think about it. Maybe me and Logan could be a good pair or not. I guess I’ll just see.” Logan. The name didn’t sound familiar, but I know it’s not me, and that’s all that matters. <<if hasVisited("4.10Smoke")>>\ “Wanna head back in?” <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> asks, pointing <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>his<<else>>her<</if>> thumb towards the door. “You go ahead. I’ll stay out here for a while longer.” Blake nods and heads inside, leaving me alone once again. Leaving me alone with a heart that feels like someone is squeezing the life out of it. I guess, at the very least, Blake and I will continue to be friends. No matter what I wanted in the end. I suppose I should be used to this, never having my way. <<else>>\ With a content smile, I watch as <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> looks back down at <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>his<<else>>her<</if>> books, continuing to study. I’m unable to look away, but my mind isn’t on them but the situation as it frantically tries to find where I went wrong, if I did. I guess, at the very least, Blake and I will continue to be friends. No matter what I wanted in the end. I suppose I should be used to this, never having my way. <</if>>\ <img src="images/divider.png" style="float:center"> [[1. Changes|Chapter1_Changes]] [[2. Condolences, for Your Loss|Chapter2_Condolences]] [[3. Someday It'll Get Better|Chapter3_Someday]] 4. Love Me, Love Me Not [[5. Midnight Conversations|Chapter5_MidnightConvo]] [[6. Freshmen|Chapter6_Orientation]] [[7. Good Ol' Party Days|Chapter7_FirstParty]] [[8. Meeting the Roe|Chapter8_MeetingRoe]] [[Back to Navigation|Start]]

“No. We weren’t,” <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> corrects. “We haven’t been fine in a long time, but I kept it to myself. Are you telling me that you’re not sick of all this secrecy? Not being able to hold each other’s hands in public, to kiss and hug? <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>We can’t do shit because we both know what’s going to happen as soon as we even give each other //that// look. We’re practically just waiting for someone to figure out what we’re acting at -<<else>>We’re able to do as much as we do simply because we’re both girls. But as soon as someone realizes what we’re acting at -”<</if>> “Acting at? Is that how you’re gonna sum up my feelings? Just because you’re unhappy doesn’t mean you can speak for me.” “How can you be happy with this?” <<if $atcb_emotion is "crying">>\ I tried so hard to keep the tears from spilling, and all of that work was for naught because they were spilled regardless. “$name,” Blake tries, and I turn away, trying to regain control. This always happens. When everything becomes too much, it doesn’t matter how much I prepare; I cry. And when I try to stop, the attempts to do even that make the tears fall faster. “$name, I’m sorry. We’re just … we’re never going to be happy.” We. We. We. Why does <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> keep speaking for me? “You’re not sorry. This is something you’ve been feeling for a long time now? Right?” “What do you want me to say? Huh? What happens when prom comes around? <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>We can’t even go as friends without people raising an eyebrow.<<else>>We go together and then just never //really// dance together? We try to walk that fine line between friends and girls that want to kiss?<</if>> This whole thing was stupid from the get-go.” <<elseif $atcb_emotion is "outbursts">>\ “I’m not!” I shout back, trying to calm down but finding it nearly impossible. “Do you think I like having to hide the simple fact that I like you just because of who we are? The entire thing is stupid, but that doesn’t matter because we both know what’ll happen if we’re found out.” “Exactly,” <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> shouts back, “this is just a big secret, and I’m sick of it. What happens when prom comes around? <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>We can’t even go as friends without people raising an eyebrow.<<else>>We go together and then just never //really// dance together? We try to walk that fine line between friends and girls that want to kiss?<</if>> This whole thing was stupid from the get-go.” <<elseif $atcb_emotion is "pass_agg">>\ I smirk as I glance at <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>him<<else>>her<</if>>, nodding my head in acceptance. “Alright, I get it. Yea, you’re right. It’s best for us to go our separate ways.” “You … get it?” Blake asks unsteadily. “Of course I do. I was probably more of an experiment for you. Are you really gay? You don’t know, and I was the safest person to go with to figure that out.” <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>He<<else>>She<</if>> tries to interrupt me, stiffening at my words, but I don’t stop. “And now that you figured it out, it’s time to let the loose ends go. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. We’ll be a big secret that gets buried deep. So deep that even I’ll forget about it.” “Who's putting words in other people’s mouths now? I know what I am and do like you, but that won’t make this any smarter. What happens when prom comes around? <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>We can’t even go as friends without people raising an eyebrow.<<else>>We go together and then just never //really// dance together? We try to walk that fine line between friends and girls that want to kiss?<</if>> This whole thing was stupid from the get-go.” <<elseif $atcb_emotion is "ignore">>\ When I was younger, and my uncle was lecturing or yelling at me, I would do one single thing that infuriated him but was an escape for me. Even now, I understand how childish it is, but it helped me recenter, helped me figure out what I wanted, and calmed me. I simply ignore the person and continue with what I’m doing. And I’m good at it. A perfected skill first learned as a child. So, that’s what I do. I glance back down at my books and tune out Blake’s voice as it rises. Before their voice completely vanishes, I hear them call me childish, but I don’t care. I don’t want to hear anything they say. To watch as they flounder on the shore for an excuse as to why this relationship was a waste of time. “Listen to me!” Blake screams, slamming <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>his<<else>>her<</if>> hand on the top of my book. “What happens when prom comes around? <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>We can’t even go as friends without people raising an eyebrow.<<else>>We go together and then just never //really// dance together? We try to walk that fine line between friends and girls that want to kiss?<</if>> This whole thing was stupid from the get-go.” <<else>>\ I remain calm, focusing my breathing as I rethink what <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> says and try to actually understand what <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> said. I agree; the secrecy is horrible. It’s depressing to see other couples walking around and being an actual couple while you’re able to do nothing more than exchange lingering glances out of fear of bigots. No one wants to be bullied and ridiculed simply for liking someone, and that’s what we’ll both run into if we ever try to become something more. It’s infuriating. But then we have moments like this. Where we are away from all eyes and can do whatever we want. Why wasn’t this enough? Why couldn’t I, and all that I am, be enough? Am I only as important as all the eyes that can see and judge me? The thought is suffocating. Restraining. And no matter how much I try to fully see <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>his<<else>>her<</if>> point of view, I don’t. “So, you’re letting others dictate what we are? What we should be?” “$name,” <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> says tiredly, almost like a parent who has peevish with <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>his<<else>>her<</if>> child. What happens when prom comes around? <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>We can’t even go as friends without people raising an eyebrow.<<else>>We go together and then just never //really// dance together? We try to walk that fine line between friends and girls that want to kiss?<</if>> This whole thing was stupid from the get-go.” <</if>>\ <a data-passage="4.10SSR2"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

“No, what’s stupid is that you decided to come by to tell me this when you could’ve done it any other time. Now what? You leave, and we ignore each other tomorrow to avoid any kind of awkwardness?” “We can still -” “Don’t you dare say we can still be friends. I don’t want to be anything with you. In fact, I’d be happy to forget you exist.” Blake’s mouth opens and then closes, and I’m thankful for that much, at least. I can’t. This is all too much. Blake only gazes at me in an attempt to find out what <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> can say to make any of this better. There is nothing, though. Tomorrow I’ll have to see <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>him<<else>>her<</if>> at school and will have to figure out where to go from there. Have to figure out if I’ll be moving to another lunch table or <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>him<<else>>her<</if>>. It’s tiring. And though I put on a brave face just then, my heart hurts. It truly feels like someone just yanked it out and decided to trample it for funsies. They could, so they did. I want to go upstairs and go to sleep. Thankfully, <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> goes. <<if hasVisited("4.10Smoke")>>Walking back inside to grab <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>his<<else>>her<</if>> things, I surmise.<<else>>Gathering <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>his<<else>>her<</if>> stuff and leaving without another word said.<</if>> I rub at my eye, not knowing if it just itches or if I’m preparing for tears to come pouring out. All I know is that I want to retire for the night. I don’t care about cleaning up the mess in the living room. Like so many other times, I want to disappear and nothing else. <img src="images/divider.png" style="float:center"> [[1. Changes|Chapter1_Changes]] [[2. Condolences, for Your Loss|Chapter2_Condolences]] [[3. Someday It'll Get Better|Chapter3_Someday]] 4. Love Me, Love Me Not [[5. Midnight Conversations|Chapter5_MidnightConvo]] [[6. Freshmen|Chapter6_Orientation]] [[7. Good Ol' Party Days|Chapter7_FirstParty]] [[8. Meeting the Roe|Chapter8_MeetingRoe]] [[Back to Navigation|Start]]

“Why?” “Why what?” “Why did you wait until now? Why are you breaking up with me? Take your pick.” “Will answering make any of this easier?” “Yes. No. Maybe. Who the fuck cares. Answer the question.” I can see on <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>his<<else>>her<</if>> face that <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> wants to rebel but after a deep breath, <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> begins to answer. “About a month or two ago.” Oof, far longer than I was giving <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>him<<else>>her<</if>> credit for. Two months ago? We’ve been dating for four! So, only the beginning, really. “And you faked it for that long?” <a data-passage="4.11BreakUp"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

“Why did you agree to come over tonight if you felt that way?” “Because tonight I was going to end it.” I snort. Unable to keep the laughter to myself as I gaze over at <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>him<<else>>her<</if>> and laugh even harder. “Seriously? You came over to my house just to break up with me instead of, I don’t know, telling me at school? Or just sending it in a text?” “$name -” “No. This entire day, even the bit in the living room, and who knows how many other days you were just faking?” <a data-passage="4.11BreakUp"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

“When did it stop?” “What?” “When did you realize you didn’t like me as much as you hoped?” “Will answering that make any of this easier?” “Yes. No. Maybe. Who the fuck cares. Answer the question.” I can see on <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>his<<else>>her<</if>> face that <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> wants to rebel but after a deep breath, <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> begins to answer. “About a month or two ago.” Oof, far longer than I was giving <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>him<<else>>her<</if>> credit for. Two months ago? We’ve been dating for four! So, only the beginning, really. “And you faked it for that long?” <a data-passage="4.11BreakUp"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

“Are you cheating on me?” “What? Why would you think that?” “The fact that you didn’t just outright say no and had to pause, makes me think the answer is yes.” “I … it’s not -” And now I definitely have my answer. Whether it was that person I saw <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>him<<else>>her<</if>> speaking too at lunch, I can’t be sure. But does it even matter? Would knowing the name or what they look like do anything besides make me feel like even more shit? “So, you were faking it all this time?” <a data-passage="4.11BreakUp"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

“I wasn’t faking,” <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> growls. “But I’m not dating you; I’m dating your problems.” “You’re over-exaggerating.” Blake snorts. “Am I? When was the last time we did something fun together? That includes just hanging out without you ranting. We’re in high school, and I’m not trying to play marriage simulator.” “We …” I start, but as I rack my mind, I find that <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">> he’s <<else>> she’s <</if>> right. The only times we hang out outside of school are for study moments like this. “I’m not saying you had to be perfect or couldn’t have personal problems. But you made it your personality, and that’s not a trait I find attractive.” <<if hasVisited("4.10Smoke")>>Shaking my head, I find that I really need that smoke.<</if>> “Well, I’m so sorry I have traits you find unattractive.” “$name that’s not what -” “You can go now.” “Can we just talk about this?” “Talk about what? This is a break up. I get it. That’s all I need. Again, you can go.” “I was never trying to hurt you.” <<if $fear_romance is "cheating">>\ “You weren’t trying to hurt me, but you’re cheating on me? Yea, that makes sense. Do I have to repeat what I said earlier or do you need me to show you the door?” Blake doesn’t say anything for a moment, only gazing at me and I suppose trying to find out what <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> can say to make any of this better. There is nothing, though. Tomorrow I’ll have to see <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>him<<else>>her<</if>> at school and will have to figure out where to go from there. Have to figure out if I’ll be moving to another lunch table or <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>him<<else>>her<</if>>. It’s tiring. And though I put on a brave face just then, my heart hurts. It truly feels like someone just yanked it out and decided to trample it for funsies. They could, so they did. I want to go upstairs and go to sleep. I don’t want to go to school tomorrow and risk seeing Blake kissing or hugging someone who isn’t me. I don’t want to think about why I wasn’t significant enough to <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>him<<else>>her<</if>> to be honest with and why <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> decided that lying and betraying my trust was the wisest course. I rub at my eye, not knowing if it just itches or if I’m preparing for tears to come pouring out. All I know is that I want to retire for the night. I don’t care about cleaning up the mess in the living room. Like so many other times, I want to disappear and nothing else. <<else>>\ “Sure. Good to know. Do I have to repeat what I said earlier or do you need me to show you the door?” Blake doesn’t say anything for a moment, only gazing at me and I suppose trying to find out what <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> can say to make any of this better. There is nothing, though. Tomorrow I’ll have to see <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>him<<else>>her<</if>> at school and will have to figure out where to go from there. Have to figure out if I’ll be moving to another lunch table or <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>him<<else>>her<</if>>. It’s tiring. And though I put on a brave face just then, my heart hurts. It truly feels like someone just yanked it out and decided to trample it for funsies. They could, so they did. I want to go upstairs and go to sleep. Thankfully, <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>he<<else>>she<</if>> goes. <<if hasVisited("4.10Smoke")>>Walking back inside to grab <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>his<<else>>her<</if>> things, I surmise.<<else>>Gathering <<if $atcb_int1 is "men">>his<<else>>her<</if>> stuff and leaving without another word said.<</if>> I rub at my eye, not knowing if it just itches or if I’m preparing for tears to come pouring out. All I know is that I want to retire for the night. I don’t care about cleaning up the mess in the living room. Like so many other times, I want to disappear and nothing else. <</if>>\ <img src="images/divider.png" style="float:center"> [[1. Changes|Chapter1_Changes]] [[2. Condolences, for Your Loss|Chapter2_Condolences]] [[3. Someday It'll Get Better|Chapter3_Someday]] 4. Love Me, Love Me Not [[5. Midnight Conversations|Chapter5_MidnightConvo]] [[6. Freshmen|Chapter6_Orientation]] [[7. Good Ol' Party Days|Chapter7_FirstParty]] [[8. Meeting the Roe|Chapter8_MeetingRoe]] [[Back to Navigation|Start]]

<>\ <<playlist "chapter4" fadeout>> <<playlist "chapters5_6_8" loop play>> <>\ I raise my brow as the latest fit of giggles manage to make their way up to my room. My uncle’s latest date had such an annoying voice, the worst so far. She always spoke as if she was out of breath and possessed a far more nasally sound that grated my nerves whenever she would howl out at one of his awful jokes. I’d be the first to claim that my uncle isn’t nearly as funny as he believes himself to be, but this night seemed … special? I’m not sure if that was the right word to use. I just know that he wasn’t trying as hard. The few jokes that I have heard weren’t his usual go-to jokes. They were more like the ones someone made when they weren’t trying really hard, but couldn’t help but make them. In truth, I should be paying more attention to my homework and giving him his privacy. Whenever he warned me he’d have a date over, I made myself as scarce as possible. [[He deserved time to unwind.|5.00DeservedUnwind]] [[I'm not sure if he told them about me.|5.00IfHeToldThem]] [[I did not want to even imagine what they'd be up too.|5.00Imagine]]

Between dealing with me and his job at the factory, I very much doubt that he gets an extensive amount of time to focus on himself. Though I do find it strange that he has chosen this, of all things, to do. He has never shown any interest before, and the few women I do see, I never see again. <<include "5.01">>

I’m not entirely sure whether he told his lady friends about my existence or not. I wouldn’t want to come bounding down the stairs, just for them to look from him to me in shock, trying to understand why he has a mysterious teenage kid. On one hand, it doesn’t make sense for him not to tell them, but on the other, I’m not sure I would either … <<include "5.01">>

I would much rather stay in my room, utterly oblivious to the happenings downstairs. It’ll be just my luck that I head down there for a snack or a drink to see them … no. I physically shiver from the thought and shoo it out of my head. Focus. <<include "5.01">>

Placing my attention back on my homework, I attempt to form a single thought that would see me progress. It’s only Saturday, so I have at least one more day of trying to finish this work. As far as I’m concerned, this can wait until tomorrow, as I’d rather enjoy my Saturday night even if it means I’ll have to stay in my room the entire time. [[Grab a book.|5.01Book]] [[Watch a movie.|5.01Movie]] [[Play some video games.|5.01Games]]

Rising up from my desk, I grab the book resting on my bookshelf and wander to my bed. Lying down, I flip through to my bookmarked part and begin to read. I’m only a couple of paragraphs in when I decide that this specific thing is not going to keep my attention. I’m interested in the book, but I don't even know what I just read. I’d rather pick it back up when it has all of my attention. Setting it aside, I head towards my television stand and look through the discs that I never returned downstairs. A few catch my eye, prompting me to choose between watching a cartoon, action, fantasy, or comedy. Uncle Matheus kept all of the R-rated movies in his room, away from my wandering hand, though not my curious mind. [[Comedy.|5.01Comedy]] [[Cartoon.|5.01Cartoon]] [[Fantasy.|5.01Fantasy]] [[Action.|5.01Action]]

I head towards my television stand and look through the discs that I never returned downstairs. A few catch my eye, prompting me to choose between watching a cartoon, action, fantasy, or comedy. Uncle Matheus kept all of the R-rated movies in his room, away from my wandering hand, though not my curious mind. [[Comedy.|5.01Comedy]] [[Cartoon.|5.01Cartoon]] [[Fantasy.|5.01Fantasy]] [[Action.|5.01Action]]

I turn on my console and browse the games that I have. Most of them are family-friendly games that I begged my uncle to play with me. A few are single-player, but none are anything that I’m in the mood for. Sighing, I cut the console back off and instead begin to peruse the movies in my collection. A few catch my eye, prompting me to choose between watching a cartoon, action, fantasy, or comedy. Uncle Matheus kept all of the R-rated movies in his room, away from my wandering hand, though not my curious mind. [[Comedy.|5.01Comedy]] [[Cartoon.|5.01Cartoon]] [[Fantasy.|5.01Fantasy]] [[Action.|5.01Action]]

I have a few comedies that I actually enjoy, some that I simply put on when I need something on in the background, and I don’t feel like listening to anything off my iPod. I finally decide to watch ''White Chicks'', sliding the disc in and realizing that I’m still missing something. Snacks. <<include "5.02">>

I hum as I move all of the cartoons that I have, barely narrowing my search down. I end up choosing The Road to El Dorado, already preparing to sing each and every song, when I realize that I’m missing a few things. Snacks. <<include "5.02">>

My hand immediately searches for the first Lord of the Rings movie. I should probably return this one, along with the other two, downstairs, but I find myself seeking it out many times. It became a comfort to me, especially the third, since my uncle took me to the theatres in hopes of distracting me. 2003 was quite a year … the year it all happened. The year my entire life became a twisted mess that, to this day, still defines me in such conflated ways. I shake my head, sliding the disc into the television and realizing that I’m missing something. Snacks. <<include "5.02">>

Sorting through the few action movies that I do have, I pull out X-Men, nodding my head. It’s pretty old, especially considering the many movies that have come out since then, but I’m okay with it. It always made me feel a bit more seen. I don't have superpowers, but I have nightmares that make me feel like a freak. At least when watching this movie, I can nod my head and feel like someone finally gets it. I slide the disc into the television, realizing at the last minute that I’m missing something. Snacks. <<include "5.02">>

Pressing my ear to the door, I quietly wait to hear anything downstairs. When I don’t, I open the door farther and peek my head into the dark hallway. Still, I hear nothing. If my uncle had decided to go somewhere with his date, he would’ve at least texted me. If they were in his room … I shiver, refusing to entertain the idea of what they may be doing. Regardless, they don’t sound like they’re downstairs. Gathering up courage, I head downstairs, taking each step carefully. I continue to hear nothing and halfway down, decide that it’s too late to go back now. I commit. Stepping into the area where the kitchen and living room meet, only to be surprised when I see my uncle sitting there on the couch alone. <a data-passage="5.03"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

“Uncle Matheus?” He turns his head to face me, giving me a small smile. “Oh, I didn’t think you were still awake.” “Yea, I decided to watch a movie and wanted to pop some popcorn. What are you doing just sitting here in the dark?” He scratches the side of his beard. “Thinking.” “About?” I approach the back of the second couch, trying to understand what happened to his lady friend. I hadn’t heard the door, but she obviously left or he would’ve warned me, right? I look towards the hall that leads to the bathroom. Would he be this somber if she were still here? “She’s gone,” he tells me, bringing my inane wanderings to a halt. “You two didn’t hit it off?” He shrugs. “She wouldn’t be the first.” “Yea, I’ve noticed that. Have you been on a second date with any of these women?” “No. And I don’t really mind.” “Wait, so you’re not interested in any of these women? Is it because you’re just choosing the wrong ones or …” He shakes his head. “I’m not interested in them, or anyone else. Honestly, I haven’t cared to date since your auntie died. When Val passed, that was it for me. I didn’t want to remarry; I never had the energy or motivation. She was the love of my life, and I know no one can replace her. I’m okay with that.” [[Ask about Auntie Valeria.|5.03AuntVal]] [[Ask about family.|5.03Family]] [[Ask about his dating life.|5.03DatingLife]]

“You know, you don’t really speak about Auntie Valeria.” His eyes widen, appearing shocked as he stares at me for a moment before turning away, as if embarrassed. “I always suspected that since you never knew her, you never cared.” “I’ve always been curious but understood that it was maybe a subject you didn’t want to discuss.” “It’s still like that … kind of. I met your auntie when we were young and still living in Florida. High school sweethearts. I wanted to marry her the first time I saw her. I promise you, I seemed as cocky as I sound. We were working on a project together, and I remember just blurting out of nowhere, ‘I’m going to marry you.’” “You didn’t,” I snort, and he laughs along, nodding. “Yea,” he sings, “you can imagine how stupid I felt after the fact.” “How did she react?” “She stared at me for a while before she snorted and rolled her eyes, telling me ‘good luck with that.’ My vows to her were, ‘I told you so.’ She grew so red, I didn’t think she’d let me kiss her after she said I do.” He closes his eyes, and I can practically see the memories playing out across his face. All of the feelings once again washing over him, I only fear that they may be drowning him more than cooling him off. “I’ve never loved someone so much, $name. There is no going back for me. No finding someone else for me to relearn how to love. I didn’t believe in soulmates until I lost mine.” <<if not hasVisited("5.03DatingLife")>>[[Ask about his dating life.|5.03DatingLife]]<<else>>Ask about his dating life.<</if>> <<if not hasVisited("5.03Family")>>[[Ask about family.|5.03Family]]<<else>>Ask about family.<</if>> [[“Why are you doing this then?”|5.04]]

“I’ve always wondered, is it really just us? What about Aunt Val’s family?” “They ...” he shakes his head and sighs. “When she died, they needed someone to blame, and I was the only applicable one. After her funeral, they told me to never speak to them again. That I ripped their daughter away, and I didn’t care much to contest that. They never said much about our unborn child, I suppose they were willing to blame the child as well.” “And our family?” “Your mother never talked much about her family. So, I can’t answer that. As for my family, well, you know your grandmother died when me and your father were in college. Your grandfather was never around so who knows. Our aunts and uncles either died or became estranged. Our family has never been the closest one. A lot of childhood trauma that spilled over into adulthood and managed to create fractures that no one cared to mend.” I nod, understanding what all of this means; I’ve always understood, but this simply cemented it. It was just us. <<if not hasVisited("5.03DatingLife")>>[[Ask about his dating life.|5.03DatingLife]]<<else>>Ask about his dating life.<</if>> <<if not hasVisited("5.03Family")>>[[Ask about family.|5.03Family]]<<else>>Ask about family.<</if>> [[“Why are you doing this then?”|5.04]]

“Then how are you finding all of these women that you keep going on dates with?” “Easy. I made a dating profile.” “Signed up for HotSingleMilf’s.com, huh?” “That sounds more like a porn site.” “It definitely is,” I laugh. <<if not hasVisited("5.03DatingLife")>>[[Ask about his dating life.|5.03DatingLife]]<<else>>Ask about his dating life.<</if>> <<if not hasVisited("5.03Family")>>[[Ask about family.|5.03Family]]<<else>>Ask about family.<</if>> [[“Why are you doing this then?”|5.04]]

“So then … Why are you doing this? Dating women you know will never compare?” “Honestly?” “Of course.” “I was doing it because I thought you needed a mother figure.” “What?” I ask, snorting, my head cocked to the side as I straighten up from my lax position. I repeat his words again and again. A mother figure. “Can we both admit that this has been hard? Have you not missed your mother?” [[“Of course.”|5.04OfCourse]] [[“No, not really.”|5.04NotReally]] [[“What does that have to do with it?”|5.04DoWithIt]]

“Well, yea, of course. But I don’t think that means you have to do this. Why do you feel like you have to?” <<include "5.05">>

“No, not really.” “$name,” he says sternly, but I shake my head. “I’m serious. But maybe I’m looking at your question differently. She’ll always be a part of me, and I love her, but I’ve accepted her death and I’ve moved past it. There are the odd days when I’ll end up getting really sad, but … well, let’s be honest, Uncle. I’ve been with you a lot longer than I have with her. So, why are you doing this?” <<include "5.05">>

“What does that have to do with you and dating though?" <<include "5.05">>

“It feels harder to explain now that I’m talking about it.” He inhales slowly and then exhales. “Watching you grow. Watching that trauma just build up. Knowing that I can’t always be there to make sure you’re okay, because I need to go to work. I just … after all these years, I was starting to think that maybe what we’re missing is a woman around. Some maternal figure that can help us both out. I’m scared that I’m not going to be enough for you, $name. I don’t want you growing up resenting me and life because I wasn’t able to do all that I can for you.” I continue to listen quietly, slowly understanding what all of this is about. “I had hoped that even if I couldn’t love her, that maybe I’d be okay with her presence. Friendship at best, so that I can reintroduce a mother into your life.” [[“And what about you?”|5.05WhatAboutYou]] [[“A little too late.”|5.05LittleTooLate]] [[“You're enough.”|5.05Enough]]

“And then what were you going to do?” I question, cocking my head to the side. “After you got married and I grew up further and possibly headed to college or wherever I was going to go. What were you going to do when you found yourself stuck in a loveless marriage with a woman you never cared for?” “I …” “And what about her? Were you going to be honest with her or just lead her to believe that maybe your love will come in time?” “I didn’t think that far into the future.” “You were just concerned about me?” “Of course.” <<include "5.06">>

“It’s a little too late to fix any of those things.” His eyes widen, and I realize what I said, snickering before fixing my statement. “I mean the whole part of growing up with trauma. I know that I still have a few years to go, but barely. I have what, two before I’m ready to graduate from high school? I don’t think a woman, neither of us know, will be able to fix what’s basically defined me my entire life.” “High school is only a small part of your life. This could also help for college and further than that. Life only gets bigger.” <<include "5.06">>

“Come on, Uncle Matheus, you’re enough and always have been. If you weren’t, then I highly doubt I would’ve made it this far. You make it sound like I’ve grown up with increasing issues.” He glances at me, and I snort, wishing I had something to throw at him. “I’m not that bad.” “No, you’re not. But … I don’t know. I was hoping or thinking that maybe there was time to curb it all. To make it better.” <<include "5.06">>

“Uncle Matheus. I love you, but I’m also worried for you. And one thing I don’t need you to do is get into a bad relationship on a hopeful whim that it’ll help me. You’re enough. You’ve always been enough. I know I haven’t always been the model of a perfect child, but I am who I am today with your help. And no offense, but I don’t think I’m that bad.” “You’re not,” he chuckles, “I just … I want what’s best for you, and I’m terrified that as you’re getting ready to move into a new stage of life, I didn’t do enough.” “And your first thought was to fix that by getting a wife?” He erupts into laughter, wiping at his eye as he nods. “Yea. Hearing you say that kind of puts it all in perspective, I guess.” “And you realize how stupid it sounds.” <a data-passage="5.07"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

“Alright, alright,” he snorts. “No need to rub in just how much smarter than me you are.” He grows quiet, still looking like he’s in deep contemplation. My gentle smile turns as I can’t help but watch him. He’s what … late thirties or early forties? Yet he has aged quickly. White hair is already beginning to sprout enough to make him look like he’s in his sixties. His laugh and frown lines were deeper than those of many others his age. I straighten, clearing my throat. “Um, would you like to watch the movie I was going to watch with me?” The question seems to uplift his mood, and he nods, pointing to the pantry. “I’ll pop the popcorn and gather the drinks if you’ll set it all up.” “Deal.” We switch jobs, and I go and grab a disc, sliding it into the television and preparing it. “Alright, snacks grabbed,” my uncle announces as he reenters the living room. “What are we watching anyway?” “Right now, Back to the Future. But I also grabbed the other two just in case we wanted to watch those too.” He nods, growing visibly excited at the prospect of watching one of his favorite series, and I press play. I practically race back to my spot and get comfortable as Uncle Matheus hands me a soda and places the popcorn between us. <a data-passage="5.08"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

Every time he laughs or recites a line that he knows from memory, my smile grows wider. I’ll never tell him that this isn’t the movie I originally planned to watch. There’s no need. Just like he doesn’t always tell me what’s on his mind and the motive behind most of his actions. I think back to all those impromptu trips that we’ve gone on. When I had been turned away from my first therapist, and the next thing I knew, we were driving up to an amusement park. Or when he came to school to pick me up because I had been fighting, and he took me to a water park. I had always thought he was just eccentric and unpredictable. Like the times he stayed home from work, not because I asked but because I suspected, at the time, that he just wanted a break. Were those for me as well? Wanting to spend a bit more time with me? When I was a child, I gave him shit for it all, whether I knowingly did it or not. He wasn’t my mother, and for that cardinal sin, I was going to take it out on him. It didn’t matter that he lost his sister-in-law, and before that, his brother, and before that, his wife and unborn child. He was my punching bag, and he did a damn good job of receiving each and every jab. [[We got better, much better.|5.09]] [[We still have rocky paths but it's not as bad.|5.09]] [[I'm still trying, so is he.|5.09]]

But if there is anything I know, it’s that there’s only us. We have to look out for one another because we are truly all that we have left. For years, my uncle has made countless sacrifices with me in mind. Some I will probably never learn about. It seems trivial for me to do things as small as this. I peer over, just as he hits the sofa cushion, laughing hard at one of the recent jokes. I simply smile, chuckling more due to his antics than whatever was said on screen. I suppose someone has to look out for the old man, so why not me? <img src="images/divider.png" style="float:center"> [[1. Changes|Chapter1_Changes]] [[2. Condolences, for Your Loss|Chapter2_Condolences]] [[3. Someday It'll Get Better|Chapter3_Someday]] [[4. Love Me, Love Me Not|Chapter4_Love]] 5. Midnight Conversations [[6. Freshmen|Chapter6_Orientation]] [[7. Good Ol' Party Days|Chapter7_FirstParty]] [[8. Meeting the Roe|Chapter8_MeetingRoe]] [[Back to Navigation|Start]]

<>\ <<playlist "chapters5_6_8" loop play>> <<set $chris to 0>> <>\ I want to thank the planets for specifically aligning today so that I’m not late for my first-ever college class. The campus is sizable, and though—in hindsight—the map isn’t too hard to read, I still had doubts about whether I’d be able to find and get to the class on time. The classroom itself feels more like one from high school. It could seat twenty students at most, though far fewer were within. Either I was early, or the class was structured to be intimate, allowing all students to get as much attention as needed. Taking a seat, I glance around, realizing all this is real. I’ve had plenty of moments to realize this: making my schedule, taking a tour of the college, and then placing my bags in my dorm. But then I had numerous moments where all of this felt like a fever dream that I was foolishly prolonging. The countless talks with the bursar office, the emails telling me that I didn’t qualify for this scholarship or the next, and my uncle’s stressful face as he looked over loans, hoping to figure out which would not burden either of us in the future. But here I am, sitting in my first college class with a few more that I’ll have to attend later today. [[Fight off the nerves.|6.00Nerves]] [[So … when is lunch?|6.00Lunch]] [[Try to stop smiling.|6.00Smiling]]

With everything I’ve been through, this moment feels like some fairytale in one of my old books I swore off of. I had doubts I’d even get past high school, let alone be able to enter college. <<include "6.00">>

Despite everything, my mind was more so focused on the campus’ lunch menu. I had peeked at it the other day and was interested to see if their food lived up to the expectations set by orientation. <<include "6.00">>

I can barely contain my excitement. I’m in college. No matter how often I tell myself that I’m here, that I’m sitting here with all of these other students, that I made it, I still can’t quite believe it. It makes me smile, and I make a note to call Uncle Matheus later today to talk and thank him for all his help. <<include "6.00">>

The instructor stands, motioning to everyone in attendance. “Alright, welcome freshmen to what should be all of your first class. To start -” Ironically, she stops as the door opens and a grinning young man enters. “Sorry, teach,” he starts, flashing her a sparkling smile, “still got some of that high school in me.” “You were late to those classes too?” she asks with a raised, amused brow. “I kinda suck at the whole time management thing,” he chuckles, giving her a conciliatory wave before scurrying further into the room. A quick glance around tells me that he has three options, one is an empty desk in the front, the second is in the very back, and the third is the vacant seat to my left. Hoping he’ll take one of the other two is far-fetched. No one would willingly take the one in front, and the one in back is just pulling way too much attention. So, I try not to look disappointed when he sits beside me. <a data-passage="6.01"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

“A freshmen seminar course is to help ease the transition from high school to college,” the instructor tells us, seeming to have gotten over the interruption. “Unlike a lot of your courses, this one won’t really have the standard tests and assignments you’re used to. Instead, I’m here to help familiarize you with the campus’s numerous services. Ways to better help you manage your time,” she pauses and glances at the man who had come in late. “And to guide you in anything else that will get you settled. And don’t worry, I won’t keep you here the entire time unless needed.” She continues to review some of the basic facts about the class and what it’ll offer us regarding our future. For a second, I wonder if any of this is disappointing, but realize it’ll be excellent preparation for what will come. This class will be forgiving; the rest won’t. [[I’m ready for them.|6.02]] [[Yea, we’ll see how this all goes.|6.02]] [[I am so over my head.|6.02]]

“Your first assignment will be a scavenger hunt. You and a partner will go around finding the different areas and take a picture at each. At least one of you must be present in each picture. Once done, you can either return and present your locations to me or email them through the portal. The latter is for those who find that they need more time. Either way, I must have those pictures by the end of the day to give you a grade. This is a pass-or-fail assignment, but let’s be honest; you really shouldn’t fail it. Everyone clear?” Someone behind me asks, “will these locations be hard to find or …” “No. Every location you visit should be simple enough, and you can easily find it by going to the university’s website or asking an upperclassman.” Seeing that no one else has any questions, she nods. “Alright, choose your partners, and then one of you needs to come up and pick up your scavenger sheet. Each is different. You may have some similar locations, but it’ll be done in a different order. The order is important, so if you email it, take note of that. Each scavenger hunt decodes a message, you’ll have to tell me that message to pass the assignment.” Nodding, she turns her attention away, allowing us to take over. “Wanna be partners?” the man beside me asks, smiling brightly as if that will encourage me to say yes. [[“Sure.”|6.02Sure]] [[Look around.|6.02LookAround][$chris +=1]] [[Shrug.|6.02Shrug]]

“Sure, I’m okay with that.” He nods in thanks. <<include "6.03">>

I peer over at him before glancing around to see if anyone else may require a partner. Everyone seemed to take the easy route, partnering up with those sitting beside them. “Be still, my achin’ heart,” the guy chuckles. “I’ll take that as a no?” “No, sorry. I’m fine with that.” He doesn’t look like he believes me, but he remains quiet about that fact. <<include "6.03">>

I’m not about to jump up and down about being partnered with the guy who was late to what is probably his first class, but I’m also not going to say no. I shrug and he nods. <<include "6.03">>

“I’m Chris.” “$name.” <<if $dark_burns>>\ “So, now that we’re on a first-name basis, I gotta ask. Do you have vitiligo?” He points his pen at my hands when he notices my confused expression. “I noticed they’re an entirely different color to your skin.” [[Don’t talk or show.|6.03NoTS]] [[Talk, but don’t show.|6.03TNoS]] [[Show him.|6.03TS]] <<elseif $dark_sight>>\ “So, now that we’re on a first-name basis, I feel like it won’t be so weird for me to say this.” He points to his eyes and smiles. “You have beautiful eyes. I’ve heard about heterochromia, but I’ve never actually seen it. Everyone must fall for those.” [[“Most teased me.”|6.03Teased]] [[“They’re … something.”|6.03Something]] [[“Depends, are you falling?”|6.03Falling]] <<else>>\ “I’ll grab the paper,” he tells me, already standing up to go and collect our scavenger hunt. Returning, he places the paper on my desk, leaning on his as he taps it. “How much of the campus have you seen so far?” “Just what they’ve shown me during orientation and what’s near my dorms.” He shrugs. “Enough to do the scavenger hunt, hopefully. I know for a fact that the first one is the library.” I take a moment to review the hunt; some clues are just incomplete images, and others are sentences with blanks. The first is a riddle and, like Chris surmised, pretty clearly talks about the library. [[I follow him, I forgot the locations.|6.04]] [[I follow him, mostly cos why not?|6.04]] [[I walk beside him, knowing my way.|6.04]] [[I walk beside him, faking it til I make it.|6.04]] <</if>>\

I neither show nor tell him about the burns that cover a little less than half of both of my arms. I’m uncomfortable discussing it; thankfully, he seems to understand that and moves on. <<include "6.03.1">>

“Oh, no,” I tell him, “both of my arms were badly burned when I was a child.” “Arms?” he asks, and I nod. “It stops just a bit below my elbow, like right here,” I tell him, motioning to my upper forearm but with no desire to take my jacket off to show him. He whistles and shakes his head. “That is crazy.” <<include "6.03.1">>

“Oh, no,” I smile as I remove my jacket so he can see my arms. His expression is one that I’m used to. Anyone who sees my arms basically responds the same. “I was burned as a child, and all I got was this.” He snorts. “You said fuck a t-shirt, huh?” I grin and shrug. “It wasn’t dramatic enough.” He laughs, and despite myself, I smile. “I’m curious if it’s a burn, not just vitiligo. Why isn’t your skin contracting? I wouldn’t say it’s smooth, but not like most burn scars I see.” Frankly, there was no proper answer to his question. He was right, but that didn’t mean I was lying. In truth, I don’t know. “Anyway,” he smiles, “that sounds like it could be a wicked story. I’m all ears if you ever wanna tell it.” <<include "6.03.1">>

“Mostly, they teased me.” He looks taken aback, genuinely bewildered by the possibility that anyone would dare taunt me about my eye. “I … what did they even have to say? Did they just call you two-eyed?” “Yea, but most were more creative, albeit stupid but still creative. My favorite was one kid telling me that God must have changed his mind halfway through creating my face.” Chris snorts, waving his own sounds away as he gives me an apologetic smile. “Sorry, that’s not funny.” “You’re fine. At that moment, it was harsh, but kids can be horrible. Doesn't bother me anymore.” <<include "6.03.1">>

“They’re … something,” I respond with, not knowing what else to say regarding them. “You,” his frown deepens, “don’t like them?” I open my mouth but then close it. I just met him; I’m not sure I want to tell him about my accident and how getting these eyes resulted in me losing my mother. I almost touch it but refrain, clearing my throat. <<include "6.03.1">>

“Depends,” I say with a smirk, “are you falling for them?” He erupts into laughter, calming himself down and ensuring no one is looking at him. <<if $gender is "female">>“Witty too. You gotta calm that down. I am not immune to a beautiful girl flirtin' with me.”<<else>>“Wrong gender. Otherwise, yea.”<</if>> “Whoa, whoever said //I// was flirting? You’re the one talking about falling.” “Stop it,” he laughs, waving the conversation away though his eyes are still glistening earnestly. <<include "6.03.1">>

“I’ll grab the paper,” he tells me, already standing up to go and collect our scavenger hunt. Returning, he places the paper on my desk, leaning on his as he taps it. “How much of the campus have you seen so far?” “Just what they’ve shown me during orientation and what’s near my dorms.” He shrugs. “Enough to do the scavenger hunt, hopefully. I know for a fact that the first one is the library.” I take a moment to review the hunt; some clues are just incomplete images, and others are sentences with blanks. The first is a riddle and, like Chris surmised, pretty clearly talks about the library. [[I follow him, I forgot the locations.|6.04]] [[I follow him, mostly cos why not?|6.04]] [[I walk beside him, knowing my way.|6.04]] [[I walk beside him, faking it til I make it.|6.04]]

“So, any reason you chose this college specifically?” Chris inquires. I’m unsure if he just doesn’t like the silence or believes it odd not to get to know his partner. I wonder if agreeing to be his partner now will mean he’s automatically my partner for the rest of the class. [[Answer him.|6.04Answer]] [[Remain silent.|6.04Silent][$chris +=1]]

“It was actually my first choice,” I choose to say. “The program you chose must be really good here?” “I wouldn’t know. I’m undeclared at the moment. I have some ideas, but I kind of want to get through the first semester first.” “That’s actually pretty smart. Gives you time to decide if the school treats the major you want right and if your interest is even there.” “What about you?” “Undeclared too, but nowhere near for the same reason as you.” He snorts. “There’s one smart person between you and me, and it definitely ain’t me.” “Then why did you choose this place?” “Mostly opportunity. I’m getting a full-ride for both sports and grades when only one other school was going to give me that. It’s a bit too close to home, but I can make do.” “Congratulations. Which sport?” “Tennis.” He smirks. “Can you see it?” [[“I would’ve guessed baseball.”|6.04GuessBaseball]] [[“Kinda, yea.”|6.04GuessKinda]] [[“Not at all.”|6.04GuessNotAtAll]] [[“I wouldn’t know the types.”|6.04GuessType]]

“Honestly, I would’ve guessed baseball.” “Ah yes,” he snorts, “I played a bit in middle school and early high school before transitionin’ to tennis.” “What made you want to change?” “At first, subverting expectations. Like any teen, I liked pissin’ people off. But I ended up actually likin’ it more, so I kept to it.” <<include "6.04Answer2">>

“Kinda, yea.” I pause to look him over and nod. “Yea, I can see it.” “Seriously? You’d be one of the few.” “Yea. Just get a headband and some shorter shorts, and boom.” He snorts, shaking his head. <<include "6.04Answer2">>

“Not at all. No offense.” “None taken. Most guess baseball and after that swimming. I get more offended about the last one. You can see swimming before football, really?!” “You don’t have the body.” “Quarterbacks are about my size.” “They have more muscle up top.” “You might as well just say, ‘Chris, you’re not muscular’ and hurt my feelings that way. <<include "6.04Answer2">>

“I never really cared about sports, so I wouldn’t know the type. Unless you want me to stereotype, that is. Really tall probably means volleyball or basketball, and really strong is wrestling or football. But that’s all I got.” “Probably still a better outlook than others who immediately will discount someone because they don’t look the part.” I hum in response. <<include "6.04Answer2">>

“I actually played football in high school. Was decent too but could never really get serious with everything else I had going on.” “Yea, that’s one sport I never thought about. Even when I was a kid and they had the pee wee leagues. Are you thinking about walking on to the team?” “Probably not. At least not now.” He nods. <<include "6.05">>

“I played soccer for a lot of years. I was good but never really focused the way I should’ve, so no scholarships for me.” “Thinking about walking on to the team?” “Probably not. At least not now.” He nods. <<include "6.05">>

“I used to do track and field in high school, but I was never able to buckle down and get serious enough to get a scholarship.” “Oh, cool, running events or field?” [[“Neither. Jumping.”|6.04TF_Jumping]] [[“I was a runner.”|6.04TF_Runner]] [[“All field.”|6.04TF_Field]]

“Ah. I volunteered at a few meets but never really paid much attention to the jumpers besides wondering why it was sand in the pits. Are you thinking about walking on to the team?” <<include "6.05">>

“I was a runner.” “Nice. I volunteered at a few meets. I loved watching the steeplechase event, but I can’t lie and say that the relays weren’t the most exciting. Are you thinking about walking on to the team?” <<include "6.05">>

“I did field events. You know, discus and shot put.” “You have my respect. I volunteered at a few meets and picked one of those up. I can’t even imagine throwing one without jerking my shoulder out of place.” “All in the technique,” I laugh. “Thinking about walking on to the team at the very least?” “Probably not. At least not now.” He nods. <<include "6.05">>

“I ran cross-country.” “And that was enjoyable?” He pauses and shakes his head. “I mean it more like why. It always sounds so boring.” I shrug. “I’m sure it is to folks who don’t like to run, but for me, it was peaceful. The competitive edge was there, of course, but running always calmed me down and was something I liked.” “Are you going to try and walk onto the team?” “I don’t have plans to. Not now, anyway.” He nods. <<include "6.05">>

“I played basketball.” “And you didn’t want to do it in college?” “Not that I didn’t want to. More like I didn’t believe I could. Playing a sport in high school was strenuous enough. Doing it in college with the possibility of also having a job on the side. Yea, I didn’t trust myself.” “That’s relatable.” He nods. <<include "6.05">>

“I used to swim.” “Sounds like fun.” “More like tiring, but I enjoyed it regardless.” “Are you going to try and become a walk-on?” “Naw. I don’t have plans at the moment to do that anyway.” He nods. <<include "6.05">>

“I actually played <<if $gender is "male">>baseball<<else>>softball<</if>> in high school.” “Nice. Did you enjoy it, or was it more of something to do that you found yourself good at?” “No. I actually enjoyed it, and it gave me something to do. On the other hand, it was also an obligation that I couldn’t always keep up with. I miss it to a point.” “So, are you going to try and become a walk-on?” “Naw. I don’t have plans at the moment to do that anyway.” He nods. <<include "6.05">>

“I played volleyball through most of high school. Should’ve focused but had … well, I just never really focused the way I needed to to get some kind of scholarship from it.” “Thinking about walking onto the team or anything?” “Probably not. At least not now.” He nods. <<include "6.05">>

“I did gymnastics mostly.” “Ah,” he smirks, “so you’re amazingly flexible.” I snort, unsure if I should read into that or simply take it as an immature joke. “Indeed.” “Thinking about walking onto the team or anything?” “Probably not. At least not now.” He nods. <<include "6.05">>

“Naw, I was never much of a sports person.” “Ah, gotcha.” <<include "6.05">>

I remain silent, continuing to walk and avoiding looking his way so as not to see how he’ll respond to my cold shoulder. I understand he’s just trying to be friendly, but I’m not sure I care, and I definitely can’t see the two of us being friends. We’re just partners for a class that won’t even last the entire semester, nothing more. <<include "6.05">>

We make it to the library, and I prepare to ask how he wants to do this whole picture thing when he walks away from me. I watch as he taps the shoulder of a nearby woman, the two exchanging a few words before he gives her his phone, and they head back towards me. Chris poses in front of the sign with a gigantic and cheesy smile while holding two thumbs up. [[Stand there awkwardly.|6.05Awkward]] [[Smile.|6.05Smile]] [[Do a goofy pose.|6.05Pose]]

I simply stand there, not wishing to match his excitement or even smile. I just wanted to finish this assignment so I can get on with my day. <<include "6.06">>

I decide to simply smile, no need to do anything special. <<include "6.06">>

Shrugging off some of the thoughts telling me not to do it, I head over to the sign and crouch, hitting a dramatic pose as if I had just unveiled the library sign. The woman taking the photo chuckles and takes it, handing the phone back to a still-grinning Chris. “We’re photogenic,” he remarks, showing me the photo. “One down. Four to go.” <<include "6.06">>

Looking at the next riddle, I’m at least happy that I know exactly where that picture is; anyone should, really. “Our next one is at the Centennial Fountain.” He nods, and we start our walk. “How are you enjoyin’ the campus so far? Roommates cool?” Chris questions, a blatant attempt to strike up a conversation. I’m not sure if he just despises the silence or if he is genuinely curious about my experiences thus far. [[“You don’t like silence, huh?”|6.06Silence][$chris +=1]] [[“Haven’t talked to my roommates yet.”|6.06Roommates]] [[“The campus is nice so far.”|6.06Campus]] [[Shrug.|6.06Shrug]]

“I’m guessing you’re not the biggest fan of silence, huh?” He looks flustered, blushing and tripping over unsaid words until he finally clears his throat. “I guess I’ll shut up.” I wouldn’t have put it so bluntly … or more like I didn’t, but it doesn’t matter. Either way, he’s done talking, and seeing that I have nothing to say in return, we go on in silence. <<include "6.07">>

“I haven’t talked to my roommates like that yet.” “Really?” “One hasn’t even checked in yet; the other is in and out, and I’ve talked to the third, but not like that. We exchanged a few words because they had the bunk on top of mine, but nothing really important. Just your average ‘here are my quirks’ kind of stuff.” “Standard roommates. Hope that it stays that way.” “Aren’t you a freshman, too? You talk like you’re an upperclassman.” “You’re right. But I got many upperclassmen friends who’ve already shared their horror stories.” <<include "6.07">>

“From what I’ve seen of the campus, I like it so far. Why would people say they don’t like it?” He shrugs. “Some people may think it’s too big or not big enough. Too crowded or confusin’. Not pretty.” “It’s definitely pretty.” “Different strokes for different folks.” <<include "6.07">>

I shrug, a mix of not knowing what to say and which question to answer. The campus is decent, nothing more and nothing less. My roommates, or at least the one I’ve truly spoken to, are decent enough. “I’m guessin’ that means mid.” “I guess.” A touch of awkward air settles around us, sending us both back into silence. <<include "6.07">>

Once again, we get to the fountain and have someone quickly take a picture for proof. Chris doesn't do anything dramatic this time; the excitement probably already draining from him. Finished, I grab the hunt paper and try to figure out the third clue just as Chris receives a call. Sending me an apologetic smile, he walks a few steps away and answers it. ''A very popular password. Once found, use the last two letters for your clue.'' I shove the password itself to the side and focus on where to go. [[Computer lab.|6.07Lab]] [[IT.|6.07IT]]

The computer lab was obviously our next destination. No other place comes to mind, though I suppose campus security or maybe IT could be close runners-up. <<include "6.08">>

It was probably the IT office since it was talking about passwords. Or … at least, I hope it was talking about IT. I have Chris to double-check for me anyway. <<include "6.08">>

I get the location before Chris finishes his phone call, so I sit on the fountain’s edge. Dozens of people walk by, some looking as lost as I felt while others confidently stroll towards their next destination. In a way, it feels a bit like high school. Claustrophobic and distant to a certain degree. I won’t learn even a quarter of their names. I will probably never see most of these faces again. These are simple figures that will be forgotten as soon as Chris gets off the phone and tells me he’s ready. I fiddle with my hands, wondering how this will go. Will my trauma come back to haunt me like it always did, or was I finally free to live my life? Elementary school was hard, and middle school was even harder. High school was far better, but there were still bumps along a road I wouldn’t call recovery. The big difference between those periods and now is that I don’t have a savior. Uncle Matheus will always be by my side, yes. But the school won’t call him when I begin to struggle and fall behind. Their care goes as far as making sure their statistics still look good, and they’re still receiving money from me. No, if something happens, then it’s all on me. It’ll be all my fault, and I’ll have no one but myself to blame. <a data-passage="6.09"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

“Hey,” Chris starts as he comes back over, “you okay?” “Oh yea, just deep in thought. Everything fine on your end?” “Yea, sorry. My coach needed some more information.” “Issues?” “Naw. I’m pretty sure other freshmen and transfers are goin’ through this too. Part of the whole ‘gettin’ everything ready because of the new year.’ Did you figure out the next location?” <<if hasVisited("6.07Lab")>>\ “Yea, it’s the computer lab.” I hand him the paper. “But can you guess the password it’s referring to?” He glances at it and shrugs. <<else>>\ “I figured it was talking about IT.” His frown deepens. “You sure? Sounds more like the computer lab to me.” “What makes you think that?” “Mostly the password part. I feel like if it was IT then it’d be way more specific and on the nose. The clue would maybe be about broken computers or somethin’. This hunt isn’t meant to trip us up.” I shrug. “Also, any idea about which letters we need?” <</if>>\ “Probably qwerty since 123qwe or a whole number one probably won’t make sense. Addin’ w to any of the spots wouldn’t make a word I’m familiar with. Correct me if I’m wrong, though.” I glance over the paper, sticking ‘w’ into one of the two spots, and I find that he’s right. That may not mean anything since it could be a word neither of us is familiar with, but I doubt it’s something overly complicated. Or at least, I hope. Either way. We have our next location. <a data-passage="6.10"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

<img src="images/divider.png" style="float:center"> The next two locations are just as easy as the first two and nothing exciting happens. Figure it out. Walk. Take a picture. Rinse and repeat. Chris has little to say as well, seeming to be stuck in his own head a majority of the time we have left together. The only times either of us say anything to the other is when we’re trying to figure out the hunt. [[And I was totally fine with that.|6.10SilenceIsGolden][$chris +=1]] [[I kind of miss conversation.|6.10Convo]]

And frankly, I was okay with that. <<if $chris >=2>>I hadn’t wanted to entertain conversation since this all began. So, seeing that Chris was currently jaded and exhausted from trying to support it all on his shoulders was a welcome relief.<<else>>I was okay with a conversation at first, entertaining the questions and not minding them. But I guess after a while, there are only so many things you can ask before crossing a line when both don’t know how they feel about the other.<</if>> I wasn’t planning on becoming this guy’s friend, and I’m sure he felt the same towards me. We were just trying to be friendly since we were partners. Nothing more and nothing less. “Alright, that’s the last one. And the secret message is prosper, it looks like. Do you want to email ‘em in or head back?” [[Head back.|6.11HeadBack]] [[Email them.|6.11Email]]

Just walking side by side, from one place to the next, wasn’t exactly awkward, but it wasn’t comfortable either. Learning new things about someone is always an interesting and fun part of developing a new relationship. But I suppose that’s where I’m wrong. Chris was probably just nice, and the earlier conversations were so neither of us would feel uncomfortable. Now that he no longer had to worry about that, seeing that our partnership was soon coming to an end. He could remain quiet. I could speak. Start up a conversation, but everything felt forced. The questions I could think of pulling up naturally were either already asked or felt like I was trying to make friends. The last thing I wanted to hear was that something was too personal due to simply not caring to befriend me. I’ll live. “Alright, that’s the last one. And the secret message is prosper, it looks like. Do you want to email ‘em in or head back?” [[Head back.|6.11HeadBack]] [[Email them.|6.11Email]]

“Let’s head back. Get it over with right now.” “Agreed,” he hums. With our choice made, we trek back to the classroom just as another group walks out. “Finished?” the instructor questions as we approach. “Yea.” I hand over the paper, and Chris begins to pull up the photos to show. She takes a moment to look it all over before nodding. “Looks like you got everything right. Good job, you two.” That seems as much like a dismissal as telling us to go, so we both turn and head back out of the classroom. Once outside, Chris stretches and lets out a long yawn. “Well, that’s one class marked off my list for today.” “How many more do you have today?” “Only one more, which isn’t until six. This is my easy day.” “Must be nice. I have two more classes.” “It shouldn’t be too bad today. First days are always filled with professors just going over the syllabus.” “Until you get that one professor that wants to charge straight into it.” Chris laughs, nodding in agreement. “Well, I gotta get ready for practice. I’ll see you later, partner?” “I guess so.” He waves goodbye and goes about his business. I find myself standing there, pondering what I should do now that I have time before my next class starts. I guess I’ll grab a snack somewhere and probably even start making my way to my next class, so the chances of getting lost and arriving late are diminished. With that decided, I head out with silent hopes for the future of my college career. <img src="images/divider.png" style="float:center"> [[1. Changes|Chapter1_Changes]] [[2. Condolences, for Your Loss|Chapter2_Condolences]] [[3. Someday It'll Get Better|Chapter3_Someday]] [[4. Love Me, Love Me Not|Chapter4_Love]] [[5. Midnight Conversations|Chapter5_MidnightConvo]] 6. Freshmen [[7. Good Ol' Party Days|Chapter7_FirstParty]] [[8. Meeting the Roe|Chapter8_MeetingRoe]] [[Back to Navigation|Start]]

“I’d rather we just email them in. Do you want me to do it, or can you?” He shrugs, wiggling his phone. “I got ’em all on my phone, so it’d be smarter for me to do it. I’ll forward the email to you, though.” “Do you need my number for that?” “Probably. I’ll text you for it later.” He types something in and hands me his phone. The contact name “Freshmen Orientation Partner” sits at the top, daring me to correct or suggest something far more flattering. Pushing the thought away, I type my number in and hand him his phone back. “Great,” he grins, “I guess I’ll be seein’ you later.” He doesn’t even wait for me to reply as he waves goodbye and goes about his business. I find myself standing there, pondering what I should do now that I have time before my next class starts. I guess I’ll grab a snack somewhere and probably even start making my way to my next class, so the chances of getting lost and arriving late are diminished. With that decided, I head out with silent hopes for the future of my college career. <img src="images/divider.png" style="float:center"> [[1. Changes|Chapter1_Changes]] [[2. Condolences, for Your Loss|Chapter2_Condolences]] [[3. Someday It'll Get Better|Chapter3_Someday]] [[4. Love Me, Love Me Not|Chapter4_Love]] [[5. Midnight Conversations|Chapter5_MidnightConvo]] 6. Freshmen [[7. Good Ol' Party Days|Chapter7_FirstParty]] [[8. Meeting the Roe|Chapter8_MeetingRoe]] [[Back to Navigation|Start]]

<>\ <<set $partyspirit to 0; $tipsy to false>> <<playlist "chapters5_6_8" fadeout>> <<audio "party" volume 0.15 fadeto 0.30 loop>> <>\ I shuffle in my spot, wondering if this is a good idea or if I should march right back into my room and just cut on a movie and call it a night. It doesn’t help that the crisp November night air is starting to make me shiver uncontrollably, enough to remind me just how much I could use a blanket right now. “There ?he <<verb "is">>.” Glancing up, I see Chris approaching in a plain white long-sleeved shirt and light blue shorts. It causes me to glance down at my own outfit. He didn’t give me much to go off of, just that it was a party put on by some of his teammates who also happened to be in a fraternity that Chris was interested in joining. The party would be at their frat house, but it wasn’t anything exclusive. So, I put on … [[... something sexy.|7.00Sexy]] [[... something casually sexy.|7.00CasualSexy]] [[... something casual.|7.00Casual]]

I had no idea what to expect, seeing that I don’t usually attend frat parties. But a party is a party, so something sexy can never miss, right? Until you feel like you’re overdressing. I feel like I’m en route to a club based on what Chris decided to wear. He lets out a short whistle. “I’m guessin’ you’re tryna get laid tonight.” “I’m guessing you should’ve given me a dress code.” “There is no dress code,” he laughs. “But I see what you mean. <<if $gender is "female">>You look good, though. Like, if I was interested then I’d test my luck.” “Trying to warn me what I can expect later on tonight, Chris?” “Of course not,” he snorts, turning away and clearing his throat.<<else>>You look good, though.” “On a scale from one to ten, how many folks are going to be staring at me like I’m an idiot?” “Mmm.” He taps his chin before shrugging. “I’d say two. You’ll be fine, come on.”<</if>> <a data-passage="7.00"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

I wasn’t sure what to go with, club-style clothing or something very chill, so I went with the second-best thing. Comfortable and sexy is hardly ever a miss. “So?” I ask once he gets closer. I gesture to my clothes, and he nods. “Makes me feel like I should go home and change.” “Not happy with your basic clothes?” “Unlike you, I don’t have a middle ground in my closet. I’m either goin’ to the club or chillin’ with some friends.” “I have a sneaking suspicion that you’d wear the same thing to either.” “You’d be 100% right,” he snorts, gesturing for me to follow. <a data-passage="7.00"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

I really didn’t want to go too far and looking at Chris’ clothes, I’m happy that I decided to stay casual. It actually looks like Chris and I are going to the same place, which hopefully means everyone there looks similar. “You ready?” he asks once he gets to my side. “I am if you are.” He nods and gestures for me to follow. <<if $gender is "female">>He clears his throat, avoiding my glance as he looks at everything else. “You make it work really well, by the way. The casual sexy look, I mean. Like ... um, yea. You look good, is what I’m trying to say.”<</if>> <a data-passage="7.00"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

The two of us walk along the sidewalk, quiet at first as we listen to the distant cars and the wind racing through the trees. I’ll be fine on my way there, but I’m worried just how cold it’ll be when we return. I should’ve grabbed a jacket, but of course, that wasn’t on my mind when I was looking through my closet. Chris breaks the silence. “Are you going home for Thanksgiving break?” “Of course, are you not?” He shrugs. “I may just choose to stay on campus. I’m not really the biggest fan of my family’s Thanksgiving meals.” “Too much politics and not enough stuffing?” He snorts. “That’s exactly it. It’d be good to see my mom and my cousins, and also my Auntie Linette. But,” he shakes his head. “It feels more like a formal event than just a moment for you to share with family. You know?” [[“Not really. I don’t celebrate Thanksgiving.”|7.00NoCelebrate]] [[“Kinda. It’s just me and my uncle though.”|7.00MeAndUncle]] [[“Not at all. My neighborhood does a block party.”|7.00BlockParty]]

“Not really, I don’t celebrate Thanksgiving.” “Seriously?” I shrug. “What’s to celebrate? The whole ‘get together and talk about what you’re thankful for’ part doesn’t make much sense when it’s just me and my uncle. We typically always eat together, and waiting for one day in an entire year to roll around and tell him how thankful I am for him is kind of crazy.” “I can’t actually disagree with you there. I guess I always just figured it’s more like Christmas. A holiday to do a lot of cooking and gather family around. The food, too.” “Eh, the food is decent. But we mostly each make a dish and use that. Still kind of silly to wait until the end of the year to do that. And though it may work for others, it still doesn’t help me and my uncle’s situation.” “Sounds nicer than whatever my parents want to call what we do.” [[Invite him.|7.00Invite]] [[Hum.|7.00Hum]]

“Kinda. I mean, it’s just me and my uncle every year, and neither of us really brings up talks of stocks or how much the government is or isn’t fucking us over.” “Sounds like heaven.” “Do some families really just sit around and talk about that?” “Yes. God, I wish I was jokin’,” he snorts. “If they’re not speaking politics, they’re just trying to get into your business. They’ll ask the same questions five times just to remind you that they weren’t paying attention to the first four.” “Yea, at most me and my uncle just talk about the latest shows or share stories. Our Thanksgiving dinner isn’t really any different than any other.” [[Invite him.|7.00Invite]] [[Hum.|7.00Hum]]

“Sorry, I can’t really relate at all. My neighborhood is pretty close and always has this kind of block party style dinner.” “That sounds epic. How does it go?” “Every year, a different family hosts, and if you visit, each family has to bring at least one food dish and one helpful item like napkins or cups. My uncle usually cooks a lot of Hispanic dishes. He can never leave it at just one dish. It’s cute to always see the neighborhood’s mothers swamp him every year to get the recipe.” “That sounds like something you’d see on TV.” [[Invite him.|7.00Invite]] [[Hum.|7.00Hum]]

Glancing over at him, a frown settles on my face as I think about what I’m thinking about asking him. On the one hand, I’m sure he’ll enjoy his time there, but on the other, it feels far too forward. Yes, we’re both adults, and if he feels uncomfortable, he’ll just say no, but maybe I shouldn’t ask in the first place. We’ve only known each other for three months, and though we’ve gotten fairly close, bringing him home for Thanksgiving break feels a bit too much. [[Back out.|7.00BackOut]] [[Ask.|7.00Ask]]

I hum in thought, though there’s no reason why. <<include "7.01">>

My mind is made up and I let the idea die. <<include "7.01">>

“Would you rather come with me and spend it with me and my uncle?” “Wait,” he pauses, frowning as he seems to repeat the question to himself. “You mean, like spend Thanksgiving with the two of you?” “Yea.” “Um …” He’s quiet for a while before finally shrugging, shaking his head as he gives me a light smile. “I’d be for it if your uncle won’t mind.” “Seriously?” He laughs. “You mean you proposed it just for me to say no?” “No, but I didn’t think you’d say yes either.” “So, is the offer still on the table?” “Yea. I’ll ask my uncle tomorrow and tell you what he says.” “Cool,” he smiles. I study the path we’re walking on, trying to figure out how that will go over with his own family as well as how the break will go if he does come with me. But, I push it out of my mind. I suppose we can only see. <a data-passage="7.01"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

It’s only been three months since we’ve met. Since that day he sat beside me and we agreed to be partners for a single assignment. <<if $chris >=2>>I wasn’t his biggest fan at the time, or more so, I just didn’t care to get to know him. But life has a funny way of making you look back and laugh at some things.<<else>>At the time, I didn’t view him in any special way. He was a seemingly cool guy with horrible time management skills and my partner in freshmen orientation. I couldn’t have guessed that mere acquaintance would have continued to thrive into an actual friendship.<</if>> Neither of us says anything more as we walk the rest of the way, the frat house coming into view. “Alright,” Chris starts, stopping in my path. “Now, are you sure you want to do this?” “You ask me that after I already got dressed, walked across the campus, and when we’re now right in front of the frat-house? Seriously?” “I have shit timing. Remember how we met? I just …” he frowns, looking over his shoulder at the house before focusing back on me. “I’m late, but I just realized I may have strong-armed you into this.” <<if $atcb_troublemaker>>\ [[“I’m more cut out for this than you.”|7.01PartyParty]] <<else>>\ [[“Not my first party.”|7.01FirstParty][$partyspirit is 3]] [[“I … I want to do this.”|7.01WantToDoThis][$partyspirit is 2]] [[“Too late now.”|7.01TooLate][$partyspirit is 1]] <</if>>\

I snort, shaking my head as I pat his shoulder. “Chris, I’m more cut out for this than you are.” “What?” “Do you know how many college parties I got into in high school?” He raises a shocked brow. “I would’ve never thought. Alright, let me shut up then. After you maestro.” He motions for me to take the lead, and though I want to at least mention the argument that he knows these people and I don’t, I go forward. A techno-pop song grows in volume as we near the house, the words utterly obscure due to the deafening bass. The yard is littered with both trash and people, most of them just talking, but a few are talking or crowding around a cornhole board. Almost every single one of them holds a red cup in their hands. I can’t help but wonder how many of them know one another or if they just congregate in familiar areas and let the night play out. <a data-passage="7.02"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

“This isn’t my first party, Chris. I don’t go to them because I’m forced. I actually like them.” He seems to relax considerably, nodding as he steps out of my way and motions for the two of us to continue. A techno-pop song grows in volume as we near the house, the words utterly obscure due to the deafening bass. The yard is littered with both trash and people, most of them just talking, but a few are talking or crowding around a cornhole board. Almost every single one of them holds a red cup in their hands. I can’t help but wonder how many of them know one another or if they just congregate in familiar areas and let the night play out. <a data-passage="7.02"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

“I … I want to attend it.” “You sound doubtful.” “No, not at all. I mean … I’m not the biggest partier, but I’ve gone to a few. I want to at least experience this one. To say that I went to a frat party before our upperclassmen classes take my life.” “I’ll force you to come to more,” he snorts, motioning for me to follow him as we return to walking. A techno-pop song grows in volume as we near the house, the words utterly obscure due to the deafening bass. The yard is littered with both trash and people, most of them just talking, but a few are talking or crowding around a cornhole board. Almost every single one of them holds a red cup in their hands. I can’t help but wonder how many of them know one another or if they just congregate in familiar areas and let the night play out. <a data-passage="7.02"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

“Kinda too late now, don’t you think?” “You could’ve told me no,” he sighs, “now I feel like an ass. You’d rather be home watching movies, right?” “Yes, very much so. But again, it’s too late now, so let’s… figure this out.” He raises a brow but nods regardless, nodding towards the house. A techno-pop song grows in volume as we near the house, the words utterly obscure due to the deafening bass. The yard is littered with both trash and people, most of them just talking, but a few are talking or crowding around a cornhole board. Almost every single one of them holds a red cup in their hands. I can’t help but wonder how many of them know one another or if they just congregate in familiar areas and let the night play out. <a data-passage="7.02"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

I follow Chris inside, greeted by the stench of sweat and weed. “Are we late?” I ask him, leaning in so that he can hear me. “Naw,” he chuckles. The short word is barely out as a group of guys come over, greeting Chris enthusiastically. “Uh, guys, this is one of my friends, $name. $name, some of my teammates.” They nod but pay me little to no attention as they enthusiastically speak to Chris about something. They urge him to follow, and he turns to me. “Coming or staying.” “I’ll um …” [[Follow.|7.02Follow]] [[Stay.|7.02Stay]]

“Oh, I’ll follow,” I tell him, and he nods, motioning for me to do so as the small group weaves through the party-goers. My heart begins to race as I have to shove more and more people to keep up and, soon, lose track of Chris altogether. I have half a mind to shout for him but doubt I’ll be heard over the music and chattering people. <<include "7.03">>

“I’ll do my own thing,” I tell him and he nods before leaving my side. And just like that, I find myself standing amidst strangers. I feel like I’m back in highschool, trying to decide where to sit due to not knowing anyone. <<include "7.03">>

<<if $partyspirit is 1>>\ In regards to the top five worst moments that someone could possibly find themselves in, socially, this was definitely one of the five. I may know someone here but I doubt it, most of the people I hang out with don’t come to these sorts of parties. And now, the only person I did know has up and disappeared when I was fully looking forward to following him around. Gazing around, I study those in attendance. <<else>>\ But, I’m not new to parties and though I typically go with friends, this shouldn’t be much different. I head towards refreshments and grab a drink, leaning on the wall as I watch all those surrounding me. <</if>>\ If I was hoping to narrow down a specific type and sum everyone up with one simple word, then that won’t happen. I see those I’d classify as nerds to those resembling jocks and even some punk and emo-style students. But then there is still the average party-goer. The ones you see in music videos, TV shows, and movies. I watch as one girl seems to just exist. She’s pretty, hence why tons of guys keep approaching even though her entire demeanor screams leave me be. A friend that was dragged here by another and ditched then. Shifting my attention more, I see a guy who is just now walking away from a table after taking shot after shot. His entire demeanor screams that he’s here for a good time, but his smile is fake. When he thinks people aren’t watching, he’s searching for another drink, and I notice that no matter how many drinks he chases, he’s always seeking the next. <a data-passage="7.04"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

Reluctantly, I leave him and set my sights on a girl that’s grinding against another girl. She turns, wrapping her arms around the neck of the other, and they begin to make out, much to the enjoyment of all the guys looking on. I don’t know if they’re doing it for attention or are no longer concerned with their audience and really like one another. Either way, I give them the privacy no one else will. Watching how many people here seem to be in their own heads is interesting. Yes, plenty here look like they came to party and are doing as much. But a number far greater than I would’ve expected seems to be here due to obligation or the hope that it’ll distract them. Soon, I grow bored of just watching people come and go and still not being able to find, Chris, I head outside, partially rethinking my plan when I find out how nippy it is. Braving the cold, I keep going, looking around to see what everyone else is doing. There’s a large group playing some kind of drinking game or just watching a guy use a beer bong. Either way, nothing exciting. Another group stands around talking to friends, and inserting myself into that group will probably be met by unfriendly stares. There are a few others like them, but they are far smaller and much more personal. The last group surrounds a cornhole, laughing as only a few of those playing are actually taking it seriously while the majority just watch. I go to them, finding that they’ll probably be the friendliest and most accepting of a stranger. Few eyes travel to me; most just continue with their conversations. <a data-passage="7.05"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

Watching the game, I try to decide whether or not I’ll play a round once this game is done. I’ve played a few times in high school but never really took the game seriously, unlike them. “Hey!” I practically jump, wanting to spin and throw my drink at the asshole but being unsurprised when I see a laughing Chris. In his hands is a beer as he tries to calm himself but fails. Some of those nearby also laugh, a few tapping Chris’ shoulder in greeting. “You would’ve been really mad at me if I threw my drink at you.” “It would’ve been deserved,” he snorts, nodding to some others. “I thought you were supposed to be havin’ fun?” “I’m figuring out if I want next in this game.” He frowns, staring at the game before turning to me with a wide smile. “Wanna join me in a bet?” “Depends on the bet.” “Next round. Me versus you. If I win, you take a turn on the beer bong. If I win, then I take a turn on it.” [[“Oh, you’re on.”|7.05BetOnBets]] [[“No thanks.”|7.05NoThanks]]

“Oh, you’re so on. You got a deal.” We shake hands, and those nearby cheer, telling those playing to hurry up. Once they’re finished, Chris hands me some of the bean bags, and people give us space. I snort to myself; to go from an invisible figure to the center of attention is odd. I block them out as Chris approaches. “Have you played before? Know what to do?” [[“Yea. I know how to play.”|7.05IKnow]] [[“Is it that hard?”|7.05IsItThatHard]]

“Yea, I know how to play.” “Alright. Just know that we’re not doing innings, so fuck those rules.” I nod, remembering very little about that since back in high school, no one cared about that either. <<include "7.05Bets.1">>

“Is it really that hard?” I ask him as I toss up one of the bags, catching it. “Throw the bean bag into the hole.” “Yea, basically. Just know you have to underhand toss it. You have to stand at this line. And it’s the first to get to twenty-one. We do four each, tally up the points for that round, and the winner of the round goes first next. We’re not doing the inning rules.” <<include "7.05Bets.1">>

<>\ <<set $win = Math.floor(Math.random()*2)>> <>\ “You take your cornhole pretty seriously, huh?” He leans in. “Between me and you, I hate this game. Rather play beer pong or somethin’.” I snort as he gestures for me to go first. “But, I’m still good at it. I am a tennis player and played baseball back in high school.” “Ah,” I snort, “so you know your way around balls.” The crowd chuckles as I do my first toss, easily scoring. “But this,” I say, shaking the bean bag. “Is a bag, not a ball.” He nods slowly, glancing over at my board before shooting me a smirk. He tosses his bag, and it lands in the hole, causing our audience to start placing bets. This’ll be fun. We go back and forth. Sometimes, the bag doesn’t fall into the hole. Sometimes, it doesn’t even stay on the board. Chris wins the first round. I win the second. As we get deeper into the third round, I see that fate won’t be kind to either of us. We each have one toss left, and I’m up first. [[Throw it softly.|7.05Softly]] [[Throw it hard.|7.05Hard]]

<<if $win is 1>>\ Taking a deep breath, I throw the bag softly, nearly clenching my eyes closed as I watch it land and slide into the hole! I win! I win! “Yes!” I shout as I jump cheerfully. The crowd cheers as I turn to Chris and shrug. “I guess it wasn’t your lucky day.” “Yea, tell me about it,” he huffs with a smile. “Good job though. “I think you know what time it is.” Having already heard about the bet Chris and I placed, others have already brought the beer bong over. One guy who can’t stop laughing hands Chris the funnel, and with a sigh, Chris prepares himself. “Want to do the honors?” another asks, handing me a large beer bottle. [[“No. I’d rather watch.”|7.05Watch]] [[“Of course.”|7.05OfCourseChris]] <<else>>\ <>\<<set $tipsy to true>><>\ Taking a deep breath, I throw the bag softly, nearly clenching my eyes closed as I watch it land and slide down the board and to the ground. I curse. Chris practically won, all he has to do is land on the board to get twenty-one. If he makes it in the hole, then that just adds insult to injury. Chris pats my shoulder, seeming to also understand that I lost. Who knows, maybe I’ll get lucky, and his bag will fall to the ground, forcing us to throw one more time. I watch as he throws his bag, which slides into the hole. Yea … I guess I should’ve known I wouldn’t be so lucky. Those watching us applaud as Chris bows to them, much like a gladiator entertaining his beloved crowd, while I watch with an unsurprised and unamused smirk. “It’s time,” he says, gesturing for two people to come forward. One hands me the funnel of the beer bong while the other tries to give the large beer bottle to Chris. “Want to do the honors?” “Fuck yea,” he laughs. “Let’s go, $name. We don’t have all day.” Snorting, I prepare. At first, it’s fine. Nothing too bad as the first taste hits my tongue. But it’s what follows that makes this troubling and increases my need to focus. Thankfully, the liquid is warm, and due to the funnel, it’s not //too// hard to take big gulps and get it all down. I keep going, more so letting the encouraging crowd push me to finish. Once they all start roaring, I know I’m done, and I shoot up, a mistake as I waver, but Chris grabs me. “Woo!” he cheers as well and I do so just because he’s doing it. Someone increases the volume of the music, and the crowd dissolves to either dance or talk. <a data-passage="7.05AfterGame"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a> <</if>>\

<<if $win is 2>>\ Taking a deep breath, I throw the bag with some force, nearly clenching my eyes closed as I watch it land right into the hole! I win! I win! “Yes!” I shout as I jump cheerfully. The crowd cheers as I turn to Chris and shrug. “I guess it wasn’t your lucky day.” “Yea, tell me about it,” he huffs with a smile. “Good job though. “I think you know what time it is.” Having already heard about the bet Chris and I placed, others have already brought the beer bong over. One guy who can’t stop laughing hands Chris the funnel, and with a sigh, Chris prepares himself. “Want to do the honors?” another asks, handing me a large beer bottle. [[“No. I’d rather watch.”|7.05Watch]] [[“Of course.”|7.05OfCourseChris]] <<else>>\ <>\<<set $tipsy to true>><>\ Taking a deep breath, I throw the bag with some force, nearly clenching my eyes closed as I watch it soar so far from the board that I have to stop and rethink my actions. I curse. Chris practically won, all he has to do is land on the board to get twenty-one. If he makes it in the hole, then that just adds insult to injury. Chris pats my shoulder, seeming to also understand that I lost. Who knows, maybe I’ll get lucky, and his bag will fall to the ground, forcing us to throw one more time. I watch as he throws his bag, which slides into the hole. Yea … I guess I should’ve known I wouldn’t be so lucky. Those watching us applaud as Chris bows to them, much like a gladiator entertaining his beloved crowd, while I watch with an unsurprised and unamused smirk. “It’s time,” he says, gesturing for two people to come forward. One hands me the funnel of the beer bong while the other tries to give the large beer bottle to Chris. “Want to do the honors?” “Fuck yea,” he laughs. “Let’s go, $name. We don’t have all day.” Snorting, I prepare. At first, it’s fine. Nothing too bad as the first taste hits my tongue. But it’s what follows that makes this troubling and increases my need to focus. Thankfully, the liquid is warm, and due to the funnel, it’s not //too// hard to take big gulps and get it all down. I keep going, more so letting the encouraging crowd push me to finish. Once they all start roaring, I know I’m done, and I shoot up, a mistake as I waver, but Chris grabs me. “Woo!” he cheers as well and I do so just because he’s doing it. Someone increases the volume of the music, and the crowd dissolves to either dance or talk. <a data-passage="7.05AfterGame"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a> <</if>>\

“I’d rather watch one of you do it.” “Don’t wanna get your hands dirty?” Chris asks, smiling as he gestures that he’s ready. With that, they start pouring the beer through the funnel as the crowd chants chug. And here I thought that this was only ever done in movies. “Chug! Chug!” I chant with them, speeding up the longer he goes until he finishes to the crowd's roar. He shoots up unsteadily, but I’m there to balance him. “Alright there, big guy?” “I’m gonna hate you in the mornin’,” he mumbles but says so with a giant smile. <a data-passage="7.05AfterGame"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

“Oh heck yea,” I laugh. “Gimme that.” I turn to Chris. “You ready?” “Should I be worried about how excited you are to do this?” “Naw, don’t worry about it.” He rolls his eyes with a smile, nodding to me to say he’s ready. I pour the beer into the funnel, smiling as the crowd chants chug. I focus on what I’m doing, though, not wishing to mess up, if that’s even possible, with how easy all this is. I can feel the bottle growing lighter and lighter, and once I’m done, I celebrate with the rest of them, cheering as Chris jumps to his feet unsteadily but I help balance him. “Alright there, big guy?” “I’m gonna hate you in the mornin’,” he mumbles but says so with a giant smile. <a data-passage="7.05AfterGame"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

Chris and I walk over to the side, taking a seat on some chairs. <<if $tipsy>>\ “Ugh,” I moan, trying not to vomit. Thankfully, nothing ever rises, and I surmise I had just moved too quickly earlier. “Feelin’ okay there, $name?” “I hate you, and I want to choke you.” “No one said you had to agree to the bet.” “Blah blah blah,” I laugh. “Bad timing, too. I have this feelin’ you haven’t <<if $gender is "female">>gone and talked or danced with a guy tonight.”<<elseif $gender is "male">>gone and talked or danced with a girl tonight.”<<else>>gone and talked or danced with a … actually, I have no idea who you’re interested in.”<</if>> <<if $gender is "female">>\ [[“If only I was attracted to men.” (Lesbian)|7.05LesGay]] [[“Or anyone really.” (Bisexual/Pan)|7.05BiPan]] [[“If only it was that easy.” (Straight)|7.05Straight]] [[Don’t tell him about my orientation.|7.05Blank]] [[“I didn’t come to hook-up.” (Asexual)|7.05Asexual]] <<elseif $gender is "male">>\ [[“If only I was attracted to women.” (Gay)|7.05LesGay]] [[“Or anyone really.” (Bisexual/Pan)|7.05BiPan]] [[“If only it was that easy.” (Straight)|7.05Straight]] [[Don’t tell him about my orientation.|7.05Blank]] [[“I didn’t come to hook-up.” (Asexual)|7.05Asexual]] <<else>>\ [[“I’m into girls.”|7.05GirlsGirlsGirls]] [[“I’m into guys.”|7.05BoysBoysBoys]] [[“Anyone and everyone.”|7.05EveryoneCanGetIt]] [[“I ... I don’t know.”|7.05NotSure]] [[Shrug.|7.05Shrug]] <</if>>\ <<else>>\ “How do you feel,” I grin. “Like I want another beer just for the hell of it. But knowin’ I don’t want to face that hangover in the morning.” “Need me to keep an eye on you.” “Hold my heels while you’re at it.” “I gotcha,” I laugh. He shakes his head, shooing me off. “Don’t worry about me. You should go and <<if $gender is "female">>grab an attractive guy and talk with him.”<<elseif $gender is "male">>grab an attractive girl and talk with her.”<<else>>grab … actually, I have no idea who you’re interested in.”<</if>> <<if $gender is "female">>\ [[“If only I was attracted to men.” (Lesbian)|7.05LesGay]] [[“Or anyone really.” (Bisexual/Pan)|7.05BiPan]] [[“If only it was that easy.” (Straight)|7.05Straight]] [[Don’t tell him about my orientation.|7.05Blank]] [[“I didn’t come to hook-up.” (Asexual)|7.05Asexual]] <<elseif $gender is "male">>\ [[“If only I was attracted to women.” (Gay)|7.05LesGay]] [[“Or anyone really.” (Bisexual/Pan)|7.05BiPan]] [[“If only it was that easy.” (Straight)|7.05Straight]] [[Don’t tell him about my orientation.|7.05Blank]] [[“I didn’t come to hook-up.” (Asexual)|7.05Asexual]] <<else>>\ [[“I’m into girls.”|7.05GirlsGirlsGirls]] [[“I’m into guys.”|7.05BoysBoysBoys]] [[“Anyone and everyone.”|7.05EveryoneCanGetIt]] [[“I ... I don’t know.”|7.05NotSure]] [[Shrug.|7.05Shrug]] <</if>>\ <</if>>\

“No thanks,” I chuckle, “I want to be able to walk back to my dorm like a normal person.” “Boo,” he chuckles but shrugs. He drowns the rest of his beer before shaking it at me. “I’m about to go get another. Want in?” “I’ll come with you.” I head inside with him, following him to the refreshments table. “Alright, since you don’t want to play cornhole with me, how likely is it that I can get you to go inside and dance with someone?” “You will stop at nothing, huh?” “What can I say? I’m a great friend who likes to see my friends have fun. Especially since we’re on a time limit.” “Time limit? Why would we be?” “Let’s just say these parties get more and more rowdy after a while. But go on. <<if $gender is "female">>Go grab an attractive guy and talk with him.”<<elseif $gender is "male">>Go grab an attractive girl and talk with her.”<<else>>Go grab … actually, I have no idea who you’re interested in.”<</if>> <<if $gender is "female">>\ [[“If only I was attracted to men.” (Lesbian)|7.05LesGay]] [[“Or anyone really.” (Bisexual/Pan)|7.05BiPan]] [[“If only it was that easy.” (Straight)|7.05Straight]] [[Don’t tell him about my orientation.|7.05Blank]] [[“I didn’t come to hook-up.” (Asexual)|7.05Asexual]] <<elseif $gender is "male">>\ [[“If only I was attracted to women.” (Gay)|7.05LesGay]] [[“Or anyone really.” (Bisexual/Pan)|7.05BiPan]] [[“If only it was that easy.” (Straight)|7.05Straight]] [[Don’t tell him about my orientation.|7.05Blank]] [[“I didn’t come to hook-up.” (Asexual)|7.05Asexual]] <<else>>\ [[“I’m into girls.”|7.05GirlsGirlsGirls]] [[“I’m into guys.”|7.05BoysBoysBoys]] [[“Anyone and everyone.”|7.05EveryoneCanGetIt]] [[“I ... I don’t know.”|7.05NotSure]] [[Shrug.|7.05Shrug]] <</if>>\

“Yea, if only I was attracted to <<if $gender is "female">>men<<else>>women<</if>>,” I sigh sarcastically. <<if $gender is "female">>\ “Oh,” he asks, pausing momentarily before looking back at me. An extra dose of shock appears on his face. “You’re lesbian?” “Yes,” I answer, stiffening. The words rolled off my tongue so easily that I somehow forgot what world I lived in. Not everyone was okay with meeting people who were different. I suppose I just never believed Chris could be one of those people. “Why are you making that face?” “Tryin’ to figure out if this is a good or bad thing.” He shakes his head. “On one hand, I can now point at a beautiful woman, and 100% get your thoughts on her and vice versa. But on the other, how likely is it that you’ll steal a girl I’m into?” I stare at him for a time before finding myself laughing, pent-up energy leaving my body before it can truly settle. “Guess you’ll just have to be extra careful,” I laugh alongside him. I try not to smile so openly, but can’t help it. Even if Chris and I find ourselves growing apart. If, after freshman seminar, we never see each other again or become distant friends, it’s good to know he knew and accepted that part of me. <<else>>\ “Oh,” he asks, pausing momentarily before looking back at me. An extra dose of shock appears on his face. “You’re gay?” “Yes,” I answer, stiffening. The words rolled off my tongue so easily that I somehow forgot what world I lived in. Not everyone was okay with meeting people who were different. I suppose I just never believed Chris could be one of those people. “Why are you making that face?” “I don’t know,” he shrugs, “just felt like something I should’ve known a while ago.” “Why?” “We’re friends, right? I guess I get why it would never come up since we never really just sat and outright said, ‘yea, I’m interested in this gender.’ Glad to know now, at least.” “I feel like I should ask if you have a problem with that.” He snorts. “Why would I? It’s none of my business who you choose to spend your time with. I mean, as long as you’re not one of those folks who try to ‘turn others’ even when they make it clear they’re not gay.” “No. I actually respect people.” “Then we’ll have no problems. I’m glad you told me, though. My ...” He blushes, scratching the back of his neck. “My grandfather was gay, and I think I was the only one he ever told. I really wish he lived in a time where he didn’t have to hide it.” “Not even your grandmother?” “Nah. Maybe she suspected, but I didn’t know her. By the time I was old enough to comprehend shit, cancer was already taking her. I think my grandfather loved her, from how he spoke anyway. But I know it wasn’t like how he loved the guy he fell in love with. He talked completely different when it was about him.” I nod, trying not to smile so openly, but find it nearly impossible. Even if Chris and I find ourselves growing apart. If, after freshman seminar, we never see each other again or become distant friends, it’s good to know he knew and accepted that part of me. <</if>>\ <a data-passage="7.06"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

“Or anyone, really.” Chris’ face twists, glancing at me in confusion before understanding suddenly appears. “I was so confused,” he laughs. “But you’re sayin’ you’re bisexual or pansexual?” “Yea. You’re telling me you know about pansexual?” “Yea, only because I dated a girl who explained it to me back in high school. I’m not sure if she ever figured out if she was that or not.” “And you’re okay with that?” “I don’t see how it’s any of my business who you choose to spend your time with. As long as they’re treating you right.” He shrugs nonchalantly, sipping some of his beer. <a data-passage="7.06"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

“If only it was that easy.” “What’s hard about it?” “I’m not about to just go up to some <<if $gender is "female">>guy and later find out he has a girlfriend or if he’s gay?<<else>>girl and later find out she has a boyfriend or that she’s only into girls?<</if>>” “Easy. When they say no thank you, you walk away.” I frown. Well, yes. I suppose that does just answer all the questions I posed. <a data-passage="7.06"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

“I didn’t come here for a hook-up.” “No one’s talking about a hook-up. Just talking,” he snorts. “But I doubt that’ll be it. I don’t want anyone looking deeper into it.” “You sure you’re just not overthinkin’ or that this is about somethin’ else? Because if I started talkin' up a girl or asked her dance with me, that’s all I’m expectin’. ” “Well, you’re not everyone.” “Alright, what’s up?” “I just …” I just what? Putting this into words has always been hard for me. The internet has helped, but … explaining this to others always feels like I’m inviting judgemental glares, as people believe I’m just confused or don’t know what I’m talking about because I’m still young. “It’s fine,” I sigh. “I think it’s just me not being in the mood to dance.” “You sure?” His gaze is open, and someone a bit more trusting may even decide to reveal their thoughts. But I’m not that person. Not right now, tonight, anyway. “Yea,” I nod, giving him the most genuine smile I can muster. Thankfully, he ends the conversation there. <a data-passage="7.06"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

“I’m into girls and only girls.” “Alright, so can I ask what might be a stupid question?” “Oh, this should be fun.” He waves my words away with a smile. “So, I already know you identify as non-binary. But when it comes to dating, since you like girls, what orientation do you say?” “Ah. Everyone can say something different. It all depends on how they feel about who they are. There are even a few words to describe it, but not everyone uses them. Someone can claim straight if they want to or lesbian. Then there’s also gynesexual or trixic. It all depends on the individual and what they want to use, and how they view themselves.” “Good to know.” He raises his drink and tips it towards those surrounding us. “Then go find a pretty girl to talk with.” <a data-passage="7.06"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

“I’m into guys and only guys.” “Alright, so can I ask what might be a stupid question?” “Oh, this should be fun.” He waves my words away with a smile. “So, I already know you identify as non-binary. But when it comes to dating, since you like guys, what orientation do you say?” “Ah. Everyone can say something different. It all depends on how they feel about who they are. There are even a few words to describe it, but not everyone uses them. Someone can claim straight if they want to or gay. Then there’s also androsexual or toric. It all depends on the individual and what they want to use, and how they view themselves.” “Good to know.” He raises his drink and tips it towards those surrounding us. “Then go find a nice looking guy to talk with.” <a data-passage="7.06"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

“I’m into anyone and everyone. If I find you attractive then you have a good enough chance as anyone else.” “Well then, that makes this extremely easy.” He gestures out to all those dancing. “Pick the best and most available lookin’ one. And go have fun.” “Because it’s that simple.” “Heck yea. We’re at a party, $name. Go party.” <a data-passage="7.06"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

“I …” I look out at all those before us and shake my head. “Honestly, I couldn’t begin to tell you. It’s all a bit too confusing.” “Confusing because you don’t know how to describe it or because you don’t actually know yet.” “Could be both, could only be one. I’ve thought about it, but stuff changes, and sometimes I can’t put them into words.” “Well, that’s the best thing about college. You get to discover all of it.” “Until someone wants an answer.” “Then fuck ‘em.” I smirk. “That easy, huh?” “That easy.” <a data-passage="7.06"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

I have half a mind to correct him but keep it to myself. Not everyone acts normally when I tell them, and sometimes I still misjudge people, thinking the information is safe with them and finding out the hard way that it isn’t. “I’ll be fine,” I hum, hoping my nonchalance ends the conversation. He shrugs. Maybe one day I’ll find myself comfortable around him but at the moment, I don’t really know him well enough to gauge it. He’s never given me a reason to doubt him, but in the same vein, he’s never given me a reason not to judge him. “Then how about no dancin’ with anyone. We just go out there and shake our ass?” “I can’t stress enough just how much I don’t want to see you doing that.” “Ouch. This is me just enticin’ you to join me.” I watch as he begins to shimmy, dancing towards the outskirts of the dance floor before ushering me towards him. <a data-passage="7.06"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

<>\<<audio "party" fadeout>> <<audio "afterparty" volume 0.15 fadeto 0.30 loop>><>\ A few minutes go by of us just sitting there, talking here and there. Despite my warnings, Chris gets another beer, <<if $tipsy>>seeming to want to put himself on the same alcoholic level as me.<<else>>seeming to want to be properly tipsy or drunk, I don’t know which yet.<</if>> <<if $tipsy>>Finally Chris claps, rising. “Come on, let’s go before the debauchery starts.”<<else>>Chris looks around, squinting before shaking his head. “Come on, let’s go before the debauchery starts.”<</if>> “Oh, is that where you draw the line?” <<if $tipsy>>\ I’m not even going to attempt to repeat that word. Yea, no. Chris leads me through the throng of people and towards the doors we originally came in through. “We can go find something to eat.” <<else>>\ “Please tell me people don’t just start having sex on the sofas.” “Wait,” he pauses, a look of concern appearing, “you mean they haven’t started that yet?” “Chris!” “Kidding. Mostly. Come on.” He leads me through the throng of people and towards the doors we originally came in through. “We can go find something to eat.” <</if>>\ “Are there even any places open this late?” Chris smiles, nodding as he waves my words away. “There’s a place.” I find myself fighting a chill as we walk. Unlike back at the frat house, the coolness of autumn will not simply go away or be ignored. It’s almost two o’clock in the morning, and it will remind me every chance it can where I am and, more importantly, where I am not. <a data-passage="7.07"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

Chris and I walk down the sidewalk, leaving the still noisy house behind. There are only a few people out here, and I quickly surmise that each and every one of them is a different level of drunkenness that somehow makes them immune to the nip of the night. <<if $tipsy>>I guess I’m not nearly drunk enough to understand that feeling. Should’ve thrown a few more back after that funnel, I suppose.<</if>> Clapping his hands, Chris tilts his head to look over at me. <<if $atcb_troublemaker>>“So, how was your first college party? Or, I’m sorry. How was your first ‘I’m actually in college, so old enough to go to a college party’ party?”<<else>>“So, how was your first college party?”<</if>> [[“Unremarkable.”|7.07Unremarkable]] [[“That was fun.”|7.07Fun]] [[“First and last.”|7.07FirstLast]] [[Shrug.|7.07Shrug]]

“Not that fun, actually. It was pretty boring. I didn’t even see a fight.” He bursts out laughing. “Is that why you came? And here I thought it was for me.” “Why would I come for you?” I tease. “Emotional support friend.” “Wait. Was this //your// first college party?” He <<if $atcb_troublemaker>>sneers. “You’re not the only one who got up to things they shouldn’t in high school.”<<else>>grins. “Naw, I snuck into a few in high school.”<</if>> <<include "7.08">>

“I actually had tons of fun.” “I don’t like how you said that as if you had a feelin’ you wouldn’t.” “Well, most parties are far more fun with friends.” “True,” he hums. <<include "7.08">>

“First and last time.” “Ouch,” he chuckles, “was it that bad?” “Just not my scene. I can see how some people love attending things like that, but I’m not one of them.” “Nothin’ wrong with that. I know I’m one of those guys that gotta switch it up every now and then.” “But you want to join a frat? Isn’t it just partying every day?” “No,” he snorts. “Not at all. Some join for that, but that’s not why I want to.” <<include "7.08">>

I shrug. I’m unsure how I feel about it now that it’s after the fact. I enjoyed my time but I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t opt to do it again without some sort of reason to back it up. <<include "7.08">>

“So, did you go to a lot of parties in high school, or were you the type to make mom and dad proud by staying home and studying?” “No, but mostly because of the parent part,” I snort. “Parents just didn’t care?” “No,” I answer, “my dad died before I was born, and my mom died when I was seven.” “Damn,” Chris draws out, “so life just gave you a massive F and U, and you just said, alright, fine, I’ll make em’ look good.” “What?” I laugh, and he shrugs with an amiable and perhaps even cheerful smile. “I don’t know,” he laughs. “You know when you’re drunk but you’re not drunk. That’s me right now.” <<if $tipsy>>\ “Tipsy, Chris. The word is tipsy. Something both of us are experiencing.” He laughs. “Yea, that, but also not that. But maybe I just don’t know my tipsy. Never really …” he pauses, burps, then continues. “Never got tipsy.” <<else>>\ “I don’t. But at least you can still form sentences.” “Oh yea,” he snorts, “I can hold my liquor at the very least.” <</if>>\ <a data-passage="7.09"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

He yawns, pausing to burp. A second later, he makes a disgusted face as I surmise he gets a whiff of his breath. “Do you know I want to be a bartender?” “Seriously?” “Yea. Not like a job job but more of a skill. Girls find that sexy.” <<if $gender is "female">>\ “Oh, do they now?” I ask, allowing nothing but sarcasm to invade my tone as Chris hums and nods. “Yea, imagine seeing this really hot guy throwing bottles up and doing all this extra shit and then passin’ you the best drink you’ve ever tasted.” He smacks his hand and jumps, almost stumbling. “Don’t forget about how humble he is the entire time he’s doing it.” “Fuck that,” he laughs. “Humbleness is for cowards. I’m puttin’ my right foot in …” He pauses. At first, I think he’s about to vomit, but I realize soon after that he’s trying to hold in a laugh and notice that he’s moving his right foot back and forth. <<else>>\ “Wait. So, you want to become a bartender solely to get girls?” He snorts. “You say that like it’s surprisin’. Heck yea.” “And when you realize that girls find you ugly or -” “Hey!” he shouts, almost falling over in laughter. “Just stop. You’re killing me.” “All I said was ugly.” “Yea. A cuss word. You’re makin’ it sound like I’m a five when I’m at the very least an eight.” “And so humble.” “Fuck that,” he laughs, “humbleness is for cowards. I’m puttin’ my right foot in …” He pauses. At first, I think he’s about to vomit, but I realize soon after that he’s trying to hold in a laugh and notice that he’s moving his right foot back and forth. <</if>>\ [[Do the dance with him.|7.09HokeyPokey]] [[Question him.|7.09Question]] [[Get ready to catch him.|7.09CatchHim]]

I almost fall over laughing as I finish the dance with him, both of us shaking our right foot before spinning around. I catch him just before he ‘shakes himself about’ and try to calm my burning cheeks as Chris hangs tightly to me. <<include "7.10">>

I watch him with a raised brow, watching as he unravels into a fit of giggles from his joke. “Chris. What are you doing?” “I’m,” he takes a moment to laugh, “I’m shaking it all about.” “You’re what?” “Come on,” he whines, “I’m doing the hokey pokey.” “You’re so weird,” I mumble, snorting as I shake my head. <<include "7.10">>

I move behind him, worried that he’s about to fall over, but to my shock, he stays upright and continues to dance … or at least what he thinks is a dance. “I thought you were about to fall over. Can you calm your drunk ass down?” “Not drunk,” he corrects. “Not drunk.” <<include "7.10">>

<<if $gender is "female">>\ “Fuck. You know I’ve never had a girl friend,” he informs me. “Like … like, I’ve had girlfriends but not girl,” he takes a pregnant pause, and I almost want to ask if he’s okay. “Friends.” “Please tell me you’re not one of those guys that think girls and guys can’t be friends.” He straightens up, trying to swallow a chuckle as he motions for me to stop, though he continues to walk and doesn’t seem to mind that I do as well. “No, no, no. Are you ready for me to say some fucked up shit?” “No,” I snort, “say it after freshman seminar is over so I don’t have to find a new partner.” “No, no, no,” he says, “I’m serious.” I have my doubts but don’t fight him, hoping that whatever he’s about to say won’t truly cause me to walk away from our budding friendship. <<else>>\ Stretching, Chris lets out a loud, exaggerated huff. “This takes me back to high school days. You know?” “In what way?” “Staying out after dark. Getting into trouble. Me and my friends would play manhunt or just go and hang out in the woods, actin’ like we were grown and drink and invite girls over..” He’s silent for a moment, a thoughtful look appearing before continuing on. “Pretty much anything to get out of going back home.” “It was that bad at home for you guys?” “Nah, less that and more like it was the only time some of us could hang out.” “Wait. What?” <</if>>\ <a data-passage="7.11"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

<<if $gender is "female">>\ “Girls and guys can just be friends, but …” He puts so much emphasis on the word ‘but’ that he reminds me of a kid trying their darndest to prove a point that is a mix of ignorance and ridiculousness. “Only if they find each other unattractive.” I’m about to say something, but then he adds the last part. “Thus says my father.” “But do you believe that?” <<if $trans>>\ “Hell no,” he laughs but then shrugs. “Kinda.” My frown deepens, and some part of me begs to know what he may then think about me being trans. To the few that I have told, well … not all of them responded in support. In fact, I feel I’m being too kind towards people who voiced what are simply transphobic views. Spouting nonsense and trying to bury me under their rhetoric about who I really am and what I cannot be. Shaking the thoughts from my head, I feel my heart skip a beat at telling Chris. On one hand, wouldn’t I want to know now instead of later? Why would I want to stay in the company of someone who will inevitably never be okay with who I am? But then, is it any of his business? I am who I am, which is right here, right now. Do I care or want him to know? [[Tell him.|7.11TellTrans]] [[Continue the conversation.|7.11ContConvo]] <<else>>\ “Hell no,” he laughs, but then shrugs. “Kinda.” [[“Seriously?!”|7.11Seriously]] [[“Why?”|7.11Why]] [[“Ah, so I’m ugly then.”|7.11Ugly]] <</if>>\ <<else>>\ Chris sighs, looking as if he sobers up a bit. “I told you that my father was pretty intense. He was fine with me hangin’ out with the bulk of my friends. But as soon as rumors got out about two of ‘em being gay. Well, you know that whole ‘I forbid you from hanging out with them’ stance.” “Were they?” “Fuck if I know. It just pissed me off that I suddenly couldn’t hang out with two of my friends because they were way more flamboyant than your average guy.” <<if $trans>>\ “So homophobic and probably transphobic.” “Oh, hell yea.” Chris snorts. “I feel like you’ll need a new word to describe how he probably felt about trans people.” My frown deepens, and some part of me begs to know what he may then think about me being trans. Chris has never came off as transphobic but things can easily be internalized and looked over. It’s always easier for others to accept something when it’s not immediately in their face. To the few that I have told, well … not all of them responded in support. In fact, I feel I’m being too kind towards people who voiced what are simply transphobic views. Spouting nonsense and trying to bury me under their rhetoric about who I really am and what I cannot be. Shaking the thoughts from my head, I feel my heart skip a beat at telling Chris. On one hand, wouldn’t I want to know now instead of later? Why would I want to stay in the company of someone who will inevitably never be okay with who I am? But then, is it any of his business? I am who I am, which is right here, right now. Do I care or want him to know? [[Tell him.|7.11TellTrans]] [[Continue the conversation.|7.11ContConvo]] <<else>>\ He shakes his head. “What about you? I know you told me about your uncle and how he raised you, but I could never really figure out if you two were close.” [[“I love that man.”|7.11LoveHim]] [[“We had our differences.”|7.11Differences]] [[“We’re still trying to figure it out.”|7.11FigureItOut]] <</if>>\ <</if>>\

I snort. “I love that man. I think our whole relationship could’ve gone totally differently, but it didn’t. He was a rock. That one pillar of support that I think every kid needs.” “Hey. That’s the most important thing if you ask me.” <<include "7.11NBMCont">>

“We had our differences for a while, didn’t really see eye to eye, and had a lot of arguments about my behavior. But at the end of the day, I think it made us stronger. I mean, he’s supportive and always has my back. Always is there even with our issues.” “Hey,” Chris hums, “at the end of the day, you said he’s supportive, and that’s probably the most important part.” <<include "7.11NBMCont">>

“We’re still trying to figure it out. He’s supportive, don’t get me wrong. I think my issues have more to do with just the arguments we had here and there. I don’t know. Sometimes, I think I’m too harsh on him, but other times, I don’t think so.” “Hey,” Chris hums, “at the end of the day, you said he’s supportive, and that’s probably the most important part.” <<include "7.11NBMCont">>

“Your mother was for you at least, right?” “Well, yea. Look,” he sighs, “I’m not trying to make it out like my father’s some evil man. He means … well. Just, he’s stuck in his ways, you know?” Before I can answer, he waves the conversation away. “Come on,” he coughs, “we’re almost there. Just round this corner.” <a data-passage="7.12"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

“Chris,” I say, unable to beat the headache that feels like it’s worsening. He’s never shown me to be the type of guy to care, but I could also say that about a few others who showed that I knew less than I initially thought. Taking a deep breath in, I say, “I’m trans.” I watch him as he yawns, blinking a few times as he glances at me blankly. “You’re what?” “Trans. As in transgender.” <<if $gender is "nonbinary">>\ He looks at me for a moment, an unreadable expression on his face that begins to bother me. “Why are you looking at me like that?” I growl. “Um … I already know. We already had this convo.” “What!? No, we haven’t.” “Yea. We did. Or, I mean, not this exact one. But -” “I have never told you I’m trans.” “No, but you told me you’re nonbinary. Isn’t it the same thing?” I open my mouth and then realize what he’s getting at. I suppose this at least answers the question of whether or not he’ll be bothered by the fact. I laugh, nodding my head. “Depends on the person, just so you know.” “So not all nonbinary folks will claim that they’re trans, but you do?” “Yea, but not everyone is the same, and I can’t really speak for them like I can myself.” “Well, good to know.” He yawns again, and I suppose that’s the end of that. <a data-passage="7.12"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a> <<else>>\ He slowly nods. “As in, you’ve changed the sex you were from birth?” “Yea.” I watch his face<<if $tipsy>>, suddenly feeling a whole lot more sober than I was a minute ago.<<else>>, looking for any sign of disgust or unacceptance.<</if>> Finally, after a long pause, he burps. “Cool. I mean, I really wish you told me when I was a lot more sober. I got questions, but not when I’m drunk.” He shrugs, though, ultimately looking unbothered by the news as he reaches over and grabs me. “Thanks for telling me. I can guess that wasn’t easy, huh?” “It doesn’t bother you at all?” “Why would it?” He leans a considerable amount of weight on me. “I mean, it’s not like you just stopped suddenly being you. You can be anything you want to be as long as you’re still a cool person to hang out with.” “Aw, you think I’m cool.” “Not anymore,” he snorts. <a data-passage="7.12"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a> <</if>>\

Maybe one day, but not today. Not at this exact moment. I go back to our previous conversation, thinking back on what he said and going from there. [[“Seriously?!”|7.11Seriously]] [[“Why?”|7.11Why]] [[“Ah, so I’m ugly then.”|7.11Ugly]]

“Seriously?!” “I don’t know,” he sighs. “Or at least I did before I became friends with you. You’re hella attractive, but it’s not like I want to date you. But then, I also wouldn’t say no if you asked if I wanted to spend a night in the sheets with you. So, does that make it, you know?” He waves his fingers through the air. “So does that make the statement true about being just friends?” “Yea.” He hums, long and thoughtful, before yawning. “Come on.” And there, he ends that topic. <a data-passage="7.12"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

“Why?” He shrugs. “Hasn’t not happened to me yet.” He pauses, repeating his words and looking even more confused at his words. “You know what I mean.” “All the girls you’ve talked to, you’ve been attracted to. But you’ve never been friends?” “Nope. Always a crush or actually dated em’.” He hums, long and thoughtful, before yawning. “Come on.” And there, he ends that topic. <a data-passage="7.12"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

“Ah,” I chuckle, raising a brow as I look him over. “So, I’m ugly then.” “Whoa,” he instantly says, far more exaggeratedly than the sober Chris would. “Not at all. Like if you said you wanted to roll around in the sheets for a bit, I’d be an idiot to say no.” “I’m done with you,” I snort as Chris raises his hands. “I, of course, have more …” He waves his hand in the air, attempting to come up with a word that eludes him. “Respect?” I offer, and he shrugs. “Not the word I was looking for, but close enough.” For a minute, he stops and closes his eyes. At first, I think he’s enjoying the breeze or trying to collect his thoughts, but I soon realize that he is simply trying to steady himself from what is probably a wave of nausea. He hums, long and thoughtful, before yawning. “Come on.” And there, he ends that topic. <a data-passage="7.12"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

“Here we are,” Chris says as we approach the place in question. “I should’ve known,” I laugh, “a Waffle House.” “The only place folks with alcohol in their system should go.” He holds the door open and motions me inside. We greet those working the early hours and collapse in one of the booths. Bleary-eyed, I look over the menu while Chris taps his fingers on the table, humming some song, and I find myself smiling. “Excited?” “Hungry,” he huffs. “You two know what you want to drink?” a waiter asks. “A coke,” Chris answers. [[Sweet tea.|7.12Tea]] [[Water.|7.12Water]] [[Lemonade.|7.12Lemonade]] [[Coke.|7.12Coke]]

“Can I get a sweet tea?” <<include "7.13">>

“I’ll just get a water, thanks.” <<include "7.13">>

“A lemonade, please.” <<include "7.13">>

“I’ll have a coke too.” <<include "7.13">>

“How about food? Know what you want yet?” We both nod, putting in our orders as they prepare it. Chris sits back, looking around at the few people who seem to have the same idea as us. He chuckles, glancing at me with a smile. “Thanks.” “Thanks?” “I don’t know,” he shrugs. “For listening to all that bullshit earlier. For coming with me to the party. For coming here.” He yawns, closing his eyes. “Just … thanks.” I frown, not knowing what to say, especially since he seems peaceful now. For a while, I just sit quietly and listen to the sizzling of sausage and bacon, the smell of toast and jam, and the idle but sparse chatter of those nearby. “You’re welcome.” I'm not sure how many days like this we will have again. If this becomes a situation we find ourselves in numerous times, or if this will be the last time we'll ever find ourselves sitting in a Waffle House at two in the morning. Either way, I think this memory will be kept. <img src="images/divider.png" style="float:center"> [[1. Changes|Chapter1_Changes]] [[2. Condolences, for Your Loss|Chapter2_Condolences]] [[3. Someday It'll Get Better|Chapter3_Someday]] [[4. Love Me, Love Me Not|Chapter4_Love]] [[5. Midnight Conversations|Chapter5_MidnightConvo]] [[6. Freshmen|Chapter6_Orientation]] 7. Good Ol' Party Days [[8. Meeting the Roe|Chapter8_MeetingRoe]] [[Back to Navigation|Start]]

<>\ <<set $atcb_cc to false>> <<audio "party" fadeout>> <<playlist "chapters5_6_8" loop play>> <>\ I flit around the kitchen, trying to figure out what I can do when I know very well that there's nothing left. The need to be busy simply for the sake of it. Everything is set, thanks mainly to Matheus. [[I was not a cook. At. All.|8.00NotACook][$atcb_cook to 1]] [[I can cook, but I can't COOK.|8.00CanCook][$atcb_cook to 2]] [[I'm a great cook, I just wasn't here for this.|8.00GreatCook][$atcb_cook to 3]]

The joke “I could burn cereal” is less of a joke when it comes to me and more of reality. There are very few things I can cook; the gift that the majority of my family possessed never bestowed itself upon me. At first, I thought I had finally inherited something from my father, only for Matheus to reassure me that he, too, held the gift. I was alone in my disappointment. <<include "8.00">>

Need me to fix and season chicken? Easy. Cook rice, yep, not a problem. Then there were a few dishes that I knew like the back of my hand due to my love for them. But anything further than that was not something I'd ever brag about. I always like to say that I know enough to keep myself alive and satisfied, but never enough to compete with a foodie or anyone with any kind of interest in food and the process of preparing it. <<include "8.00">>

Any other day, I would have been right beside my uncle, cooking. The two of us actually make a great pair in the kitchen, never in each other's way and with communication that'll make any coach shed a tear. Sadly, I had far too much schoolwork to catch up on to get everything done on time. It wasn't like my uncle needed my help anyway; he had the entire menu planned out and seemed more than excited to be cooking for someone other than me. <<include "8.00">>

"$name!" Matheus barks, and I suddenly find myself being yanked backward by the shoulders, forced into a seat. "Would you stop it?! What are you so worried about?" An excellent question. [[“Are you going to embarrass me?”|8.00EmbarrassMe]] [[“No idea.”|8.00NoIdea]] [[“I'm scared you won't like him.”|8.00ScaredYouLikeHim]]

“Are you going to embarrass me during this dinner?” His frown deepens. “I am not embarrassing.” “You are the epitome of the word. Don’t you remember the countless field trips you chaperoned? The karaoke nights?” “I was the star of those trips. Everyone loved me. And I have a beautiful voice.” “You were weird and embarrassing, and specifically for the karaoke, drunk!” He huffs, simply waving my words away as he gestures to the laid out table. [[“Because I do.”|8.00BecauseIDo][$atcb_cc to true]] [[Lie. “I don't.”|8.00Lie][$atcb_cc to true]] [[“Ew, what?!”|8.00EwWhat]]

I take a deep breath in and then exhale. “You’re right. This is just Chris. My best friend. And you’re just meeting him. That’s it.” “$name?” “I mean. There’s nothing odd about that. I’ve met his parents, and now he’s meeting mine.” “I think you should breathe more.” “You’re probably right. I’m just worried that you may not like him.” “Does it matter if I do or not?” he questions. “As long as you enjoy his company and he doesn’t treat you like a dog, I’m fine.” He then gestures to the laid-out table. [[“Because I do.”|8.00BecauseIDo][$atcb_cc to true]] [[Lie. “I don't.”|8.00Lie][$atcb_cc to true]] [[“Ew, what?!”|8.00EwWhat]]

“I’m just kind of nervous that you won’t like him.” “You’ve told me a lot about him, why wouldn’t I?” “For a bunch of reasons, probably, you know? You might think his vibe is off, or he might slip up and say something that you don’t appreciate.” “$name.” “Yes?” “I think you’re coming up with problems for the sake of it. Does it even matter if I do or not?” he questions. “As long as you enjoy his company and he doesn’t treat you like a dog, I’m fine.” He then gestures to the laid-out table. “That, and him enjoying my food.” “Everything will be fine. You’re right. I just need to calm down.” “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you liked him more than just a friend.” [[“Because I do.”|8.00BecauseIDo][$atcb_cc to true]] [[Lie. “I don't.”|8.00Lie][$atcb_cc to true]] [[“Ew, what?!”|8.00EwWhat]]

“Well, that’s because I do.” “Still?” “What do you mean still?!” <<if $gender is "male" or $gender is "nonbinary">>\ He sighs, his brows narrowing in pensive thought before he nods as if confirming something to himself. “$name. Are you sure that’s wise?” “What?” “Having a crush on a man that you told me is straight.” “I just … I can’t just get over it.” “$name,” he sighs again, but continues. “I’m not trying to be a hard ass. I just don’t want to see your heart broken because of something you knew was doomed from the start.” “It’s a crush,” I chuckle, shrugging off the entire conversation. “It’s not like I’m in love, uncle.” He nods. <<else>>\ He shrugs as he fiddles with one of the chairs, shifting it back and forth like he’s the one who was just called out for possessing a crush. “I just thought it was a one-and-done kind of crush. Not the ‘decades to get you out of my system’ kind.” “A decade?” “Trust me. These things can sometimes last that long.” “Can you keep your thoughts to yourself once Chris gets here?” “Now that I know you like him, absolutely not.” <</if>>\ <a data-passage="8.01"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

“I don’t. Chris is just a friend, always has been and always will be. And if I did ever have a crush on him, it was one of those quick ones.” “Yea, sure he is.” “I’m serious.” “Yea, sure you are.” “Uncle!” “You can probably fool someone else, but I raised you. That tone of voice, that face, and your need to always add just a little more when you can simply say no. All of that is a sign of a lie.” “I’m no-” “Sure you weren’t. It’s fine. I won’t do anything to embarrass you in front of your crush.” <a data-passage="8.01"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

“Ew. What?! Uncle, why would you even ask that? Or suspect that? Exactly what about me ever gave you the -” “Alright, alright,” he laughs, waving my questions away. “Just wanted to make sure. I could’ve played sidekick and got you laid.” <<if $gender is "female" and hasVisited("7.05LesGay")>>\ “You just conveniently forgot that I’m a lesbian, huh?” “No, I don’t forget that you’re interested in acting.” “Huh? In acting.” I stare at him. “Do you mean thespian? There is no way you keep thinking I’m saying thespian.” He laughs, the kind of nasally laugh that one does when they know they’ve been caught in the act and can’t quite get over having done it in the first place. “Oh yea,” I sigh, “I see how this dinner is going to go.” <<elseif hasVisited("7.05Asexual")>>\ “You just keep forgetting that I’m asexual, huh? He sighs, scratching his forehead and nodding slowly. “Actually, yes. I remember what you said about it, but I think I’ve found that it’s second-nature to just think everyone is interested in sex.” He waves it off. “Ignore me. I’ll get over my ignorance whether my brain likes it or not.” <<elseif hasVisited("7.05Straight")>>\ “Do I look like I’d be interested in another guy?” “Hey, these things change.” “Not that much!” He shrugs, doing his best to remain serious, but I can tell that he simply wishes to tease me. <<else>>\ “Ew. Please, stop talking. I really need you to stop talking.” <</if>>\ <a data-passage="8.01"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

I’m about to add more, to maybe even beg for him to act normal when there’s a loud knock at the door. I head over, opening it and immediately meeting a bouquet of flowers with Chris on the other end. “What’s this?” I question as I move to the side to let him in. “I uh … I was taught to always bring flowers.” “Oh yea,” Uncle Matheus snorts, taking the flowers from him and walking towards the kitchen. “You got you a weird one, alright.” [[“Agreed.”|8.01Agreed]] [[“Uncle Matheus!”|8.01UncleMatheus]] [[“Oh, let's get this over with.”|8.01GetThisOver]]

“Agreed,” I snort, gesturing for Chris to follow me inside. “So, no one likes flowers, I’m guessin’.” “Don’t you only bring flowers for the mother or the date?” <<if $atcb_cc and $gender is "female">>\ “I never said I didn’t see this as a date.” I freeze, not even able to reply before Chris snorts out a laugh. “I’m kiddin’, $name.” He playfully shoves me, and thankfully, he doesn’t turn to see my face and how my cheeks warm immensely. Not so thankfully, my uncle spots it all and raises a brow. <<else>>\ “Look, I was raised to always bring flowers by my mother. It was supposed to be a sign of being polite.” “Like a thank you?” “Yea, exactly.” “But why flowers? Why not a dish, paper plates, or cups? Something helpful?” “Stop askin’ me good questions, $name.” <</if>>\ <<include "8.02">>

“Uncle!” “I feel like my mother. What am I supposed to do with these? Are they living?” “Yea, they’re alive,” Chris answers as I gesture for him to enter. “Should I have brought fake ones?” “I don’t have a green thumb, so that would’ve been better,” my uncle mumbles. “Can you sound any more ungrateful?” “No, it’s fine,” Chris laughs. “I think I’d react the same. Someone wastin’ money on somethin’ that’s gonna be dead in a week.” <<include "8.02">>

“Oh, let’s get this over with already,” I sigh, gesturing for him to follow me inside. “Think this is about to be a long dinner, huh?” “Think? Oh, no. I know this is about to be a long dinner. It’ll be a miracle if I live through it.” “Oh, come on,” he snickers. “We’ll look back at this and laugh.” Oh, we’ll be looking back at it, but I doubt it’ll be one filled with laughter. <<include "8.02">>

I show him to the kitchen and gesture to the table. “Did you have any issues getting here?” “No, of course not,” he informs, looking over at my uncle as he follows my lead and takes a seat right beside me. “Thank you, Mr. Roe, for allowing me to join you for dinner<<if hasVisited("7.00Ask")>>, especially since I wasn’t able to come by for last Thanksgiving.”<</if>> “Mr. Roe,” he laughs, “no, mister here please. Otherwise, you’ll start making me feel old. Just Matheus.” “Gotcha, Matheus,” Chris chuckles. “Kinda feels odd.” <a data-passage="8.03"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

“So, Chris. Is that short for Christopher?” “Oh no. Just Chris.” Uncle Matheus nods, placing the last of the dishes onto the table as he takes his own seat. “So, I know some things from $name, of course. But ?he doesn’t tell me everything.” His eyes narrow, and I raise a brow. “Uncle,” I start, not knowing whether I should stop him, change the subject entirely, or just allow him to go on. “What’s your major? What are your grades like? Do you have a job? What are your plans for the future? Good credit score? Do you have a car? Are you paying for that car, or was it a gift? What high school did you go to? Any family relations in -” “Seriously?!” I shout, grabbing a roll and tossing it at his head. Chris just laughs as my uncle goes to grab the roll, looking more offended that I just wasted food than the fact that I threw something at him. “I’m undecided, sir,” Chris starts. “All good grades. I actually managed to get on the dean’s list again last semester, hoping to keep that trend goin’. Job-wise, I work at the same place as $name. I’m actually the one who got ?him the job.” “Stop bragging,” I snort, rolling my eyes as I begin to pile my plate with food. If they weren’t about to eat, then that’s on them. I’m hungry. “I do have a car. And I,” he trails off, shaking his head, “can’t remember any of your other questions.” Looking at me, Chris reaches forward and begins to do as I do, working slowly as he peers at all the food. “$name told me you weren’t allergic to anything, so I hope everything here is okay.” He nods, winking at me. “I’m sure it’s fine. $name knows me better than most.” <<if $atcb_cc and $gender is "female">>\ “Oh, I bet," my uncle answers, wiggling his eyebrows and begging for me to throw another bun at his forehead. <</if>>\ <a data-passage="8.04"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

“You said you were undecided. Do you not have any idea about what you want to do?” “Oh, no,” Chris answers after swallowing, “I have an idea. A good one. It’s just that my father has an idea as well.” “Oh, I see. Subject changed.” “It’s fine. I don’t think there’s any question you can ask that’ll be worse than the ones my father fired off at $name when we had dinner.” <<if $atcb_cc>>\ “Oh,” he smirks, “you wanna bet?” “Uncle. Matheus.” “What? I’m just curious what his plans with my ?niece are.” “Plans?” Chris asks, glancing over at me. “Ignore him.” “Don’t ignore me. Answer the question.” “I don’t know how.” “Good, leave it like that, Chris.” The look he passes over to me makes me want to shrivel up in my chair. My uncle hasn’t really met any of my crushes. <<if $fear_romance is "romance">>The only one he’s met has been Blake, and I suppose that was the only crush that mattered. After that, I kind of just shied away from all things romance. I’ve had crushes, of course. But I’ve learned how to keep them to myself. One day I’ll get over it.<<else>> I’ve never brought someone that I was currently or thinking about dating because they hadn’t lasted that long. In the beginning, it just never went far enough. Later, I knew they wouldn’t last, and so there was no reason to even bring them up to my uncle.<</if>> <<else>>\ “Now I’m curious.” He looks over at me. “What was the worst question you were asked?” “Why? Interested in having a talk with Chris’ father?” “Of course not,” he snorts. “From all the things I’ve heard, I’m sure a man like that would much rather prefer actions over words.” Chris raises a brow. “Are you threatening to punch my dad?” “A threat would mean I may not do it,” my uncle states, shrugging his shoulders. “And I have every intention of doing so if he put my kid through hell.” I’m not even able to react adequately before Chris bursts out in laughter. At the very least, I’m happy that my uncle’s ‘promise’ hasn’t dissolved in Chris howling about how dare he. “I guess it shows how much I don’t care about my father that I would really like to see that happen. <</if>>\ <a data-passage="8.05"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

“In an attempt to change the conversation, though,” Chris snorts good-naturedly. “If it’s okay to ask. Where do you work, Matheus?” “At the local manufacturing factory. I mostly do maintenance, but there are some moments where they move me to work the line.” “Is it enjoyable?” “No,” my uncle snorts, and I wonder if Chris can see just how tired he looks. The darkened rings underneath his eyes from years of constant work with only //just// enough money to show for it. The factory pays enough for my uncle to not complain, to continue living the same life as always, but nothing more than that. Two vacations per year, when he’s lucky. Yet another thing I learned later in life. All those times we went on a spontaneous trip had consequences in the real world, consequences that my uncle did a remarkable job of concealing. “But it puts food on the table and my little $name over there eats a heck of a lot.” “I’m getting sick of saying your name tonight,” I groan. “Then stop saying it,” he snorts. “Chris, if you want later, I can show you all of the embarrassing pictures that $name wouldn’t want me to show you. I collected them anticipating this very dinner.” “I wouldn’t say no to some blackmail.” “Chris! I didn’t do that to you.” “Sounds like a you issue,” he snorts. “Right after we’re done eating then. And on that subject, how’s the food?” [[“Fantastic.”|8.05Fantastic]] [[“Did you use a different seasoning?”|8.05Seasoning]] [[“Meh.”|8.05Meh]]

“It’s fantastic. Like always, you did a great job.” “Aw shucks, $name. Sprinkling compliments on me in front of company.” “I sprinkle compliments on you even when it’s just the two of us.” “When was the last time you complimented my food?” “I eat it, don’t I?” “Oh, what a great compliment. You’re just too lazy to cook your own food, so you make do with mine. “It was delicious.” Chris snorts. I had almost forgotten that he was here with how quiet he had been. Standing, he clears away the remaining scraps and then rests the plate in the sink. <<include "8.06">>

“Did you use a different seasoning?” “Decided to go with hot pepper flakes instead of the usual chili pepper, but that’s about it.” “You know you don’t have to use the exact same amount then.” “Ah, do I have your answer then on whether you like the food or not?” “I’m just pointing out that you don’t always have to go heavy on the seasoning, especially when you’re using something different. Sea salt and table salt aren’t the same, are they?” “No, you’re just trying to remind me that even the slightest difference is too much for your sensitive taste buds.” “Sensitive taste buds!?” “That’s what I said. Ever since you were a kid, it’s been nothing but nagging as soon as I change one thing.” “Says the man who almost coughed up a lung at the introduction of just a drop of hot sauce.” “You had included peppers in the actual recipe!” “It was delicious.” Chris snorts. I had almost forgotten he was here, given how quiet he had been. My uncle’s pause also suggests he had done the same. Standing, Chris clears away the remaining scraps and then rests the plate in the sink. <<include "8.06">>

“Meh,” I answer with a shrug. “You’ve had better days.” Chris sends me a glare before tossing my uncle one of //those// smiles. “I’m enjoying it, sir. I’d put it up there with my own mother’s cookin’.” “A nice compliment, if only I had family members who had your manners.” “I don’t believe in lying to you.” “Your taste buds are sub-par anyway. “Only because I’ve had to eat your food for so long. I’m surprised I haven’t been poisoned yet.” “Not through a lack of trying.” “It was delicious.” Chris snorts, chuckling as he finishes off his food. Standing, he clears away the scraps and then rests the plate in the sink. <<include "8.06">>

“Excuse me for a minute. I'm going to step outside for a bit," Chris states, both of us nod, watching as he goes. <<if $atcb_cc>>My uncle clears his throat, regaining my attention and giving me a look that I can easily decipher.<<else>>I finish up my own food and take my plate to the sink before joining Chris outside. He leans against one of the pillars, his e-cig in hand.<</if>> <<if $atcb_cc>>\ <<if $gender is "female">>\ “I’m going. I’m going.” I repeat Chris’s actions, putting my empty plate in the sink and retracing his steps. I find him leaning against one of the pillars, his e-cig in hand as he stares out at the empty, night street. <<else>>\ “For someone who knows I have no chance, you sure are acting like I have one.” “You never know how someone actually feels.” He shrugs. “But I think this speaks more to who you are as a good friend. The crush part can be worked out later.” He’s right about that. I repeat Chris’s actions, putting my empty plate in the sink and retracing his steps. I find him leaning against one of the pillars, his e-cig in hand as he stares out at the empty, night street. <</if>>\ <</if>>\ <a data-passage="8.07"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

“You didn’t have to come out here,” he says upon seeing me, “I was going to come back inside soon.” “No issue. Just wanted to make sure you were feeling alright.” He’s quiet for a moment longer. Long enough to reassure me that he wasn't. Finally, he shrugs. “Sometimes I forget that family can actually be enjoyable. If my mom asked me to stop by for a family dinner, I’d come up with every excuse possible to get out of it. I’m kinda jealous of what you have with your uncle.” “It wasn’t always like this.” “I doubt even back then it was pure hatred. Pissed off, sure, but did you ever actually hate him?” [[“A bit, yea.”|8.07ABit]] [[“No, never that.”|8.07NeverThat]]

“A bit, yea. I mean, I guess you can say it was childish hate. But I do think I despised him a lot. I was pissed off that my mother was gone, and he went from being my uncle to more of a fatherly role. Or maybe I just needed someone constant to dump a load of problems on, and he was it. <<include "8.08">>

“No, never that. There were bumps in the road and certainly times when I just didn’t really understand why he did what he did, but I don’t think I ever hated him. Honestly, there were a lot of feelings at the time. I can’t say what I truly felt.” <<include "8.08">>

“And look at the two of you now.” He shakes his head. “With me and my father it was the opposite. When I was little, that’s when we were the closest. I’d jump off a cliff if I knew he’d smile cos I did it.” “And … you still want to see that smile.” “Would it be stupid to say yea?” “No. It makes sense. At the end of the day, he’s still your father. He’s just a shitty one.” Chris coughs, a mixture of choking on smoke and trying to get out a lodged laugh. I pat his back softly, finally stopping when he seems to have regained himself. “So this entire dinner just … what?” “It’s been that way with a lot of folks. Whenever someone else’s family member pops up, I find myself wishing I were them or at least had that relationship. I guess it just reminded me that I got the shitty end of a deal.” His eyes widen, jerking towards me with an apologetic look in his eye. “Fuck. I’m sorry. I’m complainin’ when you lost both of your parents.” [[“You have a right to complain.”|8.08RightToComplain]] [[“Barely remember them.”|8.08BarelyRemember]] [[“A bit, yea.”|8.08ABit]]

“Me losing my parents doesn’t mean you lose the ability to complain. Shitty circumstances are shitty circumstances.” “Yea,” he sings, “but it feels odd to complain to you about bad deals when you’ve been given the worst one.” “Well, now you’re just trying to make yourself feel bad.” Chris snorts, nodding. “Think your uncle would adopt me?” [[“I'll ask him one day.”|8.08OneDay]] [[“Whoa, I'm selfish. He's mine.”|8.08Selfish]] [[“You are a grown man.”|8.08GrownMan]] <<if $atcb_cc>>\[[“Could always just get married.”|8.08GetMarried]]<</if>>\

“You say that when I barely remember them.” “Not even your mom?” “Chris, I lost her when I was seven. I remember what she looks like because of pictures, and even then, my mind does this //thing// because in those pictures, she’s not sick and bedridden. And my father, I’ve only ever seen pictures of him. I don’t say it around Uncle Matheus because that’s his brother, but I see pictures of the two of them, and sometimes I have to remind myself that that’s not a stranger standing next to him. So, unless you want that …” “Honestly, I can’t tell you if I like the sound of that more or not. Not the mom part; I love my mom the way she is, but at least with your dad, you have nothing but stories about him. If he was horrible, you’ll never know.” Chris shrugs. “Horrible deal either way you look at it, though.” “Think your uncle would adopt me?” [[“I'll ask him one day.”|8.08OneDay]] [[“Whoa, I'm selfish. He's mine.”|8.08Selfish]] [[“You are a grown man.”|8.08GrownMan]] <<if $atcb_cc>>\[[“Could always just get married.”|8.08GetMarried]]<</if>>\

“A bit amusing, yea, I’ll admit. But in your defense, your parents are both around to ruin you. I only have my uncle.” “Oh, thanks, $name. Yea, now I definitely don’t feel bad. Fuck you,” he laughs, and I join in. “Think your uncle would adopt me?” [[“I'll ask him one day.”|8.08OneDay]] [[“Whoa, I'm selfish. He's mine.”|8.08Selfish]] [[“You are a grown man.”|8.08GrownMan]] <<if $atcb_cc>>\[[“Could always just get married.”|8.08GetMarried]]<</if>>\

“Maybe one day I’ll ask him.” “One day?!” “Adoption is a rigorous and time-consuming action.” “Sounds like you just don’t want an older brother.” “That may very well be part of it,” I laugh. <<include "8.09">>

“Whoa, sorry, Chris, but I’m selfish. I want all of my uncle’s attention.” “You can’t even share a tiny bit?” “No.” “A teensy, tiny bit?” “No. Not even a microparticle of it.” “That’s not selfish. That’s just being stingy and petty.” I chuckle. “Call it whatever you want. <<include "8.09">>

“You are a grown man.” “So? There are plenty of adults who still need lovin’ families. Come on, $name. I could be your big brother.” “Please stop reminding me that you’re older than me.” “But it’s just so much fun. See, we already have the back and forth bickerin’ down.” “You’re an only child. How do you know what sibling bickering sounds like?” “I can’t argue there, but I’m sure it’s just about as annoyin’ as a couple goin’ back and forth.” <<include "8.09">>

“Well, we could always just get married, then you’ll be in the family. No need for adoption.” <<if $gender is "female">>\ “You know,” he takes a long puff of his e-cig, “if I didn’t know better, $name. I’d say you were asking for my hand in marriage.” “Do you see me on bended knee?” He shrugs and accompanies it with a snort. “Who says you have to do all that? It’s fine, I’ll take you just the way you are.” "I was joking." “Naw, I think you may have a bit of a crush on me.” [[“Of course not.”|8.08Not]] [[“And what if I did?”|8.08IDid]] [[“Just supplying solutions.”|8.08Solutions]] <<else>>\ He frowns. “You mean like those platonic marriages?” “Of course, Chris.” He shrugs. “Sure, if you get better health and dental benefits than me, and I turn 35 with no prospects in sight.” “Wow, I -” I stop; it would be foolish to say what I’m thinking —that I feel like the second or third option when that is precisely what I am. I’m the option one considers when all the other plans have been rendered useless. I’m crushing on a straight man, constantly forgetting that these feelings are one-way and will remain so. “Marriage with your best friend can’t be that bad, right?” “Naw, not at all.” <<include "8.09">> <</if>>\

“Wouldn’t be the first time you were wrong. It seems to be something you’re really good at.” “Ha!” he shakes his head as he sends me a smirk that I’m forced to turn away from. “You do love hurting my feelings. Huh?” Could that have truly hurt his feelings? If no real feelings were budding up inside him, would it have hurt his feelings whatsoever? I want to ask. I want to whip around and question him, but he seems to have already moved on. <<include "8.09">>

“And what if I did?” The question seems to have caught Chris off guard, as his eyes widen and his mouth moves before he turns away. My heart skips a beat at what I may have just started. I had been joking. A harmless comeback. Would I even want an answer? What happens if he says something that confirms he has feelings for me? What happens if he says something that doesn’t? Any other time, I’d be prepared. Steeling my heart after weighing the pros and cons of losing a friendship all due to what may amount to a fleeting crush. But I’m not prepared right now. The idea of walking back inside without Chris, having to explain to my uncle why Chris won’t be back. Or … or I walk back inside with Chris’s hand in mine, cheesing and having to listen to my uncle boast about how he’s the perfect matchmaker. Of course, one isn’t worse than the other. One is actually preferred. But would that be assuming? Wouldn’t it be - “$name?” I blink. Gazing at Chris as he retracts his snapping finger from in front of my face. <<include "8.09">>

“Hey, I was just supplying some solutions.” “And you figured that suggestin’ marriage is easier than adoption?” “Are you suggesting that it’s not?” He opens then closes his mouth, snickering before nodding his head. “Perhaps. But I’d hate to be the reason you’re taken off the market. Imagine how many hearts you still have to break.” “I think you may be talking about yourself right now.” “Oh no,” he laughs, waving my words away, “I’d hang that up for you.” “Chris.” I say his name too softly, too delicately. The emotion—and what I believe is want—is laced throughout every letter. And if he agrees, he makes sure to move away from it. <<include "8.09">>

He turns off his e-cig and smiles at me. “We should head back inside. Your uncle promised me embarrassing blackmail. I intend to get some.” “You do know that I can just ask your mom for some, right?” “Good luck. Do you know how much diggin’ she’ll have to do to find any?” He wanders inside, and I follow behind, finding my uncle on the sofa as if already expecting us and with a book in his hands. Chris’s smile grows tenfold while I feel every positive thing I’ve ever said about either of them flee my mind and body. <a data-passage="8.10"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

<img src="images/divider.png" style="float:center"> “Well, it was nice meeting you, young man,” my uncle tells Chris, shaking his hand as the three of us walk towards the door. “Same for me, sir.” “Now that you’re not a stranger, visit more. $name leaves me lonely here.” “You live almost two hours away. I am not going to come and visit every weekend.” He points at me. “See. Proof.” Chris simply chuckles, that smile of his hardly vanishing when he’s in my uncle’s company. “I got your back, sir. We don’t have to tell, $name.” “Whoa!” “See, I like him.” He pats Chris’s shoulder one last time before heading towards the kitchen, probably to make sure everything is orderly. “Thanks again for coming. Drive safely. I’ll be back on campus tomorrow.” I wave Chris away and close the door, letting out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. <a data-passage="8.11"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

<<if $atcb_cc>>\ <<if $gender is "female">>\ “Well, you have my blessing.” “Uncle!” “You’ve been saying my name like that a lot tonight,” he snorts. I enter the kitchen, finding that most of it is clean, except for a few dishes that need to go into the fridge. While he wipes the counter, I busy myself with that job. “So … you liked him?” “Yea, I do. Doesn’t know what he wants to do with his life, but who does? Open and funny. Relaxed. Bright. And most importantly, he cares about you.” “Completely clueless, don’t forget that one.” “When you were in the bathroom, he let something slip.” “What?” “Wow, look how excited you got. I could’ve been talking about a fart.” “Are you?” “No, but it’s nice to see this side of you. Regardless, it sounded like he’s still learning himself. Asked about a girlfriend and he just laughed and waved me off as if I had told a joke.” “He dates a lot. But it’s never really serious.” “That’s what it sounded like. I told him not to try anything funny with you, and he let it slip that he’s nowhere near that lucky. Now, he could’ve just been saying that because I’m your uncle, but I don’t think he’d blush like he did if so.” “Great. What am I supposed to do with that?” Uncle Matheus shrugs. “Nothing. Everything. All I’m saying is I wouldn’t be mad if he ends up being your happily ever after. Well, besides meeting his folks. Not sure, I’m looking forward to that.” I snort, hardly being able to argue that point. Chris’s mother is fine, a lovely woman who’s a bit too skittish but otherwise sweet. His father … Well, that’s a man I’d never want to meet again. <<else>>\ “If it means anything, you would have my blessing.” “If only it meant something, huh?” “I’m sorry, $name. I guess this is one of those times where you can’t choose who you fall for, huh?” “It would make this much easier if I could.” “Are you sure he’s…” “Yes. He’s straight and I’m not about to be one of //those// people who try to convince him otherwise.” “Well, you never know. Sometimes just being around people with open minds makes you open yours up. I was neutral about anyone who wasn’t straight, but now I’m ready to don a pride uncle shirt and go marching at those parades you like.” “Stop,” I say, shaking my head with a small smile, “my mind just conjured you up in a crop top, and I think I need a puke bucket.” “You’re just jealous. I’d show you up if I wore one.” “Yea you would,” I laugh along with him. <</if>>\ <<else>>\ “I approve,” Uncle Matheus reports, “if that was important to you.” “Kind of. I’m glad the two of you were able to meet and that it went well.” “It’s nice to finally meet the myth. The legend. But, I must admit, I can’t quite see how he could’ve possibly been raised by the man you told me about.” “Not everyone can be as cool and open-minded as you, Uncle.” “That’s true. A damn shame that we don’t have more of me walking about.” “Or as lame.” “You can laugh all you want. I’m taking that compliment and running with it. You can’t get it back.” “Wouldn’t dream of it,” I snort. <</if>>\ <a data-passage="8.12"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

Gazing around the kitchen, my uncle does one last nod and holds out his pointer finger. I huff, rolling my eyes as I reach mine out to meet his, and just like always, right before they meet, he changes it up. He grabs me, pulling me in for a hug before resting a kiss on the crown of my head. “Get some sleep, $name. I’ll see you in the morning.” “Good night, Uncle.” I’m the last one out, so I cut the lights off. <img src="images/divider.png" style="float:center"> [[1. Changes|Chapter1_Changes]] [[2. Condolences, for Your Loss|Chapter2_Condolences]] [[3. Someday It'll Get Better|Chapter3_Someday]] [[4. Love Me, Love Me Not|Chapter4_Love]] [[5. Midnight Conversations|Chapter5_MidnightConvo]] [[6. Freshmen|Chapter6_Orientation]] [[7. Good Ol' Party Days|Chapter7_FirstParty]] 8. Meeting the Roe [[Back to Navigation|Start]]

<img class="img-invert" src="images/bumstudios.png" width="500" height="111" align ="center"> @@.center; ©2024 Bum Studios LLC. All rights reserved. @@ All images and audio are licensed under Bum Studios LLC. Copyright infringement is punishable by law. Audio belongs to respected artists and courtesy of Storyblocks Audio, Envato, and Incompetech. Incompetech attribution found in ''CREDITED MUSIC'' section. ''CONTACT'' If you have any questions or issues please contact me @ ... email: 13leaguestories@gmail.com tumblr: 13leaguestories.tumblr.com ''TWINE WIDGETS'' By [[HiEv|https://qjzhvmqlzvoo5lqnrvuhmg.on.drv.tw/UInv/Sample_Code.html#Main%20Menu]] and [[Chapel|https://twinelab.net/custom-macros-for-sugarcube-2/#/]] [[Return|$return]] @@.center; ''SUPPORTERS'' And the biggest shoutout to all the First Mates and other patreons who make stuff like this possible. Your support is what keeps me going and I can never thank you enough! <img class="img-invert" src="images/supportershoutout.png"> @@

@@.center; Before playing, a few things need to be answered to customize your experience. Every question asked here corresponds to a customization option in the game dealing with appearance and personality. Some variables here will also be present in the main game, e.g. whether Roe shows off their arms or not due to possessing burn marks. In that case, these variables are not brought over (also allowing you to even headcanon that your character grew out of being shy or that maybe they grew to hate the staring over time). @@ <img src="images/divider.png" style="float:center"> 1. Choose your Roe's pronouns. Due to the story taking place from when they are a child up to their current story age, you can always go into ''Settings'' and change the pronouns if you want too. <<link 'My pronouns are ...'>> <<pronouns>> <</link>> 2. Choose Roe's gender. <<set _gender = ["Cis Male", "Trans Male", "Cis Female", "Trans Female", "Nonbinary"]>>''Select gender:'' <<listbox "$gender">> <<optionsfrom _gender>> <</listbox>> ''My gender is ...'' (nothing)<<script>> $(document).one(":passagerender", function (event) { /* Initial display of text pulled from the "gender Info X" passages. */ $(event.content).find("#gender-info").empty().wiki("<<include 'Gender Info " + State.variables.gender + "'>>"); /* Trigger text display upon listbox change. */ $(event.content).find("#listbox-gender").on("change", function (event) { /* Fade out text. */ $("#gender-info").fadeOut(500, function () { /* Update text and then fade it back in. */ $("#gender-info").empty().wiki("<<include 'Gender Info " + State.variables.gender + "'>>").fadeIn(500); }); }); }); <</script>> <a data-passage="Customize2"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

Please type out your Roe's name. <<textbox "$name" "" autofocus>><<button "Enter">><<replace "#name">>I write out $name Roe.<</replace>><</button>> <a data-passage="Customize3"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

4. What scar did Roe receive from the guardian spirit? [[The arm burns.|Customize4][$dark_burns to true]] [[The cheek/jaw scar.|Customize4][$dark_truth to true]] [[The chest/heart scar.|Customize4][$dark_control to true]] [[The eye scar.|Customize4][$dark_sight to true]]

5. What does your Roe look like? <<if $dark_sight>>//*Note: Your sectoral heterochromia will be referenced but not specified to allow wider headcanoning for your Roe.//<</if>> ''Eye Color'' <<if ndef $eyes>><<set $eyes = "brown">><</if>><<listbox "$eyes">> <<option "Brown" "brown" `$eyes == "brown" ? "selected" : ""`>> <<option "Hazel" "hazel" `$eyes == "hazel" ? "selected" : ""`>> <<option "Amber" "amber" `$eyes == "amber" ? "selected" : ""`>> <<option "Green" "green" `$eyes == "green" ? "selected" : ""`>> <<option "Blue" "blue" `$eyes == "blue" ? "selected" : ""`>> <<option "Gray" "gray" `$eyes == "gray" ? "selected" : ""`>> <</listbox>> ''Length of Hair'' <<if ndef $length>><<set $length = "medium">><</if>><<listbox "$length">> <<option "Bald" "bald" `$length == "bald" ? "selected" : ""`>> <<option "Short" "short" `$length == "short" ? "selected" : ""`>> <<option "Medium" "medium" `$length == "medium" ? "selected" : ""`>> <<option "Long" "long" `$length == "long" ? "selected" : ""`>> <</listbox>> ''Type of Hair'' <<if ndef $type>><<set $type = "wavy">><</if>><<listbox "$type">> <<option "Straight" "straight" `$type == "straight" ? "selected" : ""`>> <<option "Curly" "curly" `$type == "curly" ? "selected" : ""`>> <<option "Wavy" "wavy" `$type == "wavy" ? "selected" : ""`>> <<option "Kinky" "kinky" `$type == "kinky" ? "selected" : ""`>> <<option "Braids" "braids" `$type == "braids" ? "selected" : ""`>> <<option "Dreads" "dreads" `$type == "dreads" ? "selected" : ""`>> <</listbox>> ''Color of Hair'' <<if ndef $color>><<set $color = "brown">><</if>><<listbox "$color">> <<option "Black" "black" `$color == "black" ? "selected" : ""`>> <<option "Brown" "brown" `$color == "brown" ? "selected" : ""`>> <<option "Red" "red" `$color == "red" ? "selected" : ""`>> <<option "Blonde" "blonde" `$color == "blonde" ? "selected" : ""`>> <<option "White" "white" `$color == "white" ? "selected" : ""`>> <<option "Blue" "blue" `$color == "blue" ? "selected" : ""`>> <<option "Pink" "pink" `$color == "pink" ? "selected" : ""`>> <<option "Purple" "purple" `$color == "purple" ? "selected" : ""`>> <<option "Green" "green" `$color == "green" ? "selected" : ""`>> <</listbox>> <a data-passage="Start"><img src="images/continue.png" alt="Continue" style="float:right"/></a>

<><<set $gender to "male">><> Cis male.

<><<set $gender to "male"; $trans = true>><> Trans male.

<><<set $gender to "female">><> Cis female.

<><<set $gender to "female"; $trans = true>><> Trans female.

<><<set $gender to "nonbinary">><> Nonbinary.

<>\<input type="checkbox" id="fullscreen"><label for="fullscreen" class="gofullscreen"><img @src="setup.ImagePath+'FullScreenGo_white.png'" alt="Go full screen" title="Go full screen" class="fullscreenImg"></label><label for="fullscreen" class="exitfullscreen"><img @src="setup.ImagePath+'FullScreenExit_white.png'" alt="Exit full screen" title="Exit full screen" class="fullscreenImg"></label> <>\

©2024 Bum Studios LLC ~~Version 1.0 //Superstition: All That Comes Before// may contain alcohol reference, strong language, sexual content, dark themes and other material that may be disturbing to some readers. Reader discretion is advised.~~

[[✰ Credits|Credits]]

/* Bio & Personality */ <<set $name to "Unknown">> <<set $gender to "Not Chosen"; $trans to false; $int to "unknown"; $s_att to "unknown"; $r_att to "unknown">> <<set $eyes to "unknown"; $color to "unknown"; $length to "unknown"; $height to "unknown"; $tattoo to "unknown">> <<set $cmajor to "Not Chosen">> /* Character Variables */ <<set $darkburns_visible to false>> <<set $dark_burns to false; $dark_truth to false; $dark_control to false; $dark_sight to false>> /* Love Me Not interest variable */ <<set $atcb_int1 is "none">> /* Chapter Variables for Import*/ <<set $atcb to true>> /* Ch1 */ <<set $atcb_emotion to "none"; $fear_darkness to false; $atcb_neat to 0; $atcb_plushie to "none">> /* Ch2 */ <<set $atcb_religious to false; $fear_death to false>> /* Ch3 */ <<set $atcb_suicidal to false>> /* Ch4 */ <<set $fear_romance to "none"; $atcb_troublemaker to false>> /* Ch8 */ <<set $atcb_cook to 0>> /* Music */ <<cacheaudio "earlychapter1" "audio/river_song.mp3">> <<cacheaudio "earlychapter2" "audio/fade_in_time.mp3">> <<cacheaudio "earlychapter3" "audio/when_the_lights_are_gone.mp3">> <<cacheaudio "romance1" "audio/bed_sheets.mp3">> <<cacheaudio "romance2" "audio/the_endless.mp3">> <<cacheaudio "ambience1" "audio/crystal.mp3">> <<cacheaudio "ambience2" "audio/ambient_chill.mp3">> <<cacheaudio "party" "audio/rave_mode.mp3">> <<cacheaudio "afterparty" "audio/riverside_feel.mp3">> <<cacheaudio "ambience3" "audio/first_steps.mp3">> <<createplaylist "chapters1_2_3">> <<track "earlychapter1" volume 0.40>> <<track "earlychapter2" volume 0.40>> <<track "earlychapter3" volume 0.40>> <</createplaylist>> <<createplaylist "chapter4">> <<track "romance1" volume 0.40>> <<track "romance2" volume 0.40>> <</createplaylist>> <<createplaylist "chapters5_6_8">> <<track "ambience1" volume 0.40>> <<track "ambience2" volume 0.40>> <<track "ambience3" volume 0.40>> <</createplaylist>>

<<audio ":all" stop>> <img src="images/title.png"> @@.center; //''All that Comes Before'' is a collection of shorts following the more intricate life happenings of the player-controlled character, Roe, as well as that of their companions. The stories told here are minuscule but no less unimportant and allow you, the reader, to customize your character in more depth. Some, not all, of the choices you make here, can be pulled over into the main story and change conversations and branches.// ''Volume One'' takes place before the events of Season One and covers a series of events over many years. [[Customize Roe|Customize]] [[Credits]] ''Navigation'' [[1. Changes|Chapter1_Changes]] [[2. Condolences, for Your Loss|Chapter2_Condolences]] [[3. Someday It'll Get Better|Chapter3_Someday]] [[4. Love Me, Love Me Not|Chapter4_Love]] [[5. Midnight Conversations|Chapter5_MidnightConvo]] [[6. Freshmen|Chapter6_Orientation]] [[7. Good Ol' Party Days|Chapter7_FirstParty]] [[8. Meeting the Roe|Chapter8_MeetingRoe]] <img src="images/divider.png" style="float:center"> To load in the decisions that you made here, you will need to export the save by using the button below. Please note that this export feature works best with computer and tablet versions, while not working well at all with phone. <<set $DLC1Data to { atcb : $atcb, virgin : $virgin, atcb_emotion : $atcb_emotion, fear_darkness : $fear_darkness, atcb_neat : $atcb_neat, atcb_plushie : $atcb_plushie, atcb_religious : $atcb_religious, fear_death : $fear_death, atcb_suicidal : $atcb_suicidal, fear_romance : $fear_romance, atcb_troublemaker : $atcb_troublemaker, atcb_cook : $atcb_cook }>>\ <<button 'Export the Data'>> <<export $DLC1Data 'AtCBV1' 'base64'>> <</button>>