Her hands are gentle, so almost unbearably gentle. 

Her teeth worry at her nails and you reach out, taking one of her hands into both of yours. You hold onto her like she could shatter if you breathe the wrong way.

Her eyes are the color of the frosting on your cake on your tenth birthday. How strange, her eyes pulling out such a strange memory.

You want to scream, scream at her, scream at everyone around you, scream at the world.

How dare she show you kindness? How dare she make you wish you were better. Everything was fine, adequate before she came. Before she showed you that the world was more than what it was. You feel your body tense while clenching your teeth. 

It’s not fair. You tried so hard to keep everything out.

Her other hand comes to rest on yours.

You wish you could turn back time, never meet her and continue life the way you knew it.

She leads you to the mattress covered in blankets. Her hands guide you to lie down

But why are you terrified of good people things?

Your head is resting against her chest, [gentle] hands smooth out your hair.

Why does the thought of living bring you so much fear?

She moves, lying down to face you. Her eyes are the color of a memory.

Your eyes are tired.

Her eyes are kind.

Happy Birthday // Cry Baby

The A.C. broke in the hideout. A sweltering, stuffy two weeks was all they could afford to give her on her birthday. It‘s miserable; school starts two days after her birthday, and she was cramming in an AP English assignment that slipped her mind. It’s the dead silence of the room (she demanded it to help her focus) and the “tap, tap, tap” of her pen that drives them all insane. She brushes off their invitation to dinner, eyes never leaving her laptop. They come back hours later and find her exactly where they left her with a few more mugs of coffee than before. It leaves pouts scratched onto Dolly and King’s face, and a scowl etched on Beary’s. He leaves in a huff, slamming the door hard on his way out. Twenty minutes pass and she’s gotten nowhere with her report when a hand slams her laptop shut. The fury in her eyes softens the moment she sees the three of them standing in front of her, store bought cake in hand. It brings tears to her eyes when they drag her outside to the patio, and sit around eating cake. Nothing more and nothing less for the baby of the group.

“This shit again.”

Her gaze shot up from her homework to Drama. He was sitting on the other side of the bed, eyes locked on his phones. Baby's hand reached down for her own phone, but he shook his head.

“No, it’s our other group chat,” her lips pursued, but she nodded, hand pulling away from her bag.

“What happened?”

“I guess they’re fighting again? Maddie said to lock the door and she’d be home soon, but Martin said to keep it open,” Drama frowned, phone buzzing from the excess of messages, “I’m putting them on do not disturb again.”

Baby nodded, reaching into her bag and grabbing her phone while Drama went back to watching videos.

To: dolly

“hey dk said u 2 were fighitn again”

dolly: Yeah sorry meant to text the 4-way chat to let you both know

“it’s fine. what happened? fight during dinner?”

dolly: He’s talking to her again. I told him he’s an idiot

“that chick from precal? bcuz ur right. we all know how well that went b4. he wouldn’t get out of bed for days”

dolly: He doesn’t listen

“he never does”

dolly: I’m coming home now. Bought you guys burgers”

“ok thanks mom drive safe”

She groaned, tossing her phone back into her bag before crawling over to Drama’s side of the bed. She snatched a pillow, curling into it. He patted her shoulder.

“What happened?”

“Beary’s a dumbass and she sounds a little more in love with him.”

Moments of silences ticked by, neither quite sure of what to say. The pattern had been repeating for the past few months: casual hang outs between just the two of them, an argument, tension builds and explodes into a fight. It didn’t take someone close to them to notice how tired they were of the pattern. And it wasn’t just Beary and Dolly who were tired of it; D.K. and C.B. weren’t pleased with the arrangement of all. It was like missing a bullseye by millimeters; so close, but not quite.

His eyes never left his phone as he spoke.

“The tragic tale of two lovers.” Baby looked up at him, watching him scroll through the endless feed of videos. She rolled onto her back, staring at the countless posters plastered onto the walls.

“That’s the thing, it shouldn’t be tragic. The only thing stopping them is themselves.” The flash of lights streamed into the room and the gravel crunched as a car rolled into the driveway. The engine’s quiet rumble was soon shut off.

“That’s why it’s so tragic. They don’t see it.” They could hear the dog barking and her keys jingle as she unlocked the door.

“Or maybe they do.” Somewhere below, she set bags of greasy food onto the counter top and a faint ‘Guys, dinner!’ filled their second of silence. Baby sat up, rolling over him to get out of bed and downstairs. He followed after her.

“Maybe.”

It was quiet...

when he walked into the garage. He let himself in when he saw the lack of cars in the driveway. Down the steps and he found himself in the basement. Sunlight streamed through the windows, showering the room half in gold while the other half sat in darkness. One of the mattresses sat in the middle of the room, and he raked through his mind, trying to recall when they dragged it into the room. Maybe last week? It had been a while since he got a chance to stop by. He slung his lacrosse gear towards the foot of the mattress, bats clattering together at the impact. His muscles ached from practice and he walked to the bathroom, taking a long, much needed shower.

The sun was going down when he stepped out of the bathroom, drops of water still clinging to his hair. A half written text to the group chat was abandoned when he noticed that one of the lamps was on. There was a lump on the bed and a jacket tossed next to his backpack. She was curled up, knees bent with one foot tucked behind the other. Almost all of her clothes were on the ground next to her. Her glasses were thrown haphazardly onto the pile. She had stolen a pair of his gym shorts and one of King’s hoodies. Her eyes are closed and he opened his phone.

To: M

“Where r u”

M: We went out to take photos and now we’re getting dinner

M: Y

He looked down at Baby and noticed that she was looking back at him. There were bags under her barely opened eyes and part of her face was tucked into the collar of King’s hoodie, the tip of her nose barely peeking out. They stared at each other, beats of silence passing between them. Her gaze was locked onto his until she couldn’t take it anymore, her eyes darting everywhere but his face. She resorted to curling up further into herself. Their clothes made her look so small. Fabric rose and fell with each breath, and he realized how jagged her breathing was. Sharp breaths were paused by swallows as she tried to compose herself in front of him.

Quietly, he walked to the laundry room, grabbing thick blankets and a pillow. By the time he got back to her, she was staring blankly at the wall, knees tucked up to her chest. The pillow made a quiet thump as he tossed it at her face. He watched as she slowly wrapped herself around it, hugging it to her chest. Carefully, he sat on the other half of the bed, throwing a few blankets over the both of them. Lying down with his back faces hers, he counted the minutes that passed by as he waited for her breathing to even out. It was when he heard the sniffles that he realized she needed more than just a pillow and blankets. He shifted uneasily before leaning his back against hers. It felt awkward, but her shaking stopped. The blankets slid around as she mimicked his actions, their backs firmly pressed together. A beat passed, her shaking had returned but it wasn’t as violent as before. He slipped open his phone again.

To: M

“No reason”

He was flipping through apps when he realized her shaking had stopped. It was quiet.

(She was gone when he woke up in the middle of the night.)

"How’d you two meet?” 

Her eyes flicked from the road over to King who was looking at her with expectant eyes.

“Who?”

“You two.” He nodded to the backseat. Dolly looked at her rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of Baby sleeping in the back. Her glasses were skewed and her mouth was dangling open. Each jolt of the car knocked her head against the window, but she was too gone to be roused. Her legs were thrown up onto Beary’s lap, who was too tired from his game and distracted by his phone to shove her off.

A bruise had blossomed on the right side of Baby’s cheek, and her eye was almost swollen shut. There was a cut along the bridge of her nose from where a boy slashed at her with a broken bottle. Her hands were wrapped up, covering up the scratches left by walls and faces. Bruises were a familiar sight on Baby and Beary, the two always willing to scrap and start trouble. Beary’s strength left him better off, but Baby played dirty, biting and scratching whoever she was against. She always came out worse, but was always flashing bloody grins. A little too happy to have the shit pummeled out of her, but it was all a part of her charm.

Streetlamps flashed light into the car as they passed by. Dolly took a drag from the cigarette dangling between her fingers. The road was bumpy from the city’s lack of care. Beary’s face was faintly illuminated from his phone. Somewhere next to her, she heard King ask another question, but she felt too far to hear him.

They were kids and they were in school. Middle school. There was a slurpee passed back and forth between the two of them. She was sitting on the cracked bathroom tiles with Baby—no, not Baby. She wasn’t Baby, not yet at least. She was someone else; someone with a different name. God, what did they call her? They had a clusterfuck of nicknames, what did they name her? Truck. Fuck, it was so stupid. The girl hadn’t grown into her hulking shoulders yet. Broad shoulders and no figure, yeah, she was a truck. The one they relied on for muscle, or, at least, the facade of muscle. No one ever mention how Truck’s polo was always tighter and bulging around the stomach, everyone always too afraid to invoke her wrath.

They were the only two who decided to stick together. Their petty gang dissolved as soon as their great leader left the school. The rest of the girls hung onto other popular cliques, putting lingering hands onto willing boys. She and Truck were the only two who were left defeated and tired—until now. She was being swept away to a public school.

She sipped the half empty cup while Truck absentmindedly picked at the edge of her plaid skirt. There were scabs on her knees; she had tumbled off her skateboard the week before, but it was Truck, she didn’t shed a single tear over the injury and instead had bounced up onto her board with vigor.

They missed the morning bell, and, to dodge the wrath of Catholic school teachers, decided to skip the first class. It wasn’t the best idea, but they’d done worse.

“Do you think we’ll get in trouble?” Truck’s voice was rough, a sugar laced drink was the only thing that had passed through her that morning.

“Yeah.” Twenty minutes in time out didn’t make them shake to their core. It was a nuisance sure, but they were in 7th grade, why the fuck did they even still have recess? Truck went from picking at her skirt to picking at the chipped polish on her nails.

“Do you think we’ll stay close?” There wasn’t sadness in her voice, she hid her emotions well. She was always closed off as a child, but there was intention in her question. Truck wanted to know if she was going to lose her only true friend.

She stood, sucking down the rest of the slurpee which was reduced to barely flavored water. The bell rang as she toss the styrofoam cup into the trash on her way out of the bathroom.

“No.”

The garage light flicked on as the car rolled into the driveway. She turned off the car and Beary immediately opened his door, letting Baby’s legs thump onto the seat as he stepped out. A disgruntled groan slipped out of her, and Dolly and King heard her little yawn as she sat up. Baby gave them a sleepy smile as she scooted out of the car, following Beary to the garage. They watched the two entered the garage, Beary on his way to the shower and Baby on her way to a mattress to continue her rare rest.

Dolly didn’t notice the lump that had formed in her throat until she tried to respond. Words stuck in mouth while she stared at where Baby once stood. There was history, so much to remember, so much they tried to forget. She turned to King.

“It’s a long story.” The only thing she could say. He shrugged, stepping out to follow their companions.

“We’ve got time.”

Happy Birthday // Dollface

She stared down at the cake and tilted her head, curiosity filling her eyes while her nose was scrunched up with displeasure. He stuck pink candles in any free space he could find.

 “Why are you putting more candles on it? It already says 16.”

“If I put enough on, all of it will burn before she can blow out them out.”

GC: Bitch McTitties

“Who tf keeps writing on my car windows?”

King: Needs more dicks

Beary: Wouldnt waste the gas to get to ur house

King: Press ur tits against the window

King: Ice titties

“CB how tf you live 20 min away did you walk to my house in the snow?” 

C.B.: >:* <3

Happy Birthday // Beary

“You think he’ll be mad?” She wheeled down the aisle, pushing her foot off the ground every now and then to propel herself forwards. 

“It’s Beary. He’s always mad.”

Sure, it’s a sweet day. Love is in the air as sweethearts walk hand in hand and all that bullshit. But no one talks about the days before or after this special day. No one talks about the time they found Dolly crying over the relationship she ended (it should’ve ended a year ago.)  No one talks about the time Drama stumbled into the garage, clinging onto C.B. who was cut up and bloody, all because some dickbags didn’t understand people could love the same gender (she looked bad, but you should’ve seen the other guys). And god forbid there was a thought of Beary, tough as nails Beary, lying on a mattress, staring blankly at the basement ceiling (turns out the girl from precal wasn’t as sweet as they thought. they still don’t know the full story.) Sure, it’s a sweet day, the rest are just so bitter.

Happy Birthday // Drama King

“I hate all of you.” The gentle snickers of his friends grew into hearty laughs at his deadpan expression.

The basement was decorated with fairy lights and streamers that hung from the walls and ceiling. The TV screen showed a movie paused, and there were DVD cases scattered around the floor. They had thrown blankets and pillows on the floor in the middle of the room, creating a small nest for the four of them. The three of them sat around the kitchen counter while King sat on a stool. They had just had their fill of pizza and moved onto the cake.

It was a cruel idea, a small jab at the boy’s love for only the most fabulous things for himself and his friends, but it was the only idea they could come up with. For the past three years, they got him the best cakes with glamorous designs, but for this year they were stumped. It wasn’t until a week before his birthday that they knew what they’d do.

“Oh, come on baby boy,” C.B. reached up and rested her arm around his shoulders, “Don’t be a such drama king.”

“It’s so cold.” He muttered, watching his breath swirl into the winter breeze. An arm brushed against his as his companion shifted their bag of gifts from one hand to the other. Her hand slipped into his; small, but warm.

“I will never understand how you and Dolly are always to cold.” C.B.’s voice was muffled by her scarf. Her glasses were fogged up from her breath. He shrugged as he lead her through the train tracks.

“You and Beary are just some hot blooded Asians.” He smiled while she let out a huff of disagreement.

The rest of the walk was quiet, their boots crunching through snow filled moments of silence. They weaved through boxcars and tracks, carefully watching their steps. Eventually, the tracks gave way to the woods, and they marched through a familiar path, beaten in and trodden by their past travels. The trees and bushes were bare. In their eyes, the branches of the trees melted together, tangled and twisted in the winter weather. The wind blew whistled in their ears, and they trudged through.

They came out of the woods and onto the sidewalk. A few minutes later, they found themselves standing on the street in front of Dolly’s house. Beary’s pickup truck sat outside in front of the garage. There were colorful bulbs strung around the outside of the garage, leading towards the side door. King stepped forward and cursed when his boot plunged into an icy puddle. She let out a chuckle before stepped onto the lawn and around him.

“You forget about that every single time.” C.B. teased. She pushed open the side door to the garage and left him outside. He grumbled, stepping out of the puddle and walking into the garage. He yanked off his boots, leaving them by the door, before walking downstairs into the basement.

Lit candles were scattered around the main room, and their mattresses were already thrown into the middle. A tiny Christmas tree sat in the corner of the room, surrounded by presents. His friends stood around the counter, picking cookies off a platter. C.B. was slowly peeling off her layers off coats when he walked in.

“Finally got outta the water bud?” Dolly smirked, throwing him a pair of dry, thick socks.

“Shut up, it’s freezing.” He plopped onto one of the mattresses, making quick work of his soaked sock.

“Actually, talking would help because it will warm up the room, since our breath will-” C.B.’s ramble was quickly shut down by the cookie Beary stuffed into her mouth. She frowned at his deadpan expression. She swallowed the cookie and pouted, “Rude.”

After settling down in sweatpants and thick festive sweaters, they exchanged gifts. Beary received a scarf from Dolly (one that matched hers), a protein shaker from C.B., and a bag of sunflower seeds from King. Dolly got a mirror from C.B., a pack of cigarettes from King, and a switchblade from Beary. (”I don’t even want to know how you got that.”) C.B. was given a mug from King, an old pair of sweats from Beary, and a ring from Dolly. King was gifted a bag of candy from Beary, spray paint from Dolly, and a journal from C.B.

The gifts were small things, cheap, old, or stolen, but they were cherished. There was meaning behind each gift, words unspoken and never to be said aloud. There was love, something they had a hard time finding.

Their new possessions were pushed into different corners of the mattresses as they settled in for a Christmas movie marathon. Shitty movies were played until 5 a.m. when their bodies gave in, and their eyes drifted close.

“Oh good lord. What the fuck did you guys do?” Their eyes snapped from the burning pumpkins to the opening porch door. C.B. was standing in the doorway, balancing a tray with four mugs in her hands as she carefully waddled down the steps. “Seriously guys, I was gone for twenty minutes.”

“Yeah, and in those twenty minutes, Beary found lighter fuel and Dolly let him douse the pumpkins.” King shrugged, his eyes reflected the flames that consumed the orange flesh of a perfectly carved jack-o-lantern.

“Ok…” C.B. muttered as she handed out the mugs, “I get why that one’s on fire, but why is that one smoking?” She pointed at the jack-o-lantern that had smoke pouring from every hole.

“Filled it with a bunch of leaves and then set it on fire.” Dolly grinned wickedly behind her mug. They gathered around their creations, basking in the steamed mugs that warmed their fingers. 

The sounds of children’s laughter filled the streets in front of Dolly’s house, but in the backyard, the laughter wasn’t as sharp or irritating. Instead trees absorbed the noise and left them in a moment of quiet laughs that felt so much like a past they left behind. Somewhere in their heads, they remembered running up and down streets for candy while their parents kept a watchful eye on them. They remembered staying up late to trade candy with their siblings.They remembered watching scary movies and sleeping in their parents beds because who would’ve thought that a 5 year old shouldn’t watch The Grudge? They remembered a time when they were oblivious to cruel words and hateful actions. They remembered a time when they didn’t know each other and suddenly they were left with the bittersweet taste of a childhood they couldn’t go back to. But they didn’t want to go back; content with what they had right now: each other. It was 1 a.m. when Beary grabbed the hose and sprayed down the pumpkins which were reduced to nothing, but pathetic, burnt, soggy messes. Empty mugs were quietly left in the sink, careful not to wake anyone in the house. They crept to the basement and pulled the two king sized mattresses to the main room. King threw the spare blankets onto shivering bodies as Dolly and C.B. settled on one mattress while he and Beary flopped onto the other. Good nights were mumbled to each other, but they all spend an hour staring at the ceiling, trying to remember where they left their happiness. It was somewhere around here, but they just couldn’t quite remember where they had placed it. (Eventually, they came to realize they had placed it within each other.)

Takopee  // The city that never loved them

Maybe it was too harsh to say that the city never loved them, but it never did them any good. Too many fights that left them sore and bloody, too many tears shed for people who things that shouldn’t have matter, but did. Their blood stained the city's streets and the blood of others stained their hands. They knew the rooftops of buildings like the back of their hands and it was like a map of the windy roads and alleyways was burned into their eyelids.

Some dolls are made of fine porcelain. Others are made from cheap plastic.

She was crafted from acrylics splattered against the largest canvas you could find at the art supplies store. Her blood was the tears she spilt over those who are unworthy to be in her presence. Her hair was woven with the golden light of a fading sunset. The weight of the world pushed onto her until the pressure formed fine cracks on her back and between her fingers. She learned to dance on the tightrope that dangled her between delicate beauty and a furious rage. She wasn’t perfect, none of them were; however, she was a symphony of fragility and ferocity. 

He was your favorite childhood toy. 

You dragged him on adventures, through forests and up to tree houses. You sat him down for tea parties and picnics. You treated him like your best friend, because he was. He was different from the rest of your various stuffed animals and dolls, but he was a good different. 

Then you got older, but you never left him forgotten in the corner of your closet. You still dragged him out on adventures, but this time instead of forests and tree houses, you ran through dark alleys and under bridges; one hand grasping his tightly and the other dragging your backpack full of God knows what. The adventures changed, but he never did.

And even though he spoke no words to you, you knew he’d always be there.

She was the first out of the four to get her nickname, but the story isn’t sweet.

It started as an insult. Ever since they met, everyone knew anything could set her off. “An emotional time bomb” they’d tease and poke fun at her, but they made sure to never take it too far. 

The first person to call her by her nickname was Beary. He snapped at her and sent her running back to home while the other two scolded at him for being an asshole. She didn’t show up to their hideout for two weeks, but one day, she walked in with bandaged fingertips while brandishing a jacket she stitched up herself that proudly read “Cry Baby.”

He never thought of himself as the leader.

But that’s who he was. They thrusted a crown onto his head and waited for his commands. He sat on a throne made of stained couch cushions and less than satisfactory report cards. They knew he thrived on whatever conflict was going on in the school and searched for whatever they could find to please him. Most of the time, they’d stir up their own drama to see that spark in his eyes.