GOOD GRIEF 😭 OSCAR FOR MCLAREN X REISS.... CAN YOU GET YOUR FOOT OFF MY NECK

source: mclaren ig stories

heart of stone (2/?)

AO3

It’s three days before Janis’ rest results are available. That night, her mom pops her head around her bedroom door and tells her they need to be at the hospital early the next morning. She had spent the intervening time lounging around her house, rotating through different sweaters and reading the same book over and over, all the while filling in Damian and Cady as much as she could, trying to reassure them and herself that it was nothing and in a few days she’d probably be fine. She’d be back bugging them in no time, probably by the first day of school, in fact.

And that better be true, she thinks, because she has never been so bored in her life. In those few days between appointments her biggest achievement was successfully showing her dad how to master Netflix and introducing him to Killing Eve. She had tried to draw, but no idea stayed still in her mind long enough for her to recapture it on paper. The pencil bounced between her hands as she looked through outlines of unfinished sketches, trying to make one jump out at her. She puts them all in her drawer with a resigned sigh, one of those impossibly rare moments where she willingly admits defeat and submits to her fate. Her body feels too weary to move and her brain completely burnt out, but her soul keeps pushing her to create, to be active and busy. Her hands weren’t meant for scrolling through her phone as she’s half asleep, they’re artists hands, built for innovation. The restlessness crept through her nerves and up to her brain, shaking it so much that when her mom hung up the phone and told her she had an appointment the next day, she threw her head back and thanked God.

But her initial relief is gone now as she and her parents follow the perky secretary’s directions down to the doctor’s room, passing sunshine yellow walls and hurrying over pristine white floors. She keeps her hands in her pockets, her heart clenching each time she catches a glimpse of a patient. Some of them smile, some of them don’t, some look normal and others… not so much, gaunt faces and loose headscarves. Wrong as it is, her anxiety only spikes when she sees them, not to mention her bedside manner isn’t the greatest. Perhaps it’s lucky her parents don’t set high goals for her because she’d never make a doctor.

Her dad keeps looking back at her, asking if she’s okay, and she tells him she is, even though her chest is pained and tight, either from worry or her own body’s weakness. Or worse, both. Her little personal storm cloud makes itself known again, desperate for her attention after she had put so much effort into ignoring it. It clings to her brain and strains against her skull, stretching over and whispering in her ear, telling her she should get used to this place. She might be seeing more of it than she wants to.

She closes her eyes tightly and stops walking for a second, wishing she could go back to a few days ago, lounging in bed with Cady when everything was normal and okay. But she can’t, so she jogs to catch up with her parents and keeps her eyes on her boots.

“Mr and Mrs Sarkisian.” The doctor they meet is around her dad’s age, brown hair beginning to grey with thick rimmed black glasses and wearing a funky green and blue tie over a white shirt. If he ditched the white coat and clipboard, he’d look like a dad. On his desk, amongst the paperwork and nameplate, is a Rubix cube, a framed photo of two kids and a stuffed frog chilling against the computer, wearing an oversized pair of sunglasses. Doctor Dad looks at Janis, his mouth opening and closing silently for a split second, a fearful glint in his eyes. Exactly what she needs. “And Janis, I assume.” She lets him shake her hand, not letting herself show how clammy it feels. His nerves sparks on the skin in a way only someone who has been through it could pick up on.

She’s been reading him since she first saw him and none of it puts her at ease. His smile looks like someone is pulling it across his face with wires and his eyes flash behind his glasses when he looks at her. His breathing hitches, his fingers fidget and when he sits down, she sees him pull himself back together, starting with the shoulders and up to the chin, straightening everything out, looking presentable. Approachable. Softening the blow he’s about to make. Maybe her parents take notice, or not. They’re specific things, only noticeable to those who are looking for them.

They do say ignorance is bliss.

“These… these types of conversations are never easy.” Oh, what a brilliant opening line. It makes her mom’s hand clasp her dad’s with a grip that’s white-knuckled and desperate. As for Janis herself, she squirms in her chair, biting down hard on her thumbnail. She feels like there’s a million little centipedes all over her body, scurrying around with their tiny feet, wriggling into her elbows, writhing beneath her knees, twisting around on her stomach. She could burst at any moment and they’d invade his office, bury themselves in his carpeting and make homes in the vents.

“Just give it to me straight, doc,” she blurts out. Her parents turn to her, more amused than surprised, and she offers a shrug, the beginnings of a smirk on her face. “Which might be hard in my case.” Her parents chuckle as she looks over at the doctor, herself getting a kick out of his own dumbfounded expression. “Because I’m a lesbian.”

“Oh, right,” he says, managing something that sounds like a laugh. He clears his throat and opens the file in his hand, blocking it from her view in a move that she isn’t sure is accidental. Pressure builds in her chest, her lungs feeling smaller and smaller inside her. The clock must be wrong, because it says only seconds have passed, but they’ve been there for far longer. Minutes. Hours, it must be. She grips the side of the plastic chair, drumming her nails along the underside and pressing her palm into the metal legs. Her mom rubs her hand down her back, asking quietly if she needs anything. She shakes her head, knowing ‘for this to be over’ probably isn’t a good answer.

“Janis… I’m afraid you have leukaemia.”

She’s falling.

Someone took her chair out from underneath her and she’s falling. She phases through the floor and keeps falling, her surroundings a silent blur. She tries to breathe but nothing can come in or out, her hand outstretched but no one holding it. She’s trapped in a bubble, one with no air or no sound, keeping everyone else away from her. She’s alone as she falls, nothing but the white expanse for company, her heart still, her mind empty. All she knows is she’s hurtling towards… something, at full speed and getting faster with each second.

“Janis!”

She blinks, the bottom of the chair cutting a deep, red line into her palms. But it’s steady beneath her, even if nothing else is. All at once, her body and mind come back to her, her heart beats faintly in her chest, weak from shock, and her breaths are quick and rapid. Her brain is a jumbled and confused mess, so much so that she preferred it when she couldn’t think of anything. Now her mind is opening ideas in a flash and tossing them out just as quickly; dashing around her head so thoughtlessly and rapidly that she can’t get a grip on anything. So instead she’s just sitting there, a ringing in her head and cold weakness in her chest, waiting for someone to fix this.

“Janis.” Her dad’s hand is on hers, his fingers curling around with a touch that’s so soft and gentle it almost doesn’t belong in here. Not with that word lingering between them. “Are you okay kid?”

How the hell is she meant to be okay?

“Leukaemia.” She drags her eyes up, not to meet the doctor, but to look past him, to look at the ugly shade of yellow his wall is painted and the framed certificate, declaring him as having graduated from somewhere with a degree in something. She bites her lip so hard she feels the beginnings of a little lump forming there. Like the ones on her neck. Like the ones they always say are a sign of…

The word sticks in her throat and she has to tear it out of her.

“Like… cancer? Like the cancer kind of leukaemia?”

“I’m afraid so,” the doctor says, his voice soft. She doesn’t know if she’s ever heard a voice that soft before, maybe when she was a kid, a really tiny kid and her goldfish died and her mom had to explain to her what death was.

Why did her mind have to go there?

It’s only now she notices one of the posters on the wall. Bright green lettering and a glossy photo of a little girl, fourteen, maybe thirteen, sitting up in a bed, a tube in her nose and a hat on her bald head, grinning brightly up a nurse with a sweet face. That’s what cancer is. It’s losing your hair and being in hospital and having tubes sticking in and out of your body. It’s other stuff too, stuff she hasn’t thought about and doesn’t know because it’s not for her. Cancer isn’t for her, it’s for old grandmas in knitted cardigans and tragic little kids who get to meet spiderman. Occasionally, it’s for teenagers and young people like her, but not her specifically. Never her. Cancer is something that exists far away, lurking around corners, on the tongues of adults who them about the dangers of cellphones or their health teacher telling them to eat healthily. It exists all right, but it doesn’t happen to her.

“Janis,” her mom says gently, running her fingers through her hair. Her voice is thin and shaking as though she’s about to cry. Why would she be crying? She’ll fix this. There’s no way this is real and now her mom is crying over nothing.

“I’m fine,” she replies, squeezing her mom’s hand back. Life comes back to her body and she looks up at the doctor, finally feeling heat inside her, attacking the cold emptiness and sending it back where it belongs. It flares up in her chest, a spark that she’d sorely missed these past few days. She grips her mom’s hand tighter, her own hand shaking and her fingers tight and tense. “I’m fine because I don’t have cancer.”

“Janis I know this is difficult to hear-”

“It’s not. It’s not because I am fine. Because I don’t have cancer, you did the test wrong.”

“Our team ran several tests. We ruled out other possibilities.”

“Clearly you didn’t if you’re telling me that I have cancer, which I don’t, so do another one.” Her grip on her mom isn’t just for her sake, but it’s also keeping Janis from getting up and flipping that desk over and telling Doctor Dad to get fucked. Who does he even think he is anyway? That degree can’t be much good if he’s telling her this and screwed up a test like that.

“Janis,” he sighs, gesturing with his hands like that’s going to fix anything. “I understand that this is a lot to take in right now-”

“It’s not,” she snaps, the smile on her face strained and sharp. “It’s not because you’re fuck-you’re wrong. I don’t-I can’t have-”

“Janis!”

Her mom’s voice is what pulls her back down. When she looks over at her, she sees brown eyes identical to hers, but they’re filled with tears and rimmed red and show a tiny spark of anger amongst the sadness. Her mom’s mouth is half-open, a plea waiting on her lips, begging her daughter to see sense. Her hand tightens around Janis’, her grip becoming less comforting and careful and more irritated and exhausted.

“Sweetheart… please.”

God she’s a horrible person. Her parents just heard probably one of the worst things a parent could hear, and she just threw a tantrum over it.

She looks at the doctor with uncharacteristic and unfamiliar shyness, trying to pick herself back up, present herself as anything close to reasonable after the meltdown she just had. Something about him makes her feel like he understands. Maybe she’s not the first to react like that. Or maybe it’s wishful thinking.

“So what happens now?” she asks in a flat voice.

“What happens now is you start treatment as soon as possible,” Doctor Dad explains. He leans forwards on his desk, his hands clasped together and when Janis notices the distressed expression on his face, the pain of guilt in her stomach only gets worse. “My colleagues have already discussed this and we think it would be best for you to begin within the next two weeks. The earliest start would be next Monday.”

“Next Monday?” she echoes, her voice cracking. “But… but I start school in three days I start before that, I can’t…” She knows it’s a lost cause and there’s no point to it, but it’s the last thing she has. Her school is the last part of her life that’s real in all this, so forgive her for clinging to it. She looks from her parents to the doctor, three different, grave expressions and only one is able to give her an answer.

“I’m afraid going to school will be out of the question,” the doctor tells her. Her mom’s fingers lace between hers, squeezing her hand in what’s meant to be comforting, but Janis can’t feel it. She’s too busy trying to push back another protest. “I’m sorry, Janis. There is the option of online school, but your treatment is likely to make you too tired to focus. It might be easier on your mental health if you saved school until next year.”

Saved school until next year. When everyone she knows is already gone and this year’s juniors will be seniors. She’ll have to wait a year for all the fun stuff that seniors get to do, cutting in the lunch line, going to prom, graduation parties, using the senior’s lounge. She’ll be sitting in a class of people she’s a year older than her, all in pre-formed friendship groups and likely knowing her as Cancer Girl. Cady, Damian, Karen, everyone else will be graduating this year and will move on to new adventures. And she’ll be left behind.

The idea makes her more sick than the cancer has.

“Jan?” her dad asks softly. She finds three pairs of expectant eyes on her and all she can offer is a small nod.

“Okay,” she whispers. She’s not sure what she’s saying okay to.

“What about the treatment itself?” her mom asks. “How is that going to work?”

“We might have to do a few more tests to find that out,” he explains. “But it would likely be chemotherapy. What we’ve discussed so far is two weeks in hospital and then a week at home to recover for around three months. Thankfully, the cancer hasn’t progressed far enough to warrant more, and we’ll want to keep it at that. The goal is to get Janis to remission.” She nods, her head starting to throb a little. She presses her fingers to her temples before she can stop herself, and that’s a red flag to both her parents. She drops it, muttering a lie about being fine.

“Of course there will be a lot of support for Janis through this,” he goes on. “There is an excellent support group and appointments can be made with a counsellor on a one-to-one basis.”

Somehow that doesn’t help, she thinks. It’s not meant to, she guesses.

It’s cold when they step outside, or that might just be her. The wind cuts through her jacket and the sweater she pulled on and attacks her skin, leaving her fighting off shivers. She pushes her dad’s arm off her when he tries to help her to the car. That only makes her feel worse, mentally and physically.

Being in a car with your parents after a cancer diagnosis is a weird experience. The tension between the three of them strangles her. An unspoken conversation passes between her parents in the front and frankly, it pisses her off. If they’re going to be concerned about her, they could at least do her the courtesy of involving her. But maybe it’s better that way because despite being an arm’s length from them, she feels as though she’s miles away. Like when they started driving, she stayed put. She sinks back into the seat and stares straight ahead, the pain in her head coming back louder and stronger, pushing against her skull and screaming behind her eyelids.

“Janis… are you okay?” her mom asks.

“Fine,” she sighs.

“Do you need anything? We can go to the gas station-”

“I said I’m fine,” she replies, firmer than before. “I just want to lay down.”

She’s not kidding. She wants to press her face into her pillow until everything blacks out and all that exists is the colours that explode behind her eyelids. Then they can fade to, and she won’t have to deal with anything anymore.

They drive on in a heavy silence, and the longer they go, the angrier she finds herself growing. She doesn’t know where it’s directed, at herself or her parents or the doctor or the universe, but it’s there, rising in tandem with her the pain in her head and making her restless. She grabs her upper arm and squeezes hard, pressing her nails in until it starts to hurt, just to get it out somewhere.

“Hey… why don’t we go to Dairy Queen?” her dad suggests, as though they’re on their way back from mini golfing. It’s a sweet offer and Janis almost smiles at it. But it’s why it’s sweet that she doesn’t want it.

“I don’t want to,” she replies. “I just want to go home.” Besides, there is a real risk of her upchucking a milkshake on the seat.

Her parents exchange another worried look, their hands clasping over the gearshift, and Janis has to bite back a scream.

When they do finally get home, Janis doesn’t wait for them to get out of the car. Instead she storms ahead, regardless of how it hurts her head more, because she’s so damn relieved to be out of that care and in open space. She opens the door with her own key, remembering to leave it open for them. She runs into the hallway and then stops almost immediately, her chest tight and her breaths coming in short, quick gulps. Something rushes against her and grabs at her legs, and she takes a minute to work out that it’s Maxie, no doubt pouting at her and wondering what she was doing and where she was and why she didn’t take him. He’s probably whimpering or barking, and her dad is probably trying to talk to her, but she can’t hear anything but the blood rushing in her ears.

“Oh my God,” she says out loud. Everything she’s held back in the car bubbles over and she can’t hold it back any more.

She just about makes it to her room in time to throw herself on the bed and start screaming. She doesn’t even sound like a human. It’s deep and it’s guttural, tearing at her throat and painted with rage and pain and fear. Poor Maxie is probably hiding in his bed, scared of the monster upstairs. Her eyes, her face burns and her bedroom melts away, leaving just a mesh of dark colours bleeding together. Tears and snot run down her face and over her hands and on the pillows, making the mark of a miserable, self-pitying girl going insane.

Her head doesn’t just hurt any more, it’s screeching and kicking at her and she can’t do anything about it. She can’t do anything about anything. That’s the problem. Her chest aches and her neck hurts and her mouth is dry and her eyes burn. But all that’s nothing to what’s going on in her heart and head, where dangerous, toxic cocktails bubble. All she wants to do is not feel, but she feels everything and it’s all just pain.

She runs out of tears at one point and they dry on her face as she looks up at the ceiling, the word “cancer” written in invisible ink above her. She thinks “I might die” and then rolls her eyes at herself for being bleak. She wants to tell her all the good stuff about new treatments and technology and whatever but it’s all surface level nonsense. Fear wins over optimism and it cuts right into her, deep into her soul.

She doesn’t know what she’s most worried about and she’s an idiot for it. Not knowing if she’s more scared of the fatal disease wreaking destruction and chaos inside her body or of not getting to go to Cady’s Mathletes competitions or see Damian in the musical. It should be plainly obvious what’s the worse one, but it isn’t. Is this her now? Vapid and shallow, more obsessed with her petty teenage fun than her health? Was she always like this?

Her parents find her laying across her bed, unblinking, the slow rise and fall of her chest the only thing that indicate her being alive.

“How long ago did you guys wait?” she asks flatly.

“Two hours,” her dad explains, shifting on his feet. “We thought you’d need some space.” She nods numbly at that. “Janis… I know this is a lot to process for you.”

“Understatement of the century,” she mumbles. At least she’s still got humour. The bed sags and she sees her mom sitting next to her, her hand reaching out to stroke her hair. Janis can’t remember the last time her mom did that to her, not like this, with dainty fingers that could send her to sleep.

“We’re going to be here the whole time,” her mom promises. “You’re not doing this alone.”

She is though. That’s the problem. They’re not going to be the ones in the hospital beds and taking medicine and missing her senior year. She is. They’ll be beside her all they like, and she hopes to hell they are, but they aren’t going through it with her.

“I know,” is what she says instead. “I know.” She pulls herself to a sitting position, grabbing her mom’s shoulder as her room starts tilting. It takes a few seconds of deep, shaky breaths and her eyes shut tight before she feels normal again. “I’m okay.” She looks up at the two of them, overwhelmed by a feeling of helplessness that makes her feel tiny despite her impressive height. “So what happens now?”

“We’ll take care of the official stuff,” her dad days softly, his arms wrapped around himself Holding himself together. “Letting the school know and all that. But… it might be better if you tell your friends.” She shakes her head on instinct. She can barely get that word out of her mouth on her own. In front of Damian or Cady, she knows she’d crumble.

“Sweetie,” her mom says. Her hand hasn’t stopped stroking her. “I know it’s hard. But they love you and they’re going to want to hear it from you. Not from us and not from the school either.” Janis presses her face into her knees, blinking away another wave of tears. They’re right. Of course they’re right. But that doesn’t mean that the idea of telling them makes her want to vomit.

Right now, only she, her mom, her dad and some doctors know. And she can pretend the doctors don’t exist and remove them from the equation. And when the only people who know are living in this house, it’s easier for her to pretend that it doesn’t really exist. She can push it away and ignore her parents and keep it inside these walls. Once she tells her friends…

It’s real. There’s no going back after that. Granted there’s no going back either way, but there’s no hiding either.

“Janis,” her mom agrees, sharking a look with her dad. “If it’s really too much for you… we can tell your friends for you.

“No,” she says with a shake of her head. “No, you’re right. They need to hear it from me.”

“Oh, baby,” her mom breathes, hugging her tightly around her shoulders. She’s not crying, but her breathing is ragged and her grip scared. “I’m so sorry. I wish this wasn’t happening to you.” Her dad sits on the other side of her and wraps his arm around her, letting her head on her head on his shoulder. The hug is clumsy and a little forced, no-one knowing when to let go and Janis quickly becomes uncomfortable in their embrace. The longer it goes on, the less like herself she feels.

She spends the rest of the day and most of the following morning looking at her phone, even when she’s eating or watching TV with her dad or playing with Maxie. Every gesture is half-hearted, the building sense of dread distracting her form everything else. She scrolls through the messages from yesterday, Cady asking how her appointment went and Damian asking if she was free and Gretchen asking her opinion on a shirt. All living in blissful ignorance.

It’s no contest as to who to tell first. She sits on her bed, Damian’s face looking up at her from the phone screen, one button all that separates the two of them. Just press a button. How hard can that be? Very hard, it turns out, when your arm feels like lead and you don’t even know what to say to him, your words written and crossed out and written again on the notebook beside you. The worst part is that she isn’t even sure what she’s scared of. There’s a lot to choose from and when it’s telling someone you love as much as she loves him, that only makes it worse. Like she’s on top of a skyscraper, about to be pushed off and into darkness.  

She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and calls him.

“Hey,” he chirps on the other side, picking up after just one ring. She leans back on her bed, biting her nail, her heart ceasing beating altogether. In the back of her mind, she wonders if he’d been waiting for her. “What’s up?”

“Are you-can you come over?” she asks. “Are you free right now?”

“Uh yeah,” he replies. “Everything okay?” No it’s not, the okay train left the station yesterday and I missed it and I’m about to pull you off it too. “Janis… are you okay?”

“Just… how soon can you come over?” she says, moving from biting her nail to her knuckles. “It’s just… it’s kind of important and I don’t know if I can-”

“Woah, woah, woah, okay,” he replies. “Hey, my mom’s giving me a ride. I’ll be ten minutes, tops. Okay?”

“Okay,” she nods. “Thanks.” She’s not even sure if he heard that last word.

He’s seven minutes actually. Seven minutes between her hanging up the phone and the front door opening, her mom letting him in and telling him she’s up in her room. Every step closer only makes her stomach hurt worse and she prays she’s not headed for a panic attack.

“Hey.” His voice is gentle as he opens the door, stepping into her room cautiously, like she’s in the middle of a minefield. He must have picked up on the tension in her house; rather than draping himself across her bed or sitting on her desk, he lowers himself gently beside her, offering her a comforting smile. The same kind he gave her years ago when she was crying in a bathroom stall. God, she loves him. “Everything okay? You sounded nervous on the phone.”

“Because I was,” she confesses. Her hand wraps around Damian’s, him squeezing tightly, but she doesn’t feel the usual strength she gets from him. There’s just a cold, heavy weight in her stomach. “Oh God.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he says softly, rubbing his hand up and down her arm, confusion and compassion in his eyes. “It’s okay. Whatever it is, it’s okay.”

“It’s not,” she tells him. Her chest feels like someone is tying a rope around her lungs. The words battle from her mind to her mouth, weary and unwilling. “It’s about my… that doctor’s appointment I had. We found out-”

This is it. The point of no return. No pretending or faking or daydreaming after this.

“Damian… I have cancer.”

Damian shakes his head a little, disbelief written all over his face. He keeps his eyes on her, waiting for her to laugh and tell him she’s kidding, almost willing it so. She wishes. Soon the doubt and hope melt away, his eyes turning sad and his mouth falling open, a small, strangled noise coming out as he realises she’s not kidding. As for her guilt tears her chest open and her face crumples. She begins to untangle herself from him, but he refuses, his arm in a firm grip around her shoulders. Maybe he wants to hold her or maybe he just can’t move, paralysed by what she dropped on him. The longer he goes without talking, the more it hurts her.

“What?” he asks eventually. “You… what?”

“Leukaemia,” she tells him as if that makes it better. He blinks, looking around the room like he’s searching for another answer.

“You have cancer?” he asks. She nods, exhausted from the two sentences she spoke, and he pulls her closer, her head falling onto his shoulder. Tears that aren’t hers fall onto her body and her own wet his shirt. His arms are weak around her as he tries to make sense of it. “How?”

“I don’t know how. It just happened,” she mumbles. “Karma, maybe. I don’t know.”

“Okay then let me talk to Miss Karma because this is… fu-this isn’t…”

“Go on. Say it,” she urges, a grin beginning to tug on her lips. “Just for me.” Maybe this will be the day Damian Hubbard finally says fuck.

“It’s fiddlesticks is what it is.” She laughs and it feels unfamiliar. He pets her hair in a steady rhythm, strength coming back into his body. “So what do you do now? Do you know? What even happens?”

“Okay.” She pulls away from him, seeing for the first time how red his eyes are. “I start… I start getting treatment next Monday.”

“Next Monday?” he interrupts. “But you can’t, we have school. We start school in two days!”

“Yeah I don’t think the cancer gives a shit,” she sighs heavily. “I’m just going to do senior year next year.”

“No,” he whispers, his face nothing short of heartbroken. Part of her is actually kind of weirdly flattered that someone cares so much. Most of her just feels worse every second for doing this to him. “But… we were going to… What about the LGBT society? I’m going to have to run it by myself?” He rakes a hand through his hair and looks over at her. His mouth falls open and his hand drops to his lap. “Oh God I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?”

“For making this about me,” he says. “This is about you.”

“Oh please, the other half of your soul has cancer, you can be a little self-centred,” she says.

“Who said you’re the other half of my soul?” he jokes.

“You did.” She lifts the half-heart around her neck, the twin to the one around his. He smiles sadly, his eyes glistening. She tosses her hair over her shoulder, holding on to the only trace of familiarity. “Besides, the club will survive without me. You can always get Cady to do it. I’m sure she’d love something for her college application.”

“Oh my God, Cady,” he says.

Why did she bring up Cady? she thinks as another wave of sadness crashes over and drowns her.

“Have you told her?” She shakes her head, swallowing the lump in her throat.

“How could I?” she says. “You’re… you’re one thing. Cady’s another.” She leans her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes. “I don’t know how to do that to her.” Damian hums in understanding. He doesn’t need to ask what she means. He saw her at her absolute worst five years ago, at her most scared and angry and broken. He’s seen everything there is to her and it hasn’t pushed him away. Cady thinks she’s seen the bad, but that’s just scratching the surface. While she heard how it was back then, Damian lived and breathed it.

What she has with Cady is perfect, far too perfect to be scarred by something like this.

“You know… I could tell her for you,” he offers. “If it’s too much for you.”

“No,” she cuts him off, opening her eyes. “I can’t make you do that.”

“You’re not making me do anything,” he tells her. She nods, but the conversation ends there. Of course he’d do that for her. He’s the most loyal person she’s ever met, worthy of the Hufflepuff badge on his backpack. He’d move Heaven and Earth for the people he loves, especially in their hour of need. Or months of need, she guesses is her case now. He deserves endless happiness and love and joy, and an amazing senior year.

Seconds pass in silence before she croaks out “I’m sorry”.

“Did you just apologise for having cancer?” he asks. He shifts and tilts her head to make her look at him, his hands cupping her face and his eyes severe. She’s never seen him like this before, completely serious, devoid of jokes or laughter, and it makes her nervous. “Janis Catherine Sarkisian, don’t you dare. Don’t you dare apologise for this. This isn’t because of you. This is because… I don’t know. But it’s not you.”

“Okay.” She covers his hands with hers, her breath catching. His thumbs wipe at her wet cheeks and she wonders what she did to deserve him. “Okay, I won’t.”

“Good.” His voice cracks and two tears race each other down his cheek landing in his lap. He takes a heavy, shaking breath before continuing. “You’re going to be okay. You’re going to be fine.”

“Of course you’d say that,” she mumbles, their clasped hands now sitting between them.

“You will be,” he says again, a fierce determination shining on his face. “Even if I have to go in there and physically fight that cancer myself.”

“You’d win,” she tells him, sniffling. They sit in the quiet, letting the weight of her news settle over both of them, a new and terrifying reality looming in front of them. Then she reaches out and pulls him into a hug; her arms wrapped around him, her head in the crook of his neck. As he hugs her back, she can feel the anxiety in his touch and how his touch is far more careful now. Like she’ll break if he holds her too much. But there’s also courage in there and above all, so much tenderness and it makes her heart grow and almost burst out of her stone cold chest.

“I love you,” she whispers against his shirt.

“I love you too,” he replies, ferocity in his voice, and Janis is struck by just how grateful she is that her best friend is Damian.

Congratulations, Honey! You are accepted for the role of Mandy Silverman. This is another sample application for potential applicants to have a look at. You’ll notice that this is quite a long application, but that’s just how I write. You can do whatever you like with yours! If you have any questions about this application or any characters with a connection to Mandy, don’t hesitate to let me know.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Name: Honey Age: Twenty five Pronouns: She/her Timezone: GMT+11 Activity estimation: I essentially work full time and have several obligations, but this group is so tightly organised and planned that I’m confident in participating regularly on the dashboard and as an admin! My admin duties will always take precedence but I will be able to reply to threads several times a week. Triggers: (REDACTED)

IN CHARACTER: BASICS

Full name: Amanda “Mandy” Silverman Age (DD/MM/YYY): Thirty (02/03/1966) - Pisces (Sun), Virgo (Rising), Cancer (Moon) Gender: Cisgender female Pronouns: She/her Sexuality: Homosexual homoromantic Occupation: Adult Education Coordinator Connection to Victim: Mandy did not know the Goode family. She knew of them in the way all newcomers to Devil’s Knot are known: through rumor and glimpses in the Piggly Wiggly parking lot. Mandy had little to do with Linda; she’d seen David and Beth at school, when she’d gone in to meet Mary after work; but she’d never met Brian at all. Alibi: Mandy was at home that Saturday working on a craft project. She ran out of glue at around three, then walked into town to go to the craft store, where she spent a few dollars too many on a crocheting kit. She decided to pick up some coffee and doughnuts then walked back home, where she stayed for the rest of the day.  Faceclaim: Elizabeth Olsen

WRITING SAMPLE

 This is a self para written for the Mandy in 1984.

The Datsun.

It was such a shit little car. Really, it was. Sandy’s miscellaneous paraphernalia littered the dashboard. Her dad’s manuals and work shit stuffed beneath the front seats. Pete had stamped grubby hands all over the back windows - people asked them all the time if they had a dog. “No,” Mandy replied grimly, hoisting Pete up on one hip. “Just a kid.” The motor turned over more often than she could count, which would put her father, ever the optimist, into an agitated but vaguely amused mood. Him, hunched over the wheel, grinding the key, revving the engine, If I… could just... Then, Sandy, cranky and likely hungover, snapping from the passenger side: I told you we needed it serviced! They had about a thousand tapes in the center console, most of them in the wrong cases, with a mix that spanned from Bob Dylan to Pete’s ABC children’s songs. Them, zooming along a damp highway, rain splattering the glass, her dad cheerfully singing, The wheels on the bus go ‘round and ‘round! as Pete laughed in delight. Mandy tries to forget that she’d eventually lose her temper and shout, Can we turn this stupid shit off? as her mother mumbled, Amen, behind enormous sunglasses and a gas station Slurpee.

The Datsun, which was rotting away at the police station right this second. Mandy hasn’t asked when they’ll get it back. It’s evidence, that’s it. She has her bike or her skates and Sandy doesn’t leave the house unless she has a ride (Aisha pulling up front and blasting the horn; Sandy, clattering around gathering her things, muttering, Where’s my goddamn…). Their family car is nothing more than a shell, a marker in the Pete and Phillip Silverman’s trail to murder. Kind of like a pit stop. Wrappers marked with imaginary blood stains littering the cab floor. That clean-sour smell of nervous sweat. Her Dad was always a sweater, mopping his brow and fanning himself, Jeez, it’s hot today. Mandy kind of loved that about him. How when she was looking for him in a crowd, she just had to search for the slightly damp white button-down, the back of his nearly-balding head. His hair was soft, like down, and Pete’s was too. Two twin sandy blonde heads sitting in front of the television, Pete curled into his father’s side, Phillip slowly stroking back those baby-shampoo-soft curls.

So, yeah. The Datsun. Scene of family road trips and midnight grocery store emergencies. A wreck that managed to limp from point A to B, with her dad faithfully in the front, eager to drive her to friends’ houses or cheer practice or a competition two towns over. She still thinks about winding the windows down as far as they could go when they were on the highway. Her dad would look over, catch her eye, and grin in a way that made her think of him as a teenager, a young man, that cheerful abandon of youth that was infectious as a whisper, goose-bumps prickling her arms.

“Shall we see how fast this baby can go?” He’d yell, and Mandy would laugh and laugh: “Go, Dad, go!”

ANYTHING ELSE?

Here is my Pinterest board for Mandy (featuring ‘84 and ‘96 boards, because I’m that kind of person), and her account can be found here.

HEADCANONS

Mandy works at the Community Centre as an Adult Education Coordinator. Which is just a fancy way of saying she organises craft classes for senior citizens. Seriously. Mandy picked up the job mainly to get Sandy off her back. After commuting to Lansing to attend community college, her decision to drop out and live and work in Devil’s Knot was met, unsurprisingly, with a pointedly raised eyebrow and a loud slurp from a glass of wine. And Mandy knew, she just damn knew, that if she stuck around her childhood home any longer, she and Sandy would end up killing each other. The job isn’t taxing: she works a few days a week, has a desk up on the mayor’s floor in the Community Centre, and spends way too much time putting flyers together for their new pasta making courses or adult literacy classes. The administration is what really bothers her, because the students are lovely. Little old ladies she’s known for years; grandfathers who remember her father back in the day. Best of all, they like her. Mandy wouldn’t consider herself a charismatic person, but she is a patient one. She’ll listen to a grandmother’s story a thousand times, nodding in the right places, exclaiming, asking questions. She’s gentle. Around other people it can be a slightly different story. She’s not clipped, exactly, nor is she rude. But she is shy, and Mandy is naturally suspicious. When people stop her to talk, she hesitates. It would be too much to link that back to ‘84, although there’s little doubt that that October and the months that followed succeeded in severing her trust in adult figures for life. No, Mandy prefers to keep to herself, to the people she knows. It’s safer that way; controllable.

Mandy loves movies -- always has. Bobby, Mandy, and Perry always went on about music, talking rapturously about guitar solos and funky beats, all while Mandy pretended to grimace and trade teasing looks with Jenny and Mike. But movies. Mandy’s favourite genre is horror. Surprising, maybe, but she can’t get enough. Sci-fi is her second favourite. Her ritual is to go down to the Videoport on a Friday afternoon and stock up for the weekend. She trails down the aisles, fingers skating over the titles, looking for some weird German expressionist thing or a summer blockbuster she can zone out to. Mandy would hardly consider herself a connoisseur, but she has an encyclopedic knowledge for actors and actresses, and can name their filmography from memory just by looking at them. It’s like, one of her only talents.

Mandy enjoys cooking. She mainly enjoys cooking for Mary, who will always, without fail, praise her skills until Mandy’s rolling her eyes and begging her to stop. Even if it’s crap (which it is a lot of the time; God knows Sandy never taught her to cook; this was all the result of afternoon cable and Reader’s Digest), Mary will come up and hug her from behind, kissing the side of her neck, suffusing Mandy in warmth and her spicy perfume. That was so good. You’re so good to me. Doing things for people is Mandy’s way of showing she loves them. It doesn’t matter what it is -- laundry, vacuuming, cooking -- she’ll find herself doing things automatically. It’s a little funny that she’s turned into a housewife ever since moving out with Mary, but it’s also really damn nice. Mandy looks after their small apartment so tenderly. Watering the plants on the windowsill, buying kitsch ornaments from the thrift store, airing out their cramped bedroom in the spring sunlight. Much of Mandy’s life revolves around domestic duties. She picks up the mail, pays bills, goes grocery shopping. Mary comes too, of course, but doing things together in public can get difficult when all Mandy wants to do is kiss her deeply in the fruit and vegetable section. Mary’s full-time job is also demanding, and Mandy only works a few days a week (despite what you may believe, there are not that many adult education classes to organise; the biggest scandal was when they introduced a salsa class and everyone collectively lost their minds). Maybe, in some way, it’s Mandy’s way of holding up her end of their relationship. And maybe, in a deeper, smaller way, it’s also an excuse. If she’s busy, how can she possibly go back to college? Who’ll make apple crumble and fold the socks? Huh? The pixies? If this makes Mandy sound territorial, it’s because she is. She clings to these chores because it’s far easier than thinking about the alternative, which is to get off her ass and actually make something of her life. She’s thirty years old. Nearly thirty one. And she’s got absolutely nothing to show for it. That hurts more than anything. Maybe that hurts most of all.

Mandy is a lesbian. She knew. Even when she was a teenager, she sort of knew. She and Mike started dating when they were thirteen and just... kept going. Certain things seemed inevitable: prom, college, maybe even marriage. It was so simple to imagine her life with Mike, whose family, the Hawkers, were best friends with her parents; they’d all been born months apart; they were raised together. Most of Mandy’s childhood memories involve Mike and Mary, Jenny. They tumbled around together like puppies, climbing trees and having sleepovers. Then they started to grow up, and Mandy and Mike got together, and the atmosphere shifted a little. Mandy liked Mike. She did. Maybe she loved him, in a way. But it was so, so platonic, and the way she felt when she looked at Mary was anything but. Mary used to scare her; still does, sometimes. She was a force of nature and Mandy was the eye of the storm. Looking back, the signs were obvious, but then again, they always are.

Mandy used to dress the way people expected her to dress. T-shirts and jeans, bleached white sneakers and cheer uniforms. Not feminine enough to please Jenny, who’d wrinkle her nose and fondly say, “Mandy, are you kidding? You cannot wear that,” and not masculine enough for her dad, who’d hand her wrenches as he worked on the Cadillac on weekends, shooting sidelong glances at her squad jumper, mumbling, “You’ll get grease all over you, honey.” Scrunchies and high ponytails. Pale pink jackets and a signet ring Mike gave her when they were fourteen. Just enough to be acceptable; to be palatable. To blend in, fade away, be nothing at all. These days it’s the opposite: Mandy dresses like an amorphous blob. In fact, she’d rather people hazard a guess at what she really looks like underneath her oversized flannel shirts and huge boots. The more clothing she has on, the more protected she feels. Layers upon layers. Band shirts worn soft with too many washes; jeans more grey than black. She still has her pink jacket from high school (Mary hung it up in their wardrobe and shrugged when Mandy found it, saying, “You always looked cute, and I’m a sucker. So sue me.”) Mandy pulls her hair up and away from her face; she doesn’t wear make-up. Still has the signet ring, though. She’s a sentimental doofus, she knows.

Mandy loves arts and crafts. Pottery, weaving, knitting; painting, sketching, cooking. These are things that bring her peace, that quieten her inner world. Growing up, she wasn’t creative in the slightest. Mandy was decidedly pedestrian: the most creative thing she ever did was design banners for the cheer squad or doodle in the margins of her school notebooks. But after Pete was returned, she needed something, anything, to stifle the panic static in her brain. Countless nights were spent sitting on the couch in front of the television, Pete curled into her side, her doing finger knitting or making a collage, eyes darting between her project and the cartoon onscreen. Over the years she’s gotten better -- last winter she managed to knit Mary a hideous scarf -- but her hobbies were never pursued in the same vein as her other achievements. Mandy still remembers practicing for cheer for hours in the cold, or studying in her room until midnight, eyes dry and head aching, quietly panicking about a test the next day. Everything she did, she did obsessively. These days, Mandy just wants to be still. Their apartment is stuffed with half finished craft projects: stacks of coloured paper, jars of beads, wool in miscellaneous piles, flowers drying on the windowsill. Sometimes Mary will come home to find her sitting cross-legged at the kitchen table, a pot of sauce bubbling on the stove, Stevie Nicks in the background, Mandy carefully cutting out prints for her art journal. She started journaling when she was a teenager, mainly to help with her father’s murder and the stress of the subsequent trial, but it’s a habit that has followed her happily into adulthood. Mandy would be lost without her projects, her art. It’s a channel for everything she feels; it clarifies her. And it’s never undertaken with any attempt at perfection. Mandy’s learning, slowly, to let go of unattainable ideas. Life is messy. She’s trying to accept that about the world, herself.

Mandy failed community college. Well, it felt like she failed. In reality, she dropped out. There were only so many classes about psych and childhood trauma that she could take (and ironic, right? That she studied psych? Mandy remembers the day she flicked through the brochure to pick her classes, ticking boxes on the vague notion she’d specialise in children, maybe, in kids who’d been taken or abandoned, and help them find their childhood again). The people were too much. Tons of people like her -- great in high school, but not good enough for a decent college out of state -- and older people too, people who reminded her of her dad (not that he’d gone to college; he used to joke that that was all above his pay grade, No, no, I’m happy where I am! Although Mandy knew how avidly he poured over science magazines, and how impressed he was with Apple and that computer stuff. Maybe in another world he would have done something else, been someone great. Maybe it runs in the family). Mandy felt boring in turning down invitations to parties or even drinks down the campus bar. She’d cite anything -- Pete’s homework, the long drive home, dinner waiting -- and soon that got old. She felt old. Like she’d skipped the fun part of her twenties and jumped right into middle age. It didn’t help that everything after ‘84 melted her brain into goop. The minute Mandy received her final marks from school, she shoved the paperwork back into the envelope and hid it with her dad’s old things. The word failure pounded in her head. How did it happen? How could she have gone from mathletes and cheer to barely scraping by? To holding on by a thread? And why? Why did it all affect her so much; why was she such a damn baby about everything? Pete was back safe. That should have been enough, right? But his return didn’t come with everything. Somewhere between Pete disappearing and that Christmas, Mandy cut herself loose. Swapped SAT prep for making spaghetti for her returned little brother. Watching reruns on TV until it was way too late, tucking him into bed. Some nights she didn’t want to leave him, so she put out a sleeping bag on the floor by his bed between him and the door. Just in case. Mandy always wanted to go to Oberlin for one reason: it was far away from Devil’s Knot (and, okay, she liked the name). Ambition was a thing she wore because it fit, not because she liked it. Watching her dad’s face light up when she showed him her grades was reason enough to try hard; and studying with Bobby made her feel light, if only for a little while, them laughing and whispering about D&D campaigns, teasing each other like siblings. Being smart felt good, even if it didn’t come wholly naturally, and Mandy worked damn hard to keep it up. Giving it away should have been freeing. Instead, Mandy knows she disappointed everyone. She’s just another person who raced to the state line only to stop dead, toes at the edge, and feel fear prick the back of her neck. 

Survey #208

"if you want to soar with vultures, you'll have to swallow crow."

What may we call you? Brittany/Britt or Ozz/Ozzy. When can we send you a birthday card? (Figuratively, of course.): February 5th. And, where are you calling from? (Again, figuratively.): Please free me of the sweltering grip of North Carolina. What is your favorite Hostess/Little Debbie snack? BIIIIIIHHHHH that's too hard. I love that shit. I love the honeybuns, Twinkies, those little chocolate cupcakes... and really just most things lkdjalksdjwoe. Do you/your family buy loaf from the bakery or bagged on the shelf? Bagged. White, wheat or other? Mom usually buys whitewheat, but sometimes just wheat because she knows I prefer it. Have you ever fixed something without knowing just how you did it? I'm sure I have at some point. When was the last time you were on a plane? Last December. Where were you going and why? To Sara's for her birthday. What’s the best news you’ve gotten lately? Mom found a serious deal for a brand new Canon camera with more focal length range than my previous one and she bought it right in time for the wedding I shot yesterday. :') ^And, the worst? My niece may already be developing schizophrenia. If you could invent something, what would it be? Uhhhh... just one is hard. I literally just thought about this for like 5+ minutes and can't think of one singular invention that would actually be important. Well, maybe some sort of totally natural, long-lasting preservative for food? That'd help so many people and would greatly decrease the amount of fruits and such we waste, and it would also save money with probably slightly decreasing the frequency of grocery shopping. Tell me about your favorite pair of pants. I literally just have black yoga/dance pants lmao. Do you like getting dressed up? NO. Is your technology up to date? Depends on how "up-to-date" you mean. My stuff definitely isn't totally current. Ever been stuck next to someone really annoying on a LONG plane/train ride? Nah. Would you be embarrassed to find out you snored loudly in public? Yeah. Are you afraid of heights? Yes, to a degree. What is a compliment you get most often? "I like your hair"/stuff like that. Tell me about the last frightening/weird dream you had. This is hard, I like, never remember my dreams. Now, about the last pleasant dream you had. AHA I actually do remember this one: I got the rare-as-all-fuck and beautiful as all hell heavenly onyx cloud serpent in WoW, which I've tried getting every week for years. @_@ My eyes like popped open and I nearly gasped. Do you feel guilty about killing bugs? Sometimes. If there is a spider in your room, will you be up all night knowing that? YUP. How do you feel about coconut? I hate it. ^ Ever cracked one open? No. If you like someone, what do you do? Generally get shy and smile a lot when interacting with them. If you DON’T like someone, what do you do? Try to avoid being around them, keep talking to them to a minimum. What do you feel most insecure about? What DON'T I feel insecure about? Do you do your part to save the earth? I do what I can as not an independent adult (ex., I don't have my own car, so we don't drive to the dump). I turn the water off when brushing my teeth, I don't linger in the shower, I absolutely will not litter, things like that. Does it ROYALLY piss you off when your intended username is already taken? Yeesh, it doesn't even make me mad, it's just annoying. Describe your sunglasses. I don't have any. What’s the most you’ve spent on a pair of sunglasses? N/A ^Or, ladies, what about a purse? No clue, but definitely not a lot. Actually, what’s the most expensive clothing item/accessory you own? Again, I don't know. What is your favorite spoken language to listen to? Latin. Is there a TV switched on in the room you’re in? There is no TV. If so, what’s on? N/A What room of the house are you in anyway? My bedroom. Do you own anything that is special edition? I think some games, maybe? Maybe other things? Do you have any funky bookmarks? I have one of those moving 3D ones of meerkats. Do you know anyone with a British accent? Not personally. Are you reading any books at the moment? No. If so, tell me the plot briefly. N/A. When did you last get delivery pizza? A few weeks back. Drake Bell or Josh Peck? Back when the show was current, I preferred Drake. I know nothing about him now; Josh is cool, though. When was the last time you had a tick on you? EW idk I don't even wanna think about it. Do you watch Adult Swim? No, I hate it. It's crawling with immature humor. Have you been to the Grand Canyon? No. What is your favorite type of donut? Glazed or plain. Who usually makes dinner in your household? Mom. Name ALL the colors you’re wearing. Oh jeez, I have on a really colorful Day of the Dead-style skull tank top. Literally like every possible color. Are there more females or males in your family? Females. Have you submitted anything to Urban Dictionary? No. Did you have a Gameboy? If so, do you still have it? Yes to both. Is there a playground anywhere near your house? Define "near." Not very. Does anyone in your family snore loudly? Mom. What’s your favorite cereal? Probably Cinnamon Toast Crunch. Or Crunch Berries, the all berries kind. Do you read reddit? If so, how often and what subreddits do you like? No. Do you know anyone who’s had a baby recently? An old best friend from high school. When was the last time you ate marshmallows? Not since Sara was here and we had s'mores last summer. Do you listen to any podcasts? How do you listen to them? No. What brand of toilet paper do you usually buy? I don't pay attention to whatever Mom gets. Why did you leave your last job? The stress was giving me panic attacks. Have you ever eaten at a restaurant and left without paying? No. What was the last thing that made you laugh out loud? Probably Mark or GameGrumps. How old were you when you first became sexually active? 16. What’s your opinion on The Simpsons? I don't have one. Do you know anyone who has been through a divorce? Plenty of people. Do you have to pay for parking in most places in the town/city you live in? No. Can you hear lots of traffic from your house? Does it bother you? A moderate amount. We live on a busy road. Would someone being either a cat or dog person effect you dating them? No. What is the smallest thing you lose your temper over instantly? Hm, idk. Talk to me like I'm an idiot will definitely get me, actually. What’s a job that doesn’t get enough respect? Mfckn teachers. They are WAY WAY WAY underpaid. What did you take for granted until you visited another country? Never left the country. What is the worst first date you’ve been on? Tyler had a flat tire, and we had to walk to the gas station for something I don't remember and back to the sketchy tire place, and it was SO cold and windy. It didn't actually bother me, like he felt godawful and it wasn't like it was in his power, but from a date standpoint, yeah, that was an event. Who is your favorite scientist and why? I'm not educated enough on various scientists for this. Do you prefer emoticons or emoji? Emoticons. What’s the hardest task you’ve ever had to do? Open my mind in partial hospitalization to let Jason go and recover. How did you meet your pet? Teddy was from a friend of a family friend who knew we were looking for a dog. He was a present for me, so I didn't actually pick him, but rather Ashley chose the last remaining puppy with brown on him, and boy did she make the best decision. Roman was one of the shitload of kittens Ash's mother-in-law had; I was immediately drawn to him with his beautiful blue eyes. <3 Venus was from an online hub of ball python breeders, and I just absolutely fell in love with her colors. Kaiju and Mitsu were both from Craigslist. Do you look like any of your grand- or great-grandparents? I don't have a clue. Did/Do you have any PEZ dispensers? Oh yeah. Do you like grapes or raisins better? I only like grapes. What is the most extreme weather your area has ever experienced? I looked it up; the coldest in history is -9*, highest is 105*. Is there anything you plan on watching on TV today? No. Are there any broken appliances in your house? Maybe. Mom may still have my old Sager in hopes of fixing it one day or something, but I feel like we finally got rid of it. What color is the lampshade in the room you’re in? I don't have a lamp in here. At school, what is/was your worst area in math? I don't remember. Have Jehovah's Witnesses ever called to your door? Yes. Do you ever throw money in those ‘wishing’ wells? No. Waste of coins. Ever take money out of them? No. Are you well known by people in your area? No. What is the picture on the desktop on the computer you’re using? A meerkat. Have you ever had your future told? No. Do you 'spit on it’, to seal a deal? No no no ew. Have you ever experienced sleep paralysis? No, thank god. If so, have you had any scary hallucinations? N/A Do you believe in ghosts? Totally. Would you ever stay overnight in a haunted house? Sure thing. When was the last time you had an injection? What for? Months ago when I was getting a cavity filled at the dentist. For some reason, I would NOT go totally numb until they gave me like 5+ doses. Is there anything you cannot wait to be over? This eternally-looping groundhog's day bullshit. I want a job, to be in school, friends, just a damn purpose. Do you have any enemies? "Enemies," no. People I don't like that also don't like me, yes. What was the last thing you had done at the dentist? Speak of the dentist, lol. Said cavity filling. Do you scrunch your face up when eating sour things? No, I'm not very affected by sour things. As a child, did you ever get the chance to go to Disney World/Disneyland? World, yes. <3 Are you someone who is really committed to politics in your area/country? No. When was the last time you were on a boat? Where did you travel on it? Two summers ago when I was fishing with Colleen, her husband, and dad. Does your family ever have any kind of weird traditions in your house? No. What would you consider your favorite movie from a different decade? The Lion King. Do you ever take bubble baths only to relax yourself in some way? I never take any kind of bath. When was the last time you were sick? What were you sick with and why? I don't remember. Have you ever wanted your significant other to get rid of a friend? Yes, though I had serious reason, but I wasn't in any way demanding about it/nothing was actually affected by them remaining friends. If you have siblings, have they moved out or do they still live with you? They've both moved out. Do you know anyone who has or has had any kind of mental illness/disorder? I'd love to meet someone who can possibly say "no" to this. Do you ever go to Blockbuster? How frequently would you say you go? *stares off into the distance wistfully* Is your mother a stay-at-home mother or does she work somewhere? She never stops working. What food would you just want to disappear off the face of the earth? Nothing? I'm not going to take away the diet of people depending on some source I just happen to hate. Do movies with super heroes intrigue you in any way? Why is this? Yeah, I just like fantasy stuff, and I enjoy the majority of the plots. I also just enjoy the idea of superheroes existing. Do you watch those late-night talk shows? What’s the best part about them? No. Do you ever listen to music so you can actually change your emotion? I try to sometimes. Do you like shopping alone? I've never really shopped alone. Does your best girlfriend have any talents that you don’t? Yeah, like she can animate pretty well! Have you ever written a song? I wrote a fucking song to the Nintendogs theme as a kid lmfao. Does anybody send you money in the mail for your birthday? My grampa always did, but he's sadly passed away, so now, no. Do you own any shirts that have a year on it? Ha ha, I have a Back to the Future shirt stored somewhere with the date on it, and it says "I was there." What do you think about mullets? I absolutely hate them. Would you rather date an actor or an athlete? I find actors more talented. I'd be afraid of an athlete s/o getting hurt, too. Do you have any scratches on your cell phone? No. Somehow. When was the last time you blushed? I don't remember, it's definitely been a while. Who is one person you met and automatically didn’t like? A doctor for my tremors. She was a BITCH with just such an unlikable, dull personality. Never went back to her. Do you have any video game systems in your room? Which one(s)? I have a Nintendo DS Lite somewhere... and then my laptop is actually a gaming laptop. What movie coming out do you really want to see? The. Live action. TLK. First day? I'm fuckin' THERE son. Is your skin tone lighter or darker than your mom’s? We're about the same. What is the best thing about the beach? All I care about is if the water's warm. Have you ever done another person’s make-up? I gave Jason a makeover once lmao. Have you ever spied on your neighbor? No. Do you think they’ve ever spied on you? No. What color eyes does the last person you kissed have? Brown. Honestly, do you double dip? No, I break chips apart. I will if I'm eating by myself, though. What color is your birthstone? Purple. What is one thing you don’t like sharing? Hmmm. Oh, probably candy, lmao. Where on your body would you NEVER get a piercing? Downstairs. Which Adam Sandler movie do you like the most? He's been in so many, I don't have a clue. I like him, though. Who was one of your first celebrity crushes? Jesse McCartney was my husband. Did your parents ever read stories to you before bed? Mom did. What are you listening to? "Queen For Queen" by Motionless In White. Do you like hickeys? If they're not in an obvious spot. Do you hate the person you fell the hardest for? No. When was the last time you talked to one of your best friends? I don't have a best friend besides Sara, and I talk to her everyday. Is there someone that makes you happy every time you see them? Sara. Do you believe what goes around comes around? Not always. Do you have any summer plans yet? No. I'd like to go up and visit Sara, but I have no clue if that'll happen, especially with me trying so hard to get a job. Do you have any good friends of the opposite sex? One. Do you have a secret that you’ve never told anyone? Yes. Have you ever regretted kissing someone? Yes. Do you think age matters in relationships? To an extent when a minor is involved. Even huge gaps in adult relationships creep me out, but there's nothing morally wrong with it. How many people have you had real, strong feelings for since high school ended? Two. Do you believe exes can be friends? It depends on the intensity of the relationship, I think. Plus what went wrong. Did you ever lose a best friend? Yeah. Has the last person you kissed ever seen you cry? Lol poor thing's seen me sob. Are most of your friend guys or girls? Girls. When was the last time you took a long drive? A few days ago to my psychiatrist. About an hour drive. Have you ever played Spin the Bottle? No. Have you ever TP'd someone’s house? Well, considering I've never been that damn immature, no. Who do you text the most? Sara. What was the last movie you saw? Detective Pikachu. It was cute, although I was expecting it to be more targeted towards an older audience with Ryan Reynolds playing Pikachu. (I knew nothing about it going into it.) Are you a monogamous person or do you believe in open-ended relationships? I'm monogamous. What do you most like about making out? The touching/caressing. Have you ever casually made out with someone who you weren’t seriously involved with? No. Would you get involved with someone if they had a child already? No. Do you miss your last sweetie? Not romantically. It'd be nice to hang out again, though. Have you ever gotten back in touch with an old flame after a time of more than 3 months of no communication? No. If you could kiss anyone who would it be? Y'all been known. What’s your favorite flavor of soda, pop or whatever else you call it? Blue raspberry. Have you ever attended a religious or private school? Yes; I went to Sunday school. How many cars does your household own? One. What time do you usually have dinner? 4:00 for fasting reasons. What’s your favorite meat? Probably chicken. Do you need glasses to read or drive or need them all the time? I always need them. Are you a very forgetful person? I'm so forgetful that I literally sometimes have borderline anxiety attacks that I'm developing dementia or something at age 23 lmao. What is the best gift anyone has ever gotten for you? My dog. Do you look anything like you did 3 years ago? I guess somewhat, though I was way bigger and my hair was much longer. Have you done something dramatic to your looks in the past year? No. Make up or no make up? I think everyone inevitably looks better with make-up as it enhances features and dulls imperfections, but I personally couldn't care less if you wear it or not. I almost never do, so I can't talk. What’s your favorite thing to watch on the TV? IF I was to watch TV now, probably things like animal documentaries. Would you rather be anorexic or obese? Actually go fuck yourself. Do you upload videos to YouTube? Definitely not regularly. I don't know the next time I'll make one. Do you own any albums by Michael Jackson? No. Do you like your phone on silent or vibrate? Vibrate. Do you like Beavis and Butthead? I don't watch it, but it honestly seems pretty damn stupid. What do you believe happens after we die? Who even knows, really. I believe there's something after we die, but we'll have to wait to find out what. Does the concept of eternity scare you? It kinda... does, actually? Like, wouldn't it get boring eventually? Are you happy that you were born and raised where you were? I suppose. Are your parents still together? No. Do you know anyone who is pregnant right now? Yes, and I want to see their fckng son he's gonna be so cute. She's due soon and I pray I get to take pictures of him. Is there a band you like but don’t like the people in it? Blood On The Dance Floor and Otep. Well, Otep is respectable in some areas, but all things considered, she is a bitch. What tabs do you have open right now? Fucking five YouTube tabs, dA, and Tumblr. Who was the last person to write on your wall on Facebook? No clue, and I don't feel like looking. Have you ever seen a tornado in person? Thank Christ in Heaven no. Are you between the ages of 30 & 40? No. How much was a gallon of gasoline when you first started driving? I have no clue, when I got my permit. What was your first car? N/A Who taught you how to drive? My driver's ed teacher and my mom. What was your high school mascot? A firebird. Did you go to your senior prom? Yes. What did you do after graduation? Honestly? I don't even remember, almost at all, lmao. I either went to Jason's or went home/Jason came with me. Any posters on your bedroom walls growing up? When Nicole and I shared a room, she literally covered the fucking walls in Jonas Brothers shit while I was at a friend's house, and I was. Very. Very. Unhappy. Do you remember the first time you drank a beer? I've never had beer, don't want to. Did you ever try cigarettes? No. How did you spend your summers growing up? Swimming, hanging out with friends, playing outside, riding bikes, playing softball with Dad, playing video games... If you could change anything from your teenage years, would you? Hey, could I have been like, a happy teenager??? Do you remember your first time? No considering at that time I didn't realize it essentially was sex, so it wasn't something that stood out at the time. After high school - straight to college or straight to work? I went straight to college. Favorite home-cooked meal growing up? Spaghetti. Favorite place to eat out growing up? It was probably McDonald's. How many stuffed animals do you own? I literally have multiple huge bags in the attic of childhood stuffed animals I couldn't get rid of, lmao. Are you good at comebacks? WOW no. When’s the last time you watched the news? I don't have the slightest idea. Do you love Christmas time? Of course. Do you really think that the number 13 is unlucky? No. What’s your favorite flavor of cough drops? Omggg I love those strawberry ones. Do you have a fan in your room? Yes. I wouldn't survive without it. Do you think Cookie Monster is cute? I don't really feel either way. Do you like candy canes? Yes. Have you ever had a dream where you killed someone? Yes. Which is worse: stuffy nose or runny nose? Probably stuffy? I don't have a runny nose much, but I've got pleeeenty of experience with stuffy noses. Which is worse: Sick to your stomach or sore throat? THE FORMER. What’s your favorite smiley face? c: Do you think your last relationship was a disaster? No. How many concerts have you been to? One. :/ Would you ever join a band? If I was actually talented with the guitar, maybe, but as things are now, nope. Which internet browser do you use? Chrome. Do you know anyone who is a firefighter? No. What was the last wedding you went to? Just a few days ago for a lady who contacted me about shooting hers. It was a great one, and honestly wonderful to see an interracial wedding here in the South. You do nooot see that everyday. What’s your favorite alcoholic beverage? Margaritas. When was the last time you saw a photo of your ex? Probably the last time I was uploading pictures from my old phone; it's the one I take the once-a-year selfie because the Samsung camera is ACTUAL trash. Do you “binge-watch” TV shows? No. Well actually, on the occasions Sara and I have, I can only handle a handful at a time before I completely lose focus on it or, at that time anyway, interest. What is your opinion of clowns? I don't have one. Do you play any games on your phone? Only Pokemon GO if I'm somewhere I can actually play it. Do you plan ahead when it comes to your outfits? No. Have you ever shaved your face? We have this tiny automatic razor thing for your upper lip, and I use that like once a month or less because yay having dark body hair. What color is your front door? White. What was the last vaccination you got? Whatever those mandatory ones are when you become a teenager. Idr. Would you ever try herbal medicine as opposed to conventional medicine? No. If I need medicine for something, I'm using something I know works. Have you ever been to a petting zoo? I think as a kid? Do/did you have a curfew set by your parents? It wasn't heavily enforced, but Mom preferred I be home by 10 if I went somewhere. How many times have you consumed alcohol? *shrugs* When was the last time you wore a hat? What kind? I have noooo clue. When was the last time you sang an ENTIRE song? Good question. I rarely sing an entire song, rather just parts. Do you consider yourself to be attractive? I don't mind my face, but I do NOT like my body, so overall, no. Are you addicted to anything? Technology. What are you craving right now? I've had an insane craving for hot dogs on the grill for like a week now lmao. Mom's doing that and buying some drinks today for the two of us. I wanted my sisters to come for some family time, but my younger sister has homework, and then Ash and kids like... never come here. "Because of the dogs," according to her husband, but I don't believe that. Are you a forgiving person? I'm way too forgiving. Do you have a brother? Yes. Have you ever had a dream of stabbing someone? WHOA actually I think I semi-recently had a nightmare of me going ham stabbing someone for some reason I don't remember. What would you want your last words to be if you could choose them? "I love you" or then "see you on the other side" is cute to me and also indicates we'll be together again. So probably the latter. What band can’t you stand listening to? I reeeaaally dislike Mumford and Sons. His voice is awful. What is your favorite mystery/crime/FBI related show? Does Sherlock count as a mystery show? Would you ever have a bird as a pet? Nah. How’s your relationship between you and your grandparents? Not wonderful. I don't like her very much, and evidence says I'm not her favorite person, either. Do you have a photographic memory? No. Have you ever had to speak at a funeral? No. Do you know someone who’s been cremated? Hm, don't think so. Have you ever talked to someone when they were high? Yes. Your ex is on the side of the road, on fire. What do you do? Uh, call 911??? Dunk water on him if at all possible? I'm not just gonna drive past anyone who's on fucking fire. It’s 2 in the morning and you get a text message, who is it most likely? Sara. I only ever text her and Mom, and Mom would be right outside my door asleep, so. Ever cried while you were on the phone with someone? Is there anyone who hasn't? When was the last time you saw your father? Not since his birthday last month. Do you like any of Justin Bieber’s songs? No. Any time when you need to search something on the Internet, which search engine do you use? Google. Do you believe saving your virginity for marriage or no? I don't care. I believe in saving it for someone you truly, deeply love. When you were a kid, did you ever like Barney? Yes. Omfg I just remembered something with my older sister; when she was little, Barney was her "boyfriend." She was "talking on the phone" with him once, and when Mom interrupted her, she scoffed and said, "I'm talking to Barney." And then Ash and Barney had an ACTUAL "ceremony" for a divorce. That's a thing that happened. What’s the capital of state, country, or providence you live in? Raleigh. When you open your web browser, what is your home page set to? Why did you select this? Google. I think it was automatically set. Would you allow a camera crew to follow you around and make a reality series out of your life (no matter how boring it is) if you got paid well? Why? No. I'd get so fucking annoyed, I'd feel under constant scrutiny, and I don't want fame. If your car broke down would you call a friend or family member to pick you up or would you call AAA (or something like it)? I'd call my mom and listen to her on what to do from there. Do you put a lot of thought into the gifts you buy for people? YEAH. It's rare I actually have my own money to buy gifts for anyone, so when I can, I think hard. On an average day do your thoughts tend to be more positive or negative? Negative, I think. Do you ever trust anyone else to drive your car? If you don’t have a car, do your friends and family ever allow you to drive their vehicles? I don't have my own, but Mom lets me drive hers. Name at least one thing you like about each season. Winter: SNOW. Spring: Flowers!! Summer: swimming. Autumn: visuals. What amount of time do you think is perfect for a vacation? I guess a week?