Date: Mon, 14 Nov 2011 17:44:23 -0800 (PST)
From: Nate House <extreamlucky14@yahoo.com>
Subject: Loving A Shadow

This story contains explicit sexual action between two high school females
(and other people). If you're under legal age, or if this isn't your cup of
tea, please look no further. Though inspired by true events, this story is
a work of fiction. Some of the names have been changed to protect the
innocent and the guilty. This story contains material that some might
consider unnerving, so this warning is for you. And for those who are
looking to get a cheap high, this is not the story for you. I like to think
my stories are little more than skin deep. This is a work of fiction and
therefore any resemblance to any persons living or dead, real of fictional,
or any events, past or present, are entirely coincidental.

If you're familiar with this story, then I believe a little explanation
might be in order. Ever since I posted the last chapter (five years
ago?. . .damn) I really didn't like how I ended it. As a matter of fact, I
originally rewrote this story to be printed as a novel. During that time I
fell in love with how that version ended.  Now, taking into account that I
still get emails from readers of this tale, I feel that I can't keep it
from you any longer.

I can only hope you like it as much as I do. Questions, comments, concerns,
or compliments are always appreciated. One last note: Thank you to everyone
who wrote in to me on this story. You really have no idea how much that
means to us writers.

***********

Chapter One


*~*Des Moines, Iowa*~*

Misty found herself sitting in her bedroom staring at the boxes randomly
stacked on the floor. Most of her non-essentials were packed away, leaving
her with a room of white and pink walls and an empty closet. Her dresser
was already sitting in the moving van that's been parked in the driveway
for the last week, as was her bed, her TV, and most of the house. The
teenager just took a moment for it all to sink in, both the excitement and
the sadness. She was moving back to her hometown of Kennview and a lot of
her old friends, but at the same time she's leaving behind a lot of
memories. None the least of which was her girlfriend.

Misty felt a tear fall from her eye and wiped it away just as quickly. She
looked down at the two pictures she still hadn't packed away. One was of
her and her now-ex-girlfriend, Tabby, standing cheek-to-cheek, holding
Misty's National Cheerleading Runner-Up trophy. Misty remembered just how
proud she was of her girls that day, and how much her parents were proud of
her. She'd never seen Tabitha so happy, even when they shared their first
kiss.

She looked over at the other picture. That was the one that struck a deep
chord in her gut. It was one that her cousin, Diane, had sent of an old
friend of hers when they were kids. Misty's aunt took that candid shot at
the state fair eight years ago, the year after Misty and her parents moved
out here to Iowa. Diane had been best friends with the other girl in the
picture, Annebell, ever since they were born, and it shows in that
picture. They both looked so full of life, so youthful. Standing in line
for twenty minutes to ride that cheesy excuse of a roller coaster, they
didn't have a care or worry in the world. According to Diane, not much
around town has changed, but that has.

"Misty! Phone!" her mom called from downstairs.

Misty set the frames in the box and bounced out of the room. She skipped
the last two steps, landing with a thud. Her mom tossed her the phone and
went back to finish packing.

"Hello?" the raven-haired cheerleader asked.

"How's my favorite baby cousin?" Diane nearly shouted.

Misty made a sound of annoyance. "Yeah, by like two minutes."

"So, tomorrow's the big day? It sucks that you won't make it in time to
start the school year with the rest of us," the older one complained. Misty
could see the fake frown on her face, and giggled at the thought of
it. "What? I thought you liked hanging out with the cool kids."

"Yeah, as if," the brunette shot back. Misty caught sight of the boxes
littering the living room. The realization of the move hit her anew.
Diane's voice became a jumbled mess of static. Her dad emerged from the
black hole of the van and waved at her.

"Misty! You listening? Hello?"

"Yeah," she said blinking. "What was that?"

"HA! You're so a blonde in disguise."

The cheerleader frowned. "Am not."

"Lie to yourself enough it eventually becomes true," her cousin teased.
Diane took a breath and asked, "What I said was: are you ready for the big
day?"

"What 'big day'?" Misty asked, feigning confusion. "Did you miss your baby
cousin that much?"

"Hell no!" Diane shot back. They both laughed a little before the older one
repeated, "So, are you nervous about moving back?"

Misty looked up at the ceiling. "Yeah, I am actually. It's been so long
that I don't think anyone will remember me."

Diane scoffed. "Yeah, like you were memorable."

"Shut up. And yes I was. The boys couldn't stop talking about me,
remember?"

Diane made another humored noise. "Like you were ever attracted to them, my
little lesbo-cousin."

"Ow!"

"Hey, just sayin' it how it is."

Misty paused. The image of her pictures circled around in her head. "Do you
think they'll have a spot open for me on the squad by the time I get
there?"

"Psst, hell yeah they'll have a spot," Diane said. "They might even kick
someone off just to have you on the team. It seems like every time you make
a team you guys make it to the Nationals."

Misty smiled. "True, and we win something occasionally." Misty paused
again. Her hands were shaking at fearful rememberance to the hints her
cousin has given her throughout the years about the other thing on her
mind. "I've got something to ask you. Do you remember that Annebell girl?"

"What about her?" Diane answered a little too quickly. Her cousin reared
back at the harshness of her tone.

"Well, I was going through my stuff and I found that picture of the two of
you together and I was wondering --"

"Misty don't," Diane cut her off. "That was a long time ago."

"But you told me all those stories. Do you have any idea what they meant to
me?"

"Yeah, but trust me, she's not the same as she was back then. She's changed
somehow. Ever since she came out of the hospital she's been a completely
different person. The Annebell Amera that I grew up with doesn't exist. She
isn't worth your time, Misty. And besides no one likes her."

"I don't care, Diane. I love her. . ."

********************

*~*Kennview, the Cumberland Plateau*~*

Three weeks later...

Six on a Wednesday night. The sun was fully set and the late autumn night
air had already taken hold. Annebell Amera walked up the sidewalk to her
house, huddled underneath her coat. She looked at the all-too-familiar
silver Shelby Cobra parked in the driveway. She's seen that car before, at
least seven times. It meant that her mother had another one of her
"special" friends over. She let out a sigh at the thought and pulled the
key from her pocket. The hinges creaked to announce her arrival. Anne made
a mental note of fixing that tomorrow. The house was dark, nothing new
there.

Anne sighed again and looked around the living room. On the walls, where
old family portraits used to hang, one could see the drywall and plaster
peeking through the holes. Shattered glass was still lying against the
floorboards. Scattered randomly around the room were dents and much larger
holes, some going all the way through to the other side--courtesy of her
mother's drunk rage. The ripped-up carpet was stained by several different
bodily fluids of several different people. The hinges creaked as she shut
the door. On second thought, Anne mused, forget the hinges.

Anne shimmied out of her coat while trying to ear out what her mom and
'friend' were doing in the next room. When she heard her mother start
calling out to God, she let out a snort. "Right, God..."  she thought out
loud as she flung her backpack across the room, landing near the dining
room table.

"Oh God! Fuck me!"

Anne chuckled again and knocked on the door as she passed. She knew from
experience that meant she was in for a long night, why not let her mother
know she was home? A good mother always knows when her only child is home,
right?. Anne pondered that for a minute then let it pass, laughing inwardly
at the ridiculousness of the idea.

The teenager got to work making herself some dinner. At least the kitchen
was in decent shape. The walls were stained from old grease splatter and
the plaster was peeling, but all of the appliances worked. The tiles were
coming up, but they were all still in one piece. As she prepared the
ingredients, the teenager thought back to a time when she would beg her mom
to help. Her mother, Katharine, was always happy to oblige. Her daughter
had a natural gift when it came to cooking. She even fancied the idea of
sending her culinary school once she graduated, an idea that Anne used to
find appealing.

The two of them spent countless hours in the kitchen. They discussed
recipes, techniques, what schools she would go to, or just any other random
topic. Anne remembered thinking of the kitchen as her sanctum, a place for
mother-daughter bonding. But now... Anne slapped herself out of the
memory. It was a waste of time to think of such ancient trivia. Since her
dad and brother were murdered six years ago, Anne barely recognized her
mother. Whenever they spoke to each other nowadays the conversation often
ended with something being broken.

The brunette whipped herself up a new recipe she thought of during calculus
today. Apple-braised grilled chicken with sauteed cashews and
carrots. Pretty simple recipe, but the clean-up would be a bitch since the
glaze burnt to the skillet. Oh well, Anne thought. She plated up her dinner
and put the dishes in the sink to soak. She sat down at the table and tried
a bite. Not too bad, she thought nodding. She quickly stashed the recipe in
one of her backpack pockets.

Just like her normal routine dictated, Anne ate as she did her
homework. Despite that absurd noise coming from her mother's bedroom, she
managed to enjoy her dinner and get through all of her Advanced Placement
courses' assignments. In fact, she used her mother's not-so-subtle ecstasy
to her advantage, as she often did. If she could tune THAT out and still
get it done, then she isn't doing that bad.

Once Anne finished the dishes, she retired to her room. If one could call
it a room. The only furnishings were the small bed and meager dresser. Her
walls were barren and, just like the rest of the house, bereft of anything
that would indicate that someone actually lives here. No pictures, no
posters. Even the curtains were the lifeless color of flat gray. Anne
merely dwells here for nothing in this place has any semblance of
life. Prison cell would be a more accurate term.

She sat on the floor and prepared her lesson plans for tomorrow's class. As
part of her business class, she decided to be a tutor for the middle
school. It wasn't the best money in the world, but it paid the
bills. Twenty dollars per child per week. On average of about four hundred
dollars a week. Not bad for a seventeen year old working two hours a
day. That is until you take into account that she pays to keep the lights
and heat on, the water running, and the roof over their heads. Anne never
once asked her mom where her paychecks went. Truth is, she didn't want to
know. Long ago she resigned herself to the fact that that's how it was
going to be and there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it. Her only
joy in this world rested in the corner opposite her bed.

Her brother's guitar, or, as Anne liked to refer to it, her best
friend. Just like cooking, Anne was a natural at playing. She even helped
her brother and his band come up with some material and even lent her
talents to a couple of tracks, both guitar and vocals. But anymore it
served as the only way for her to keep her brother's, Jason, memory alive
and well. She has several books of poems and songs tucked away in her
closet that she's written over the years about whatever was on her mind at
that moment. The neighbors complain about it, but every so often Anne would
set the amp in her window and just play her heart out. Jams and riffs that
she would come up with on the spot.

Anne looked at the custom Kramer, and decided, "Not tonight." It was
already nine-thirty and she had to get ready for bed. She went to the
dresser and pulled out what she wanted to wear tomorrow. She changed into
those clothes and fell back on her bed. Outside, the man got into his car
and drove back to his wife and kids. Normal night so far. Anne listened to
him drive away, then started counting. Her mother should be coming through
her door in three. Two. One...

Katharine threw her daughter's door open, the door knob leaving another
indentation on the wall. "You've got a lot of explaining to do, you little
skank!" she shouted before taking another swig from the bottle of rum. Her
body was half-slumped and her words were slurred, but Anne has seen
worse. "Do you have any idea what time it is? And you come barging into my
house like you own the place. Where have you been all fucking day? Going
around town with your legs open? You waiting for... for someone to, to make
you his whore?" Anne just laid on her bed, looking up to ceiling. "Answer
me, you little bitch. You happy for what you did just now? I was just about
to cum when you knocked on that door..."

That did it. That was when Anne cracked a smile. Oh how she loves to piss
this woman off. When Kathrine took another drink, Anne used the pause to
speak up. "Yes, my sweet, mother," she said in her most darling voice, "I
am very happy for myself." Anne looked over to her mother and instantly
changed her tone. "I'm curious, though, did he have a problem getting off?
I mean, he wasn't as loud as last time and you were ten seconds late
tonight."

"Don't you fucking sass me you ugly slut!" Kathrine pointed with the
bottle.  "If you were looking to ruin my night, you did. I had to cut it
short with the best fuck I've had this week."

Anne sat up and glared at her mother. She kept that smile on her face, but
her tone became icy. "My fortunes are improving if I picked the best to
ruin. But you have me at a loss, why do you use the word 'short' so
easily?"

"Just die already!" Anne's mother threw the now-empty glass bottle at
her. Calmly, Anne raised her right arm to block it. The bottle shattered
against her wrist without so much as a flinch from the teenager. Anne held
her arm near her face and rolled her fingers. Her eyes narrowed into wanton
hate.

"As easily said into a mirror, my sweet mother."

Kathrine slammed the door shut, causing the frame to crack. She heard
something else in the living room shatter, then another door
slammed. Annebell laid back down on her bed resting her head against her
left hand. Just another day in the life of Annebell Amera. And, according
to the clock on her dresser, it ended before ten. "Mom's getting soft on
me," she mused before drifting off to sleep.

********************

The next morning's routine before school was nothing special. Anne's walk
to school--all five miles--was spent in the waxing hours of the sun; she's
always enjoyed the rising sun and the beautiful colors it displays. Exactly
why though, she couldn't say, but once the sun was fully over the horizon
all of that beauty dies, and Anne's discontent for everything else living
grows.

The morning bell rang. To all of the other students it was the sound of a
new day, one filled with the promise of boring classes and even lamer
teachers. A time to awaken and mingle with friends and classmates. But to
Anne it's her mental death knell. Once that bell goes off, all of her
emotional functions shut down. Once that bell goes off, Annebell Amera
becomes the "Bitch of Kennview High School".

The student body moved as a disorganized mob through the halls. Some going
straight to class, others stopping by their lockers first. All going about
their own business in their own way, with one exception: they all moved
aside whenever the Bitch would walk by. Some do it because they're afraid
of her, others because they simply don't want to be seen near her. Then
there are those who would like nothing more than to just beat the living
shit out of her. Anne's always chalked that up to her mom fucking either
one--or both--of their parents. However, whenever she caught sight of the
band geek clique, she suddenly had to go to her locker.

Her first two classes of the day were not her favorites, especially on days
like today when all they were doing was watching one of those cheesy
educational videos. Anne decided to use that time to get a few poems/songs
written. By the time both of those classes ended she had amassed over ten
projects to take home to Kramer.

As she walked through the chaos of the hallways to Calculus, Anne played
the songs in her head over and over again tying in the lyrics as she saw
fit. People cleared a path for her, even though she didn't realize it;
being hated can have it's perks too. She never once thought of the upcoming
class of lectures and work. Besides, she knew that she could teach the
class better than that old crone anyway.

Anne took her place of honor at center stage in the front row. She knows
that Ms. Warren can't stand the sight of her--thanks to mommy dearest--so
the look of disdain only served to humor her more. The rest of the class
filed in as the seconds counted down.

With her homework and notebook on her desk, Anne dared a look at the door;
a gnawing need to stare at the door held her attention rapt. She couldn't
look away--and she tried. She felt her heart skip several beats when the
bell rang. And it wasn't from the noise.

A vaguely familiar girl appeared in the doorway. A bit taller than herself
with smooth hair of ebony and skin so fair she looked like something from
her dearest dreams, an angel that somehow lost her wings and now lives
among the mortals. Anne's eyes followed the girl to Ms.

Warren's desk, and not because she looked good. Curiosity has a Siren's
voice, and until it's answered you just keep swimming.

The old crone escorted the new girl to the front of the class, Anne almost
laughed at how they looked together. She thought about how the old teacher
must have looked back in her prime and decided she didn't come close to her
new classmate. The humorous grin on the Bitch's face earned her a sneer
from the teacher; it's never a good thing to see Annebell in a good mood,
let alone smiling like that. Ms. Warren whispered something in the angel's
ear, pointing to one of the empty desks at the back of the room. She shook
her head, nodding to one next to "Miss Hell-on-Earth".

Rolling her eyes the Ms. Warren made the introduction. "Class, this is
Misty Thomas. She's just moved back to our little town from Iowa, so make
her feel welcome." It didn't escape Anne's notice that she looked directly
at her when that last word left her mouth. Misty took her chosen seat,
though a surprising one that had many snickering, and the lesson went on as
usual.

Well, as usual as it could be. Students would talk, teacher would bitch and
moan. Teacher turns around, students would pass notes. Teacher assigns
homework, students' turn to bitch and moan. Nothing out of place so far,
but something in the back of her mind kept Anne thinking that this was no
ordinary day. And when that bell resounded over the class, Anne had no way
of knowing that her life would soon be heading in another direction.


********************

Lunch time, Anne's favorite time of day. The loathsome creatures she
considers beneath her--everyone at the school--are too busy filling their
ears with the useless bullshit known better as gossip. And in so doing,
they leave her the hell alone. Just as I like it, she thought to herself as
she stood in line.

Today was taco salad day, her favorite. Personally she thought of it as the
only thing remotely edible in this building. She's been known to literally
fight her way through the crowd for this stuff. So every Thursday people
moved aside to let the Bitch through. Anne found herself standing at the
front of the line with a strange little smile on her face, unnerving
everyone; she simply didn't do that.

Anne ate as she read back over her work from earlier, tweaking it as she
saw fit. Satisfied with it for now, she turned her attention to her Physics
text. Only a few words into the next page, Anne felt a presence across the
table. She looked up in time to get an eyefull of someone's tits. Rather
good looking to say the least, she thought. Her dark eyes rising farther
north, the Bitch's gaze stopped at the eyes of the new girl, Misty
Thomas. Without a response of any kind, Anne went right back to her book
and food. It didn't escape her notice that a certain group of people were
looking at them and whispering.

"Hi! I'm Misty," she said that bubbly voice of hers, her hand reaching
across the table. If Anne heard the girl, she gave no sign. She just kept
reading and eating. After several moments of silence, Misty pulled her hand
back. "So do you have a name or do you just not talk?"

Anne kept any sarcastic answer to herself, remaining silent. The only
movement she made was to turn the page of her book. Mistaking her silence
as an opportunity to chat, Misty said, "You're in Physics, too? So am
I. What other classes do we have together? English? History? --"

Anne slammed her book shut making the brunette jump. "Presumptuous, rude,
arrogant, and most definitely less intelligent than she looks." Misty was
aghast, Anne went back to her reading. People around snickered and
whispered amongst themselves. Misty blushed in embarrassment; however, she
kept her resolve. Moving a lock of her long hair behind her ear, she leaned
over the table. On the floor one of Anne's poetry books lay opened. Without
thinking, Misty began to read it--and was quickly saddened by the lyrics.

Again, the cheerleader jumped. This time from Anne slamming the book onto
the table. Misty retreated back into her seat, earning even more jeers from
her fellow students. She looked into the girl's seething eyes, the power of
that look taking hold of her soul, twisting it away from whatever delusion
she might have had just moments ago.  "Don't. Ever. Do that. Again," Anne
growled each word. Misty gulped. "Leave."

"No." She countered weakly.

Anne cocked an eyebrow, not in anger but curiosity. The fear on the new
girl's face was amusing, but her resolve, however small, had the Bitch
interested. "People will talk about you, Miss Popularity Contest. Your
status among those worms with which you mingle will become even less than
the bad joke they pretend to be."

"So," Misty barely got out. "I've heard about you, you know." Anne remained
motionless. "What do you think they say?" The Bitch didn't respond beyond
reopening her book. "Don't you have anything to say?" A tear escaped her
eye.


Still reading, Anne said, "I believe I've said everything I care to say to
you, Misty Thomas. Leave."

"Are you always this mean? I'm just trying to be nice to you."

Anne let out an annoyed sigh and closed her book again. She took a bite of
her food, keeping eye contact with the shaking girl. "Your generosity is
wasted; I don't need your concern." Anne looked at the people watching the
scene. A toothy, deviant smile spread on her lips. Suddenly, Anne and Misty
were left alone.

"Pathetic roaches, each one them has the heart of the chairs on which they
sit." She looked back to the mortified cheerleader and said, "I asked you
nicely, did I not? Leave." Misty held her ground, though her pleading eyes
betrayed her resolve. Anne grimaced. "Suit yourself," she said and went
back to her lunch.

"Please, Anne, don't you ever say anything nice to people? I've heard so
many nice things about you -- " Anne's snort cut her off. "What?"

"Now that's funny," she said around her taco salad, pointing with her fork.

"Why?"

Anne swallowed and let out an exasperated sigh. "You come over here,
uninvited, and expect me to tolerate your scrawny ass. Funny. With
delusions floating in that sweet little mind of yours, you expect anything
less than my reputation. Funny. To even think I care about what these
witless worms say about me?" She nodded her head towards the cheerleaders'
table.

"Hilarious! Now, please return to whatever rock from which you crawled and
rid me of your stupidity."

Misty felt her heart sink, her brain went numb. "I just want to be your
friend, Anne."

That did it. Anne burst into a side-splitting laughter. Misty jumped back
in her seat, scared stiff by her response. People were looking back at them
to be sure that they heard Annibell Amera actually laughing. Indeed she
was, so hard that tears were falling down her face.

"Thank you," she said after a short while, "I haven't laughed like that in
a long time."

Affronted, Misty said, "I'm serious, Anne."

"So am I!" she yelled back at her, slamming her right arm on the table. The
unusual thud made the cheerleader gulp. "In case you didn't get the message
the first three times, I'll say it in a vocabulary more suited to your
level: get the fuck out of here."

"Diane was right. .

."


"Diane doesn't know shit! But tell her I said hi." The dark heart nodded
once again towards her table. "My lunch is getting cold. Go away and let me
eat in peace," she said more softly, but not without the venom.

Misty rose to her feet, defeated. "I guess I'll see you in class then," she
sobbed. Anne gave no sign that she heard it. Misty's walk back to Diane's
table was filled with people looking and whispering. She heard several
people say "new girl" and "dumbass". But it was Diane's choice of words
that hit her the hardest once she sat down. "Told ya so!"

Anne continued reading until the bell rang; she never gave a second thought
to her encounter with the new chick. Just another preppy cheerleader
looking for a fix, she thought, so I fixed her.


**********************

Anne's next two classes, U.S. History and English, went by just as she
thought they would. She turned in her homework and listened as intently as
everyone else in the class, which is to say not very much. Although her
English poetry assignment kept her amused until the bell rang--dark poetry
is her forte.

Physics, the last class of the day. Anne took her seat and got her stuff
ready for the class to start. As she finished flipping through her
notebook, she happened a glance at the door. Her heart sped up, her
breathing became hoarse. She looked up at the clock: one-forty-four. Misty
walked through the door just as the bell rang. A pang of guilt coursed
through Anne upon seeing the newbie. And she cursed herself for it.

The next five minutes was an exact carbon-copy of what happened in
calculus. And once again, Misty took the vacant seat beside the Bitch
rather than the one the teacher, Mrs. Boresly, pointed to. She flashed the
mean girl the shyest smile imaginable. Anne rolled her eyes. The other
students didn't do anything but stare.

All throughout the lesson Anne felt a pair of eyes watching her. She would
take a sneak peak to her right, but Misty would be listening to the teacher
or writing down notes. She glanced around the room only to find more of the
same. Whenever the ominous struck her, nothing could be held
accountable. And whatever was doing it gave her the creeps. Finally the
bell rang to end the Bitch's unease.

"Remember to have chapters nine through eleven read for tomorrow,"
Mrs. Boresly called out over Anne's saving grace.

She didn't even bother packing up her stuff; she had to leave that
room. Her heart was racing and those eyes followed her once again. She
walked back to her locker with her head spinning.

Literally. Was it guilt? she thought, shaking her head.

Ridiculous. Panic? If so, what the fuck for? One good thing about being
seen as scum of the earth is that when you have a mild freak-out, people
don't notice the difference.

Anne stopped dead in her tracks. She did a double take to make sure she was
seeing it correctly. A note was protruding from the door of her
locker. That's a first. Nobody ever cared enough to write her, if even to
say "Eat shit and die". She inspected the paper for anything
suspicious. Safe so far. She unfolded it, ever so carefully. Skipping to
the end, a low, maniacal chuckle escaped her lips. "Should have known,"

she breathed.

"Dearest Annebell, You were wrong. Diane knows more than you think. And so
do I. Please let me be your friend. You could really use one. My number is
at the bottom. Call me.

Love,Misty"

Anne read it again. And again. "Impudent witch," she sneered, "she has no
idea what she's in for." For reasons Anne didn't know, she folded the piece
of paper just as she found it and slipped it into her coat pocket. The mad
brunette pulled out what she needed for her lesson at the junior high
school, leaving any thought to the letter behind.

Once again Anne arrived home to a familiar car parked in the driveway. She
stopped and looked over to her mom's window, sighing and shaking her head
in shame. The silhouettes told the story of what was going on inside. The
only difference this time: Anne knew exactly to whom this car belongs.

Her guidance councilor, Mrs. Baker.

The girl felt another piece of her soul die off as she walked up to the
house. Anne decided to make up a microwave dinner tonight. Her homework was
done in a flash, all the while listening to what was happening in the next
room; her hatred for that woman grew with every passing minute. It wasn't
too much longer that she was finished and in her bedroom. Anne looked to
the corner of her bedroom and smiled.

"Tonight is a good night," she breathed, setting the amp in the open
window. She wrapped Kramer around her neck and flipped the switch on. She
closed her eyes and let the strings sing.

What came out was a piece that both delighted and infuriated. The main
riffs portraying what Anne was thinking in the moment, while the solos took
on the air of confusion and desperation. She began to sing some lyrics of
one of the poems she wrote down earlier today. Once she finished the song,
she just kept playing her heart out, perhaps hoping for someone out there
will hear her plea. Little did she know the kind of impact this song would
have on her life.


********************

Across town, Misty sat at the dinner table with her parents. Her house,
though lavish in decor and luxurious in appointments, was still filled with
boxes from the move. One of the first things her father set up was the
dining room table, made of solid mahogany and topped with authentic china,
along with the chairs. "Families are made in the bedroom, but gather at the
dinner table," he often joked.

Tonight's dinner was light, seeing as how the kitchen was still in
disarray. Living in that small apartment before they closed on the house
didn't help. Misty listened to her parents talk about their days. Usual
stuff for a psychiatrist and an M.D. New patients they have, old patients
not wanting their medication, government restriction, the whole nine yards.

"How did your day go, sweetheart?" Misty's mom asked.

Misty shrugged. "Ok I guess. Met a bunch of new people."

"Did you make the team?" her father inquired.

"Yeah. Piece of cake," she said with too big of a smile. Her parents looked
at her, waiting for the teenager to go on. "The team here would get smashed
by the girls in Iowa. I don't think they even know what competitive cheer
is."

Her father just gave her a look. "How's Diane?"

"She's good. Going out with some nerdy kid. I can't think of his name."

"Well, at least that's one way I can tell you two apart," he said, holding
back the laugh. Misty looked up from her plate and cocked an eyebrow. "She
has a GUY holding her arm."

Misty reached out and smacked his arm. "Not cool, dad." Even his wife gave
him that look.


"What?"

"Why always with the gay jokes?"

"You opened the door to them when you opened the closet," he laughed and
this time her mother snorted too. Misty was damn-near punching his arm by
this point.

"What's that?" she asked, coming to a sudden stop. "You guys hear that?"

Her parents paused and listened. "I don't hear anything honey."

"C'mon mom, listen. . . is there a concert somewhere?"

"Not that I'm aware of, but then again I just moved here."

Misty just gave the woman a snide look. She got up and went to the front
door. Standing on the oversized porch, she listened to some sad guitarist
play his heart out. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around her
body. The cool bitter air was a good metaphor for the music that blared
over the town. Her parents stood in the doorway and watched their
daughter. She swayed with the music. And just as suddenly as it began, the
music stopped. The cheerleader felt a tear linger in her eye, wanting
more. But none was to come. She locked up all the sorrow from the moment
and went back inside, thinking it a good ending to her miserable first day
back.


********************

Anne awoke the next morning to a seldom occurrence. No poorly fucked,
drunken mother alarm clock. After how she went to bed last night, she
half-expected her to come in with a gun. Once Mrs. Baker left, complaining
of the noise, Katharine kicked Anne's door in and started berating her like
usual. "Fucking whore!" she screamed, standing nearly naked. "Turn that
fucking thing off. You'll never be anything like your brother."

Anne felt the sting of that. "You're right, mother," she said, holding back
her anger somehow, "I'm going to be better." She set her only friend back
into the stand while her mother started laughing.

"Ha! Ha! Hehe! Oh my, you're more fucked up than your father was, giving
you all of his attention."

"You mean more fucked up than you are," the guitarist answered quickly. "I
don't know where you get off on thinking shit like that. Maybe it's from
all of that alcohol and cock that goes into your mouth? Words can't express
how depraved you really are, my sweet, sweet mother."

The fury in her mother's eye was undeniable. Katharine's response was to
throw the closest thing, a textbook, at her daughter. Anne caught it
without much effort. She took a hard step towards the teenager, then
stopped just as quickly. Anne held up her right arm, her palm less than an
inch from her mother's face. Coldly, Anne glared at the woman as if daring
her to get any closer. For another minute their eyes remain locked in a
battle of wills. Katharine blinked first; she turned around and left the
room, slamming the door behind her.

Anne fell back on the bed, a tear slipping down her cheek. Not from what
her mother said, but from the frustration. Anne's always hated herself for
not being able to summon the courage to hit her.

Tonight was the closest she's ever come, and that tore her up even
more. "What do I need to do?" she sobbed to no one. "What do I need to do
to get away from this... thing?" She was out a few minutes later, still
cursing her cowardice.

Anne sat on the edge of her bed, thinking about how much better she felt
today. She changed and got ready for school. She decided on a pair of black
jeans and an old Metallica t-shirt. She left her hair down as usual. Lately
she's been thinking of dying it a deep red, been never got around to
it. Deciding everything was in order, she threw on her black leather trench
coat and cotton gloves and headed out.

She decided to get to school early and get some food then. The sun was
still asleep when Anne's feet touched the sidewalk. Just like every other
morning, just like the sun, she shined a light on the other side of
herself--her past. The fight with her mother last night brought up a few
topics that she's only recently thought about; her brother, Jason, and his
devotion to his music. If it wasn't for him, Anne wouldn't have a friend to
lean on. Her father, devoted his time equally to building his career and
his family. She always thought he did well, never denying Anne a thing; he
was at every special event, came home early on her birthdays to bake the
cake, however horribly; he always put his children first. Then one day her
world came crashing down, leaving her a wounded survivor.

The brunette forced herself from thinking about it. She wasn't there to
help them and doubted she would have been able to. She couldn't even take
care of herself that day. She always thought they were the lucky ones--they
didn't have to live with the constant reminder, or the memories. She
did. And that mom-thing didn't make it any easier. Ever since then, Anne
couldn't care less if that woman fell over dead. And hoped that day would
hurry the fuck up and get here.

The school was in sight, thus ending Anne's serenity. The sun was more than
halfway over the horizon, extinguishing the light in her soul. The bitter
darkness manifested in her daily transformation. With every step she took,
the more she hated all life on this planet. In yet, something in her gut
was telling her that this day was going to be... oddly different.

After finishing her breakfast, Anne reached into her backpack and pulled
out one of her notebooks. She found the song she sang last night and
started making some changes to the lyrics. Add something here, rearrange
the wording there. When she finished, however, she still wasn't happy with
it. The teenager let out a frustrated growl and tore it up. After throwing
the wadded up paper ball across the cafeteria, she jammed her hands into
her coat pockets. Anne's sudden fury stopped. She pulled out a particular
piece of parchment, one that she thought to give no mind to.

Misty's note.

She read it, re-read it, studied it even. She looked for word usage,
sentence structure, emotional characteristics, anything and everything one
puts into their writing. Though the small amount of words made it hard,
what she found surprised her. "Hmm, at least she's honest," she
mumbled. "Dimwitted, but honest." Then she saw her signature at the bottom.

From what she's learned about forensic analysis, the way in which someone
signs their name is just as telling as the words hey choose. In this case
it was the decorative pattern of the "M", "T", and "Y". Coupled with her
own skill of art and poetry, something clicked on inside. And it scared the
living shit out of the scarred girl.

Anne got through her first two classes just like she always does, by
getting her work done early then turning her attention to her poetry and
art. She decided to take one of the poems she wrote awhile back and turn it
into a picture. She was only a few hours into the project, so there wasn't
much on the paper; true art can take weeks to finalize.

With the ringing of the bell, she rolled out of the classroom and into the
hallway. She gave no thought to the people around her--they could go to
hell and die for all she cared--but the person standing by her locker gave
the teenager pause. The Bitch recognized her immediately, but made no
motion to see what she was doing; she would wait to see what happened
afterward.


The solemn female idly walked to her locker, whereupon the door was taped
another note. Anne let out a sigh. She noticed the handwriting right away
and decided, what the hell. She opened it and began reading.

"You were wrong, Annebell Amera. I know more about you and your mother than
you think. Please let me talk to you. Please call me tonight, or give me
your number. I'll see you soon.

Love,Misty"

The Bitch let out what can only be described as an evil laugh. She startled
herself by the cruelty of her tone. She folded it up, shoved it in her
pocket, and got out her texts for the next few classes. "She'll learn soon
enough."

Calculus passed by without a word spoken between them. Not a glance, or
simple grin. Anne, sitting next to her wants-to-be-friend, felt the
difference in her energy, and that made her smile. Twenty-four hours ago,
she was filled with that weird bubbly excitement, but now there was nothing
but dread and hopelessness. Just the way Anne likes it.


********************

Misty watched Anne sit down at her table with hardly anything. She was
standing in the opposite line, a better spot to scope her out, or so she
told herself. Pity shot through the cheerleader seeing her sitting at her
table, all alone, eating only a bag of Doritos. She shook off the
unpleasantries they shared yesterday and started the day anew. Today will
be different, she kept telling herself.

"Hello, Annebell Amera," she said standing across from her again. "Mind if
I join you today?"

Shrugging and without looking up, she answered, "I see your manners haven't
improved much, but it's a free country."

Misty set her tray down and fell into the small seat. "Anne, please, why do
you act this way? Is it because your father and brother are dead? Your
mother's a deadbeat? Or are just scared?"

The Bitch remained silent for a minute. "Is the interrogation over with,
Misty Thomas?" Anne asked, unmoved by the concern in Misty's voice. "If so
please be so kind and keep your mouth shut whilst I enjoy the few minutes
of the day that I can." Misty was taken aback by her outburst. Using the
pause, Anne thanked her.

"Anne, what is the matter with you?" Misty nearly shouted. Anne closed her
eyes and let out a huff. "You used to be so nice. I just want to be your
friend." Anne's expressionless face did nothing to comfort the worried
teen. "I know about your condition. I'm here for you."

Anne let out a cynical giggle. "Gathering personal information before
engaging in conversation; clever girl. But you have me at a loss.

Explain to me, if you would please, my 'condition'."

The taller girl blinked, confused. "Well, I know that you were raped and
beaten, I believe you suffer from post-tramatic shock."

Anne's turn to blink. "I do? Wow, how did you know? Did Diane tell you
that? Or was it our resident gossip queen, Jennica? Oh, please tell me,
nobody tells me anything."

"That's not funny, Anne," Misty said, suddenly feeling aggressive. She
glanced down at her food; suddenly it lost it's appeal.

"For once, you are correct," Anne slammed her right hand on the table,
"It's not funny. It's hilarious. Are you not going to laugh at your own
jokes? No? Then allow me."

"...Anne, stop it. Stop. Anne shut up!" With that, Anne stopped laughing,
only to have her expression turn back to it's normal icy look. "Anne, I beg
you, talk to me about you. I want to hear everything from you, not some
cheap-lipped gossip queen."

Anne cracked a smile at her choice of words. "I must say that I admire your
resolve, Misty, but unfortunately for you I'm quite disinclined to
acquiesce to your request. But if it's any consolation, you know how to put
a smile on my face.

Now, be gone and join your little 'cheap-lipped gossip queens'. Once
they've told you all about me, then we might be able to have a
conversation, albeit one that will undoubtedly lower my I.Q. points."

Misty shrugged off the sting of that last part. "Don't look now, Anne, but
we're having a conversation."

"Playing on the conscience of your conquest is normally a tactic that
works, but not on me." Anne lost any semblance of humor. "Remember, I don't
have a conscience. To people like your little gang, clique, harem, call it
what you will, people like me are insects; insects to be squashed on
sight. So why shan't I hold you in the same regard? People like that, like
you, hypocrites, make me sick."

Misty, ignoring the tears welling in her eyes, studied Anne's face. She saw
her mouth twitch and her pupils narrow. "Who hurt you, Anne?" Her answer
was a blank stare. "Anne, tell me who hurt you. That kind of contempt can
only come from a past pain."

"Just like I said. Hypocrite," she sneered. "You sit there and tell me you
know about my condition, and then have the audacity to ask me something
like that with that feigned concern on your face? Fuck you."

The taller cheerleader looked back over her shoulder. Diane was watching
her, shaking her head. Everyone else at the table was carrying on like
usual, but she had a feeling as to the subject of their conversation.

"By the way," Anne said, getting Misty's attention, "I don't own a
phone. I'm sure Diane told you as much." Misty shook her head. "No?
Pity. Well, like I said before, once you know more about me then we can
have that conversation."

"I won't know what you won't tell me," she prompted.

"You know something? You're right."

The bell rang. Anne gathered up her things without looking at the
teary-eyed teen. Misty was the first one to the trash can. She slammed her
tray a little harder than necessary against the side and into the dish
window. She walked to her locker without saying a word to anyone. The
troubled girl let out an aggravated sigh as she stared into the cold metal.

"Something bothering you?" Diane asked. Misty's silent slam was her
answer. "I hate to say I told you so. . ." She stopped at her cousin's
askance look. "I did, didn't I?"

"Did you hear that music playing last night?" the cheerleader asked,
avoiding the topic. Diane just tilted her head in confusion. "It was so
beautiful, filled with the sorrow of broken hearts and promises. I've never
heard anything like it before." Diane continued to look at her baby cousin
like she'd finally lost it. "You live three houses down from me, I know you
heard it!"

"No, I didn't. What's your point?"

"My point is," Misty huffed, "that you told me Anne is an excellent guitar
player. And after everything you told me about her, about how she used to
laugh, talk your ear off; or how she would come over to your house just to
see you smile, that kind of personality doesn't go away over night."

Diane's expression turned worried. She placed her hand on the brunette's
forehead, which was quickly slapped away. "You sick or something? I also
told you about how after her dad and brother died she came back totally
fucked up. Rumor has it that she was raped and beaten. The Annebell Amera
that I once knew is also died that day. What's left is just some bitch in
her body."

"Don't call her that! That's what everybody says and I'm sick of it."
Misty's eyes grew watery as she ran her fingers through her hair,
frustrated. "I know that there's more to her than that. There has to be."

Diane rolled her eyes. "Whatever," she said as she walked off to her next
class.

Misty watched her go, fighting back the urge to scream. She opened her
locker again to get out the books for her afternoon classes. Stuck to the
inside of her door was the picture Diane sent her so long ago. She ran her
finger tips over the photograph and tried to smile. It didn't do much
good. A tear escaped her closed eye. "Damn it," she said bitingly, slamming
her locker shut. The cheerleader wiped away the estranged drop only to have
another fall. She cursed herself again and headed off.


********************

Thank you for reading the first part of what will become an overhaul of my
first story. I still can't believe it's been five years. Since then I've
got plenty more work on here to keep you all entertained, plus I can
recommend some of my personal favorites from other people if you like. I
look forward to hearing from you all.