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Mommy and Daddy Are Talking
Thanks to the never-complaining, never-tired efforts of one Zane Barrett Dixon, the apartment was only a mess when he had finals. As the graveyard-shifting girlfriend, Celesse Vandenberghe could only contributed to the mostly nonexistment mess. On good days, usually ones that included a guaranteed night off, she did laundry, dishes, and windows, all the things that Zane hated. It was as close to marriage as he was going to get from her for the time being.
She finished folding the spare sheets and set them on top of the pile that belonged in the hall closet. It had been a quiet day, just like the last two days before it. The days were always quiet when Jeremy went missing. However, that was only because Wes exhausted himself working every hour of daylight. It was the evenings that were insane and frightening. The thought made her feel guilty, but Celesse had
Possibly No Next Time
It wasn't the first time that he had owed someone money. Although even Jeremy Barr himself would admit to having a sense of somewhat twisted honor, it was still a sense of honor. He didn't borrow money from anyone who he might want to call a friend the next day.
Obviously, Wes didn't count, as Wes didn't so much lend Jeremy money as nail it to his hand. It burned like physical contact with half-finished blown glass, so he avoided it whenever possible. Wes earned his money by busting his anatomy building houses and fixing them. Jeremy bussed tables or washed dishes wherever anyone would take him.
There was no comparison.
All this mental self-examination served only one purpose: to distract himself from the fact that this time, he owed too large an amount of money to the wrong people. The game had seemed a sure thing off and on, although nearer the end, it had been much more off than on. A
Not Even A Bandaid
Hailstones slapped the roof and sides of the car with sounds that would put a History major in mind of archaic stonings. Wesley Branning had dropped out of school before he could learn to understand the word 'major' in that context, but he had seen the Passion of the Christ by accident once. The thought added a morbid nausea to his already bubbling emotions.
He tugged on the seatbelt so that he could lean against the car door, then scratched his head with the hand that wasn't gripping the seatbelt. "Turn off the radio," he grumbled, audibly irritated. His head really itched. Even with one side of his face pressed against the icy window, he could hear his nails digging among skin and hair over the sounds of the insane precipitation outside.
Jeremy Barr, Wes's best friend since the tender and mutual age of what they generally agreed had been 'zero', maintained an unhealthy grip on the steering wheel and did
Teenage TaoismGiving birth is the closest I’d ever felt to dying.
Before that, my near death experiences had consisted only of my silent announcement of pregnancy—silent, being that my social media accounts were all deleted almost simultaneously and I never returned to school in the fall, saying without really saying that I had caught the malicious disease of “teenage pregnancy”. I’m sure the whisper spread in the hallways like the Bubonic Plague. That September, sitting at home on what would have been the first day of my senior year, I imagined friends I’d never talk to again saying “she was only seventeen, and so full of life!” at my absence in the cafeteria tables, as if they were attending my funeral instead of talking about me behind my back.
"Full of life," I had snorted then, folding a never ending stream of what had once been my own baby clothes. "Literally."
I walked around like a zombie for the months of my pregnancy, deciding t
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