Taryn - CH. III

CH. III

            It takes me an hour to get to and from school, but I don’t mind. I like the time away from all the people and to just be able to concentrate on the music pumping from my headphones. After crossing the first street that put me officially off school grounds, I whipped out a cigarette –I smoked Cloves– and lit it with my new Zippo lighter. It was black with red, gothic font that read, “Yeah, I have issues.” As I crossed the second light and my iPod shuffled to the Misfits’ Dig Up Her Bones, I officially started to zone out.

* * *

I’d smoked through four cigarettes by the time I got to the place I was supposed to call home; I didn’t even remember the walk I’d so been completely zoned out. I hadn’t thought at all about my idiotic classmates, fucked-up teachers, my detentions or the history paper that was due next week. But as soon as the four-story, Victorian style house my mom’s current lover lived in –and therefore her and me as well– came into view, I was flung back into reality. I snubbed out my fourth cig and went to the garage to spray myself down with Febreeze. Mom and her lover, Kyle, were already on my ass enough about the way I dress, my makeup, musical taste, piercings, lack of friends, etc., that I didn’t need them on my case about smoking too.

As I was dousing myself in lavender scent I saw that there weren’t any cars in the driveway. I was home alone. A gigantic smile crossed my face and I raced in the house and down to the basement. I changed into my exercise clothes, hopped on the treadmill and ran off calories for three hours, until I heard a car pull in the driveway. Then I grabbed my stuff and bolted to my room.

* * *

            I had installed numerous locks on my room, on the inside and outside of the door, locking all the inside ones as I ran into my attic bedroom (the only cool thing about this house) sweat dripping down me like their was a rain cloud over my head. I stripped off all my clothes and flopped on my bed, breathing heavily.

            I need to weigh myself, I thought. I looked at my bathroom door, on the other side of which contained my scale. It looked so far away and I didn’t want to move. So instead, I picked up my iPhone and pressed speed-dial #3.

            “Hello, my darling,” his silky-smooth voice greeted me, sending gleeful shivers down my spine.

            “Hey Draven. I’ve missed you so much; I can’t wait to see you tonight,” I said. I wanted the words to come out slow and sexy, but they ended up sounding rushed and hoarse, as I was still breathing hard. Draven chuckled.

            “I miss you, too. Did you just finish exercising?”

            “Mhm,” I replied, reaching for a water from my mini-fridge.

            “What are you down to?” He asked, referring to my weight.

            “I don’t know. I haven’t weighed myself yet. But I’m thinner since you last saw me. I’m so excited to show you tonight.

            “I’m glad. And I think you’re really going to like the place I found here. It’s an apartment, but it also looks somewhat loft-like. Its very artsy.”

            “I can’t wait to see it. We’re still on for midnight, right?”

            “Of course, my darling. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I love you so much.”

            “I love you too, D. Aw, shit, I gotta go. My mom’s pounding on my door. See you tonight!” Draven said goodbye and I hung up, throwing on my black silk robe. I unlocked numerous locks and opened my door to my mother, forever clad in high-heels, fancy dresses, diamond earrings and way too much foundation.

            “Yeah?” I asked, my head the only thing sticking outside my room.

            “How was your first day?” She smiled at me. Jeez, could her smile be any faker?

            “It was fine.”

            “Good. We’re going to George’s for dinner, so please wear something nice.”

            “I hate that place. Go without me.” I tried to close the door but she stuck her foot in the doorway. Kyle was the owner of a restaurant named George’s, named after his dad or something. It was really high-class and fancy and they loved going there. Obviously I hated it; the cheapest thing on the menu was $35 and disgusting, along with the rest of the menu.

            “You are coming with us. The Florence’s are coming; they are friends of Kyle’s and their son is just a year older than you and is excited to meet you. He goes to your school.  They are very nice. I told them all about you.”

            “Your version of me, or my version of me?” I asked coldly, arching my eyebrow.

            “Would you just try to be reasonable, Taryn? Josh is a very nice boy, and frankly, that age difference between you and Draven worries me severely.”           

            “No, it doesn’t. You just want me to turn into a clone like you. Well, not gonna happen.” I slammed the door in her face. I grabbed my iPhone again.

D-

mom is trying to hook me up with a clone in khaki pants. AGAIN.

<3 –T

T-

George’s again?

<3 –D

D-

yea. i just want to spend the rest of today not doing my homework and laying in bed listening to music until midnight. but no, instead I have to spend it with stupid people as a stupid restaurant while they try to push stupid food down my throat

<3 –T

T-

you can get thru it. be strong, baby. i love you.

<3 –D

D-

I love you too

<3 –T

Draven’s response didn’t make me feel better. I wanted to be with him, cradled in his arms until he had me pose while he took pictures of me. Ever photo session he did with me I was thinner. It was amazing to look at the difference in all the pictures. Draven always kept them all over his place. Another knock on my door. WHAT NOW?!

            “Taryn, we’re leaving in one hour. Please make yourself presentable,” Mom said through the door. I threw my pillow again the door. She wanted presentable? Fuck that.

* * *

            One hour later my mom was banging on my door; I could hear Kyle impatiently tapping his foot.

            “I’m coming, damn it!” I screamed.

            “Taryn! Watch your language!” Mom screamed back.

Finally I opened my door, a smug grin on my face as my mom and Kyle took in my outfit. My hair was spiked into a short mohawk and then spiked out to the sides. I was wearing a plain black dress with a studded belt wrapped around my tiny waist, spiderweb fishnet stockings with matching arm-fishnets, and spiked and studded boots that came half-way up my calf. I had a spiked collar and my most prized possession, my necklace from Draven, around my neck, silver spider earrings hanging from my ears, black lipstick, silver spiked snakebites, a large silver nose-ring and tongue ring, and my eyes were extra-thickly lined in eyeliner.

            “Lord Almighty,” Kyle said when he saw me. “How are we supposed to be seen in public with this… this… this fiasco, Carol?” Fiasco? That’s a new one. I didn’t know Kyle’s vocabulary was that large.

            “I told her to dress presentably,” mom replied to Kyle. She sighed. “She never listens. But we don’t have time for her to change. We’ll just say she’s going through a phase. It’ll be fine, dear,” Mom patted Kyle shoulder. He glared at me, then took my mom’s arm and walked downstairs with her. I grabbed a plain black jacket and my smaller, black and silver messenger bag and follow behind them.

* * *

            “Welcome to hell, Taryn,” I whispered to myself as we arrived as George’s. 

Colored Flesh - a poem

Colored Flesh
Unwanted. 

Ignored.

Hated.

Colored flesh

Creates these things

Causes madness where there should be love

Causing stupidity to override reason

Unwanted.

Ignored.

Hated.

The flesh is on my body

Not yours

The needle didn't scratch your skin

Leaking in ink

It scratched mine

Leaking ink into me

Unwanted.

Hated. 

Ignored.

It is an act of treason, self-expression, it seems

It shouldn't have, but it did, break us apart

You chose silence

I chose indifference

I want to talk

Talk things out, like the adults we are

But you chose to ignore the issue at hand, to act like an immature child

Pouting in your corner

Downing your wine to drown out the thoughts

Unwanted.

Hated.

Ignored.

*   *   *

I thought families were supposed to love each other for who they truly are, no matter what. 

I thought families were about unconditional love.

I was wrong. 

taryn - CH. II

***i'm not sure i'm completely satisfied with this chapter. i may do some editing to it later, but here's what i have for now***

CH. II

            By the time second period, geometry, let out, I wanted to put a knife to my throat. I had my two worst subjects, science and math, back to back, from 7:30-10:30 A.M. That is not how I wanted to start my day. But, my third period was English, my favorite and strongest subject.

            I slipped into Mrs. Barns Honors English class right as the last rang. I had slipped outside to smoke a cigarette, and then got lost trying to find this class. Damn, I wish schools still had designated smoking areas.

            “Ah, you must be Taryn,” Mrs. Barns said.

            “Yeah,” I replied. I’d had an iron grip on the strap of my messenger bag, not knowing what kind of people would be in this class. But, everyone in this class looked either plain-jane or daily-wedgie nerdy. That calmed me and I loosened my grip on my bag. I could handle these people, no problem.

            “You can take a seat over there, behind Nolan,” Mrs. Barns instructed. Nolan was one of the daily-wedgie kids, but he greeted me with a shy smile when I sat down behind him. I liked knowing that I had at least one class with people who didn’t judge me for being goth because they knew exactly how it felt to be picked on by the “popular” kids. Sadly, though, those so-called popular kids usually made some kind of deal with the nerds and janes, that they wouldn’t pick on them as long as they stayed away from me. I don’t blame them for agreeing, I just wish some of them would have a little more backbone. I was fine being a loner; I had been almost all my life. The one time I did have a good friend was back in fourth grade. Her name was Sara. She was a small, chubby girl with red hair, freckles and glasses who got picked on by everyone. Except me. I remember how nice it was to have someone to talk to about, well, anything. But after fourth grade her dad got transferred and they had to move. We stayed in touch for a few weeks, and then I never heard from her again.

            “So where are you transferring from, Taryn?” Mrs. Barns asked. She sat on a stool at the front of the class, an I’m-waiting-for-an-answer expression on her face.

            “Arizona, originally. But I’ve lived in many different places, the latest being here, Colorado.”

            “That sounds exciting!”

            “Seven schools in four years? Not really,” I replied grimly. It was hard enough always being the odd one, the weird one, the freaky “I bet she worships the devil!” chick without constantly having to switch schools so mom and I could move in her latest “lover.”

            “Oh, my, well, that does sound difficult. I hope you get to stay here. I’m sure you’ll make lots of friends.” She flashed me a fake I’m-a-teacher-I’m-supposed-to-be-encouraging smile. The one good thing about constantly switching schools? I learned really fast how to read through to peoples’ real feelings.

* * *

            I found out that we were reading Mark Twain’s Huckleberry Finn. Great. I’ve read this book so many times and every time I hate it even more. As Mrs. Barns rambled on about Huck and his antics, my mind drifted. I was thinking about Draven, and how I was going to see him tonight. I hadn’t seen him in a week because he had to drive to Colorado. That was probably the most amazing thing about Draven: whenever I had to move to a new state, he packed up and moved, too. He was a highly demanded photographer, so he never had problem finding work. I loved him so much and the fact that he always moved with me, even if it took a week or so, proved how much he loved me. Sadly, my band couldn’t constantly move, too. Yeah, they were all out of their parent’s house, but some were in college and none of them had the money to constantly move, college or not. So we have to practice over webcam. We haven’t had a real band rehearsal with all of us together in years. As I was thinking about seeing Draven tonight, I remembered it was going to be freezing when I met up with him in our new spot in the woods tonight. He’d texted me the place he’d picked –he always picks them– and I looked up where it was and at the weather forecast on my phone and it was going to be cold. I wouldn’t be able to wear something sexy and show off how much skinner I’ve gotten.

            “Fuck.” The whole class looked at me.

            “Excuse me?” Mrs. Barns said, hands on her wide hips. Shit, I didn’t realize I had said that out loud.

            “Oh, I’m sorry,” I said. I had no idea what she was talking about with Huck Finn, so I couldn’t justify me swearing as an educational thing.

            “Are you paying attention, Taryn?” Mrs. Barns’ eyes became slits, glaring at me. And the bad opinion of me forms, once again.

            “Yes ma’am,” I replied, nodding, smiling, and lying through my teeth. She “harrumph-ed” and went back to the lesson. I quietly banged my head against my desk again and again.

* * *

            By the time the school day finally ended, I’d gotten two detentions. One for spending lunch behind a stairwell reading Marilyn Manson’s The Long Hard Road Out of Hell and drinking a Rockstar instead of eating in the cafeteria, and two for being “a mother’s worst nightmare,” according to my Honors History class teacher. Whatever. I scheduled them for next week, and when the last bell rang I pushed my way through the mass of students waiting for their parents, trying to get to their cars or talking beside their respective buses, put on my big, over the ear, green Misfits headphones, stuffed my hands in my jacket pockets and started the walk home.

Annabel's Tomb

***this is a revised version of a writing assignment in my senior english class***

Annabel’s Tomb

            Eight-year old Annabel watched her mother, enclosed in a smooth black casket, be lowered into the cold, hard ground.

            She wanted to cry, but she had been crying for the past week, ever since her mother’s death. She had no tears left. Annabel’s mother, Dienna, suffered from a rare skin condition that, if not treated soon enough, was extremely fatal. Her condition was discovered far too late, so there was absolutely nothing any doctor could do to save her. She was put on hospice, but her death was still extremely slow and excruciatingly painful.

            Annabel tried to abide by her mother’s last wishes:

            “Remember me as I was, Annabel, not as I am now,” but the images of her mother’s dead, wasted flesh, her sunken eyes, fragile body and bald scalp would not leave the little girl’s mind. She turned her head away, squeezing her eyes shut and pressing herself against her dad’s chest as the flesh-eating disease slowly disintegrated her mother.

Eight Years Later

            The memory of what happened just days after her mother’s funeral still haunts Annabel daily. Her father turned into an abusive drunk, blaming her for Dienna’s death, along with everything else wrong in his life and in the world. She constantly had to contrive new excuses for the ever-present bruises, stitches and broken bones.

            Friday nights were when her father drank the most. Annabel learned quickly to hide away in her room and be as quiet as a mouse until he passed out. That kept her out of the line of fire. Usually. The times when it didn’t resulted in numerous expensive ER visits for her “clumsiness.”

           

            When Dienna was alive, one thing that always gave Annabel solace was when her mother would take her to visit the tomb of Richard Fitzlan, the earl of Arundel, and his second wife, Eleanor. But, now that her mother was gone, Annabel got even more comfort from the sculpture on top of the tomb. It was a sculpture of Richard and Eleanor with Richard reaching over and holding his wife’s hand. It would always remind her of when she was younger, when her mother was alive, well, and deeply in love with her father. Annabel would visit the tomb every chance she got, especially after her father’s drunken rampages.

            It was the eighth year anniversary of Dienna’s death when an earthquake hit. It infuriated Annabel’s father, bringing more liquor to his lips than ever before. As soon as it was safe –earthquake wise– Annabel bolted out of the house, racing for the sanctuary of the tomb. When she arrived, she was devastated to see that the sculpture had cracked, leaving a large opening into the actual tomb. After the initial shock of her beloved sculpture and tomb being broken, Annabel became curious about what it looked like on the inside. So she peeked inside, but it was pitch black; she opened her phone and stuck her head inside. She wasn’t sure what prompted it, but she was suddenly filed with a morbid desire to descend into the tomb.

            She descended cautiously, not knowing how stable the stone stairs into the tomb were.

            Inside, she found only two coffins, one for Richard and one for Eleanor. As Annabel ran her hands along the stone coffins, brushing off some dust, she felt an odd sense of calm, one she could never before remember feeling, even when she visited the tomb with her mother. The calm escalated, making her very tired. Yawning, she lay down in between the coffins and fell fast asleep.

            Annabel opened her eyes, expecting to see her familiar white bedroom ceiling. Instead, she couldn’t see a thing; the world around her was solid black.

            “What is going on?” Annabel thought, blinking her eyes repeatedly, then rubbing them furiously. She could not remember where she was or anything that had happened that would cause her to go blind. She stood, feeling around for walls. As soon as she felt the slightly crumbling stonewalls, she remembered she was in the tomb. She breathed a huge sigh of relief.

            “I guess I have been asleep longer than I thought,” Annabel said to herself. “It’s gotten dark by now; but why aren’t there any stars?” Annabel continued to search along the walls for the break in the tomb that she had come in through.

            “Wh-what?” Annabel started to panic. “The gap isn’t here!” She frantically felt all the way around the tomb.

            As she made her way back to where she’d started, she felt something suspicious, something she knows she hadn’t seen when she had gotten into the tomb. It was grainy, a little bit damp and smelled like… cement. It was then that it dawned on Annabel what had happened. From when she’d first fallen asleep to the time she had woken up, someone had come by and re-sealed the broken tomb, unbeknownst to her presence inside.

            “I’m going to die!” Annabel thought. “I’m going to become dehydrated, starve, suffocate… and die.” Annabel leaned against the wall, trying to calm her mind and process what to do. But as she did, she thought of her father and how he would react to his only daughter disappearing, never to be found again. In the public eye, he would feign sorrow and despair. Maybe he would even squeeze out a tear or two. But when he was alone, she knew he would be thrilled. Thinking of her dad and being sealed inside the tomb, she now realized she would never, ever have to be his human punching bag again; she would never have to fall victim to his drunken rages and his endless, furious rants. That thought made Annabel smile. Ever since her father started beating her, Annabel had many times contemplated suicide as means to escape the suffering wrought by him. But the thought of her loving mother always kept her from pulling the trigger on her father’s shotgun. Although now, knowing she would never see him again, that she was not going to die by her own hand and that in death, she would be reunited with her mother, Annabel was overjoyed.

            “I will be with you soon mother, Richard, and Eleanor,” Annabel said, stroking the cold coffins. She smiled wide, thrilled with her life’s wonderful turn of events. She kissed the two coffins gently and then laid down between them, waiting for her body to die.

they don't want me - a poem

They Don’t Want Me

i want to hold on.

i dont want to let go.

i want them to know.

how much it hurts me.

when they say they dont want me.

i want them to die.

i want them to perish.

i want them to know.

the pain that i feel.

when they say.

that im not a big deal.

i want them to burn.

i want them to rot.

they need to know

how horrible they are.

and feel the pain that i feel.

i want them to break.

i want them to crumble.

i want them buried.

under 3000 pounds of rubble.

and dust.

and dirt.

and rats.

and scum.

so they can feel.

the pain i felt.

when they said.

they didn't want me.

wrong - a poem

Wrong 

Desperate.

Alone.

Calling out your name.

The rain drips down.

Enveloping me

Hiding my shame

I know what I did was wrong

I know it deserved the fight

I still wish it wasn’t true

But I know the outcome was right

open relationship - a poem

Open Relationship

You have your life

And I have mine.

We were friends

Once in time.

We shared joy and laughter

(and some sad times, too).

But you were always there

When I needed you.

You helped me through

Many tough times

Because you were a friend of mine.

You even told me you loved me

Although how much I didn't know.

But I believed you

And I never wanted you to go.

I thought our happiness would last forever

Even though you weren't near.

But as time moved on

I started to see.

There were many differences

Between you and me.

You were two years older

And headed for the stars.

While I would be stuck at home

My freedom not stretching very far.

And then one day you were gone

Even though you were never actually here.

I tried to be happy for you

Once your new life began.

But all my efforts were in vain

Because soon I was enveloped with pain.

You'd met another

And it seemed

You were happy as could be.

I tried to like her, too

I really tried hard.

But it didn't help

Because the pain didn't melt.

So I thought we were over

Done, finished, through.

Until one day

You told me some bittersweet news.

"She makes me very unhappy," you'd said

"She's always depressed, complaining, and a total mess."

I hadn't told you of the pain

I was going through.

I wanted you to think of me

As a supportive friend

Like the one I once knew.

So I offered suggestions, advice

For my love for you was still strong.

Finally, you decided

"I should end it —

It's for the best."

But you couldn't help feeling

Some dread in your chest.

I asked when you'd do it

And you said

"Soon, soon, soon!"

It's been over a month now

Since you said those words.

And you did nothing.

We've drifted apart, too

That's simple to see.

But I still miss

The way things used to be.

The joy, the happiness

Even the sadness we shared.

I try to be strong

Each and every day.

For I want you to be happy

I know deep down I do.

But I'll never stop envying her

The one who killed me and you.