Free Fall
one
Her sharp jagged looks were half her appeal. She wasn’t pretty, and no one ever called her that, that I ever heard. But there was something so entrancing about her - the way her tiny red lips moved when she talked, the way her bug-like blue eyes rolled up, up, up to the top of her head when she thought you sounded stupid.
But she wasn’t pretty. She was the Wicked Witch of the West, the evil stepsister. She was Lucifer’s perfect match.
Now, she takes a tentative step back, and her bottom ruby red lip trembles fast. “N-no,” she chokes. “Fucking no.” Her body juts out at all angles, her hips pointy and awkward on her short frame. Her cheek bones are harshly just… stuck in the middle of her face and her face is hollow. Her makeup is a smeared mix of blacks and purples and blues.
“I didn’t do anything to him,” she says, but we both know she’s lying – a big, fat lie. The mother of them all. Another shake of fear ripples through her, and my fingers curl even tighter into the palm of my hand. I’m wondering how in the hell we got to this point - with me standing - looming so tall over her – and her curled into the fetal position – so pathetic – underneath my feet, whimpering. “I didn’t!” Her screech fills the room, and it’s ugly, deafening.
I turn away from her grotesque cries and walk towards the light switch. It goes dark. The walls are too red – carmine red, and my stomach twists and clenches and whimpers at the color, bile rising up my throat every time I see it. It’s the color of his insides, open wide for the world to see. “Shut up,” I murmur, trying to close her out, trying to close everything out. But it’s too late.
Everything around me, even though I know it should all be black or grey, is dyed red, a deep, haunting, invigorating red, eerie and silent – yet loud. This red is screaming pain. And death, because that’s all it’s ever meant to me. Tragic fucking death.
And even though I’m not, I’m the one who should be six feet underground, instead of walking around, high as a fucking kite, blurry and unclean and unaware. I should be forever-asleep instead of slamming my arms against the doorjambs on sleepless nights, crying for the What-Could-Have-Been’s of life.
Or maybe she should be, with her disgusting soprano cries, her sharp features and smeared makeup. But Gee, he shouldn’t be. And yet here we stand, surprised by the sick irony of the situation.
“I c-can’t see, Jeph, I can’t see!” She’s shrieking again, her fingers moving around, grasping for something on the carpet, shrill cries echoing in my ears as she repeats my name over and over again. Her fingers clasp around the edge of the night table; it tilts, and the white powder tumbles down to the carpet, clashing brightly against the blackness.
“Fuck,” she whimpers, threading her fingers through the worn carpet, trying desperately to scoop up the little grains, one by one. My stomach twists into knots again.
“You’re pathetic,” I growl, taking two steps towards her. She’s gasping for air, still trying to pick the drug up, but failing. “Stop – stop!” I slap her hand away, and pick the razorblade up before she reaches it. Her whimpers fade quietly.
“It isn’t my fault,” she repeats for the millionth time.
“It’s never your fault,” I say.
”Gee, please,” I whisper. He giggles again, and holds his arms out for more balance. The cars rush fast below us, soft whooshing sounds echoing in my ears. White and red lights smear together every time I look down, and my stomach knots together, cold seeping through the tough exterior shell the alcohol built for me. “Please come down from there!”
Kayleigh giggles, her ugly voice shrill and nervous, her arms spread out, bug-eyes wide open. “Don’t be such a buzz-killer, Jephy. It’s so pretty.” I shoot her a look, and a noise rises up my throat.
She’s so high she’s lost whatever sense of good judgment was left. We’re so high, that new, pure shipment of coke soaring through our systems at such an alarming, beautiful rate, Gerard calls it the fucking miracle drug. Miracles, Miracles, Miracles.
And Kayleigh’s somehow convinced him to come up here and stand on the ledge, high as a fucking skyrocket, climbing higher and higher and faster and faster. And I follow, because Gee is the leader and our relationship is exactly that – a sick, mind-twisting game of Follow the Leader.
Gerard’s winning.
“Come up, Jeph,” he says, smiling down at me. It’s enchanting, he says, it’s so nice. So distracting. Listen to me, his tone says, because I own you.
He’s probably right.
I take his hand and grip it tightly as I climb up, and feel bile rise up my throat as I look down. “Oh, my God,” manages to escape my throat hoarsely, and Kayleigh laughs, high into the night.
“Stunning, right?” she questions, and I focus on not climbing down and vomiting all over her ugly secondhand, too-big clothes. I close my eyes tight, instead, until little purple stars explode behind my eyelids, and tell her to shut the fuck up, just please, shut up.
We all just stand there in extreme silence for a minute, and then Kayleigh’s shrieks start. “I can’t breathe,” she cries. “You have to help me.” Gerard looks over at her, a wild look in his eyes, nervousness, anxiety. But still, when he speaks, his voice is calm.
“Climb back,” he says quietly. But Kayleigh just keeps going, crying and screaming.
“I c-can’t.”
Anger strikes through his caramel eyes, and he opens his mouth, words coming out sharply. “You got out here, didn’t you?” he questions. “Fucking climb back in.”
“I CAN’T!” she whimpers. “Please, Gerard,” her voice is a whisper. “Please help.”
He shakes his head. “Move your feet and climb back in,” he says, still just as sharply. She shakes her head.
“I’ll help,” I say, eyes still on Gerard, waiting for him to protest. Instead, he just backs against the brick, and lets me edge past him. I grasp Kay’s hand, and gently pull her forward. She lets outs another cry. “Move towards me,” I say, and she shakes her head again.
“Oh for God’s Sake,” Gerard says, full-blown mad, now, and pushes me aside gently. He grabs Kay’s forearm, and then, she panics. Her lips tremble and she lets out a glass-shattering scream, pushing him with all of her force.
My eyes widen, and she shrieks as he falls forward.
“I can’t see,” she says now. “Jeph, help me up. Turn the light on – do something!” she demands. I grip her arm tightly, and feel white-hot heat spread through my blood. She lets out another fucking whimper. “That hurts, Jeph,” she murmurs.
“Think it hurts as much it did for him?” I question, gritting my teeth together. A strangled sob escapes her lips, and her blue bug eyes widen.
“P-please d-don’t,” she begs. “Jeph- ”
I grip her arm tighter. “It is your fault,” I tell her loudly, and it feels like my voice is shaking the room. “YOU PUSHED HIM.”
She shrieks one last time, and then goes limp in my arms. I throw her onto the floor, and grip my fingers along the wall until I reach the door and open it. I step out into the light, stumbling, and fall to my knees, vomiting into the sea-foam green hallway carpet, loud party music ringing in my ears. And when I look up, everything I see is carmine red again.
But she wasn’t pretty. She was the Wicked Witch of the West, the evil stepsister. She was Lucifer’s perfect match.
Now, she takes a tentative step back, and her bottom ruby red lip trembles fast. “N-no,” she chokes. “Fucking no.” Her body juts out at all angles, her hips pointy and awkward on her short frame. Her cheek bones are harshly just… stuck in the middle of her face and her face is hollow. Her makeup is a smeared mix of blacks and purples and blues.
“I didn’t do anything to him,” she says, but we both know she’s lying – a big, fat lie. The mother of them all. Another shake of fear ripples through her, and my fingers curl even tighter into the palm of my hand. I’m wondering how in the hell we got to this point - with me standing - looming so tall over her – and her curled into the fetal position – so pathetic – underneath my feet, whimpering. “I didn’t!” Her screech fills the room, and it’s ugly, deafening.
I turn away from her grotesque cries and walk towards the light switch. It goes dark. The walls are too red – carmine red, and my stomach twists and clenches and whimpers at the color, bile rising up my throat every time I see it. It’s the color of his insides, open wide for the world to see. “Shut up,” I murmur, trying to close her out, trying to close everything out. But it’s too late.
Everything around me, even though I know it should all be black or grey, is dyed red, a deep, haunting, invigorating red, eerie and silent – yet loud. This red is screaming pain. And death, because that’s all it’s ever meant to me. Tragic fucking death.
And even though I’m not, I’m the one who should be six feet underground, instead of walking around, high as a fucking kite, blurry and unclean and unaware. I should be forever-asleep instead of slamming my arms against the doorjambs on sleepless nights, crying for the What-Could-Have-Been’s of life.
Or maybe she should be, with her disgusting soprano cries, her sharp features and smeared makeup. But Gee, he shouldn’t be. And yet here we stand, surprised by the sick irony of the situation.
“I c-can’t see, Jeph, I can’t see!” She’s shrieking again, her fingers moving around, grasping for something on the carpet, shrill cries echoing in my ears as she repeats my name over and over again. Her fingers clasp around the edge of the night table; it tilts, and the white powder tumbles down to the carpet, clashing brightly against the blackness.
“Fuck,” she whimpers, threading her fingers through the worn carpet, trying desperately to scoop up the little grains, one by one. My stomach twists into knots again.
“You’re pathetic,” I growl, taking two steps towards her. She’s gasping for air, still trying to pick the drug up, but failing. “Stop – stop!” I slap her hand away, and pick the razorblade up before she reaches it. Her whimpers fade quietly.
“It isn’t my fault,” she repeats for the millionth time.
“It’s never your fault,” I say.
”Gee, please,” I whisper. He giggles again, and holds his arms out for more balance. The cars rush fast below us, soft whooshing sounds echoing in my ears. White and red lights smear together every time I look down, and my stomach knots together, cold seeping through the tough exterior shell the alcohol built for me. “Please come down from there!”
Kayleigh giggles, her ugly voice shrill and nervous, her arms spread out, bug-eyes wide open. “Don’t be such a buzz-killer, Jephy. It’s so pretty.” I shoot her a look, and a noise rises up my throat.
She’s so high she’s lost whatever sense of good judgment was left. We’re so high, that new, pure shipment of coke soaring through our systems at such an alarming, beautiful rate, Gerard calls it the fucking miracle drug. Miracles, Miracles, Miracles.
And Kayleigh’s somehow convinced him to come up here and stand on the ledge, high as a fucking skyrocket, climbing higher and higher and faster and faster. And I follow, because Gee is the leader and our relationship is exactly that – a sick, mind-twisting game of Follow the Leader.
Gerard’s winning.
“Come up, Jeph,” he says, smiling down at me. It’s enchanting, he says, it’s so nice. So distracting. Listen to me, his tone says, because I own you.
He’s probably right.
I take his hand and grip it tightly as I climb up, and feel bile rise up my throat as I look down. “Oh, my God,” manages to escape my throat hoarsely, and Kayleigh laughs, high into the night.
“Stunning, right?” she questions, and I focus on not climbing down and vomiting all over her ugly secondhand, too-big clothes. I close my eyes tight, instead, until little purple stars explode behind my eyelids, and tell her to shut the fuck up, just please, shut up.
We all just stand there in extreme silence for a minute, and then Kayleigh’s shrieks start. “I can’t breathe,” she cries. “You have to help me.” Gerard looks over at her, a wild look in his eyes, nervousness, anxiety. But still, when he speaks, his voice is calm.
“Climb back,” he says quietly. But Kayleigh just keeps going, crying and screaming.
“I c-can’t.”
Anger strikes through his caramel eyes, and he opens his mouth, words coming out sharply. “You got out here, didn’t you?” he questions. “Fucking climb back in.”
“I CAN’T!” she whimpers. “Please, Gerard,” her voice is a whisper. “Please help.”
He shakes his head. “Move your feet and climb back in,” he says, still just as sharply. She shakes her head.
“I’ll help,” I say, eyes still on Gerard, waiting for him to protest. Instead, he just backs against the brick, and lets me edge past him. I grasp Kay’s hand, and gently pull her forward. She lets outs another cry. “Move towards me,” I say, and she shakes her head again.
“Oh for God’s Sake,” Gerard says, full-blown mad, now, and pushes me aside gently. He grabs Kay’s forearm, and then, she panics. Her lips tremble and she lets out a glass-shattering scream, pushing him with all of her force.
My eyes widen, and she shrieks as he falls forward.
“I can’t see,” she says now. “Jeph, help me up. Turn the light on – do something!” she demands. I grip her arm tightly, and feel white-hot heat spread through my blood. She lets out another fucking whimper. “That hurts, Jeph,” she murmurs.
“Think it hurts as much it did for him?” I question, gritting my teeth together. A strangled sob escapes her lips, and her blue bug eyes widen.
“P-please d-don’t,” she begs. “Jeph- ”
I grip her arm tighter. “It is your fault,” I tell her loudly, and it feels like my voice is shaking the room. “YOU PUSHED HIM.”
She shrieks one last time, and then goes limp in my arms. I throw her onto the floor, and grip my fingers along the wall until I reach the door and open it. I step out into the light, stumbling, and fall to my knees, vomiting into the sea-foam green hallway carpet, loud party music ringing in my ears. And when I look up, everything I see is carmine red again.