To The Death

From the looks on her parents’ faces when she informs them of her future plans, Lennox Park is absolutely positive that life as she knows it is hurtling to a miserable end.

Her stepmom instantly retreats to the stress-relieving tactic of asking questions that she already knows the disappointing answers to. “You’re joking, right? This is just one of those crazy jokes all you college kids play on your parents, isn’t it?”

“Of course she’s joking, Bonnie. Lennox wouldn’t be serious about something like this. Right, Lennox?”

She can tell by the way her dad is looking at her and the way he won’t use her nickname that if she doesn’t agree with him wholeheartedly, she’s going to be in some serious fucking trouble. But she’s already in a monumentally bad state of mind, so she figures things can’t really get any worse.

“No, I’m not joking…I’m really going to just get an apartment somewhere and try to find a job with a game designing company.”

They stare at her. No words are necessary to portray their disappointment; it hangs in the atmosphere like the stench of something burnt in and not cleaned from the oven. She stares back—at the small, balding Korean man sitting in the chair; at the redhaired beauty next to him, sipping milky tea with aplomb but having an anxiety attack with her eyes. Her father lets out a long sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“I am incredibly disappointed in you, Lennox.”

Translated into Dad-language: I hate your guts. I want you to die. You are a miserable failure of an Asian. Not only have you dishonored your family, you’ve also shamed every person of Korean descent on the planet. Way to go.

Lennox hangs her head in shame. She stares at a spot on the immaculate white carpet and begs it to open up and swallow her whole. “I’m sorry.”

“Len, honey…” Her stepmother’s voice is ripe with pity. “You’re not depressed again, are you?”

Impressive amounts of self-restraint are used to keep her eyes from rolling. No, Bonnie, Lennox thinks with bitter sarcasm. I feel like a hopelessly empty abyss of worthlessness, and every day it’s a constant struggle to get out of bed and not simply suffocate myself with the comforter, and I haven’t eaten in three days, but no, I’m not depressed. I’m happy as a fucking clam.

“I’m fine,” she says. It’s the usual lie. Psychological disorders, no matter how debilitating or life-threatening, are not an accepted concept in the Park household. If it can’t be fixed through simple hard work and determination, then it doesn’t exist. “I just…I don’t want to go to graduate school. I’ve got my bachelor’s degree. I don’t think I need anything else.”

“Yes, you do!” Her father stands quickly. “You have been accepted to several outstanding graduate programs. I will not allow another one of my children to forgo the excellent education they are being offered. I will not allow you to throw away your talents because their most practical application doesn’t please you. I refuse, Lennox.”

“But—”

“No exceptions. Your brother and sister chose the wrong path, but that does not mean you have to follow their example.”

Lennox bites hard on the inside of her cheek and tries not to cry. She gets it—she’s her parents’ last raffle ticket, the last shooting star on which their wishes and dreams so hopefully rely. Her siblings have long since left the nest. They’ve rejected the comfort that comes as a side dish with a heaping plate of Still Living With Mom and Dad. They’ve moved right into the heart of Hell—or, as everyone on earth, except for her father, refers to it, Las Vegas. And while she doesn’t live at home—she’d applied extra-early for on-campus housing every year for the past four years—she knows that her school’s proximity to her parents’ home provides them with the false idea that they can still control her. She knows that displeasing them in any way leads to being cut off from the family wealth. But she can feel herself getting worse, and she knows she just can’t handle any more school. And as dumb as the thought makes her feel, she’d take poverty over graduate school any day.

“I’m not following their example,” she says. Her voice gradually finds its strength. “Robyn and Kingsley didn’t go to college. I did. I have a degree. A dual degree.”

“You can do better.”

“I double majored in astronomy and physics, and I graduated at the top of my class. I could work for NASA if I wanted to! How the hell is that not enough?”

“You can do better,” he father repeats. He adjusts the collar of his shirt and sets his mouth in a firm line. “If you wish to take your life in another direction, however, you may do so. But it will be without our support.”

A lump forms in her throat. Through even her most optimistic visualization of the scene’s possible conclusions, she’d known that this would be the outcome. She’d prepared herself for it. But the pain—the pain of realizing that her father cares more about what type of fancy job title he can brag about than he does about his own daughter’s well-being—is far worse than she’d predicted.

She manages to get the words out calmly. “Fine. Goodbye.”

There is no response, save for her stepmother’s quiet sobbing.

When Lennox leaves, she leaves quickly, running from the house as if the very woodwork were collapsing into dust all around her. She runs out of the home she was raised in faster than she’s ever run from anything in her entire life, and she doesn’t stop until she reaches the front lawn. If transforming into a snake, slithering into a hole in the ground and dying a prompt death was an option, she’d do it. Not one cell of her existence feels like continuing to function.

As she walks down her parents’ well-landscaped walkway and gets into her car, she starts to plan. The easiest way out would probably be pills, but she doesn’t have enough sleeping pills left to do the kind of damage she desires. Nothing in her residence hall is sturdy enough to hang herself on, and there are always too many people wandering around, anyway; someone would be surely interfere. She doesn’t have the guts or the pain tolerance to slit her wrists, and while she’s not too fond of her roommates, she doesn’t want to scar them for life, either. There’s always the option of cutting open her carotid artery, though, and bleeding to death within a few minutes. That’d probably be fun.

Sighing, Lennox navigates her way onto the highway and presses the gas. It takes her less time than normal to return to school, and she’s immersed in the university’s successful academia before she has a chance to prepare. She maintains eye contact with the perfect grass and retrieves her I.D. card from her pocket as she approaches her hall. Right as the plastic rectangle swipes through the electronic reader, there’s a strange buzzing sensation in her pocket, and it takes her a moment to realize it’s her cell phone. No one, except for telemarketers, ever calls her, and her shock at this new development in the day distracts her until three rings have sounded. On the fourth, she yanks the phone out of her pocket and answers quickly.

“Hello?”

“Lenny! Hey! How are you? How was graduation? Do you feel smarter?”

The onslaught of perky talk signals only one recognition in her brain: her sister Robyn.

“Why are you calling me?”

There is laughter in the background.

“Ouch,” remarks her brother’s voice. “Rejected.”

Robyn ignores the interruption. “Is that any way to talk to your sister?”

“Yes. It is when said sister hasn’t bothered to make contact for almost a year,” Lennox says bitterly.

“I’ve been busy!”

“That’s for damn sure.”

“Why do you sound so…emo?”

Lennox rolls her eyes and considers running across the street and hurling herself into oncoming traffic. Instead, she lets herself into the building and heads upstairs.

“I told Dad and Bonnie that I didn’t want to go to grad school, and they didn’t agree with the decision. So now I’m basically fucked.”

“Ah! Yay! Kingsley, guess what?”

“What?”

“Lenny’s coming over to the dark side!”

There ‘s the sound of a scuffle; Lennox hears Robyn cursing at somebody, and then her brother’s voice meets her ears.

“So how’d you do it? Did you finally tell them to go fuck themselves? Because that’s definitely how I pictured it.”

“On the contrary. I was calm, and then they basically disowned me.”

“Well, that sucks.”

“Tell me about it.”

Another scuffle. Robyn wins.

“So, what are you going to do? Don’t they kick you out of the dorms once you graduate?”

“Yes, Robyn.”

“Perfect! Listen, I have an idea—”

“Exactly how is my being homeless ‘perfect’?”

“I said listen!”

Lennox makes a face at the phone. A girl passing by in the other direction looks at her with concern, and she stifles a giggle. “I’m listening.”

“I was looking for a way to unwind and relax after a stressful year of work—”

“You’re a stripper, Robyn! The only stress you experience on a daily basis is what color thong to wear!”

“—And I came across an advertisement for a beach resort in the Canary Islands. I checked it out and everything seems legit, so I talked Kingsley into going with me.”

“Super.” The door to Lennox’s suite is open. Her two roommates are blasting a Ludacris song and jumping around, celebrating their recent graduation, as they pack up their things. She dashes inside and into her room so quickly that they don’t even notice. “Why are you telling me this?”

“It’s one of those gorgeous hotels you always see advertised on TV with all the cheesy music. There’ll be lots of sand, and sun, and hot guys…you should come!”

She snorts. “That’s funny.”

“Lenny.”

“Can’t go, sorry. Planning on killing myself.”

Robyn scoffs. “Have you been reading The Bell Jar?”

“Yes. I am reading The Bell Jar, slitting my wrists and bleeding into the bathtub as we speak.” Lennox sits on her bed and kicks off her flip-flops. Even with the door closed, she can still hear the music from the main room, and it’s giving her a migraine.

“Fine, be that way. I hope death hurts.”

“Robyn!” Kingsley is not pleased. There’s yet another battle for the phone.

“Ignore Robyn and her epic bitchiness. Please. We miss you.”

“You know how I am about being around people.”

“Boo, you whore.”

“Don’t quote Mean Girls at me. I’m not in the mood,” Lennox says. But she can feel her resolve shifting. Maybe getting out of town won’t be so bad.

“Lenny,” whines Kinglsey. “I am making sad dog eyes right now. Please?”

She considers it. She’s not too fond of the beach—she hates it, actually and anything else having to do with nature—and she was planning to spend the summer in the dark, playing video games until her hands curled up into claws, but she has missed her siblings. And she knows she needs a vacation. Her mind is still swimming with information on electron shells and galaxies and suicide methods and hatred for the entire world, and she’d give anything for a bit of mental quiet.

“All right, fine.”

There is a verbal explosion of delight on the other end of the phone. Once calm ensues, Kingsley gives her the details and makes her promise to keep the emo-ness to a minimum.

“Give Robyn a slap in the face for me,” she says, as a goodbye.

“Will do.”

Lennox hangs up the phone. She sighs, and sets off for her room to start packing.

+++

It’s barely noon, and already, Zachary Baker is unhappy.

He’s grumpy from going to the dentist—the dimwitted new assistant who cleans his teeth is so nervous and unaccustomed to the dental instruments that she stabs him in the gums several times. And on top of that, she tells him not to eat or drink anything for an hour after the cleaning. So on the way home, he stops at Jamba Juice and orders a smoothie just to spite the stupid whore, and he sips it satisfactorily, thinking Fuck you, bitch.

When he gets to his house, there’s a car sitting in his driveway. He curses multiple times under his breath and heads inside as his already foul mood worsens. Familiar voices are coming from his kitchen; he follows the noise and finds a familiar lead singer and his familiar blonde wife sitting at the kitchen table, looking guilty. He fights the urge to crush his smoothie cup.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he demands.

Matt and Val exchange a worried look. “We need to talk to you.”

“How the hell did you even get in?”

“I have a key. You’re not mad, are you?”

“Not yet. Fucking stalkers…what do you want?”

“We’re here to get you out of your funk.”

“I’m not in a funk.”

“Then what’s wrong with you, man?”

Zacky has no idea how to answer. “I’m just…”

To tell the truth, he isn’t sure what’s wrong with him. He’s just purchased this luxurious new house. Avenged Sevenfold has just wrapped up their latest album. He knows he should be happy, but somehow, for some reason, he’s not. He hasn’t had a girlfriend in what feels like forever. As much as he hates to admit it, he’s jealous of Matt’s recent marriage. He’s twenty-eight, for fuck’s sake, and he wants something soft and pretty to hold. He wants a wedding of his own sometime soon, but all the girls he’s dated recently have been complete duds, so he’s become a bit of a whore. He doesn't see anything wrong with that.

“I’m fine,” he concludes.

“You’re not fine,” Val says quickly. “We’ve barely seen you since you guys finished recording.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Doing what?” Matt asks sharply. “Jesus, Zacky. I know everyone needs alone time and all, but you can’t just ignore us forever. We’re your best friends.”

“Which is exactly why we’re all going away this summer!” Val smiles and holds out a colorful brochure.

Zacky glances once at the brochure. Nature Rediscovery: Fuerteventura is written in bold across the top, and below is a picture of what he guesses is the nature that’s supposed to be rediscovered. Phrases like ‘connect with the Earth’ and ‘escape the stress of a fast-paced, technology-laden world’ jump out at him, and suddenly all he can think about is that People’s Temple cult thing and how he really doesn’t want to end up dead somewhere in the middle of a random jungle.

“Fuck no. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not. Get out of my house.” Zacky sips more of his smoothie and goes about clearing some of the dirty dishes from his sink, pretending that Matt and Val are invisible.

“Zacky. This behavior…I know it’s hurting you, but it’s killing me.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes with such force that that it almost hurts. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Come on, it was a joke—”

“You see this fork, Matt? I am going to take this fork and shove it into your neck.”

“Zack…”

“I don’t need to go to some weird hippie cult retreat.”

“It’s not a cult. It’s a relaxation camp. Everyone’s doing it. Beyoncé and Jay-Z were there a few months ago, and so were Saving Abel, and I heard a rumor that the cast of Glee might be going soon—”

“I don’t care, okay?”

Matt holds his hands up in surrender. "Okay.”

Zacky throws the fork down. It lands with a clatter on the edge of the table and falls to the floor, pointing excitedly up in anticipation of an unsuspecting barefoot passerby. He turns back to the sink, rolling his eyes once more at the look on Val’s face.

“Don’t give me that look, Val.”

“I wasn’t giving you a look!”

“Yes, you were; it was the Don’t-Snap-At-My-Husband-That-Way, He-Was-Only-Trying-To-Help, look.”

“Are you on your period, Zacky?” Brian singsongs, strolling into the room.

Zacky doesn’t even bother asking how the hell Brian had gotten into his house. Brian’s presence is the sort of thing you just have to accept without question.

“Fuck you,” is his reply.

“Yeah, you’re definitely on your period. Can Zacky borrow some of your Midol, Val?”

“Sure. I’ll get him some chocolate, too.”

“Fuck all of you. What is this, an intervention?”

“Sort of,” says Jimmy, emerging from the hallway with Johnny not far behind.

“Fucking hell!”

“Dude, relax. We’re just trying to help you.”

Zacky seizes his smoothie and throws it to the floor. Frothy pink liquid oozes onto the expensive tile. “I don’t want your fucking help!” he yells. “I’m fine! Always have been, always will be. Just leave me the fuck alone!”

His friends stare at him. They move closer to each other and talk too quietly for him to hear; he knows they’re probably debating his mental stability and that he’s likely minutes away from ending up in some treatment facility with Lindsay Lohan or on one of those reality shows about troubled celebrities. Ignoring them, he rips a few paper towels off of a new roll and drops them on top of the smoothie mess. He’s just returned to washing dishes, his arms elbow-deep in warm, soapy water, when he feels a presence standing alarmingly close behind him.

Jimmy’s voice asks him if he’s sure he doesn’t want to reconsider going on vacation.

“I’m not going, Jimmy,” he snaps.

There’s a sigh. “We were hoping we wouldn’t have to resort to this,” says Brian.

And before he can ask them what the hell they’re talking about, something heavy hits him in the back of the head, and the world goes black.