We're Ghosts in a Hail of Bullets

The next morning began horribly. My pillow was covered in dark red blood which stained my face, caked into my already tangled hair, and ruined my pajamas. Sometime in the night I had a random nosebleed. They've happened since I was an infant and I was quite use to them. Hopefully, if I showed my parents the evidence, they would let me stay home from school.
My mom showed some alarm, but they've dealt with this for almost seventeen years. They really didn't care.
They both told me to clean up my face and then get ready for school. Moira would deal with the bloody bed when she arrived.
I spent about ten minutes in that bathroom cleaning my face alone. The sick was a mess when I was done. I stood there as the warm water ran over the white porcelain, starring at myself in the mirror. Drops of the clear liquid ran down my face like tears. I was confused. The person starring back at me looked oddly unfazed by the amount of blood they woke up to. Perhaps mirror Anna didn't wake up to as much as I did.
She looked distorted in my vision as well. Almost sinister. If I could find a better word then I would use it, but sinister seemed to fit. Her eyes showed a madness I never saw before. She enjoyed the blood bath and she wanted more.
After splashing more water on my face the vision cleared and vanished. But a headache soon occurred. It stayed with me the whole day. The headache caused me to sacrifice my patience, if I had any to begin with. It was gone.

Lunch passed by pretty quickly. I couldn't even remember my first three classes. Did they even exist? Of course they did. If I skipped a class then I would be in trouble. I can't get away with anything.
I sat at my lonely lunch table, poking at cold school food with a spork. My friendships, if I could call them that, had disappeared. Jessica, Eddie, and even Prater quit talking to me. I suppose my silence and lack of interest in anything scared them away. My friends in Vermont hadn't spoken to me in weeks. The last text message I received from a friend there simply said "You're Hollywood now,". It was from a small acquaintance from school. His name was Ashton. Apparently everyone back in Burlington refers to me as "Hollywood," but they've all forgotten me by now.
The thought of my good friends fading away sparked a bit of sadness in this husk of a girl. But all it was was a spark. It didn't ignite a huge, sad fire. It went away quickly.
My eyes reviewed the area of the courtyard. I wasn't looking for anything inpetticular. They just wandered around.
Vermin. Maggots. They cause my blood to burn. Wastes of flesh and sperm I thought to myself as my icy blues passed by a series of people. Everyone ignited a random hatred inside of me. Vanity infected whores I thought as my eyes passed by a group of girls applying lip gloss and flipping their flawlessly bleached lochs of hair.
Suddenly I held myself high on a throne, above the others. Everyone seemed below me in some way. It was only a momentary thought, but it stuck with me through out the day. I hated myself for thinking that. These were people I half way knew and already I was judging them. Then again it is high school.

One girl, I never learned her name, caught my glares with her own. I felt trouble. The way that she turned to her friends, pointed at me, and spoke in whispers told me that I was in trouble and now I had to deal with it.
She walked over with two girls following her. They all wore high heel pumps and glittery, fancy, revealing clothes. The leader was a fake brunette, and the other two were fake blondes. Their roots showed.
They all stomped over with their noses in the air like a couple of stereotypical female bullies. I was the main character. The outcast girl who some how raises above the preppy bullies, wins the jocky boy whose dating the leader, and then the credits scroll down to show that I'm actually played by a drugged up, high school drop out with daddy issues who got lucky and made it into the show business.
But I did want the jock. I really didn't care if I rose above the preppy snobs of Westfield. I just wanted to poke at my nasty food and go home so I could nurse my growing headache. It was like a thousand hammers banging against my skull.

"Do you have a problem?" said the leader, leaning over my food and casting a shadow over my face. I learn the courtyard get silent at the thought of cat fight. I instantly crawled into my turtle shell only to be pulled out.

"No, I don't. I'm sorry. I stare off into space sometimes," I replied. My voice slightly cracked because I didn't want to get into trouble with administrators or the principal of this school. Its happened before when I was in Burlington. I would get into unwanted fights and be punished for it.

"So you have a staring problem?" she spewed in a nasty, rough voice. Her breath reeked of cigarettes and last night's liquor. I couldn't breathe at the smell of it. It over powered the stench of the blood that was stained the inside of my nose. It was almost amazing, but it was too disgusting.

"I don't have any problem," I said back becoming more agitated as she continued. My turtle shell began to deteriorated and my claws began to come out. This headache amplified my temper more than I expected it too.
"We all know you're the new girl here so you may not know the rules so I'm going to teach them to you," she began. Her friends snickered behind her. "Rule number one; you do not run this school. You probably think you're some bad ass from the boonies, but you're not. I run this school," she stated. I had a problem with this automatically. "Rule number two; don't ever get on my bad side. I will attack you the next time you piss me off," she continued. I felt my heart beat quicken and my blood began to burn through my veins. "And rule number three, new girl; Don't ever think you're better than me. You aren't. You're just some sad, miserable, little goth girl who sits alone. Kill yourself," she finished.
She and her friends were beginning to walk away, leaving me in my solitude, but I would never allow this.

"Rule number one; my name is Anna. It's not 'new girl'," I slowly replied. She turned around, stunned that I was talking back to her. Rule number two; I don't give two shits if you think you're the baddest bitch on the block, no one talks to me like that. And rule number three, bitch; fuck off and eat shit or I'll paint the fucking lockers with your pretty little brains," I growled. I felt like another person. I was angrier, stronger, and more sadistic. I actually pictured the hallways and lockers stained with bloods. The floors were bouncing with bullet shells. Flashes of the massacre shot through my head, fueling the new Anna.

The girl took a shot at me, but I didn't feel it. I laughed. Her hit had to appear on my cheek somewhere because the whole courtyard gasped at it. Or maybe it was the fact that I laughed at her poor excuse for a punch.
I grabbed her by her hair with my left hand and punched her directly in the nose with my right over and over again until I saw blood. Then I pulled down with my left fist and caused her to smack her head on the cement table. When I let go I ran because the heroic Anna had gone away. I reverted to the shy, timid, and now terrified Anna.
Teachers stopped me at the door into the actual lunch room and escorted me into the principals office.

I had to go home early, but so did the girl I fought. I was given a three day suspension for my first offense while she was given two weeks because this was her fourth. My parents were disappointed in me. They made that clear by repeating it fifty times during the drive home.
I pulled my hood over my head and turned the volume on my iPod up until the whole world was put on mute. My parents went on with their rambling and took my silence as me taking it all in. They didn't give a real punishment. They didn't have much to take away from me. My phone was gone until I went back to school, but it meant nothing. No one was talking to me anyway.
Moira greeted me as I walked into the house. I waved slightly, but didn't really show any care.

"I cleaned the sheets and pillow case in your room. You have fresh, new ones on your bed," I faintly heard in between the song I was listening to. I nodded in approval and then sulked up into my room.
Somehow the music helped my headache. It cleared it up, but the moment I pulled off my headphones it came back.
I quietly shut the door to my bedroom and placed my iPod into the iHome on top of my dresser. Soon the room was full of music. The voice of Gerard Way echoed off the walls and turned my room into a safe haven. I could fall onto the hardwood floor and float down a river of beautiful lyrics.
I softly muttered the words to Helena to myself as I bobbed my head.

"I like this song," he said unexpectedly from my bed.
Tate was laying there, flipping through my notebook, with the sun casting a brilliant light across him. I stopped moving and singing. The only thing I did was stare in utter blankness at him like some stupid girl, drooling. Only I wasn't drooling.
"You're home early," he said.

"I got into a fight with some bitch during lunch," I replied as I dropped my bag onto the floor. It landed with a thud.

"Are your parents pissed?" he asked.

"No. They're disappointed," I stated carelessly
Tate closed the notebook and set it back down. He opened his arms wide, inviting me to lay with him. I joyfully accepted.
His arms wrapped around me and pulled me close to his chest. We formed together like pieces of puzzle to form a safe shell. I was the inside that needed protection and he was the strong, hard outer layer.
Tate twirled his index finger around my curly, long, black hair. He liked to play with my hair.

"Did you kick her ass?" he asked through the silence.

"Yes," I answered thought I knew it wasn't me. It was an evil reflection of me who hurt that girl. I had no physical strength what-so-ever. It wasn't me.
Tate laughed anyway. He gave me his quiet approval by kissing me softly on my busted lips. He told me that they were bleeding, but I didn't feel or taste the blood.
"Don't kiss me then," I suggest to him. He ran his thumb over my bottom lip, wiping away some blood, and then tasting it.

"I like it," he whispered, an inch away from my face. He licked away the blood off of my lip with the tip of his tongue like a vampire, sensually drinking away at his victim. I liked it. Maybe I liked it too much because I let out a small whimper and my bottom lip trembled before his touch. He felt the shiver course through my body and it amused him. Kissing me again, he laughed.

"You're so cute," he said before bringing me closer to him. I smiled as my face was pressed against his plain, gray, long sleeved shirt. I bit at the fabric, pulling it, trying to act cute, Apparently I only succeed at starting a small play fight with Tate that ended with him on top of me.
Where could this possibly lead to?
We had a short stare down. I looked into his dark brown eyes while he looked into my icy blues as if he were searching for something inside of me. His face inched closer until of lips met again. I kissed him back, obviously. I couldn't deny Tate.
It was so easy to say that I was his slave though I didn't want to admit it. But I've seen him kill people in my dreams and reality has smacked me in the face with the fact that he has. His ex girlfriend wanders around my house, covered in blood, and giving me all of these good reasons to why he's a bad person. Tate is an imposable person. He wasn't eighteen years old. He wasn't alive. I knew that. In the back of my mind, kept in box that was hidden under the floor boards, I knew that. Would I ever admit to it? Of course not.
We laid there with our lips meeting and parting, our tongues colliding, and breathing become heavier for a while. Instincts took over. What I really wanted to do. I ran my hands up his shirt, hoping he would get the idea, but he pushed my hands away. He pulled away from my face and apologized.

"Are you okay?" I asked sweetly, afraid that I didn't something wrong. In past relationships I was never the first one to make a move. I always followed along and hoped for the best.

"I'm fine. I'm just...sensitive," he slowly answered, his eyes parting their ways with mine. "I have scars on my chest," he explained.

"I like scars," I admitted. It was true. Scars were one of my turn ons.

"My dad use to beat me," he said. I thought that would be explanation enough but he went into full detail of his dad's abusive ways. "My sister is mentally handicapped, so he wouldn't touch her but he was verbally and mental abusive. He'd insult her constantly and force her to do degrading things so he could humiliate her. The asshole would hit me out of drunken anger and sometimes they would leave scars. They're all over my chest. I hate them. They remind me of that shit stain all of the time,".

It was an obvious lie. I knew it wasn't true. It may have been when he was a lie but right now it was just an excuse so he could hide whatever was under there. When would he tell me the truth?

"I understand," I muttered. He tried to kiss me again, but it didn't work. The mood was gone.
The smell of blood grew increasingly strong the more he kissed me and soon the source appeared. Another nose bleed.
It ran down my face like bullets. I had to push Tate off and run into the bathroom before I stained the bed and my clothes again.
Red drops rained down from my nose into the sink. I had to blow and blow out red chunks until the actual blob of blood came out. It was gross and messy.
My face was completely stained along with the mirror, sick, and parts of the linoleum tiled floor. I felt a little bit dizzy and my headache only got worse, but I knew I could get through it if I didn't dwell on all of the blood.
The sink ran for a few minutes before it flushed out off of the red. I had to clean up the bathroom before I could leave it. My mom would flip a tit if I left it a bloody mess.
As I scrubbed the mirror with a wet cloth a presence appeared.

"Tate's dead you know," she said. I expected Violet, but I got Hayden. The raccoon-eyed whore that ruined the Hartman family. I didn't want to answer her because I didn't know her like I knew Violet. Sure, we hated each other, but I was so use to caddy insults and witty remarks with Violet that I didn't want to fight with another spirit. Especially ones as bitchy as Hayden.
"He's a little weirdo too. Do you know what he's done?" she continued on until I answered.

"Yeah. I know," I said plainly, without a single care. She snickered at me in disgust.

"You're staying with him? What, do his psychotic break down and unending emotion problems turn you on?" she asked in her snobby little voice.

"Yeah," I replied with a smirk. I turned myself around to face and said, "his homicidal tendencies get me off too,".
Hayden twisted her head, raised her eyebrows, and smiled.

"Wow, you're quite the little murder groupie aren't you? You're so dark and alone, right? You need your insane boyfriend to kill all of the bad people who were mean to you in Elementary school?" she snapped.

"What do you want Hayden?" I sighed tired of her dribble.
She shrugged.

"Nothing. Just a chat. I've watched her completely lose your mind in this place and then some how piece it back together. I wanted to say hi,"

"You've said everything but hi," I said, "Shouldn't be riding Mr. Harman's dick right now?".

"Been there, done that. I'm moving onto better things," she chuckled. I looked at her puzzled, but kept my smile.

"Like what?" I asked.

"None of your damn business," she replied and then disappeared.

The only thing I knew about Hayden besides all of the obvious things, was that I really didn't like her. I wanted to hurt her but she was already dead. I didn't want her in this house. I could easily see her trying to sleep with my dad, but he would never fall for that. Would she sink so low as to stealing my boyfriend? Tate would never do that either.

I was through with thinking about it. I left the bathroom and everything that happened in there. Tate was still in my bed, waiting for me. So I crawled up next to him. He wrapped his arms around me once again so we created another shell. Luckily he didn't hear the voices that came from the bathroom. I didn't want to open any discussion about Hayden or what we were talking about.

"Are you alright?" he asked very concerned and worried.

"I'm fine," I answered with a smile. I explained to him that these nose bleeds are very common. They happen every so often and they were no big deal. We both shrugged it off our shoulders and ignored it.
I laid in his arms all night, pondering so many thoughts. Mostly, I was deluding myself and the fact that Tate wasn't human. I tried to push it so far into the back of my brain that it would've caused another nose bleed just from sheer stress.
Soon it would become an inevitable fact. I would see what happened.