Scarlets

2. Frayed from the Start
Garrett Thorne

For Garrett Thorne, everything had been the last straw since day one. He had a dire need for beating other guys up, all the time, and it was partly because at the back of his God-awful, pig-stenched mind, he knew about his mom’s affairs.

He knew about his dad’s true accusations.

He knew he’d been obligated to be sworn to absolute secrecy, to not let a drip of truth ever dampen his dad’s ears, to let the lies and excuses sugar-coat it all.

May God ever forbid, but Garrett grew more despicable each day, with his bitterness floating around him like a dark aura..

Garrett didn’t have any permanent friends until the arrival of Cameron Levin, a narcissistic freak with great passion for chasing the girls. It was one day, a sweltering day at that, in Lynn Valley, where bubble teas were a must, fir trees were rendered useless, and Kirkstone skatepark was the ideal place to be, when ten year-old Garrett espied a seemingly dead body slumped on the ground.

Garrett held his breath, one hand clasping the handle of his bike in goose-bumped anticipation.

“Ow,” the dead body moaned, jolting, astir. It quickly rolled once, revealing a face fringed with purple flesh, right ankle fragmented, crippled arms stretched out sullenly.

“What happened to you?” Garrett asked, half-fascinated.

The boy on the floor smiled, murmuring gutturally, “I learned today that being chased by girls can make some guys want to beat you up.”

At that moment’s realization, Garrett swore never to associate himself with this blond-haired airhead. It was a troth only to be broken within a few minutes’ time, however.

About to make an exit, Garrett maneuvred his bike towards a causeway, one foot weighing onto a pedal. If it wasn’t for the rasping sounds coming from the blondie, Garrett would have had no second thoughts leaving him in absolute solitude. However, Garrett felt an inrush of guilt, which was a rare event that was yet to be recorded, and Garrett stayed, eyes fixed on the suffering being. Blondie smiled, an almost mocking grin that formed in half-crescent perfection.

“Name’s Cameron,” the boy mumbled. “Yeah, I’m kind of dying right now; I don’t know if you’ve noticed yet.”

Hesitant, Garrett replied, “I’m Garrett Thorne.”

“I’ve heard about you,” Cameron droned, lower than a whisper. “Isn't your mom fucking—”

And as if on comical purpose, Cameron's head drooped, and he fell into utter unconsciousness—Garrett had no choice but to call for help. Why Garrett had thought of Cam as tolerable, Garrett couldn’t fathom. It must have been because the golden-haired imbecile was half-dead and was in no way capable of spewing out inanity.

During his hospital stay, Cameron cared to reveal all that had happened between him and that cunt Jackie.

Apparently, that was the day Cameron finally had the chance to steal a kiss from Jackie. And before he had the chance to open his eyes, Cameron was ambushed by five guys in waiting.

"It was my first kiss, man," Cameron chuckled, looking away as if he admitted an embarrassment.

It was a fucking shame to have had your lips' virginity stolen by the queen of promiscuity. Cameron looked like an innocent Japanese school girl in comparison to Jackie's history of casual encounters with numerous guys.

Garrett remembered that brown-haired Satan-loving freak. Jackie fucking Reid. Garrett Thorne only channeled all his anger towards the female population whenever he was with his mother. But, man, Jackie Reid was a piece of work, and she just begged to be an exception to his chivalrous principle.

And so at age ten, Garrett Thorne punched Jackie Reid for trying to force a kiss on him. Her puckered lips had never looked so beautiful with a purple bruise.



Garrett pretty much found himself hanging out more and more with Cameron as they graced their first couple of double-digited years. Their good times mostly had something to do with bmx and skateboarding in Kirkstone, if not in Lonsdale, where most skateboarding contests were conducted in. Something about Cameron made him that much bearable to be friends with. He was so agreeable, though he often joked too much for his own good.

Surely, with Cameron’s charisma, people were readily drawn towards him. Eventually, at age thirteen, Cam had fetched out Tanner and Jamal, two of the oddest people out there.

The dark days had loomed at age fourteen, the year Jackie approached the ever-so-dumb Cameron. There was a reason as to why Garrett had broken Jackie’s nose when they were ten. The girl had no heart, no pulse. The girl could have been the embodiment of Lucifer, for all Garrett knew. She was vile and manipulative, only fueled by the downed sentiments of others. She even laughed at her own pain, the crazed girl. Cameron saw this too, as clear as day, and all the more liked Jackie for it. God knew the reason why.

At the end of each nicotine-coated day, Jackie knew the world best; Garrett grasped and accepted that much at least.

While living in mutual avoidance and disgust, Garrett and Jackie kept a stable relationship with Cameron.

However, something wasn’t right—of course not. Jamal assumed everything was fine and dandy and all fucking butterflies and rainbows. Tanner Bae just played along with the constant jests that Cam held. Cam insisted he was fucking ecstatic with Jackie in their lives, but Garrett knew it was all a bunch of bull. Like one of Jackie’s Susanna Kaysen philosophies, there was always darkness inside, underneath, just somewhere not so visible, and it sure as hell ate up Cameron inside out ever since Jackie’s suicide attempt.

She had tried everything in all of Cameron's waking moment. A noose around the neck. Pills for never waking up. Ingesting whatever cleaning chemicals she had in stock. Cameron never slept in peace knowing he could lose the girl he loved. She was so fucking handicapped she couldn't even be trusted to be on her own. But apparently none of those suicide attempts were lethal enough to kill the one and only Jackie fucking Reid.

At this, Garrett didn't know whether to punch or strangle his friend. Cameron deserved a fucking Oscar for hiding the walking flesh-tattered mess he was.

Age sixteen. By this age, everyone had perfected the art of being fake; fake smiles, fake laughter, anything to keep the atmosphere very fucking happy. Some pretty marvelous bullshit it was too.

Age sixteen was the time when Garrett's dad stormed out of the house upon seeing Mrs. Thorne's bulging stomach. The baby was not Mr. Thorne's, and instead, it was the neighbour's. Garrett, who stopped giving a crap about this years ago, merely cleaned the house after his dad's angry exit.

Mrs. Thorne wailed for days, not because of guilt, but because she couldn't file a divorce having been cut off of Mr. Thorne's contact. Mrs. Thorne wanted to marry the fucking pig next door, the pig who had gotten her knocked up in the first place.

If Satan had an asshole, it would be Mrs. Thorne's mouth. Spewing shit nonstop.

"You never do anything, Garrett!" Mrs. Thorne wailed. "I love you so much, but you have got to help me keep this family together!"

She was a sobbing catastrophe once again, that cheap mascara smeared on her face so artfully. It looked like today's menu was self-pity.

"I've stopped being a part of your family since dad left," Garrett spat and stormed off before he couldn't help himself. His bottled feelings were so hard to contain these days. Maybe because the bulge in her stomach wouldn't stop growing. It was like cancer forcing its way to be known.

Mrs. Thorne wasn't so easy to submit and tried to drag back her son. "Garrett, listen to me, if you even have the least bit of respect for your mother—"

"I don't," was Garrett's cold answer. "Don't throw around words you don't know the meaning of. You're embarrassing yourself."

That was the last straw for Mrs. Thorne and that night, she chucked Garrett's clothes outside their apartment room. It was one of those nights where Garrett's house wasn't really his home, and he had to spend the night elsewhere.

So he cozied himself at the train station, staring off into space with spite.

Garrett Thorne partly believed in God; he just didn't think God gave a fuck about everyone in this pig-stenched world.