She Screams in Silence

All Dressed Up, Red-Blooded, a Mannequin

Some days later, Felicity was lying on her bed, a textbook open in front of her face. She studied it, frowning and absently tapping her highlighter against the pages until she’d uncap it and cover a particular section in bright neon. A cassette was playing in her stereo––the album Green Day had recorded less than a month earlier, Kerplunk. The case was lying within her reach, for often she’d take a break from studying to smile at it. It was a simple white background, decorated only with a drawing of a girl packing a gun and wearing a t-shirt with a deranged-looking flower on it. But it was particularly special to her, for the three guys had autographed it––Tre had signed his name in purposefully large, childlike block lettering, Mike had his hasty signature in one corner, and there was Billie’s messy penmanship, To my girl, Love, The Ultimate Rock God, Billie Joe Armstrong.

A doorbell sounded faintly from downstairs. Felicity hardly noticed.

“Felicity, dinner!” a voice echoed.

Sighing, Felicity shut her book closed and prepared for another horrid meal. Her parents had been mechanically congenial and awkward ever since the blowout over her new appearance, forcing themselves to smile and pretend nothing was wrong. And Felicity didn’t know how to get out of it.

But as Felicity made her way downstairs, she spied the ringer of the doorbell and, appalled, realized her parents had sunk to a new twisted low in their attempts to convince their daughter Billie Joe never existed.

“Honey, come down and meet our dinner guest,” Rachel directed her. Felicity froze on the steps, eyeing the visitor warily. It was a young man, dressed to the nines, in a polo, slacks, and dress shoes. He had a perfect coif of golden hair, set against perfectly tanned skin, accented with perfect blue eyes and perfect white teeth.

So my parents invited a Ken doll to dinner...

Felicity finished making her way down the staircase, raising an eyebrow at this stranger’s smile. There was something off about him. He almost reminded Felicity of herself before she’d met Billie––except he seemed to be quite happy in his role as a flawless mannequin.

“Felicity, this is Patricia Stewart’s son, Craig. He just happened to be in town and agreed to join us for dinner. He goes to Stanford Medical School, don’t you, son?” Richard smiled proudly at the young man.

Son?!

“Yes, Sir, I do,” Craig nodded, his speaking in a posh, polished voice. He turned back to Felicity, “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, miss.”

“Right. Nice to meet you, too,” Felicity gave him a not-quite-genuine smile, extracting her hand from his.

“He’s twenty-two,” Rachel informed her daughter.

“Yes, Ma’am, I am.”

“Congratulations,” Felicity deadpanned.

“On my acceptance to medical school? Thank you,” Craig smiled. “It’s my first semester. I am doing excellently, but I expect nothing less, of course.”

“No, on being twenty-two. My mother said it as though it were some sort of accomplishment on your part––not dying, that is. Were you quite ill as a child?”

Craig poorly masked his offended sneer. Quickly, though, he wiped it away. After all, his parents were shelling out a large sum of money to get him to romance the Bennet girl. Everyone in the social circle knew the Bennets were in dire straits, what with their prized little girl running around with that disreputable boy and would do anything to cut her off and save their reputations. Besides that, she might not have been much for personality––Craig considered girls who fawned over him and paid him many a compliment to have “personality”––but she had a pretty damn nice figure. She’d be a nice story to tell, anyway.

“Felicity, may I have a word?” Rachel pressed her teeth together in what was assumed to be an attempt at a smile as she nearly dragged her daughter out of the room. Once out of earshot, she hissed, “Behave yourself! For your sake, believe me, you want to impress Craig. We invited him expressly for you. So I will not have any more insolent remarks out of you, are we clear?”

“Mom, I don’t think he’s really for me. I understand what you’re trying to do, but you can’t just force someone on me. And of all people, he certainly isn’t one that I’d particularly care to––”

Rachel cut her off as she drew her hand back and brought it across Felicity’s face. “You do not seem to be grasping what I’m telling you. You are to be on your best behavior. Do not forget that. I mean it this time. Understood?”

Felicity blinked, the side of her face smarting painfully. She had simply assumed her mother had lost control that night when she had slapped her, but now she seemed completely aware of her actions. She had struck her without any sense of remorse.

“Do you understand?” Rachel asked again, speaking slowly through gritted teeth.

“Yes, Mom,” Felicity whispered, too horrified to protest.

“Well, let’s get to dinner, shall we?” Rachel suddenly trilled, clasping her hands together and practically prancing into the dining room.

But as Felicity watched her mother put on her façade, she didn’t feel that old fear and anxiety riding up––she just felt angry. Was this life? Putting on these false faces and bullying people into doing what you wanted, as though your wants always came before everyone else? To be fake, self-absorbed, and cruel?

The dinner went sourly. Felicity merely picked at her food disconsolately, listening to the horrid political discourse her parents were engaging in, Craig being particularly smarmy and ass-kissing to them both. He probably had no actual opinions of his own––he was nothing more than a vacant-headed, arrogant opportunist.

Rachel sighed, “Do you know Rosa was asking for a raise this morning? I could hardly believe it! It just goes to show you this horrible situation with the immigrants––swarming into this country and trying to take advantage of us!”

Felicity scowled. God forbid anyone ask for more than minimum wage after eight years of working for you.

“I couldn’t agree more!” Craig nodded. “Can you just think of the mess once Clinton takes office? Why, those immigrants will be pouring in across the border, robbing decent Americans of their jobs and loafing off our government!”

Felicity gave him a look of disgust. Yeah, because you were lining up to go pick fruit for twenty cents an hour and be denied a living wage.

“What we need is Reagan back in office. He would have banned those illegal aliens from coming in,” Richard put in.

Between taking a nap with Mommy and eating some jelly beans, that is.

“Well, I told Rosa ‘no’ flat outright. She threatened to quit, but then, I reminded her that I know most of the people who can afford to hire her and that might make it difficult obtaining a new job,” Rachel smirked.

“Good help is so hard to find these days,” Felicity sneered, her voice dripping with sarcasm, unable to keep back any longer. “But doesn’t Rosa have three children she supports on her own? That, and I think she’s from Chicago.” And blackmailing people isn’t exactly ethical, she added in her head.

“Don’t talk about things you don’t know, dear,” Richard patted her hand. He turned to Craig, “Forgive my daughter. She means well, of course.”

How much would it hurt if I jammed this fork into my head? Felicity mused, twirling her pasta around her possible masochistic weapon.

When the torturous meal was finally winding down, Felicity prematurely assumed the agony was at its end.

Her mother proved her wrong, however, as she turned to her and Craig. “Why don’t you two go outside and talk while the table is being cleared, hm?” Rachel suggested, sugar-sweet.

“Oh, but I really should help clean––” Felicity started.

“You two kids go out. Don’t worry about helping with the dishes,” Richard grinned jovially, placing his hands on Felicity and Craig’s shoulders and giving them a gentle push towards the backyard.

They stood out there for nearly a minute, awkwardly silent, made all the worse by the heightened sound of chirping crickets.

“So, you want to be a doctor? That’s nice,” Felicity nodded, making an attempt at conversation. Perhaps he could be vaguely tolerable when he wasn’t putting on that sickening show for her parents.

He promptly crushed her faint hope as rather than reply, he practically mauled her, one of his hands going for her bustline as he yanked her in and attempted to attack her lips with his.

Disgusted, Felicity wrenched away, shoving him backwards and cracking her hand across his face. “Get the hell off me! God, what is wrong with you?! Are you completely lacking in social skills?! You don’t go around molesting people!”

“Aw, come on, you can’t pull off that tease-act,” Craig grinned. “What? You don’t think it’s the hot gossip among the Bay Area elite that you’re going around with that punk in the faggy makeup? Don’t tell me he’s still hanging around you if he’s not getting laid. Your parents are humiliated. Why do you think they brought me here? Honestly, you’re damn lucky I’m bothering with you.”

Felicity sneered. “You’re an idiot. And you’re not doing me any favors here. I don’t give a damn what people are saying, especially a bunch of pretentious socialites. I don’t want anything to do with you.”

“Now we both know that’s not true. Come on, what’s he got to compete with me? He’s poor, he’s a dropout––probably a drug addict. I’m every parents’ dream. He’s their nightmare.”

“At least Billie isn’t some two-faced skeazy bastard with his head up his own ass like you! You are a nightmare of a human being! And if you ever lay a finger on me again, I will personally guarantee you are never able to reproduce!”

Craig sniffed, “You’ll come around. They always do.”

“Not even if you were the last man on earth.”

“Hey, don’t be like that,” he gave her a smile.

“Go screw yourself. Because you will not be screwing me. Ever. Goodnight.” Before he could say another word, Felicity pivoted on her heel and stalked back into the house, slamming the door behind her.

“Felicity, where’s Craig?”

She didn’t answer her mother. Rather, she stormed past her and up the stairs. This farce was over.

• • •

A week later, Felicity was spending the evening with a particular fellow whose company did not repel her at all.

She and Billie were parked next to the Berkeley Rose Garden adjacent Cordonices Park. It was a beautiful scene––hundreds of roses framed by the dying golden sunlight, surrounding an incredible view of the sun sinking behind the Golden Gate, the Bay sparkling back.

Felicity, however, was a bit preoccupied. Between that fiasco with Craig the Creepy Cad and some information she had received earlier that day at her opera lesson, she was forgetting to enjoy the mood.

Billie leaned in, thinking he had struck gold with his choice of where he parked. Make-out point, eat your heart out. But seeing her expression, he frowned and paused in his proceedings. “Um, your face isn’t exactly encouraging as far as me making a move here.”

“What?” Felicity looked over at him. “Oh, God, I’m sorry, I was just thinking about...something.”

“That apparently did not involve me or our current location or current activity,” he sighed, leaning back in his chair.

“Oh, don’t look like that,” she shook her head. “It was just something from my lesson today. It’s just kind of on my mind.”

“Which you’d like to share...?”

She exhaled. “Look, I wanted to invite you to this...thing. You don’t have to go if you don’t want to, and I’m sure you don’t, but I just thought I’d at least tell you and of course you’re not going, so nevermind.”

Billie blinked. “What?”

She sighed heavily. “Okay, so there’s this...recital thing I’m doing. Singing. It’s just different people who work with Mr. Delacroix––they all do solos and duets and all that sort––opera, you know? It...it’s not an actual play or anything––just selections––for the holiday season or something. They sort of finalized everything today. Anyway, you keep saying you want to hear me sing. And I know you don’t want to go to this, but––yeah.”

“What are you talking about?! I wouldn’t miss it!” he grinned. Noticing her pained expression, he frowned, “What?”

“I hate singing in front of people,” she whispered. “And you––you’re amazing––your voice, I mean,” she corrected herself, seeing him smirk. “And I’m embarrassed as hell to have you come see me, but...but...well, you’re my...” she shrugged, biting on her lip.

“I know you’ll be amazing,” he smiled, putting his arm around her. “Just like me.”

“My parents are going to be there, you know.”

“Good for them,” Billie nodded, leaning in a little. “Now forget any anxiety, because it’s ridiculous. Instead, concentrate on this lovely view and enjoy yourself...and me. And perhaps we can...enjoy each other.” He grinned, murmuring, “Gorgeous sunset.”

“You’re not looking at the sunset,” she laughed.

“Yeah, what’s your point?” he shrugged, leaning in to claim her lips with his. After a minute or so, the sun could have started a jig on the horizon and neither of them would have noticed.

• • •

The night before the operatic recital Rachel had gone into stage-mother mode, lecturing her daughter on how to sing out, and, more importantly, to be winning and charming to all their friends. Felicity, nervous enough already, found herself in no mood to allow her mother to trip her into an anxiety-attack. And every jab was driving her to the point where she could no longer keep everything to herself, consequences of her mother’s anger be damned.

“Now, the Goldsteins have agreed to be there, and so has Delia Cavanaugh. I expect you to look your best,” Rachel paused, glancing at her daughter, “well, as best as you can look. We’ll make do, I suppose. I think it would be best for you to wear the––”

“Billie’s going.”

“What?” Rachel’s face paled.

“Billie. I invited him. He’s coming to see me.”

“Billie?” she whispered disbelievingly.

“Yes. My boyfriend.”

“Your...what?”

“My boyfriend.”

“B...b...b...” Rachel sputtered, unable to repeat the horrifying obscenity that had passed her daughter’s lips.

“Boyfriend. Significant other. Guy I am dating, seeing, involved with. Gentleman who is...er...paying me court, if you’d like to get archaic about it.” Seeing Rachel’s continued flabbergasted expression, she continued, “Um, maybe you and Dad called it ‘going steady’? I’m not really sure how to make this any clearer.”

“You’re not allowed to date him,” Rachel managed.

“Huh. Well, that’s...interesting,” Felicity gave a shrug. “But I sort of am...dating him, that is.”

“You can’t date him. You can’t see him.”

“No, Mom, that isn’t really true. You see, you just don’t want me to do those things. But the fact of the matter is, I can date him and I can see him, and if I so choose, Mother dearest, I can even have him f––”

“Felicity!”

“And don’t worry about a dress. I used that money I saved from babysitting Mr. and Mrs. Mitchell’s children to buy one.”

“Without my approval?” Rachel whispered.

“Don’t worry. It’s very nice. Green silk cocktail dress. It was even on sale.”

“On...sale?” Rachel echoed, such turn-of-phrase not a part of her vocabulary.

“Uh-huh,” Felicity nodded. “And now I really must be getting upstairs––big Calculus test on Monday I need to study for.” She paused at the foot of the staircase, deciding to deliver one more blow to her already shocked mother. “By the way, Mom, I meant to tell you––I quit piano nearly three months ago. And I dropped Physics and Stats at Vista. Just thought you should know in case you might wonder when you didn’t get a bill.”

“You what?!”

“Mom, honestly, don’t bother punishing me. There’s nothing to ground me from––you already basically keep me under lock and key.”

Rachel strode over to her, wrenching her arm, “You ungrateful, insolent little––”

“Slap me again, Mom, and you’re worse than I am,” Felicity said dully.

“Don’t you mouth off to me!” Rachel did not heed her advice, once more resorting to an infuriated smack across her daughter’s face.

“I hope you’re damn proud of yourself,” Felicity whispered flatly, trying to ignore the smarting sensation. Three strikes and she was no longer horrified by it. It was only painful and sad.

• • •

The next evening at the Aurora Theatre on Addison, Felicity stepped out into the spotlight, her stomach an icy knot. Her dress caught the light, the emerald silk shimmering. It was a modest halter, with thick straps that crossed in front and hooked around her neck, relatively form fitting down to the hips, where the skirt flowed down just past her knees. Her hair was pulled up with little rhinestone clips in a French twist, displaying a pretty face, though paled and nervous. She knew Billie was out in the audience, having peeked from behind the curtain before the recitals began, watching him glance around with interest, smiling at the raised eyebrows he was receiving. She didn’t dare search for him among the shadows now, though. It was better to concentrate on not dying.

Besides that, it was enough to know that among all those others who were only watching to see that she didn’t fail them, there was someone out there in the crowd who knew that she would succeed.

Mr. Delacroix, down below the stage with the little orchestral quartet hired for the evening, gave her a reassuring smile before speaking, “And now Miss Felicity Bennet with Schubert’s ‘Ave Maria.’” He tapped the music stand with his baton and the instruments struck up the intro. Taking a breath, Felicity opened her mouth to sing, staring straight ahead and pretending she was alone in that theatre. Her voice rang out, carrying clearly back to the lobby doors, climbing the notes and descending again. Before she knew it, she hit the final note, holding it as applause echoed.

Thanking all that is sacred and holy for not making any obvious mistakes, she dashed off stage before the applause even began to die down.

When the recital finished, Felicity snuck out into the crowd, hoping to blend in and remain unnoticed.

“Hey,” a hand touched her arm. She whirled around to see the only person she didn’t want to hide from––Billie.

He held out a red rose to her, shrugging, “I wanted to go throw it at you on stage and yell ‘Bravo!’ but I thought that might be pushing it. Look, I know you probably get these all the time, and a whole lot nicer than anything from those stands on Telegraph, and I would have gotten you the big dozen thing of them, but...well, I didn’t realize how much...I mean...uh...”

Felicity blinked, taking the proffered rose from him and suddenly wanting to cry, “No. No, I really love it. Thank you. It’s beautiful.”

“Hey, I know it’s not the greatest thing ever––you don’t have to act like––”

“I’m not,” she looked up at him. “No one’s ever given me flowers before.”

Billie gave her a confused grin. “What are you talking about? For these things?” he gestured around at the recital. “You’re telling me when you were little your parents weren’t giving you flowers for this kind of stuff? Like that girl!” he pointed over towards a middle school-aged redhead who had sung earlier and was currently having her father lay a giant bouquet on pink roses and baby’s breath in her arms and going, “Oh, dear, you were wonderful!”

Felicity shook her head. All the way back to her first ballet recital, no more than pink-cheeked five year olds in matching tutus running around and smiling on stage, she could remember standing wistfully afterwards, watching the other mommies and daddies give their little girls flowers, congratulating them. Felicity, however, had her mother gently reprimanding her for her various mistakes, made even worse by Richard coercing her to smile for the camera. The other little girls were being told what a great job they had done. “Didn’t I do good?” she tugged at Rachel’s sleeve anxiously. Richard had answered for her, patting his daughter on the head, “You will someday if you practice. And it’s well, dear. Ask if you did well.”

“Well,” Billie shrugged, “there’s your first. And well-deserved. You were fucking amazing.”

“No, I wasn’t. I’m not that good.”

“Yes, you are! Honestly! Jesus Christ, Felicity, I had no idea you could sound like that! That was unbelievable! I mean, have you considered singing for a living? I’m serious.”

Felicity scoffed, “I don’t think so.”

“Look, I’m not bullshitting you here. I mean it. That was incredible.”

“Thank you,” she grudgingly took the compliment.

“You sound pissed off that I said you were great. Trust me, I’m being honest––I’m not just laying it on to...erm...get laid.”

“Maybe I’ll start a rock band,” she grinned wryly.

“You’d make a nice picture for the album cover.” As she smiled shyly, he took her hand, giving her a twirl once around. “Damn,” Billie murmured, eyeing her up and down as he spun her, the emerald silk skirt flaring out around her knees.

“You’re making me blush,” she demurred a little.

“Yeah? Wait until I––”

But Billie never finished what he was planning to say, for at that moment one of Felicity’s parents’ friends bore down on them, cooing over Felicity’s performance, Rachel at her heels, cringing at the sight of the young man at her daughter’s side.

“And who is this?” the woman questioned, taking note of the eyeliner-wearing fellow who did not seem to match with the rest of the attendees. The question was directed towards Rachel, the woman’s brows arching.

Rachel hesitated, appearing to be trying to decide if she should admit Billie’s true identity or try to palm him off by introducing him as Harvey, the retarded cousin.

Billie raised his eyebrows as she faltered, before quite obviously slipping his arm around Felicity’s waist, his hand resting on her hip.

Harvey the retarded, incestuous, kissing cousin, apparently.

“Billie Joe Armstrong,” he extended his hand to the lady. “Felicity’s boyfriend.”

“Oh. Yes. Pleasure,” the woman faked a smile as she shook his hand and promptly dropped it. Through the gossip grapevine, she, of course, knew exactly who he was.

“Craig came to see you tonight,” Rachel told her daughter suddenly, trying to detract from the idea that Billie actually held any sort of significant position in their world. She called out across the crowd, “Oh, Craig? Yoo-hoo! Felicity’s right over here!” She smiled at Felicity, “We’ll just leave you kids alone now.” She tugged the woman’s arm, dragging her away as dashing Craig entered the scene.

“Wondered where you got off to,” Craig smiled, putting Crest toothpaste models to shame. “And who is this fellow?”

“Billie Joe,” Felicity answered shortly.

“Ah, William Joseph? Nice to meet you, old sport,” Craig offered a hand to shake.

Raising an eyebrow, Billie took it, putting on a fake British accent, “Aye, guv’nah.”

Giving him a disgruntled look, Craig skulked off to find someone else who wouldn’t mock his Great Gatsby imitation.

“Who’s that jerk-off?” Billie smiled, gesturing to Craig.

Felicity rolled her eyes, “That would be Craig, Stanford Medical School and royal asshole. Apparently according to my parents he’s my new, ah, fiancé.”

“You’re joking.”

“Well, potentially, anyway. You’re causing quite the stir, you realize. My parents are trying to contain the damage while they can. They think I’m going to suddenly realize I’m madly in love with that idiot.”

“Felicity, um, no offense, but your parents are batshit insane.”

“You’re not fairing so well yourself if you’re just realizing this.” She sighed, looking in the direction her parents had gone, “Those two are not happy campers this evening.”

“You want to piss them off some more?” Billie grinned wickedly.

“What did you have in mind?”

Giving her a devilish smirk, he shot out his hand, pulling her in against him. He blatantly slid his hands down over her backside as he went in for what could only be described as a French-style loop-the-loop. Though a little shocked, Felicity couldn’t help but inwardly laugh, imagining the spectacle they were causing.

It was only moments later before they were forcibly drawn apart, only to look up and see Richard, smoldering with rage and indignation, his face pure puce. “How dare you!” He was practically shaking with anger, staring Billie down with a look that suggested he was about to hire a hit that would involve a fiery, painful death. “You have no respect for my daughter!” he roared.

“I beg to differ. I have more than respect for her. In fact, I am in...awe of your daughter’s ass. Seriously. And she’s stacked like hell. Can’t stop staring. If she’s ever said anything to me, I haven’t heard it, if you know what I mean. All I’m thinking about is nailing her.” Billie dropped the sarcasm, sneering at him, with a very audible mutter of, “Asshole.”

Richard, looking seconds away from suffering a major stroke, strode away before doing something rash, off to tell his horrified wife what had transpired.

“You want to get out of here?” Billie turned to Felicity.

“Oh, no. I love being around my parents and giving Craig another chance to try to manhandle me.”

“What?”

“Exactly what I said. He seemed to think the other night that he was going to get somewhere. Thus a big reason why I referred to him as ‘royal asshole.’” She frowned as Billie began stalking off. “Wait, where are you going?”

“I’m going to go kill him.”

“Billie, no!” she grabbed his arm. “He’s not worth it. I’d rather you and I just left now than had any further interaction with these people. Please.”

“Are they going to call the cops once they notice you’re gone?” he relaxed a little.

Felicity glanced around, spying Craig heading out the exit. She grinned, before making her way through the crowd towards her fuming parents. Smiling sweetly, she tapped her mother on the arm. “Mom, I am sorry about Billie Joe. Don’t worry, he’s gone now. And if it’s all right, Craig is going to take me out for ice cream and then give me a ride home.”

Rachel looked as though she might burst with happiness at the apparent return of the old Felicity, though reluctant to let her go. “Well, I suppose. I trust him,” she relented.

“Great.” Felicity walked back over to Billie, grabbing his arm, “Come on, let’s go.”