Reverse Sublimation

Chapter One

"But I love you, Ashton."

My words lingered in the air, echoing in my ears. I looked at Ashton with a hopeful, desperate gaze, a pleading look on my face. I was clutching his hand firmly as I faced him, but the tightness of the grip was all from me. He was not squeezing my hand in return.

"I'm sorry," was all he said. He bowed his head, letting his sand-colored hair fall into his gray eyes in an attempt to avoid my gaze. He wasn't avoiding eye contact because he truly felt guilty, like he said; rather, it almost seemed like he was annoyed, and he didn't want to be putting up with this. He wanted it to be over and done with already.

"It's the end of this," he said shortly. "Of us."

"But - we can make it work - " I protested.

"No, Winnie," he said in an exasperated tone. He pulled his hand away from mine, as if he didn't want to touch me any longer - and then I understood. He had wished I wouldn't react like this - like the clingy, begging girlfriend; he just wanted this to be quick and short. He didn't care. He just wanted to get rid of me already.

"Ash," I started again, "I don't know how I can...Without you, I can't..."

"Just forget it. Forget about us, forget about me," he interrupted yet again. He probably meant to sound somewhat comforting, but he failed miserably. "I don't really know how to say this gently, but I'm just...not that into you anymore. Win, come on, please don't cry. I'm sorry. It's...It's over."

And that's how it ended.

* * *

That was one month ago. One month. One month and he hasn't called, texted, or even said hi in the hallway. One month of sulking in my room, downing gallons of ice cream while watching Titanic over and over and listening to sappy slow songs on repeat.

One month. That's all it took.

One month to totally change my attitude completely. I was empty now, broken. I couldn't keep up an interesting conversation; I wasn't hanging out with my friends as much; I wasn't doing as well in school anymore. I wasn't having fun, and most importantly I wasn't laughing. I had transformed into a cynical, sarcastic girl with a tendency to backtalk and act like a smart ass. Basically, if I wasn't being a total bore, I was doing things that made people dislike me.

But it's not like I cared.

"Winnie!" I heard my mom call from the hallway. "Have you done your homework?"

"Yes, mom," I replied in a monotone voice.

"Good," she replied, coming into my room. I glanced up at her and noticed that her dyed-blond hair was pulled up in a high ponytail; a quick and easy way to make wrinkles disappear. She was wearing a form-fitting blouse and sleek black pants, having just gotten home from work. Most people would have scoffed at her choice of clothing; she looked like she was attempting to be the young, 'hot mom,' but I knew better. She was the head editor of a rising fashion magazine, and apparently for a job like that, your looks are just as important as your writing skills.

"You still have all of your chores to do," she continued. "You need to fold your laundry, clean the dishes from your breakfast, and take Bo out for a walk. And don't forget his leash this time."

"Yes, mom," I said again in the same toneless voice. That was one thing that hadn't changed about me: I still fulfilled all my responsibilities. My parents kept me well disciplined by making me complete my household obligations. On top of that, I was disciplined in school: I always did my homework and got good grades. Even now, although my scores had been slipping recently, I still retained an average of an A minus.

"Good girl. Oh, and don't forget that you have to help unload the groceries when your father gets home," she added before leaving my room.

I sighed and flopped onto my bed. This was my life. This was all there was to it. Work and rules. I felt suffocated and trapped. I couldn't say no; it just wasn't in my nature. I was chained down like I was in prison. Or in an insane asylum.

* * *

[Enter Brody]

"I've come to the conclusion that there's something seriously wrong with you."

Patrick Brody, preferably Brody, stared at his friend in confusion. He was a senior in high school but had a boyish face, making him seem friendlier and more innocent than he actually was. He had dark shaggy hair and even darker eyes, and most girls would have found him cute were it not for the rock band hoodies and torn-up jeans he frequently wore. Parents would take one look at his punk appearance and instantly assume that he was a mischief-maker—and their assumptions were perfectly right. Brody’s definition of “fun” always meant getting into trouble and breaking the law, and he loved it.

His friend, Vicki, was a pretty Japanese girl with dyed red streaks flowing through her long black hair. She had a nose ring and a plethora of ear piercings, as well as two tattoos: black birds taking flight across her shoulder and the Japanese character for “chaos” on her left ankle. She stared back at Brody and blew a puff of her cigarette smoke deliberately in his face.

"What?" Brody demanded, waving his hand in front of his face in order to dispel the smoke. "You don't think it's a good idea?"

"Messing with someone's life? Uh, no," Vicki replied. "Whatever you're planning on doing, leave me out of it."

"Don't worry, I was going to in the first place," he assured her. "This is my project."

She ignored the wicked smile on his face and tossed her hair behind her shoulder. She took another hit of her cigarette before speaking again: "You barely even know this Winnie girl. What makes you think she'll even talk to you in the first place?"

"Are you kidding? She won't even be able to resist me," Brody replied smoothly, grinning. In all honesty, he really didn't know the girl that well; yes, they went to the same school, but she was in all honors classes whereas he wasn't, and thus they never had class together. He barely went to his classes, anyway. The only way Brody knew of her was from seeing her in the halls and the gossip that accumulated about her. And there was plenty of gossip. Apparently her "perfect" boyfriend had ditched her right at the end of the summer, and - here's the best part - did it to get with some other chick. Brittany Grant, to be precise. The wealthy, party-loving cheerleader was even more popular than Winnie was. If Brody had to guess, he would say that the Ashton guy had gotten bored with Winnie and just wanted to move on.

"Yeah, you wish," Vicki replied to Brody's remark and tousled his umber-colored hair playfully. The two were good friends - not boyfriend and girlfriend, just friends. They had been this way, ever since the beginning of last year. Vicki had never gone to college, so she was always around. And Brody was always skipping class, so he was always around too. With nothing better to do, the two would always hang out and cause havoc on the little town they lived in, getting a few laughs now and then from the infamous pranks they pulled.

But the pranks were only fun for so long. Brody was bored, and for the past couple of weeks he had been searching for something new and exciting to try. And when word spread about Winnie and her sob-story breakup, he just couldn't resist.

"But seriously," Vicki said after a moment. "You can't just control someone's life like that. It won't end pretty."

"Vick, please stop acting like my older sister and just listen. I'm not going to 'control' anyone. I'm just going to give the girl a little shove in the right direction. You know, guide her. Teach her stuff. It will be like Rebellion 101."

Vicki raised an eyebrow, half-convinced but still skeptical. "And your plan is to befriend this girl, make her trust you, and then turn her into a total badass? And you think this will work because she's all heartbroken and depressed, and you think you can fix her?"

"No, fixing her would be turning her back to the way she was before," Brody corrected her. "I'm re-molding her."

"It still sounds like you'll be designing her life. She's not a puppet, you know."

"I know, I know," he replied, releasing an exasperated sigh. "It’s not like I can force her to do anything she doesn’t really want to do." He grinned. "But that’s the thing, she’ll want to rebel. I know the kind of life she lives—she’s a sweet goody-two-shoe angel, always obeying her parents and teachers, never stepping a toe out of line. But she’s only like that because her parents want her to be like that. I mean, have you seen her in the hallways? She’s miserable. And it’s not from the breakup—I’ve noticed her since freshman year, and she’s always been miserable. I don’t think she’s ever done something she’s ever really wanted to do—she’s never done anything reckless or wild. This is for her own good. She'll finally be able to have her own life. She'll be free. Like us."

"Yeah, because everyone wants to be just like us," Vicki muttered sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

"Come on, admit it. The girl's life sucks. It's not like it can get any worse," Brody said.

"You have a point there..." Vicki admitted. She had seen the girl a few times herself, and if she had to guess her day-to-day attitude, she would say Winnie just hated life in general. At first, Vicki thought the girl had gone from sweet to sour just from the breakup—but Brody was right, she had always been miserable, and the breakup had just made her stop caring to put on a fake happy smile.

"You really think your plan's going to work?" she asked.

"Yep."

"You’re just going to corrupt her just for fun?"

"Yep."

"You're sick."

"You love it."

Vicki laughed lightly and punched him playfully in the arm. "Yep," she said, "that confirms it. There's definitely something wrong with you."

He gave her a lopsided smile. "You have no idea."

* * *

[Enter Winnie]

After school on Tuesdays and Thursdays I worked at a diner. I got hired a little less than a month ago, right after the breakup - I needed something to do with my days since I no longer spent the majority of my time with Ashton.

The diner was a cute, fifties-styled restaurant: it had the whole checker-tiled-floor and red-booths look, and there was even a working jukebox stations in the far corner. It was a nice place, really, and it had a rather decent pay.

But my job sucked.

I was a waitress. A waitress. Let me elaborate: I had to wear a too-short teal collared dress with a frilly apron tied around my waist. I was required to wear a nametag that read 'Betty' - please note that this is not my name - in order to fit in with the fifties theme. And, worst of all, I was forced to smile. All the time. Really, I would quit if it didn't mean I'd be spending my afternoons withering away, locked in my room.

The diner was usually packed on the weekend but thankfully, on days like today, it was near-empty. I was therefore mildly disappointed when a boy was seated in a booth in my station. I sighed, depressed that I actually had to do work. I had been having so much fun playing Gameboy in the employees-only room.

"Hi, I'm Betty and I'll be your waitress for today," I said as I went up to the table, a fake bubbly smile plastered across my face, and my honey-brown ponytail bouncing behind me as I walked. "What can I get you for today?"

The boy had his nose in the menu, only allowing me to see the top of his dark hair rather than his face. He looked to be around my age, but I wasn't able to recognize him to see if he was from my school.

"I'll have…" the boy said slowly. He took a deep breath and, in one exhale, placed his order: "A deluxe bacon burger with extra cheese, a side of onion rings, two sides of mashed potatoes—don't forget the sour cream—a large cherry coke, and a large triple-chocolate shake with whipped cream."

My smile had faded. I hadn't even been able to keep up with his request to write it all down on my little pad of paper. That was a lot of food, which meant that would be a lot of stuff to bring out on a tray. Do you know how much work that would be? Besides, I'm clumsy enough to practically guarantee that I'll trip on my face.

"Do you want fries with that?" I asked, my cheerful tone now replaced with a flat one.

"Yes, actually, I would," he said, not catching on to my sarcasm. He finally tore his gaze from the menu and looked up at me, finally allowing me catch a glimpse of his face.

And I gasped.

His eyes. They were...I didn't even know what to say. I never knew brown could be so dark...and so pretty. They were even darker than his hair; they were impenetrable and alluring. They gave the boy a sinister yet mysterious look.

"Well, get to it, Betty" he said arrogantly with a smirk, which broke me out of my trance.

I blinked twice, taken back by his sudden rudeness. I scoffed and abruptly turned on my heel, heading towards the kitchen to put in his order.

"Oh, and Betty?" he called after me as I left. I stopped and shot him a distasteful look over my shoulder, waiting for what he had to say next.

"Nice dress," he said and winked mischievously.

I scowled and put my favorite finger to good use. Sure, I had to serve him, but that didn't mean I had to be polite while I was doing it. I heard him laugh loudly as I entered the kitchen and attempted (and failed) to slam the swinging door behind me.

I happily stayed in the depths of the back of the diner, staying away from public view. When his food was ready, I grudgingly took the tray to bring it out to him, all the while tugging on the bottom of my dress and desperately wishing it was longer.

As I walked towards his booth, I saw him waiting patiently for me. His gaze followed me the entire time, making me feel slightly unnerved. The smirk on his face was gone, but the glitter in his eyes was enough to make me feel like he was mocking me.

"Hey doll face, you forgot the fries," he said smoothly. I blinked in confusion; I was sure I had put fries on the tray. To double check, I stole a quick glance down to the tray that balanced on my hand and shoulder.

And that was the end of everything.

I made a huge mistake by not looking where I was going; in the split second that I diverted my gaze, one of my feet stepped on the other and I went tumbling downwards. I lost my grip on the tray, and the food - the deluxe bacon burger, the onion rings, the two sides of mashed potatoes with sour cream, the coke, the fries, and the triple-chocolate shake - went flying.

I landed hard on my knees and the tray clattered noisily next to me. All of the food was scattered on the floor - except for the milkshake. Oh no, there wasn't a single drop of chocolate on the floor, because it was all over me. My teal dress was covered in splotches of brown, almost matching my own complexion of brown hair and blue-green eyes. As I looked at my disastrous mess, I was mortified.

The boy broke out into his obnoxiously loud laughter, which made my cheeks turn a bright red and my freckles disappear under my blush.

"Shut up!" I yelled at him, standing up. "It's not funny!"

"Yes it is," he replied through bursts of more laughter. Suddenly, though, he sobered up, his laughs fading instantaneously. "This should teach you a lesson," he informed me. "Don't listen to other people so easily."

"Thanks, mom," I scoffed.

He grinned. "You should have known you got the fries. Confidence is key."

I glared at him as his words sunk in. "Did you…do that on purpose?"

He merely winked in reply.

"I - You - Ugh!" I said angrily. I stormed back into the back room, fuming, with only one thought going through my mind:

This boy was a jerk.

[Enter Brody]

That hadn't gone as well as planned.

Brody's first lesson was a complete failure. Yeah, he had successfully gotten her to trip, but he hadn't really factored in the possibility that she would get absolutely pissed at him. Now he would never get her to hang out with him - and he needed to be able to spend a lot of time with her, otherwise this whole corruption ordeal was going to be nonexistent. But he needed a way for her to come to him.

He needed to lure her. He needed a hook.

But what was something that would actually work? He couldn't afford to make any more mistakes at this point. He began to brainstorm: What was something she really wanted, that he could possibly give to her? What was something that she desperately missed?

And then the most brilliant, most wonderful, and most terrible idea occurred to him. A wicked smile spread across his face, lighting up his dark features.

This was going to be perfect.

[Enter Winnie]

I spent the rest of my shift in the bathroom, grumbling a steady stream of profanities while trying to remove the chocolate stains from my uniform with no avail. I refused to go back in public looking so horrid, and I had bribed one of my co-workers to cover my station so I could sulk in solitude.

Finally, six o'clock rolled around and I was free to leave. I grabbed my coat and buttoned it all the way up, trying to cover my stained attire the best I could. I left through the back entrance and was greeted by the cool autumn air. I inhaled deeply, feeling glad that I could go home and change out of these filthy clothes. At least, I thought, for once trying to look on the bright side, nothing could make this day worse.

"Hey there, doll face," came a silky-smooth voice from behind me.

Damn it.

I spun around and saw the boy from earlier, leaning against the wall of the building with his arms folded. He smiled at me from under his long messy hair that fell across his forehead. His dark eyes glittering in the oncoming nightfall.

"What do you want?" I snapped rudely.

"I just wanted to talk to you," he replied casually, and uncrossed his arms and walked over to me.

"You waited three hours for my shift to end...just to talk?" I asked incredulously.

"Yep."

"Stalker."

He laughed shortly, clearly enjoying my bitterness.

"Seriously," I repeated, "what do you want?"

"What do I want?" he replied, slowly sauntering over to where I stood. He was a head taller than I was, and I subconsciously shrunk back. He was close now, too close for comfort, close enough so I could catch his unusual scent of jasmine and cigarette smoke. “I want your phone number," he finished with a small smile.

"Y-you what?" I stuttered, caught completely by surprise.

The boy straightened up to his full height, puffed out his chest a little, and said, more formerly now: "Can I have your phone number?” He smiled charmingly. “Please?"

"Uh, no."

The boy deflated at my blunt answer. "Why not?”

"Because you're a creep. I don't even know your name."

He smiled, his charismatic attitude returning to him. "Why, you're right. I am Patrick Brody, at your service," he said dramatically.

"Charmed," I said dryly.

"But you can call me Brody. Patrick's my dad's name, and it makes me sound old."

"I'm Winnie. And you can call me Winnie," I stated curtly. "Not Betty, not doll face, just Winnie."

He grinned again. "It's settled then. I'll just call you Pooh Bear."

"Ew," was my instinctive reply.

"You don’t like it? I thought it fit you nicely. Winnie, Pooh Bear. Get it?" His grin broadened.

"No. No, no, no. You're a freak and I don't like you. Please go away," I retorted. I turned to leave, but a firm grip held me back.

"Will you leave me alone?" I said, half-yelling. "I don't even know you!"

"Yes you do," he corrected me. "You do now. And I know you. That makes us friends."

"Ew! What? No it doesn't!" I shot back, getting increasingly frustrated.

He nodded enthusiastically. "Yes it does."

"No! What's wrong with you? You're annoying. And you didn't even leave a tip!" I shouted.

"I can't say your service was exactly top-quality," he replied smoothly, unfazed by my temper. "Though I have to say, I was honest when I said that dress looked good on - "

And then I slapped him. Hard.

His face swung to the side from my blow, and he brought his hand up and gingerly touched the spot where I hit him. Already, I could see a pink mark on his cheek.

"Yep," he said, as if he just confirmed something. Much to my surprise, a huge grin was on his face. "You're a keeper."

"Ugh!" I groaned. "What can I do to make you just leave me alone?!"

"Give me your phone number," he suggested casually.

"Why?"

"Because we're friends, silly," he stated.

I was getting desperate now. "You know what? Fine. Fine! Here - " I took out my little pad of paper and scribbled down my number. I then crumpled it up and threw it at his face, which he caught on the rebound with a triumphant expression. I didn't really care; I was going to block him anyway. "Here's my stupid number. Now let me go home."

However, he didn't release his grip on my arm. He just stared at me, that stupid boyish smile still plastered on his face, just waiting for something.

"Why are you being so stubborn? You're the most arrogant, obnoxious - "

But my words were interrupted as the strangest, most shocking thing happened to me.

He had given a swift little yank on my arm, which pulled me towards him and made me crash into his chest. I looked up at him in utter surprise, unable to react, and before I could say or do anything he swooped down to my level and did the grossest thing I could have ever imagined.

Patrick Brody just kissed me.