A/N: Rewriting of 'She'. Sorry to anyone who was waiting for he next instalment. I decided to remove AntiCosmo as it complicated things too much, but I am working on a story entitled 'One in a Million', which AntiCosmo shall feature in quite prominantly. the naughty littlescamp.
Thank you so much to everyone who read and reviewed 'Never the Eloquent' and 'Dance With Me'. I'm like some sort of greedy praise monster. An appreciative, greedy praise monster. Thanks again. –Sky.
When most people get hurt they cry. If someone hurts them on the outside they bawl until they can't feel the pain anymore. Sometimes it goes deeper than that when someone destroys their feelings, and when they get hurt on the inside that's where they tend to cry. They wait until all the tears have fallen and then they are left behind to feel numb. Not me though. No matter how you hurt me, I only have one response. I get angry. I get mad and violent and I lash out, I want to equal the pain that I've had inflicted upon me. And I won't stop until someone else feels as bad as I do, because it's only then that I feel good. I've been hitting back for eleven years now, but I still don't feel any better.
Every time I leave a fragile body hurting in my wake, I walk away with a smile on my face. But the feeling doesn't last long. The hurt all rushes back after a little while, with a side order of guilt for all the things I've done since. I don't know if I want to be mean or not anymore, I just am now and there's nothing I can do to stop. I don't see why other people should get to be happy when I'm miserable as sin. No one ever takes the time to find out why I'm the way I am because they're all to busy hating me for it, so this is their own fault really. I'd probably stop if someone just took the time to ask me what was wrong.
I make up excuses like this for myself all the time. I'd like to think I'm just misunderstood, but really I know that all I am is a stupid little girl who can't deal with her problems. I'll never grow out of being cruel, because I don't plan to grow up. I'm never going to get over my past, I'm never going to apologise, and I'm never going to admit the truth to anyone. It makes me seem crazy but I know it's what keeps me sane. I take all this anger out on the Twerp and it leaves me feeling serene, I sleep easier when I know he's awake and detesting me. He doesn't tell his parents how badly I treat him though, and while I used to worry he would now I take it for granted. Perhaps he's the type who feeds off being the victim, so when he's older he can tell anyone who'll listen how he triumphed over adversity. Maybe he's just crazy like me. I often hear him talking to those weird little goldfish of his.
I like babysitting him more than any of the other kids I terrorise. He keeps me on my toes. I know he's afraid of me but every now and then he gets a little burst of courage and stands up to me. Of course, I knock him straight back down again, I can't let him think I'm weak, but it's endearing all the same. Timmy's sixteen now, he really doesn't need a babysitter, but his parents continue to pay me for my services anyway. Maybe its because they're away so much they don't realise he's all grown up now, they hardly notice him at all. I should feel bad for the Twerp, maybe, but I don't. I only feel sorry for myself.
I've had it harder than anyone would think. When the bullying first started, I must have been around eleven years old. Then I was a good kid, I really was. Sugar and spice and everything nice, that's what Vicky used to be made of. But I soon realised that if I didn't start making a terror of myself people were going to keep walking all over me, just like they do to my bratty little sister. She's too soft you see, acting all weak and wearing her heart on her sleeve. She must have told the Twerp she was in love with him a thousand times, but never once did he ever seem to give a damn. I wanted to step in then, I'll admit it, but to me Tootie was just another kid for me to traumatise, she wasn't flesh and blood. Still, it sucked to see her hurt.
Tootie's sixteen as well now, and she's the little genius my parents always wanted. I think I hate her even more now. She's showed herself to be the better of the two of us. She's polite, and she's kind, and she's beautiful, whereas I'm a scowling pizza delivery girl with hair she can't tame. She doesn't obsess over Turner like she used to, which in many ways is a good thing because it means that I can without feeling too guilty about it. It was last year when I realised I had fallen for him, I don't know why or how but I remember being disgusted with myself. Not only was he the Twerp, but he was only fifteen and I was twenty-one. It's wrong, very wrong, but I can't help myself. But I suppose it doesn't matter. Even if I waited till the years between us didn't matter, he wouldn't want me anyway.
I know he's at that impressionable age where he'd fall in love with lino if it looked at him seductively, and all I have to do is brush my hair and flutter my eyelashes and he'd fall head over heels. A few good deeds would go a long way in Turner's case, I could have him totally in love with me if I wanted. And I do want it, very much. I dream of it every night as I sleep in my big empty bed in the house I still share with my parents. His eyes might still be fixed on that insufferable Trixie Tang, but a sixteen year old boy is a fickle thing indeed. I could have him lusting after me in no time, but it wouldn't be right. So much in my life has been tainted and dark, and I feel the need to keep this pure. If Timmy and I are meant to be, it will happen, either way.
It's been snowing a lot recently. Snow always reminds me of the Twerp. He always liked the snow when he was younger, and I would always make him stay inside because I loved the disappointment on his face. I'm not sure why I thrive when I hurt him on the inside. The physical pain doesn't help nor hinder me anymore, so I've slacked off a bit lately, turning instead to scarring him mentally. When I deny him something he really wants, or when I put him down, I feel good. It's sick and it's twisted, but I suppose that's my mind's way of dealing with my feelings. He torments me by making me love him, so I torment him in every other way. It's not fair, I know, because it isn't his fault, by God he's going to pay for it anyway.
In seven months Timmy will be seventeen. There's no way that date can arrive without his parents notice. He's been saying something about asking for driving lessons, and a boy who can drive is a boy who doesn't need a babysitter. One day I know Mr. and Mrs. Turner will turn around and tell me that Timmy doesn't need me anymore, and if things keep going the way they are I know that after that day I'll never see him again. It breaks my heart to think it, and while I've been ignoring it very well, lately it's been beating me down more and more. I guess it's because it's getting ever closer, and I'm also well aware of the fact that it could happen long before he turns seventeen. I don't want to leave him, I want to take care of him until the day I die, and it's weird, because I think he'll be sad to see me go as well.
I can't put my finger on it, but that Twerp has a secret and it's something to do with me. No amount of beating will ever get him to confess it, but I know it's a good secret and when I'm gone so is it. I want to let him keep it, I want him to know that I care. I can't tell him and I can't show him any other way than just sticking around. My babysitting is what keeps me away from a proper job. I could sit behind a desk, bored out of my mind but earning a proper wage, but I need something part time so I can fit it around Timmy. I speed around Dimsdale delivering pizza to all the kids I used to beat up and they laugh at me, with a superior look on their faces as if they knew I'd never amount to anything. But I don't care, I have my reasons for doing what I do and I'll be damned if I'm going to give them up.
Timmy is definitely the centre of my universe now. No matter what I do, it's always with Timmy in mind. I can't go to visit my grandma because Timmy's parents might need me to stop by. I don't go to university because I'd have to go out of state. This makes me want to hurt him even more; I've fouled up my future for the love I have for a boy who'll never love me back. That's stupid and pointless and yet I've done it anyway. But then, I've never really been one for rational thought, in case you couldn't tell.
I'm not beautiful, I know, but every now and then one of my desperate customers will try hitting on me and asking for my number. I shoot them all down. Between breaking up with Ricky and falling in love with Timmy, I've not had a single boyfriend. I slept with a guy I used to go to high school with out of sheer desperation, my virginity becoming something of an embarrassment to me as I aged. I realise now that it was a horrible mistake. It was a quick drunken fumble under a pile of coats at some girl's graduation party, and it only left me feeling dirty and stupid. Timmy suffered greatly that summer, I can tell you.
Maybe I love Timmy because he's adorable. Those bucked teeth of his are just so cute, and his scrawny little body that he just can't seem to grow into actually makes me blush. Or maybe I love him because he's kind to most people, and he never really puts a toe out of line. He's sweet and he's still kind of innocent, despite the fact that he's very much a slave to his hormones. I'm kidding myself though, I know why I love him. It's the eyes. Those beautiful, shimmering blue eyes of his that underneath all the hatred and fear show a shadow of understanding for me. It's as if he knows something about me that even I don't, and he teases me with it, daring me to get closer to him, his eyes betraying his mind as I know that's the last thing he wants. I don't know why Timmy of all people would show this compassion for me, but he does. It's as though we carry each other along. I need him to remind me I'm human, and he needs me because of that dirty little secret he has.
Maybe he'll tell me someday, I don't know. Maybe I'll stop feeling this way, or maybe I'll learn not to strike out at those who might love me. Maybe, I guess I'll just have to wait and see. Until then though, I'm still going to love him, because I need him, and he needs me.