Shielded.

Chapter 3

By the time I'm in my car, tears are streaming down my cheeks. I take a look in my rear view mirror; one big red hand print lays across my face.

I stare blankly at my steering wheel. I gather my thoughts and Curtis has already went back into the trailer and closed the door.

I start my car and pull out of the park quickly, dust and gravel flying behind me.

Where am I going?

It's too early to go The Dew Drop, although it could give me a chance to meet the band playing tonight. But I'll most likely do that anyway because Kennedy knows their bassist.

I'll just drive to Kennedy's. I'll tell her all about Curtis, and I'll get angry and worked up. And we'll fake mosh pit to one of her rock cassettes. That will make me feel like a human again.

I hum softly to myself, a melody I've been working on for awhile. I have lyrics, tons of them. But no melody to any of them.

I pull into Kennedy's drive way and I glance into my mirror again. The handprint is near gone already.

I knock on the door. She answers quickly. Almost like she was waiting on me. Her long dark curled hair hangs near to her hip bones, and the dark purple tips light up when the sun hits them. Her face is glowing with make up; bright purple lipstick, and glitter eyeshadow. She's not afraid to be herself and I love it.

"Hey! What are you doing here? It's only 4:30."

"Long story. But I'm hungry and angry so prepare yourself."

She opens the door wider, and invites me in. She reaches for the Cap'n Crunch cereal on the top of her fridge. And pours me a bowl.

"So tell me what's up."

"When I got home Curtis and mom were already fighting, and I couldn't handle it. So I was just going to leave and go drive, but Curtis smacked me."

Her mouth flies open. But it's a normal thing, I'm used to it. I just don't talk about it.

No answer.

It's silent for awhile.

"Was he drunk?"

"Of course."

"I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything. Let's go plan an outfit for tonight, I didn't grab anything to wear."

Her closet is like, a miniature shopping mall. She has everything, and all the make up, and shades of eyeliner, lipstick, and eyeshadow you'd need.

We goof off more than we do plan anything.

It's eight thirty already. I just impulse decide clothing and make up; black shorts with lace tights, and a Slayer T-shirt. Dark purple lipstick and a light coat of mascara. Red Chuck Taylor's.

I am such a fucking mess.

I don't even think I brushed my hair.

It's nine o'clock by the time she's ready, and I'm sure the band has already started without us.

But when we arrive, the vibes in the pit are so intense.

A man with a lanky body, long legs, long black hair, and tight black jeans whips across the stage whispering into the mic: I am the God of Fuck.

My interest has been peaked.

Another man, kind of short, dreaded hair, intense make up and smeared lipstick. A dress? And knee high creeper boots, strums the guitar and is really getting into it. I can almost feel his angst from the crowd.

Kennedy makes me push our way to the front, she waves to the bassist.

She shouts to me over loud music "The guy singing is Marilyn Manson, " she begins to point at the rest of the band members, "Twiggy Ramirez, Daisy Berkowitz, Madonna Wayne Gacy, and Sara Lee Lucas."

My eyes are locked on the one called Marilyn Manson...