The Beginning of the End (Editing)

One : Beauty & Darkness

It's playing on a continuous loop in my head. Her hands lost in his fried black hair, his body hovered over hers in a way that makes me want to vomit the last five cups of whatever burning liquid it was that I'd consumed. What do I expect? It's the third party this week that she's dragged me to, and the third time she's hooked up with him. What's his name, Lochie? He's no good for her, he's just another wandering street rat that thinks through his dick. "It'll be fun Kyle, loosen up", she said. "You'll be fine," she said. Yet here I am sitting in this greasy bathtub for the third time this week. It almost seems to be my second home.

Another partygoer stumbles through the door and begins to uncontrollably release the contents of her stomach and I peek through the shower curtain. If her fishnet tights and low cut dress weren't louder than the music downstairs than perhaps I'd help her. But I'll just let this one handle it herself. I cringe as I draw the curtain and sit back, listening to the plops and glops of her puke. Nasty. Soon enough she walks out in tears, and I'm left with my almost empty cup of whatever and the drowned out thud of loud music. Maybe I should start drinking some water or I'll end up like ol' fishnets.

I turn around to the faucet and turn the tap, filling my cup with some cool and probably toxic bath water. I don't wanna risk getting beat up like I did a few weeks back when I left this bathroom and grew the balls to walk around this house alone. I don't get why the guys don't like me, I keep to myself and I keep my mouth shut. They have no excuses apart from the fact that they all fancy El but refuse to admit it. I sip the water after closing the tap, and regret the idea in the first place. A shudder traces down my spine.

"For fucks sake, El. Just hold it in a few more steps," the familliar squeal of the bathroom door echoes through this shoebox of a bathroom. Taylor's annoying high-pitched voice almost as annoying and obnoxious as the sound of the door. Within seconds more puking is in action- I don't know why, of all places in the house, I chose to seek refuge in the bath. I draw the curtains a little bit, making an involuntary screech of the plastic against the rails. Taylor turns around with Eleanor's hair in her hand. "Kyle, what the fuck?" She asks, looking between our sick Eleanor and myself.

"You know how I feel about these stupid parties Taylor," I draw the curtain completely and get out of the bathtub, leaving my traditional cup in the bathtub basin. "Just another memory that I'll forever regret" I wipe my hands down my tattered skinny jeans. Eleanor hurls once more into the bowl.

"You don't have to come to these parties you know? It's as easy as telling her no for once" She bobs down to Els level, rubbing her back and holding her hair. If only she knew, it's not as easy as saying no to Eleanor. I wanna impress her to the best of my ability. I want to woo her. Although, being the fakest version of the real me probably doesn't help my case, I still crave her attention. All the time. No matter how much it may end up hurting me. That's been my mindset for the past 5 and a half years.

I stand awkwardly by the door, watching the girl I somewhat feel feelings for spew every milliliter of alcohol left in her system. Plus some weird orange and green shit - whatever the hell that is. Eleanor pulls away from the toilet, looking at me with wary eyes. She looks lost, unaware of everything except for the swirling in her stomach. She heaves again into the toilet.

"Make yourself useful, grab a towel or something" Taylor bites, obviously getting impatient with El. It's not my fault you're her best friend, I want to snap back. But instead I cooperate and dig through the shelves and cupboards. Nothing.

"There's nothing in here Tay" I close the doors on the last cupboard I've messed up and look down at our sobbing girl whose almost half way into the toilet. I wish she wouldn't get so off-her-face-drunk. It's not good for her. I know why she does it, but I don't want her dying 50 years earlier than she has to because of her troubles and habits. I'm instructed to go out and look for a towel, and I almost want to yell at Taylor because of th suggestion. "Do you not remember what happened last time I went out... alone?" I ask, shuffling my feet a bit to distract me from the thought of some sort of iron fist colliding with my jaw, eye, lip and stomach, then a foot repetitively being forced into my balls and stomach too.

"C'mon Kyle, you gotta toughen up at some point" Taylor sighs, staring me straight in the eyes with her not so lively brown eyes. Hers are kind of dull. Nothing compared to the type that Eleanor was blessed with. Hers are wild, like fire. But a blue flame. Blue eyes as crystal as Fijian waters or something. Fijian waters? I repeat in my head. There must've been something awful in that water I shouldn't have drunk.

I give in, choosing to try and help El. I mean sure, a towel will only help by a fraction. But it leaves her face vomit free and walking out of here with the slightest amount of dignity. I mean, everyone knows that she always leaves a party feeling like she's been on a boat on rough seas for 10 days. I walk out of the bathroom closing the door behind me. I look down the far end of the hallway and see Lochie making out with some other chick against the hideous decade old wallpaper. Prick.

Walking in the opposite direction, I'm scared to open any door whatsoever. I can't tell the difference between a cupboard door and a bedroom door. They all look the same and I don't want to walk in on a couple of teens with raging hormones. I'm thankful that the bathroom door is different, fortunately decorated with stained glass on the top half of the door. It's hideous but recognizable.

I wonder what my Mom and Dad are thinking right now? I wonder what they ever have to think of me? I think they know that I lie to myself a lot. I know that they know that I'm just another hopeless dreamer. They probably worry about me, especially Mom. Dad is very rarely available to spend time with us for a decent amount of time. He's always flying all over the country. I guess having a Dad as a weatherman sort of blows. But whenever I get home, Mom is always waiting in the kitchen with concern clear in the tone of her voice whenever she asks 'How was your night?'. It's sad to know that I make her worried, and she's probably sad that I've stop responding to her when I do get home at the earliest hours of the morning. Ever since I was beaten up the first time I stopped replying. That was 3 years ago.

"If it isn't the little jerk off,"I turn around to the familliar voice that sadly belongs to Harry. Harry Scott. He's the number one ass wipe of the troublesome part of the high school. I'm surprised he hasn't dropped out. But he's the one that likes to bash me the most. I look down to the ground as Harry and two other sets of feet approach me. "Where's your little security guards? Taylor.. Mike.. Eleanor?" He shoves my shoulder a little, I hit the wall.

"C'mon guys I don't want troubl-" I'm cut short by a fist connecting with my cheek. I hit the ground with a thud, and I feel the presence of more and more gathering people.

"What's that, Kyle? Is the little noob scared to fight me?" I look up his obnoxious grin, then back to the ground. What do I do? What do I do? What do I do? I repeat my head, closing my eyes and listening to them all chant, Harry, Harry, Harry. "Answer me!" His voice booms through the house, his alcoholic breath as toxic as a nuclear bomb.

"Please man, I don't want troubl-" Once again I'm cut short, but this time with a blow to the stomach and his foot colliding with my face following. The whole second floor of this house is in uproar, I hear over 30 people yell in anticipation for Harry to keep going. I mentally scream, 'Stop it, please'. Another blow to the stomach leaves me clutching myself in pain. Fuck it hurts. Not only the foot wedging into my stomach, but the people laughing and encouraging Harry to harm me further. What kind of sick joke are these people?

I think the main thing that Harry has against me is my friendship with Eleanor. He has this major crush on her, and I mean major. Rumor has it that he has her yearbook photos cut out and glued to the inside of his wardrobe door. I don't wanna be an ass and call him obsessive, not only because that'd stoop me down to his level, but also because I love her like that. Not in a way that has me cutting her photos out, but in a way that has me scrolling through my phone and smiling at every photo I've ever taken with her. I feel another blow to the stomach while someone kicks my face at the same time. The pain is unbearable. I feel a tear slowly wash over my cheek followed by another. Followed by a yell, a loud yet faded yell all in once.

My head is aching to the extent that I don't want to lift it, and my body hurts so much so that I feel numb in pain. My one eye that isn't swollen squints open, seeing a blonde letting her wrath unleash while I see a brunette sitting against the wall near me. I feel her touch on my skin, it's cool yet so soothing at the same time. I look at El as she stares at the boys and Taylor from where we are with confusion. Taylor's face is red and fuming, if I could hear through the thudding in my head I suppose I'd be deaf. I look back towards Eleanor, and beauty becomes darkness without warning.