zygote // slenderlings

03 | my deceased client's sister wants revenge, nail and tooth

BLACKBIRCH EDUCATION AMALGAMATE, or BEA for short, is the only school in the entirety of Monterrey County. It's a big school for a small population, so it comprises both middle and high school together, creating a 'seamless academic experience'. Also a seamless circle of abuse, thanks to the bullies.

 Everyone knows everyone here at BEA, and though I try to not stick out from the crowd, being a furious redhead and hurling very loudly into the toilet at 7:30 am in the morning do not exactly help you "blend in".

"Are you sure you don't want me in there?" A very concerned Hayley asks. She's standing outside my cubicle, blocking the door because the lock doesn't work and I was in a hurry. You know, to throw up.

"Positive," I groan, grabbing the toilet paper to wipe the muck off my chin. Thank god I tied my hair up this morning. I hate it when my hair gets dirty: there's never enough shampoo at the Orphanage to wash it off.

"I don't know, you're making all these labor noises and I-"

"Hayley! Just," I grit my teeth, feeling another wave coming, "stand there and hold the do-eurrghh..." Puke. God, where does all of this come from?

"What are you throwing up, even? You never eat."

"Believe it or not, they do feed us at the Orphanage," I remark sarcastically.

The weekend was a blur to me. On Friday I was checked out of the hospital and picked up by Sister Hannah, the one who does all the chores for the kids. Or I think that was her name. She wouldn't talk to me. No one at the Orphanage ever does, actually. 

Well, they didn't miss anything, says Maw, being the unhelpful troll she is. 

I roll my eyes. "Thank you for your sparkling input."

Shut up, she says, voice sour and hoarse. She must really be feeling my sickness too. That's the downside of sharing a body, everyone. You feel whatever your chimaera twin's supposed to feel and vice versa.

"Hey, do you have any idea why Tessa Manning looks like she's a velociraptor on the prowl?" Hayley asks out of a sudden. 'Cause that's what she is, right now."

"Oh god," I inhale sharply. Instant regret. I retch as a deeply unpleasant smell filling both my nostrils. "Is- is she close?"

"Pretty much?"

"How close?"

Hayley snorts. "Close enough to see the breakout she's trying to hide under a ton of concealer."

"Frick," I mumble, heart thumping in my chest. I know for a fact that Tessa Manning, cheerleader co-head and spoiled brat extraordinaire, would never deign to enter this bathroom. She and the cheer squad has their own turf, a much nicer loo right beside the staircase. If she's here, that means she's looking for trouble. Namely, me.

"Frick. Friggity-frick." I swear again, then plead with Hayley. "If she asks about me tell her I'm not here. Please."

I can imagine Hayley's eyebrows hitting the roof of her head. "Why would she ask about you?"

"There you are!"

A high, commanding voice thunders outside my cubicle. I hold my breath, pushing down the nausea. I feel like a protagonist in one of those bad-acted horror movies.

"Garcia, right? Where's your little friend?" Tessa (I assume that's her) asks. Or demands, rather. She doesn't do negotiation. Tessa Manning gets what she wants.

I spot Hayley surreptitiously shifting her weight through the crack under the door. "I don't know what you're talking about." 

"The little tomato head that tags along with you every goddamn day is what I'm talking about, Hayley Garcia." Little? Bold choice of word for a 5'2" like herself. "Look, as your myopic ass clearly can't see, we're in a hurry. So why don't you stop monkeying around and tell me where that redhead is. Then you can go right back to being the trailer park trash you are."

Tension rises a notch. The whole bathroom is silent: even the taps have been turned off as curious people crowd around the queen bee, riding off the schadenfreude as they watch her fling abuses at Hayley and do absolutely nothing about it.

For a moment I thought my friend was going to crack. She presses bodily on my cubicle door for support as Tessa hounds her into a corner. I press back softly for solidarity. It hurts me not to be able to protect Hayley. Stay strong, I whisper. 

"If you think that hurling insults at me is going to make me yap any faster, you're wrong. I'm not scared of you, Theresa Manning. And without your cronies here to back you up, I don't think there's anything you can do about it."

A collective gasp rouses from the audience. Hayley's being audacious, but she's not wrong. Tessa Manning alone doesn't have the physique or guts to beat up anyone, that's why she has enforcers to do the dirty work. That doesn't mean she's pleased to have Hayley shove that fact at her face, either.

"Oh, you've done it now, smart ass." She says, a false sweet voice, edge like dagger. "I'm going to  make sure you regret this for the rest of the year. Just you wait." 

She turns and stalks away on her heels, a series of wicked tap-tap-taps on the bathroom floor. 

The bell rings right as she leaves, as if on cue. I listen to the shuffling of feet as the crowd dissipates. Then it grows quiet completely.

I crack open the door, in case anyone's still there. "Hayley?"

My friend looks like she's seen a ghost. Her usually tanned face is so pale it almost doesn't match her neck. "Wendy, I was so scared."

"I know. I'm sorry for all this trouble," I smile, ignoring the sour taste that curls around my mouth as I stretch it. "And I'm proud of you. You gave it to Tessa good." I say, then quickly add as she leans forward for a hug. "Ah, don't come in here, it's a mess. You should get to Geography, it's getting late. See you in Algebra?"

She steps back tentatively, not out of shock just yet. "Okay," she agrees, then backs out of the bathroom slowly. "Okay. See you."

I grin with difficulty. "Bye!"

When she's completely gone, I heave a deep sigh and reach for the flush. I don't want to look at the content of my bowels. Not because it's disgusting - I'm used to cleaning up after other kid's vomit at the Orphanage. No, it's because among all the stomach acids and toilet water swims a hellish concoction of indigestibles: tangles of hair, bits of nails, and thirty-two teeth. 

Like in "The Thing", I puked them up. Eject them out of my system because my stomach couldn't break them down.

And all of them, one could guess, belongs to Tessa Manning's dead sister.

I fish the last strand of white-blond hair out of my mouth, drop it into the bowl, then firmly flush the entire human-remainder soup. The liquid swirls, side to side, a hypnotizing Junji Ito spiral. Then it gurgles and vacuums out of existence, disappearing into the sewage forever. 

If only my memory of Ursula Manning could do the same.