Mayhem's Beginning (Everybody Changes)

Chapter 5: Chance Warsaw and Dahlia Madison

Staring at the reflection in the mirror, I was disgusted. A blood stain started at my lip and stopped at my midst neck, both of my eyes had a pulsating sting under them, and numerous bruises scattered around my body like pellets out of a shotgun. I had no words to say, a gentle sigh the only thing that escaped my lips.

The sad thing is, this wasn't the first time something like this has happened. Usually it wasn't a group of guys against one, but definitely not the first time simple insults have turned physical.

What's really messed up is that Chance used to be my best friend. Chance, the guy who terrorizes me on a daily basis, used to hang out with me everyday. Back in elementary school we were buddy buddy, practically inseparable. We watched cartoons, played with action figures, sat hours on end in front of a Nintendo, and spent all of our time with one another. My childhood was Chance, and Chance's childhood was me.

Things began changing in middle school though, for sports started up and he began meeting new people. Our sessions of hanging out came less often as he spent almost all his time on some kind of field or in some sort of gym. I was left without a friend, for soon his new “friends” convinced him that I was a loser.

The verbal bullying began with his buddies. They started with cliché insults such as “four eyes,” “nerd,” “geek,” and the usual storm of swear words. Soon Chance joined them in the act, throwing in the personal things he knew about me such as having two gay fathers. In no time their favorite insult was formed, what they usually called me by. “Gay-hem.”

I hated that insult more than anything else. It was so derogatory, so personal, it got under my skin every time. By the end of eighth grade Chance and I were sworn enemies, and in high-school that issue carried over.

Tears welted up in my eyes as I resisted to degrade myself by crying. The worst part about this whole situation is that I am all alone. While some people have other's love to save them, I have nobody. It just seems like I'll never get anything right, passing away without anyone by my side. I wouldn't care about any of this if I just had somebody to make it seem like everything faded away. Someone that could just make me forget for a while. Make me seem like I was somewhere else, in a better place, in a better time.

The first physical encounter I had with Chance was when I was a freshman. After about halfway through the year he approached me, apologizing for all the insults and names he had called me. His facial expressions were crisp, his tone genuine. I believed him, we hugged, and I thought that was the end of it.

He invited me to Central Park to hang out, sort of how we used to when we were kids. I looked forward to it, interested in catching up with my old friend and making things right again. When I arrived I was shocked, a crowd of people greeting me as Chance's friendliness turned into bitterness. I was back stabbed, deceived, forced to put my arms up in defense. “You thought I actually liked you Gay-hem?” Those seven words rang through my head everyday.

I was beaten, humiliated, and the whole thing was caught on camera. I was forced to relive the memories every time I saw it. Not that I wanted to watch it, although the police made me a few times when they were questioning me about it. I made up a story saying I started the fight. Hell, I would have said anything so that the whole situation would be over. That was only the beginning though, sadly.

I turned the faucet on and cupped my hands as I let the water gather in my palms. I wiped down my face, especially where the blood ran down from my lip. Looking back up at the mirror, a new liquid escaped my eyes. Salty tears rolled down my face, my facial features contracted as muffled sobs escaped. Small cuts on my cheeks stung from the salt, a hopeless feeling loomed over me. I was in the state of lament, a term used to describe a feeling of great sadness.

That day in Central Park was life changing in many ways. After the devil and his demons scattered I sat on a bench with my head in my hands. The rustling water of Turtle Pond soothed me. My emotions were simple, but yet so complex I did not understand them. I was filled with anger, resentment, disappointment, and stupidity. If I wasn't so foolish none of that would of happened. It was my fault for believing Chance could have changed.

That day was the first time I have cried in years.

“Are you okay?” Three words I could never forget rang as a girl joined my side at Turtle Pond. Her hair was black as midnight, her height a few inches shorter then mine, her face looked as if it were a sculpture, and her skin pale as a ghost. She wore little make-up, perhaps eyeliner and a very light powder. Her choice of clothing was very alternative, wearing lots of black. She had on a long sleeve Metallica shirt that hugged the curves of her petite body, skinny jeans that did the same, and Chucks to pull off the the look. Definitely not the kind of person I'd usually talk to, then again, no one was the kind of person I'd usually talk to.

“What's it to you?” Was instinctively blurted out of my mouth. Could you blame me? My best friend --- ex best friend --- just betrayed me. How could I ever trust anybody again?

We sat in silence for a few minutes, her presence being helpful in some odd way. “I get it...” her voice sweet like a light whipped cream. “...you feel like trash. Broken... like you have no one.” That caught my attention, us making eye contact for the first time. An instant connection was felt, almost as if the threads of our soul intertwined. I didn't know this girl's name, and yet, she hit the nail on the head. “I saw what happened. No one deserves that.” I wish I could have smiled, but not even a forceful one was possible. I turned my attention back towards Turtle Pond unable to speak.

Our hands became magnets, her being the positive charge and I being the negative. They interlocked, the first touch of a woman being warm and meaningful. I felt the blood going to my heart stop for a second as she rubbed the back of my hand with her thumb. I blushed, looking over to her, she was as well. Her giggle was lovely along with the rest of her. She had a very strange sort of beauty. I didn't quite understand it, but it was intriguing.

Dahlia Madison was her name. How appropriate, for she was as captivating as a meadow full of dahlias.

If it wasn't for gym I would have been walking around for the rest of the day in a shirt stained with toilet water. My jeans were dry enough, and I slipped on my sweatshirt, pulling the hood over my face. I walked out of the locker-room to my own personal school locker, putting my hands on the aluminum and letting my exhausted body lean towards it. Luckily the halls were empty, for the next class had already started. I didn't want to go to class. Not that I could, tardy sweep or ditching being my only options at the moment.

“Hey, where were you at lunch?” The sounds of light whipped cream hummed through my ear drums. This was the first time we had talked in about a year. Our relationship did not end very well, and we went our separate ways. Yesterday she called me however, explaining the she missed me and wanted to catch up. I agreed, thinking we could finally put our differences a side.

“Busy.” Was the only thing I could say. I didn't dare to turn my head away from the locker. I didn't want Dahlia to see me like this.

“Are you going to look at me?” Dahlia said, sounding a bit frustrated now. “I mean, come on. It was months ago. When are you going to forgive me?” I was dead silent. “I know what I did was wrong. I miss you, Mayhem.” I missed her too.

“Do you have any make up?” I changed the subject. Make up was a wonderful thing, even for men. Have some cuts and bruises on your face? Put some make up over it.

“Yeah...why?” She replied sounding confused.

“Can I use it?” She must have thought something was severely wrong with me by now. She sighed, shuffling through her back pack and handing me a bottle of Match Perfection Foundation. “Thank you.” I told her, putting the glass container in my pocket and turning my back towards her. “I'll give it back when I'm done.” I walked off then, feeling her eyes on the back of my neck. She was confused, I would have been too.