- Adrenaline -

Chapter 3: Façade

     The line shining through the window was blinding. My brain scrambled for an answer, for a reason, a key as to why I was in Kennedys bed with a massive hangover and half the clothes I showed up with.
     I touched my ear- the scarf I wear over it had slipped off at some point. Now I have another reason not to go to parties. Covering my body? Important. Covering my mutilated ear? TOP priority. I slip out of the bed and start to scramble. The mirror on the ceiling offers little to no privacy. If John were to wake up, the first thing he would see would be himself- and then me, in my boxers and socks, looking for my white head scarf and pants.
     Oh yeah, by the way, where the FUCK are my pants?! Are you kidding me?!
     Okay, relax, you probably just took them off because you were feeling sick. Just stay quiet and get the hell out of here. Oh dude, my moms gonna be so pissed.

~*~

     "And WHERE were you?"
     She sounds more surprised than angry.
     "I can't believe my damn eyes. My little Gogh, comin' home smellin' like a dive bar. Since when did you start sneaking' out on me, boy?!"
     So, this is my foster mom. Her name is Bertha, and she's the best parent I could ever ask for. She's just... protective.
     "Mom, I know this is a suspicious and cliche thing to say, but it is not what it looks like!"
     "Mhm, I sure bet! Now what were you doin' out there? I'm waitin' boy!"
     "It was-" my voice catches in my throat. I know the moment another word slips out that I'm going to start crying. Mom hates it when I cry. "It was a mistake! Cleo from school-"
     "Cleo?!"
     "She told me if I went that she would use my paintings to advertise the upcoming school fair and- and so I went but-" every word shatters like a glass menagerie. I clutch to her, gripping her green blouse tightly in my heads as I cry into her chest. "I thought this was finally gonna be it! But then- then I started drinking and I got so dizzy and-"
     "Oh baby..." Bertha rubs my back. "Don't you cry sunflower. You gonna be alright."
     I wish I felt like it.

~*~

     Monday morning. I had physically recovered from that past Saturday night, but I'm still really confused. I keep trying to sort things out in my head.
     I drank. Cleo made a move on me- not surprising. She once kissed GWCs anthropomorphic peanut. So, I guess that means I'm on the same level as him. Good to know.
     I think she sat me down in the kitchen. John comes in to wash his hands, sits beside me, and we started talking. I remember thinking how handsome he was- John really is the epitome of high school jock. We went up stairs, I had a hot flash...
     That would explain why I took my clothes off, but not why I was in Johns bedroom. My shirt was on his bathroom floor, but my pants and scarf where on his bedroom floor. When did we go to his bedroom? We were so close to each other... oh god.

     Oh god. We didn't. There's no way! I- I don't even like guys! Or, I don't think I do... I heard rumors before that the real Van Gogh might have been in a sexual relationship with his best friend Paul Gauguin, but those were just rumors, and, even if I'm his clone, would something like that really transfer over? Fuck, dude, I gotta talk to Joan or something. Joan always knows what to say.
     Cleo did keep her promise though, that was nice. We met up after first period and she gave me the email to use so I could shoot her the digital files of my works. She can be a jerk sometimes, but she's pretty good at keeping her word.

     Hours pass, and I ask Joan if she could sit with me during our lunch period. Gandhi and Abe don't even mind that I'm pulling their friend away, which kind of bothers me. That's not the only thing upsetting me though.

     "So, you think you slept with JFK?"
     "Will you not be so loud!"
     Joan shut up, looking around and taking into consideration the people around her and within ear shot. "Okay, so what's the big deal if you did?"
     The big.. the big deal?! "I don't like guys, Joan!" I say in a hushed whisper. She looks surprised.
     "You don't?"
     "Oh my god."
     She smiles and snorts at me. "I'm sorry, Vin, I just thought-"
     "Does it- is it the way I dress? The way I talk?"
     "Ever heard of a gaydar?"
     "A what?"
     "People who are gay, or in my case swing both ways- we can tell when someone else isn't straight."
     Well. I guess I learn something new about myself every day, don't I?
     "Maybe you're just closeted, Vin. Don't be afraid to explore that side of you."
     "You're not helping."
     "Hey, look, it doesn't even matter. The truth is, you don't know what happened that night. I mean, Schrodinger could probably tell you the same thing." Joan gives me a look that is both comforting and serious, "Maybe you did get hot with John-"
     "Don't-"
     "-or, maybe you just stayed the night. You were drunk, having a bad reaction, you probably just crashed. No big deal!"
     "What if he remembers something I don't?"
     Joan looks at me quizzically, then off to the distance, tapping her chin. "Then, I guess you should just go ask him."
     "Ask him?!" That was a bit louder than I intended it to be. I hush myself, "What do you mean ask him?"
     "Do you want me to say it in Dutch? Ask him what he remembers. Do you want to know what happened or not?"
     Man, I hate it when she makes sense.

     Joan said she would help me figure out how and when to approach John. It would have to be some time soon. I begged her to do it for me, but she assured me that I would have to be the one to do it. It would have to be casual- no special meet ups, but I would prefer it to be alone, at the very least. Joan said John normally goes to the Grassy Knoll after school, and I might be able to catch him at a good time then. Mom, forgive me, but I may be coming home late today.