Hell She Screams

A/N: Wow, I think the warnings make it sound like a very horrible story. Oh well, give it a shot and tell me what you think. I'm not sure how much attention originals get with all the great fan fiction. I am member of a website called FateFiction (fatefiction.prophpbb.com) which focuses on original slash fiction and art. It's pretty cool.

Anyway, enjoy the story. (or else... XD)

Chapter One

Of Masks and Men

I was in a ‘mood.’ When I got in one of my moods, I became completely angry, unreachable, utterly unreasonable – an ass, to sum it up. Usually, I would find something to bring me out of it as quickly as possible. Now, however, I had chosen to hold on to it. I dropped the papers I had been grading and began to scribble out everything that I was feeling. I allowed my skin to crawl with the flames of anger and disgust that seemed to boil from my belly. I let down my shields enough to allow myself to remember at least some of it. The hell I felt ten years ago slowly turned itself into coherent words. Words that I could sing, words I could scream. And I would, to her, as soon as I had finished.

That was about four hours ago at about five, when the sun was just low enough to shove its rays into the room, making it heat when it should have been cooling off. Even now that lingering warmth that was trapped in the room by sealed windows and a shut door was making itself known. I was sweating, but in a way that had little to do with the humidity. My hand trembled as I continued to rack my brain for the best way to force my pain down her throat with only words. Tricky.

That was when the shirt came off. I rubbed my chest and took a deep breath, preparing myself to dive back into the emotion-tearing work. I fingered the piercing in my naval, twisting it as I suppressed the sickness in my stomach, that was slowly creeping into my chest, soon to be, I feared, a bile in the back of my throat.

The door creaked , stealing my concentration, but also working to force down the sickness within me. I reached for my shirt, fearing that it was a staff member coming to kick me out. They probably wouldn’t appreciate that I had my shirt off, nor that I was sitting in a nest of partially-graded papers I had strewn around myself on top of my desk.

I pulled the shirt up to my neck, like a modest woman. This brought a small smile to my intruder’s lips. I smiled back. It was Nathan, a redhead in my first period, my favorite student in my favorite class. I don’t know what it was that made me so attracted to him. Not in a sexual sense, but in the way negative is lured to positive, I was drawn to him.

“Mr. Ryan…” He took his usual seat in the front row, which amused me, to see him sit in his assigned seat when no one else was around and after all the complaining he had done about wanting the back. “And here I thought you lived out of your car.”

“Only on the weekends,” I retorted, only half joking. It was no secret that I was poor, and I openly admitted it to my class a number of times. I rant a lot, it seems.

He smiled gently, he always enjoyed humor, no matter how light or sarcastic. The smile slowly faded into a more distant look. He seemed to be thinking about other things. It was odd to me to see such a serious look on the teen’s face. I had always just passed him off as perpetually happy, as though one could be. He was always smiling and laughing at one thing or another. He frequently did little things to grant himself the attention of the room, for even just a second. I should have found this obnoxious, or at the very least, considered it a disruption, but he had such an addictive personality, that I could hardly help it if sometimes I was the proverbial fuel to his fire.

“What is it?” I asked quietly, though I knew no one would hear regardless.

He simply shrugged and allowed the smile to, once again, overtake his features. “Just tired, I guess.” It was probably the truth, though obviously not the issue. “I came to use a computer. I was going to use the one in your room, since I knew you wouldn’t mind. I really didn’t expect you to be here.” He thought for a moment, his smile growing wider, more genuine. “Mrs. King always tells us that ‘teachers don’t live in boxes.’ She was right, they, quite obviously, live on top of desks.”

I breathed a laugh and looked down at the song I had been writing. It suddenly didn’t seem so dramatic. My mood was gone. I was a bit disappointed, though not in the least surprised. Nathan was one of the few in the class who could snap me out of the darkness without even trying. Of course, the closeness I had with my class had been such that they knew I had these moods, they even called them that, saying: ‘Oh, don’t take him too seriously; he’s just in one of his moods.’ Only my first period had that connection with me. They were the first I had ever taught, and had bonded with me so quickly and easily that I think it surprised everyone. We would often run off the topics of grammar or literature and talk briefly about semi-personal things like jobs and friends. I attempted to tell them enough about myself to seem like a person to them, and not just another authority-figure. They told me enough about themselves that I could like every one of them for their uniqueness.

Nathan had his chin resting on his folded arms, staring down at his desk with a lethargic, empty smirk. "I'm so tired. Shit. I'm so sick." He was talking to himself, his voice low and raspy. I could smell the weed on him from where I was sitting.

"You going to be here long?" He asked me, looking up. He smiled with only his lips. He was trying to pass the question off as a joke. His usual demeanor was drowned by this mask.

“No, I guess not.” I hopped off my desk and began to gather up my papers. If he wanted a place to be alone, I was not going to be in his way. “You sure you don’t want to talk about anything?”

He nodded and jerked a thumb behind him. “Positive, just come to hi-jack a computer so that I might actually graduate this year. And, eventually, I'll get you that essay that was due a couple semesters ago.”

I laughed, despite the fact that he was being serious.

His face lit up the way it always does when he’s awarded with even passing interest. He continued to grin at me as I threw my papers into my backpack and replaced my shirt. I gave him a curt wave and nod, which he returned by fluttering his fingers at me.

I walked out of the room - leaving him the computer and wondering if he broke into school late at night often - when something made me look back. I peeked through the small window that was carved into the door. He didn’t move from his desk. The smile he had been wearing was now replaced by a deep frown, one that knitted his brow. His eyes bore into the desk. I shivered; the boy never looked like that. It wasn’t in his character.

I felt my heart attempt to leap from my chest as he leaned forward and buried his face into his hands. I watched his body tremble as the released emotions washed over him. I had no idea what had done that to him, but knew that if I walked in now, he would be painfully embarrassed. Or worse, he would bury his pain back behind his smile, like cobwebs in a box of gold.

I walked out of the school and into the brisk night air, thinking of nothing but the sight that had been burned into my skull. Seeing him like that was a paradox. It was completely absurd and depressing. I urged myself not to think about what could have caused such a disturbance in him, lest I start remembering my own ‘disturbances.’

The drive home was uneventful. My powder-blue Pontiac, which I had nicknamed Natalie, was old, but she was reliable in most cases. Besides, I was determined not to trade her in until I absolutely had to. She was one of the only things that I could call my own. She was my car. I liked owning things, especially since I had so little. My apartment was far from nice, or even decent. My friend, Juicy, once called it ‘cozy’, though I knew it to be a nice way of saying ‘small and shitty’. Juicy had a way of making even the most insulting statements into a would-be compliment and saying it nicely enough that he almost made you believe it was.

I parked Natalie in front of the coin shop that was across from my apartment. I had a specific space, but someone else had always seemed to park there instead. I had neither the time nor the ambition to track him down and tell him to move it. If I got to feeling vengeful one day, I would just call a tow.

I dragged myself up to my room and collapsed on the bed when I got up there. I was unusually worn-out for this early in the night. All the emotion I had poured into the song must have left me in the form of energy. I was drained.

I decided to take a shower so that I might be able to steal a few more minutes of sleep in the morning. I actually wasn’t a morning person, though my profession called for it. I got up at five-thirty and got ready at an amazingly slow pace. I didn’t particularly have a taste for coffee, though I relied on it. The bitterness usually did more to wake me up than the caffeine itself.

I stripped down and jumped in. I always kept the water a bit cool, especially since it was almost October and it still felt like August. Yeah, North Carolina was nice like that. I enjoyed the heat, but had to be cold in order to sleep.

As the water flattened my black hair, I began to sing bits of the song I had written, at least what I could remember. I imagine myself singing to her; finally letting her feel the disgust I had to live with every day of my life. I imagined singing to Nathan; to give him a voice in which to ward off his own pain. I imagine singing to myself – the boy that I once was, the joke that I had become.

I felt the all too familiar knot in my chest as I reached for my towel and pushed my memories and fantasies aside. I left the bathroom keeping my gaze averted from the mirror. Every time I looked in the mirror, I expected to see a scrawny sixteen-year-old staring back. I only saw his eyes, for they were the only part of me that hadn’t changed. They were black and I hated them, but they were all that was left of my childhood, apart from the memories: My pained, yet hopeful, black eyes; the pits that led to the fire of my soul. How poetic.

I put back in my piercings, so I didn't have to worry about them closing. I had to watch the ones in my ears and the stud below my lip; the principal didn’t really take kindly to them. She hated that I didn’t really ever dress ‘professionally,’ nor did I adhere to the classic teaching styles. Literature is only fun when you can bring it to life for the students. I only allowed them to use the text books when I needed a break from teaching, or when allowing them to attempt to outsmart me. Both of which rarely happened, the latter because they knew they couldn’t.

I finished drying off and climbed into the cool sheets. The hum of my window air-conditioner lulled me to sleep after only a few hours of memories plaguing me. Peace swept over me like a sweet kiss as I closed my eyes. I didn’t dream that night. I loved nights when I didn’t dream.

I knew it was Artemis the moment the door to my apartment began to open. I was instantly awake, though instinct led me to freeze up, pretending I had not been roused. The strong man sneaked as quietly as he could. It was still dark out and he did not want to turn the light on and awaken me. He staggered in with a heavy gait. I thought at first that he might be hurt, but then my common sense kicked in. The man was quite obviously high and only served to prove my suspicions when he tripped over the couch. It was pretty dark in my tiny apartment, but not enough to miss the couch. He slowly continued to stumble over to my bed.

I jumped at his booming voice as he slapped my ass. “Wake up, boy! I brought you doughnuts!”

I sat up slowly, despite my racing heart. I wasn’t particularly angry at being roused from bed. I was going to have to get up soon and get ready to go to work. I was, however, angry at the fact that he was high. I had little, if any, patience for it.

Artemis nearly collapsed in the mahogany chair tossing his pink box on the table. I swung my feet to the floor and stretched, arms reaching to the low ceiling, before slipping on some khakis.

Once I was at least partially dressed, I walked over to the table and sat down, looking at the muscular man across from me. He had a drug issue that had only lately begun to make itself entirely clear. He was having problems, and despite of our history of telling each other everything, he turned to a needle to deal with his woes. Artie was the type that hated to be alone while shooting or high, so he would seek me out, but only after he had finished off the stash. I guess he figured that way I couldn’t stop him.

I ate with him, letting him take comfort in my company, but not speaking to him. He was just lucky I wasn’t throwing him out the door. Friend or not, I had warned him about this before. I tried to be the good man: I would be his designated driver; I would let him stay with me; I would listen to him. All that did was let him know that if he was stoned, I was the man to go to. Definitely not the result I had pictured when I had taken on this task.

I finished eating the doughnut as he crawled into my bed. His shoes were still on as he nodded off almost instantly. He had shot a bit too much. Who knew, next time he might even overdose. I doubted there was any harsher nor sobering a lesson.

I just got ready for work as if he wasn’t there. I hated mornings and was far from being in the mood to deal with him. He would probably still be there when I got home and if I was lucky, he would be slightly more sober.

I walked across the street and got into the car. The gas gauge was below the E, however that happens. I had to stop and get a coffee anyway. I drove as much as I could without touching the gas. A symphony of honks and shouts escorted me to the gas station. It was packed. I had to wait for a pump, and then wait to pay as a man cursed at the woman behind the counter for not having the kind of snuff he wanted, because he was such a good customer. I eventually got fed up with it and threw my money on the counter so I could leave. I sped the rest of the distance through the city and to the school.

The bell had already rung. It did not matter. I was very rarely there before the bell. I figured the students needed the first few minutes to wind down and get situated. It seemed I was late more often than not. The principal wanted so badly to fire me, it was really too bad that she needed me. I was the only one that they could find to fill the vacancy before the school year began. I did not know anyone who would take on the position of a long-term substitute at Maddison High School, especially after the shooting last year.

I hesitated before opening the door to my class. There was no laughter, nor was there loud voices traveling down the hall. I looked into the window, and my stomach turned. Ms. Hardy, the principal, had already taken my place at the front of the class. Her authoritative tone had them so obedient, that not even Devon dared interrupt. I was screwed. I had never thought for a second that she would own up to her threats. Until now.

I opened the door slowly and stepped in. Despite my stealthy entrance, her head tuned toward me accompanying a look of detest.

"Sorry, I'm late." I began.

"I'm sure."

"My car ran out of gas."

"And the other three times these past two weeks, Mr. Ryan? Works of fate?" She asked. She ran a hand through her frizzing blonde hair. "Do you not value your job? I'm sure in this economy, I could find someone who seems a bit more reliable."

"No, ma'am. I'm here and-"

"I'm queer!" Devon interjected.

I shot a look at Devon. "Thanks for sharing, Devon, though I'm not sure if Tyrone was ready to be outed like that."

Quiet laughter made the room hum.

Tyrone wrinkled his nose. "Man, that's cold. Don't be bringing me into this. I ain't done nothin'."

"Ryan!" She snapped.

"I'm listening. Sorry. I'm sorry. It won't happen again. The being late, I mean."

She nodded. "Indeed." She placed a hand on the doorknob. "The topic for their senior project has been set, Mr. Ryan. I suggest you stick to today's lesson plan." And with that, she left.

I stood, bewildered at the fact that I was still employed. I looked up and stared blankly at my students.

"Mr. Ryan?" Kasey asked. "Is this a mood or something?"

I smiled. "Hardy so has the hots for me."

"What?"

"Come on!" I argued. "I should have been out of here! Kasey, you're smarter than I am... on some days. Once again, my charm and beautifully sculpted body have saved the day. I am fucking Adonis."

She laughed. "You're so stupid. Anyway, the project is a biographical piece on someone that attends or works for Maddison High. My subject is you."

"I call bullshit!" Shouted Devon. "I called you first in my head."

"You can't -"

"Dibs!" Nathan said.

I only smiled. "You see, Kasey, this only proves my point. You are all powerless to resist me."

"I agree." Nathan replied. "That's why you should choose me. I'll even add into my paper about how everyone wanted you."

"Sold."

I was met by a symphony of protests. I held up a hand. "I'll answer his questions out loud, because I know you guys all want to know more about me. And you're nosy as hell."

Nathan grinned, proud to be chosen over those he considered to be smarter or funnier or more popular. It was a rare moment for him. He began scribbling out questions as I began thinking of a way to exploit this newfound opportunity.

"Alright, first question-"

"Wait." I said. "If I do this for you, commit my time and energy, then I should get something in return."

Several students' heads shot up from their desks. Devon whistled.

"What I mean is, I get to interview you, too. In private, of course."

Nathan stared. "For what?"

"We'll call it morbid curiosity."

He took a moment to consider this. If he said no, there would be no shortage of students jumping to take his place. I might never truly discover what skeletons lied behind his lie of a smile.

Finally, he nodded and continued on with his inquiries. "Question one, you smoke, huh?"

"Yeah..."

"Just cigarettes?"

"Are you gonna make me pee in a cup?"

"Ryan! This is serious!"

"Seriously, I will pee in a cup. I am not afraid to whip it out."

The students laughed as the bell rang.

"You know," Kasey said. "You are a really fun teacher, unless you know, someone actually wanted to learn something."

I laughed. I could not think of anything to say to her besides, "Red, you bitch."

Nathan stood by his desk and waited until the rest of the class had left.

"I'll catch up with you tomorrow, then?" I asked.

He hesitated before nodding. "Yeah, Monday's fine. See ya, man."

I waved him on and sat down at my desk. Writing had quickly become my way to relieve stress, replacing my previous addiction. Nathan was going to have questions about my life, some things I have not even been able to make sense of. I pulled out a piece of paper and began piecing together what I could. All my literal attempts at writing, however, ended up in song form. I wrote word by word, then quicker as the feelings began to flood my consciousness. Fear, anger, hatred, lonlinessstressconfusion - all words that described my youth, all words I would have to explain to Nathan. Perhaps, he already understood. Perhaps, he could do what I could never fathom. He could smile in the face of the abyss that consumes souls and warps minds. He could smile and take it. He could swallow his feelings as the emptiness swallowed him.

Or perhaps, and more likely, I was projecting my insecurities onto Nathan. Misery loves company, as the cliche goes. I wanted so badly - more so than I would ever admit- to be understood. I wanted one thing in life to not seem like a form of punishment, to prove that I was not bad, that I was not a bad person. If I can see the good in Nathan's potentially tormented soul, it would mean there was good in me. Some shred of dignity, humanity, hope that had not been torn from my clenched fist.

I wrote about all the things I could never explain, except in abstract metaphors of monsters and pitfalls. Come tomorrow, perhaps I would have something of myself to offer.