Shade of Human

Three - SoH

Three:

Waking up after about two hours of sleep at Clarke's house was the most refreshed, I had felt recently. Maybe it was the proximity to the one male besides my adoptive father whom I trusted, or it was because I knew I could end the beings hellbent on making a snack of us. Either way, I finally seemed to have some control back, even if I did not yet know exactly how or why those things had died. The whole touching the non-corporeal merely opened a new labyrinth of questions and exploration to undertake.

Trepidation surrounding my not-so-triumphant return to high school limelight. Older people might think I am exaggerating. However, that is because they are so far removed from their memories of the drama. It was not inaccurate to describe my anxiety for school as greater than that of the shadowy things I had murdered the night prior. That either made me a burgeoning sociopath or attested to the tribulations I faced in the shallow end of the pool today.

There was no logic to my fear and my sense of butterflies. I was not one of those girls who needed everyone to love and worship her to feel my self-worth. I usually could stand apart like a rebel with a cause, but I was short one vixen at my side to shower with all manner of praise, love, and devotion. Without Ariel, I felt exposed for the first time, raw and naked, vulnerable even. She had been a safety net for me. We had been an out and proud couple for several years. We have learned to face all the teenage threats to our character and livelihood together, in harmony.

Even when we fought, we had each other's backs. We always made up and made love vigorously. My bones ached and my heart seemed hollow as if it beat pushing only black tar through my veins. My sense of loss was more profound now, seeing the outside world once again, than any of the numbed time behind bars. Never would I have imagined that juvie had protected my sanity. It had worked as a danger sense that kept me on high alert all the time. Even in my cell, I was constantly vigilant that my cellmate might turn against me—I had witnessed that several times in my three months.

It had never occurred to me I would feel more and experience pain more sharply once they released me. I thought I had a handle on grief. I thought I was managing myself smashingly. Again, refer to my musing last night, about higher powers and laughing. Whirlwind would be a polite and modest assessment of the gale-force impacting my life. Something so devastating and so primal was crashing on the banks of my soul that I could not contain the unbridled visceral agony of my sundered heart. The pain was without limits or boundaries. Madness seemed welcome to escape the persistence of the dead visiting me as if I had murdered them. Not merely been a witness to unspeakable beings doing the inexplicable before my eyes.

No, I had not seen Ariel's ghost, but I had seen some which looked like her if only a few generations removed. I soon realized they were the dead of her bloodline—at least her mother's line, as best I could approximate.

She'd been my world, and that world was forever shattered. I could use shattered mirror analogies, but I feel it would fall entirely a mile too short into the chasm of my brokenness. The pain was my only lover these days. She stung like a real b***h endlessly.

Clarke's mom gave me the "look" when she spotted me coming out of her shower. She knew me, and yet there was a not very well-hidden expressive edge of fear in her eyes. She did not think we were doing it, but that seemed to be way down her list of concerns for Clarke's wellbeing as far as I was concerned.

Brooke Davies was a nurse practitioner of her own mental health clinic. She treated people for anxiety, depression, and all the other various human mental problems you would expect to discover in a doctor's office. She was one step from being a fully certified MD, but she could already write prescriptions and treat patients out of her own practice. She was about my height, five-eight, and she was still in good shape even in her early forties. Since she practiced what she preached about healthy living.

Henry Davies, Clarke's dad, had the most boring job ever. He was a bank manager. That, if you ask me, is the very personification of where men go for their dreams to die. He was about two inches taller than his wife. Not nearly as tall as Clarke was at sixteen. Clarke came from two very brainy people, so his athletic prowess seemed a bit of a mystery. Clarke's fam had come to love me over the years. Yet, it appeared a single conviction for a crime I didn't do was enough to erase everything. All the history between us.

I knew it should not add to my suffering, yet it was impossible not to hurt for the loss. A girl is raised by the entire village, as it were. That village suddenly shunning her threatens her own mental health. Something I would have expected Brooke Davies to know a lot about.

"Hey," I said, as I passed her. I tried not to let her see how much her alien look of quiet judgment bothered me.

I toweled myself down and fished out some clothing I had hidden in Clarke's room on one of my many stays. We were that type of friends. The ones who kept s**t at each other's houses. We also pressed the parental luck and boundaries with our friendship. My parents knew I was far too into girls to come home preggers from his place, so they seemed satisfied that I would not become another teen statistic. Perhaps not in the most dreaded fashion, but I seemed to have become a juvenile statistic. In that process, I suppose it is likely I have also become the average teenager's mother's worst nightmare for a close friend.

Ripped and pre-faded jeans were one of my fave things to wear. Plus, they made my ass look nice. Not that I had anyone to care how my ass looked right now. Despite the almost debilitating level of hormones surging through me, I did not seem to care too much about attracting females right now. It was all I could do to keep my head from spinning out of control.

I finished dressing, selecting a cute violet top that matched my strange purple eyes. My features were unique for a half-Japanese girl. My brown hair had natural blonde highlights and my eyes were violet purple. Whatever my father was, he was not some typical Caucasian dude. My uniqueness was part of what made me so popular in school. Say what you may but looks mean pretty much everything in high school. People see the beautiful and the genetically gifted, and they secretly long for more of that experience in their lives. It is akin to the same concept of people reading cheesy romance novels for real-world escape. At least that's one theory.

My premonition for class was ominous with a forecast of fallen-angel-like status attention. Now, I may be used to having mean bitches staring at me daily by now but forgive a girl her desire to return to the place she felt beloved. There was a part of my heart and my mind longing to be welcomed back as the rogue angel, still loved, still in everyone's minds. I have been different my entire life, but it had never really been a bad difference. Sure, I suffered all the normal doubts and anxieties of my peers. However, I always knew people cared and other people envied me. It is part of who I have become, of how I have grown to see myself.

Now, I am a juvie girl, an entirely different sort of reputation comes with that tacked on to my rep.

"Mom, make some waffles! I'm starvin'"

Clarke yelled over his shoulder as he walked back into his room. He was not one to stress seeing a boob or two with me. He knew my s****l orientation. I suppose growing up so closely. It seemed to exempt me from worrying my bestie might opt to hump my leg like one of the normal mouth-breathing jocks in our grade.

"I see you found my cross selection."

Clarke joked calmly; his masculinity was not threatened by his very metrosexual tasteful eye. Clarke was also an exceptional shopper, hence the whole two female besties thing—well, one now.

"If you go drag, then why not do so in style. However, I doubt your masculine hips will fit into these here jeans."

I said and stuck my tongue out at him playfully. He sniggered at me. We just refused to speak of the pink elephant in the room between us. He knew that we needed answers. I lost all my potential ability to push him out into the cold while I searched. Besides, judging by Mrs. Davies's cold treatment, I could hardly spare a single friend at the moment.

"Hey, you trying to give me body image issues, beeyatch?!"

He spared verbally. I tipped my head back and laughed in roaring amusement.

"A boy is tryin' to get himself smacked first thing! I suggest coffee. It's a much less painful way to get a wake-up smack."

Clarke chuckled at my witty comeback. He flagrantly waved his hand ahead of me.

"Come on, let's eat before I end up on an iv drip."

Clarke exaggerated, but he really ate more than one could imagine possible for such a skinny and fit kid. I imagined his stomach has a black hole inside it or a wormhole to another dimension. Either that, or he was some supernatural beast with a massive appetite. That last option was still possible since Clarke could see the black shadowy things. Color me distrustful, but I assumed nothing anymore. Even if he were less than human, I already decided I would love my bestie, regardless. Spirit and heart never change, despite appearance or even gene sequences. Some truth was beyond DNA and beyond species—or so I believed. Juvie had given me a lot of time to muse on many tangents of this topic and its outlying connection to the discovery of that fateful night.

"Come on, I smell bacon!"

Clarke said. I smiled widely.

"Dude, you had me at bacon!"

I exclaimed, and I skipped past Clarke, opting not to share with him how his mom was viewing me. The sliver of optimism inside my heart prayed she would reconsider her stance on anti-Hannah once she observed me in the wild for a bit. Besides, Clarke had an amazing bond with his mom, so who the hell was I to trample all over that? I was only here because my birth mom had been willing to sacrifice her mind and then her body just to carry me to term. I hardly felt deserving of the lengths and depths of her sacrifice, but I constantly attempt to ensure wherever she may be in the beyond, that she will be proud of me. Typical little orphan Annie s**t, huh?