Young Writers Society

(initially supposed to be just dialogue but I got carried away)

"Don't walk away when I'm speaking to you, Christen," she said, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and desperation. Her fingers clenched and unclenched at her sides, betraying the turmoil within her.

Christen paused in his steps, his eyes flickering back to her. The warmth of affection that once filled his heart now gave way to a storm of disgust and frustration. His jaw clenched, muscles tensing as he struggled to contain his rising temper. "What the fuck is your problem, mom?" His words were sharp, cutting through the air with a palpable tension.

She crossed her arms, a scowl etched deep on her face. "You're my problem, and don't curse at me!" Her voice cracked with the strain of holding back tears, her brows furrowing with annoyance. "This is exactly the attitude your teachers have been warning me about. Can't you think for once, huh? You walk around as if nothing happened, Christen!"

"That's because NOTHING HAPPENED!" Christen erupted, his voice rising with each word. His fists clenched at his sides, knuckles turning white with the force of his grip. "We made that fucking clear, didn't we, Mom!? We didn't spend all that money just for you to keep bringing it up!"

"We?" she scoffed incredulously, her tone laced with bitterness. "Last I checked, that money came from your father's account. It's his fault you're like this, you know, a spoiled little shitty brat who thinks the whole fucking world revolves around him."

"Oh, well yeah, whatever. Let's keep it that way. You're just peeved because Dad isn't sending you money anymore. Gucci purses are more important than your son?" Christen's words dripped with sarcasm, his eyes flashing with resentment.

With a look of disbelief, she marched over and slapped him across the face. The sound echoed through the room, followed by a stunned silence. Tears welled up in her eyes, her hands trembling with a mixture of anger and hurt. "YOU KILLED SOMEONE, YOU MONSTER!"

Christen pushed her away, his cheeks flushed with anger. His chest heaved with each ragged breath, his eyes blazing with defiance. "WHO CARES!? HE WAS A FUCKING LOSER, MOM!" His voice echoed off the walls, filled with bitterness and resentment.

"Not even his fucking parents care he's dead! That money shut them up, didn't it? Who'd feel sorry for someone whose family didn't even fucking like him," he retorted nonchalantly, a smug smirk playing on his lips. His words were like daggers, cutting through the tension in the room.

"I'm leaving for school now," he announced, his voice cold and detached. He adjusted his uniform tie and hair with practiced precision, his movements mechanical. "Can you keep your mouth—" he gestured to his lips, miming zipping them shut, "—and we'll all have a great day."

——

The hustle and bustle of Addaway's halls enveloped him. Christen made his way to his locker, a routine he couldn't bid himself of. Standing there, the usual things shit-face people would drop off in 'respect' was absent from the scene —no flowers, bears, or heartfelt notes adorned the metal door, not even a single photograph.

His gaze lingered ahead, seemingly lost in a trance of contemplation. In that moment, it dawned on him —he had been right all along. That guy was nothing more than a loser. If Christen was to be brutally honest with himself, he saved him from the cruel world that hated him.

For a moment he continued to stare before kicking the locker, mumbling insults as he silently walked away.

——

He smoked often, not for any particular reason, but simply because he found it hard not to. Currently, he was with some girl whose name escaped him—Cindy? Maddie? It didn't matter. It was obvious why she was hanging around him, to look cool and edgy. He scoffed and spat a log of hard spit against the pavement when smoke caught in his lungs.

Unlike him, the girl couldn't handle it and started coughing like crazy. "Woah...ahem, heh...uh, so how's your morning?" she asked between coughs, her voice strained and raspy.

Christen dragged another puff and blew out a cloud of smoke. He squinted at her, his eyes scanning her face with detached interest. "Who are you again?" he asked, his tone flat and indifferent.

The girl's face fell, her shoulders slumping in defeat. "...Sahara. Uhm, we're in chemistry together..." she reminded him, her voice barely above a whisper.

Disgusted, he shifted away, his expression one of disdain. "If you're going to die, do it somewhere else, please." His words were cold and callous, devoid of empathy or concern.

The coughing continued, and Sahara squeezed her chest, struggling to catch her breath. She waved off his comment, her face contorted in pain. Out of nowhere, another girl came rushing in—Marissa.

"Oh my god, Sahara! Are you alright? Oh, Christen..." Her tone dripped with disdain when she spots him, her eyes narrowing with disapproval. "Seriously, Sahara!? Cigarettes! You know you have asthma!" she scolded; her voice tinged with frustration.

Furious, Sahara shouted, "Why do you have to embarrass me all the time!?" before running away, her footsteps crushing beneath thick white snow.

"Sahara—!" Marissa called out, her voice filled with concern, but it was too late.

Marissa's attention turned to Christen, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. "You could have killed her," she accused, her voice trembling with anger.

Instead of apologizing, Christen laughed, his voice filled with mockery. "Me?" he exclaimed, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "That's the cigarettes. You should teach her how to read the boxes." His words were like a slap in the face, his laughter turned into a sickly cough, and he tossed a cigarette butt in her direction with a careless flick of his wrist.

"Fuck you, Bales! I tell you she could've died, and that's all you've got to say!? You're messed up!" Marissa spat out the words, flipping him off before storming away in frustration.

He brushed her off and pulled out another cigarette, "Hm... maybe I do have a problem," he muttered realizing the box was already finished. He lit the cigarette and took a long drag, the smoke swirling around him like a shroud of darkness. Restlessly tapping his feet, Christen gnawed on the cigarette, scanning the bustling crowd of students, his gaze halted abruptly, ensnared by the familiarity of a face etched with memories both cherished and haunting. A sudden wave of nausea swept over him, twisting his insides into knots of dread. 

With a gulp, Christen sped off, every movement fueled by a primal surge of panic. His pulse thundered in his ears as he darted inside, a blur amidst the sea of startled students. He careened past them, his breath ragged and uneven, as he raced towards the sanctuary of the library. Each step felt like an eternity, the weight of his apprehension bearing down on him like a leaden cloak, yet he pressed on, driven by an urgent need to escape.

He must have looked like a lunatic, he was aware, but he entered the quiet zone looking disheveled and out of breath. He spotted his group of friends and ran over to them, announcing loudly, "HE'S ALIVE!"

Everyone—Lucas, Riya, Daniel, Berry, and Michael—turned towards him, confusion written on their faces.

He shouted again, "HE'S ALIVE...HE'S HERE! OUTSIDE, GUYS, HE FUCKING WALKED IN—"

Michael was at his side quickly, aiding him, rubbing Christen's back and holding onto his shoulder like a lifeline. He brought him over, sitting him down, but Christen jumped right back up. "He isn't dead!"

"What the fuck are you yapping about, man?" Lucas sneered, glaring at him.

"Who isn't dead...?" Berry's soft voice mirrored, the group exchanging knowing glances. She freaked out, "...is this a joke? That's fucking sick, Christen!" She slammed her hand down and stood up. "Don't joke!"

"Yeah...bro, what the hell..." Riya muttered.

Christen wasn't crazy; he saw him—the face, the body, the hair, his permanent frown. Everything was him; everything was Adrian. "Do you think I'd joke about something like this!?"

"Of course I do, because you're fucked in the head!" Berry shouted.

"I paid millions of fucking dollars to get rid of this!"

"BECAUSE YOU KILLED HIM!"

Christen moved to attack her, but Berry yelped and sheltered behind Lucas, who punched him. He fell backward onto Riya, who managed to keep her balance. "FUCK YOU, LUCAS! I AM NOT CRAZY!"

"Well, you sound crazy," Riya remarked. "Adrian is dead, Chris. He's been dead for two damn weeks. Quit the nicotine."

She always made sly comments about his smoking, that shit-eating grin he wanted to wipe off her damn face. About to approach her, he was stopped by Michael. They were locked in a quiet daze, and he could tell Michael was concerned about his mental state. But he was fine; it was the fact that no one was listening to him that was bothering him.

"Christen, are you...sure you saw him?" Michael asked.

"Are you serious, man? You actually believe this shit?" Daniel stood up, exasperation evident in his voice. "This is fucked. Look, I'm going to class, alright? I'm not going to get caught up in Christens' bullshit again." He grabbed his books and bag, slinging it over his shoulder before leaving, even though class hadn't started yet.

Everyone fell quiet, expressions of deep concern and confusion lingering on their faces.

Michael sighed, coaxing Christen's hand into his. They looked at each other, and Christen cast his eyes elsewhere, a flush creeping up his face.

"Let's just check it out..."

——

The group of six stood outside, snow pelting their exposed skin as they watched from afar. A mess of ashy blond hair, complimenting ice-pale flesh and dark brown eyes, stood before a group of students who seemed to blur into the background.

"Oh...my god," Berry was the first to speak, her voice quivering with disbelief. She wrenched and grasped at her stomach. "Oh god..." and with that, she ran away, with Lucas following closely behind.

Riya wiped her face, pulling her hair back as a long, agonizing sound escaped her lips. "I... can't..." she murmured, waving off the others before swiftly leaving.

Now, it was just Christen and Michael. They stood side by side, watching as this...fake Adrian stared back at them.

"It's him..." Christen muttered, swallowing hard as he fought back the mucus in his throat. "It is..."

"No, Chris—"

"It is him! Look at how he's just...fucking standing there! Looking at me! You think I don't know what my boyfriend looks like!?" His voice cracked with emotion, his hands trembling with fear and uncertainty.