<u>Prologue: Halloween, 2006</u>
"I never had this taste in my mouth, normal hesitation is gone,like a fresh battery, I'm energized by you ... " - 'New', No Doubt
It was a Halloween party not unlike any other for Marc Horne. One of his best friends, Greg Smith, was having a "No Costume, No Entry' as the party theme, though it wouldn't get too crazy since his parents set curfew at twelve. Honestly, Marc was not keen on the overrated melodrama behind Halloween, even declining Jill and Trisha's plea to join them at some rave in Rye District [their city's downtown district], and they were his closest friends alive. But not even his best buds since ninth grade, forthcoming all, could peer pressure him into the stupidity of playing dress-up.And that being what deeply troubled him, no one simply understand that he first off was correct in his approach that the retarded spirit of dress up is lame as hell, children and swingers singularly fit for practice, very strictly speaking. But diplomatically, Marc gave into Greg's request only because it was his first time hosting a party, and he had to fulfill duties as a friend. He suspected it would be a very relaxed atmosphere though, the one relieving factor. And if worse came to worse, any scenario had to fit into the midnight curfew, anyway, and Greg's parents were very strict.
<p> Admittedly, for Greg only he dealt himself as devil's advocate by dressing up as a pirate respectively, complete with his very own eye-patch; Marc, noteworthily, was lastly described as 'sarcastic', his false facade but a humorous gesture he left open to interpretation for those aware of his underwhelment, laughing at himself in a manner of speaking since Marc himself was seldom standoffish; it seemed a very abnormally traited behavior tonight to those who took casual notice. And when he arrived at half past eight, Greg was elated by the excellent turn-out so early on. And guiltily so, Marc too felt shocked at the magnitude of the party after its short start half an hour ago, stifling his assurance of a chill atmosphere more each minute, unfortunately. But in spite of his annoyed, apparent misunderstanding of the holiday's greatness, Greg's happiness was most rewarding, of course, and thereby overcoming. There must have been sixty people already among them, having a ball as they danced and drank. But even more surprising, Marc was taken aback sharply at the many unrecognizable faces among them as well. In spite of Marc's uncertain feelings towards the demographic, he still couldn't deny to himself the commending gesture in its demonstrating of the pride he felt for Greg's charismatic character.
Then again, Greg lived borderline between Lake and Jameson High's districts. Lake was their rival school but Marc knew Greg did have friends on their side, too. Marc himself had never integrated much with the Lake High crowd and resented that Greg did; moreover than the rivalry spirit was their competitive status on the baseball team. But whatever floated Greg's boat was cool with him, he supposed. Nonetheless, in friendly leisure Marc spent the night, mingling with friends and strangers alike, feeling both happy and angry at the surprising number of chicks pinpointed onto his radar, preempted for careful approach. But for better or worse consequence, concerned with this luck in play, Marc chose easily to disregard school rivalry in the name of a kingdom of hot chicks. He had zero expectations of finding longetivity in any given person really, but yet it actually so uncharacteristic to his core character. It's an age-old dilemma remaining still - neither a regard of moral choice nor that of an opinion here - a truth essentially selfless, a sheer acceptance as to avoid hurting others without need.
The unfortunate pain single-handedly paid its dues of homage from profoundly felt love for his the best friend, Jill regretted having to leave him heartbroken, breaking her heart too in a manner of speaking; she was sure he would hate her forever, but he understood she would not mislead 'someone I think is really extraordinary. We're fourteen silly, trust me, you'll find so much more interesting and prettier girls as we move up," Jill had offered this comic relief after a few weels passing by, when nothing really had left itself behind - nothing,.History of Marc's emotional attachments were settled but not ridded of, despite the issue's apparent invisibilty. Painstakingly, Marc had no win against feelings unwantedly that trapped the present a conflict of interest, even three years later, because their dillemma personally long resolved, wholeheartedly. Internal, personally unassuaged feelings were not appropriate he didn't think to bring up, not like he at all wants things to even change now, though, because the truth demonstrated what otherwise may not have. Unbelievably so, if the choice were given he'd leave matters as they are - perfect, almost anyway.
" ... I've got the greatest brother ever, I swear I'm objective ... I've got to be right? I didn't know him because we were separated at conception...' so went the joke Marc thought was beyond awesome, biased he may be at the honor he appreciated untaintedly so much.
During an exempt of three minutes to go inside for the restroom, and not at all having a half-bad time, unexpectedly. happily weighing if he wanted to text the girls and Shane[their best friend separate; Greg, same manner that they to Greg or Marc to Shane, a respectful acquaintence in spite, by odd chance]. hoping he particularly was having fun, mental notes Marc remembered his previous mentionings in tidbits of his paranoia his parents would kick him out ... they didn't have to be best friends for him to spare a caring thought; homophobia confusing Marc always, never explained the moments aren't hateful wastes, intelligent open-mindedness brainwashed out; Marc himself until middle school had never heard bigotry so unneeded.
<p> The Ninth hour struck: Greg had been carelessly unconcerned, following Marc from the deck outside. Marc hadn't checked the time himself but heard Greg's animated relief, anyway. Marc happened to glance in the plasma's TV direction in the living room casually, but then a stopping force froze him, It wasn't the blaring, overexcited audiences nor did his bladder feel near imploded, nothing whatsoever of insignificant invalue, but instead his eyes scoped upon a focal point in his life thus far: the cure to his lust had come into instant effect, unknowingly present for hours. There was no doubt in Marc's mind despite the gigantic surprise, because all the symptoms felt previous for Jill were filling his insides: heart racing, adrenaline rush, scattered and dreamy, and he was already artifically sweetening the girl perfect at mind. He stared in fixation at her without moving, appreciating instantly that she did not seem to attempt a look of deathly skinniness: she stood five seven, his favoring moderately tall chicks fulfilled, then a confident well-fitted proportion to her well-curved, healthily thick figure, and gender aside it garnered respect in luck. Her hairstyle admittedly a platinum blonde, the social glamour indeed - but there was not even a firm indicating that she had dyed her hair whatsoever, the exonerating, highly attracting quality: her hair naturally colored addition to lack of highlights alike, yet Marc suspected she knew what looked good on herself - not on America's Top Models - and if her hair color stayed mostly naturally it thereby chosen well; her hair looked ethereal overall in chemical composition in its perfectly straight, neck-lengthened manner.
She stood not standoffishly but passively idled in the corner drinking a coke, enjoying the football game on plasma screen like ordinary. She wore all black: a silk-fabricated, very formal dress of conservative length, complete with graceful shoulder straps; her choice of compliment, thickly-leathered heels and very finishing, well-toned makeup [minimized, not obsessively looking like a baby prostitute at end point, thankfully], diversely commendable in equally resonating separate cultures with nothing short of high class. Most impressied but guardedly unfeeling when she womaned up wordfully, and then stunned Marc with a one in a million chosen timely shift attentively assured beforehand if the idea were flawed. Almost identical gazes were shared, quite curiously: depthful, eluding, attentively-drawn, passioned-filled. And Ignorant to she as a character, good or bad, irrationally determined thoughts. The doom cast the minute his eyes had fallen on her only a few moments elapsed, the instant her hurricane-potent aura that overbearingly compelled.
A brief speculation she were a tease swallowed badly by an emotionless parallell shift fixatedly back on the game, swayed by greater interest, obviously none else. Disinclined clearly from further politeness, Marc felt like a total idiot but unable to base her reaction at all to anything his fault. And yet he was assured if the moment previous's charm, and took a sensible gander at television; fourth quarter; remaining time, three minutes. Surprisingly sweet, she turned back at him with a sparkling white teeth with a cute gap between her front teeth. And it was normal - with time to acknowledge and all. The registry of hunter to prey penetrated violently in the two paralyzing stares, competing equally for mesmerizing quality. Marc's face wore a blank, hollow look of unfamiliarity in shock.- Not contradictory, twisted morals flirtatious as he imagined a perfect person ,,,, and like a feeling unstoppable like none else, prior or subsuqent, Marc affirmatively recalled his mind luckily and like a gentleman decided to approach her. The initiating, defenseless second acted as the conceiving force 'sinful infatuation' alone without any interrupting forces. The striking directing force towards his being, the viewpoint presumably ethereal from those large and wonderous, watchful gazed so deeply it seemed she were apparent to all, as if she had bright green x -ray eyes, seemingly. And it was so sudden almost immediately when she noticed him, causing his hairs on the back of his neck stood violently at a cold, creeping chill rushed through his spine. Amy's studious eyes seemed to be directing him particularly now, the mystical glow definitive.
And that was enough for him somehow, because Marc felt impassioned by her presence so deeply and knew he could charm her like a real gentlemen. He recovered himself securely, telling himself he had no reason to taking himself out with spots of shamefulness: Marc wasn't bad looking after all, standing six two and well-fitting his lanky shape. He did have concern over his problem with hair, certain it'd removed him from her list if he were ever there. It was neck-lengthened, always gelled [hardly helping], dirty blonde curls which never appear groomed correctly, at best appears half-assed. Marc felt great doubt as he goggled mindlessly at her, realizing the oddity that a stellar young woman, a Barbie killer and unreachable aspiration, would take him seriously if his appearance seems unfully groomed?
He looked up wearily as he sat on a loveseat, nursing a frustrated palm at his forehead's creasings, and Amy Cartwright was walking towards him definitely now; strangulating, intertwining collisons of varying degrees of apprehension loosened itself literally while thinking this though. And only guarded by unguiding reservations, he felt almost sunk into paralysis in a mesmerized state that at least mainstained his still, not dangerous movements. She strutted over in a manner not slutty but demanding of equality in a 'femme fatale' variation.<p>
Joyful shock electricuted his most acute emotions hardly within the spectrum of delicacy....
The closer her angelic appearance materialized clearer the intensity a dangerous, yet precious high too focal in its representing, whatever the bliss' trigger may be. she came, the more infatuated he felt, and yet he did not question his illogical thinking. He was much too intent on impressing her, the loss of rationale playing like untamed animal lusts, almost high on thoughtlessness. Marc vibrantly grinned at her, truly in disbelief of his surreal luck once she'd faced him forward.
Amy motioned a beginning to a very warm gesture translating into a nice introduction, and Marc swallowed every word, motion, exhale to inhalewith exc, very curiously listened in turn his expressively wary focus on her mannerisms, finding himself unsurprised at her effortless mannerisms. especially in annunciating her voice passively not threatening, singularly elegant and charmed flawlessly. <p>
"My name is Amy Cartwright." A simple three words effortlessly annunciated most beautifully, sounding charismatic and assuring yet also tightly-wrapped by deliberance. Following immediately, Amy firmly shook his hand while nodding politely, managing to never move her stilled, perfect smile. Marc noted only for a second's elapse that her whole demeanor [given earlier as well] seemed perhaps very well self-calculated, maybe, but he did not focus on this thought as she continued. "I've never seen you times previous - considering the small high schools in Nashcago city limits, I do venture you're from Jameson, speculatively?<p>
Marc never forgot to smile as they both seemed very aware of each other's movements, and he did it so avidly that his jaws would suffer the next morning. <p>
Somehow, in spite of the absorption of what felt like millions of emotions inside him, someone he managed simple words. "Nice to meet you, the name's Marc -Marc Horne." His tone trembled terribly with his body movements, and so he tried clearing his throat cordially. He laughed politely, adding, "so then, Amy, how did you end up at my best pal's party? What do we owe the pleasure to?"<b Amy shook her head, rolling her eyes, and yet smiling his way widely. "I've hung out with him a couples time through Ken Jade, a Lake High senior who just happens to be a mutual friend of ours," she explained cheerfully, and then smirked at him deviously to tease him. "And by the way, Marc, I'm not one of those blondes you have to treat like a 'Your Highness' for existing, so you can stop that trembling, haha." Amy said this as if were to relieve his humiliation.<p>
These words were good impressions for him greatly, the humble factor very crucial to him. Substatively speaking, he was king to a foriegn, intangible land, his throne the uplift of spirits within his character core, grateful enough to not preemptively speculate on any number of possible dillemas; practically speaking, he slowly needed to piece Amy’s (thus far) shared history explanation in a manner professional while still employing a somewhat general basis.
Laughing happily, Amy pointed out, "Marc, I think I've seen you from afar at a baseball match between our schools, maybe last season?" she suggested curiously. "I think the game was in February, and haha, I think we won it, too." She batted her eyelashes bashfully at him, red in the face. She really liked him too, for once there no speculating involved. And this thought alone made Marc laugh harder than ever over her words, only because it was her. <p>
Understandably,Marc thereby absorbed himself assuredly within the effects of these sudden strike of emotions, so new; As they discussed topics of introspective range, the easily-distinguished curiosity to learn about the other felt very welcoming; it being a wise determine of characterl
i0 ; how could she be so modest in spite of her superiority over others,
Laughing happily, Amy pointed out, "Marc, I think I've seen you from afar at a baseball match between our schools, maybe last season?" she suggested curiously. "I think the game was in February, and haha, I think we won it, too." She batted her eyelashes bashfully at him, red in the face. She really liked him too, for once there no speculating involved. And this thought alone made Marc laugh harder than ever over her words, only because it was her. Admittedly, he knew had it been someone else, it may have been otherwise.
A devastating conflict started by someone Marc had no knowledge existed, then furthermore his drunkedness affecting Marc ... irony being at Amy's brief absence in getting Marc and herself drinks.
All hell broke loose at the precise strike of the eleventh hour, like an unexpected thief in the night There came a real dick to turn their chill atmosphere unpleasant, a little boy who whether it be attention or delusions about girls - point-blank there was fucking trouble.
<u>Amy's two second room slip out timed two minutes 'till eleven, the striking of the clock to the eleventh hour the consecutive<U> ... At which case, henceforth focal .... Everything went to shit out of hell, maybe literally even. Without warning nor rational motive, this scruffy-looking guy about his age came marching towards him, a demeanor dipped in tension from head to toe. Forthcoming, Marc spectated half-comedically and half-appalled the humored sickingly of the 'holier-than-thou', royalty strut of honor. Abruptly taken a back without assurance of the forthcoming's withholding, a scene untraceable to rational human beings to understand, Marc single-handedly switched spectator to protagonist unhappily, warily eluding his eyes for all purposes lof safety. Not of the boy, certainly not, but for others uninolved [Marc too, technically] he had to be extra smart in case there were any minions in background subtle. Marc admitted to himself felt relief the closer proximity contrary to vice versa, and he hoped maybe to settle without fireworks. The boy was moronic in trying this with Marc at start, insanely disadvantaged and especially drunk, considering the depicted demeanor by many:
Plainly said, he could be described based on looks under the title of king of the white trash department. Any of his given looks were filthy: his wild jet black hair, acne covered baby face, shattering brown teeth, and of course his short stature was also not helping.But the worst, and in play, was his daring snobbishness, the toddler inside. </u></center>Disgusted, Marc had to admit to himself that the boy \\i was\\i0 semi-built, fair enough, and well, damn courageous to stand 5'3 to Marc, 6'4, and to pick a needless fight at that.
The guy was piss drunk and wiggled a finger at Marc as he cleared the last few paces between them. Marc found himself laughing unstoppably at the boy's disoriented slouches and slurs. He sounded like a baby in a big fit. "What the fuck, man? Why are you talking to Ashley, didn't you see me with \\i my\\i0 girl last night?"
\\tab\\i Who. The. Fuck\\i0 . Now Marc was too offended to be humored, his livid tone uncharacteristic,"You mean AMY? Her name is\\i Amy\\i0 , you dumb fuck, so keep your sick imagination to yourself. I forgive your forgetting, though, because surely Amy's forgotten all about your whole \\i existence, s\\i0 cum bag." His laugh
was hallow and unlike that of his own.
The boy sounded like he were defending the babies Marc skinned to death. "\\i What the hell, buddy? You don't mess around with that shit on another guy's girl\\i0 l?" Was he drunk, deluded - both? Luckily, a couple friends came over and tried pulling him away with calm gesturing. The boy had some balls to scream, "God damn you, fucking faggot!"
He brought out insanity in Marc. He briefly thought of wisdom from Catholics, something like, "When Jesus closes a door, Mary opens the window." He found its meaning profound, still did really, but Marc's door seemed to be locked and his window, bolted shut. The boy's pales "saved" Marc from jail, tentatively anyway, but still needed that window that Amy, currently AWOL, couldn't open for him[ it looked like she'd smartly opened the "window" (sliding glass door, that is] that saved \\i herself\\i0 ; except unknowing of the forthcoming mishap. Marc felt trapped by this strange dilemma in the small but crowded, doorless, windowless imprison...
In a flash, somehow a rage-filled fist crashed into Johnny, close to skull crushing in technique, but luckily damned his face black-and-blue and newly-ravaged nose for show.
But then the malevolence instantaneously somehow dissipated, his calm, cool, and collected demeanor returned. Back to the Marc he knew himself to be, he did what was right and offered mercy reluctantly and annoyed. "Get your fucking friend away okay? Just go."
Marc repeatedly found himself being scrutinized for letting him go, jokes not funny like that he prudishly 'walked on water.' Even Greg was full of passive aggression, repeatedly "fooling" with Marc with a huge smile on his face. "...God damn, Marc, you always gotta do the \\i wrong\\b\\i0 \\b0 thing." .
"Forget it, I punched him, just let the fucker go." He wanted to end everything.
Marc's confusions rested on Amy's connection to the boy, obliviously thrown off what was a perfect chance meeting. Now he didn't know when or if he would see her again, if maybe it had been a superficial meeting of \\i chance\\i0 , respectively. He had no way of knowing, obviously, but it angered him that he would never know whether this incident had any substantive telling in the future of whatever Marc would become somehow, or \\i wouldn't\\i0 become perhaps, all through this too ironic game of chance....