Inside Leslie

You know like her brain and stuff. What did you think I meant? Pervert.

Small disclaimer: THIS IS NOT A PERSONAL EXPERIENCE! THIS IS FICTIONAL! LESLIE IS AN EXTREMELY MESSED UP CHARACTER! SHE CAN GET THROUGH THIS! YOU JUST HAVE TO BELIEVE IN HER! IF YOU DON’T SHE WILL KNOW! IF YOU DON’T TELL THREE PEOPLE TO CUT A HOLE IN ONE OUT OF EVERY THREE SOCKS SHE WON’T PULL OUT OF THIS! SHE WILL HAUNT YOU WHILE SHE IS STILL ALIVE! THIS IS JUST TO MAKE IT LOOK LIKE I WROTE MORE THAN I DID WHILE IN REALITY I SPENT MY WRITING TIME TALKING TO MYSELF WHILE I FILMED MYSELF WRITING SO I COULD…I DON’T KNOW WHY I DID THAT! I JUST DID! YOU CAN’T JUDGE ME!

                Leslie is sitting on a sink in her bathroom. Her fist is clenched around something small. She is crying. Who would ever understand? This was something that no one would understand. Not Dick, not Jim, not David, not Donald, and not Renée.

                There was something in her. Something that needed to come out. Something that needed to be free. But if that came out of her, would she survive? Would she be able to handle that? Where was this coming from? How could this be her? No one was really like this. No one actually felt this way, correct? There had to be something wrong. No one could know. She didn’t even know. There had to be something worth thinking about other than the ever-present self-doubt.

                She lowered her fist to her exposed right arm. The mirror reflects a shine of something jutting out the corner of her hand. Biting her lip, she brought it across her soft flesh. A crimson line appeared rapidly and diagonally across her forearm from the inside of her elbow to the middle of her inner-muscle. (I will look up that muscle later if this ever becomes a sitcom like I plan for it to MWAHAHAHA). She looked down at the streak; she saw the crimson liquid flowing out. In that liquid she saw the darkness in her mind flowing out of her. In the pain she felt the fear subsiding and escaping, but as the blood clotted, she knew parts of it were trapped inside her. She would just keep going until she was cleansed.

She closed her eyes, and felt the pain and confusion ebb from her open wound. This was working. Tomorrow was another day. Another day to live, another day to be with them, another day to work with the world, another day to cleanse.

                There was a jangle as the doorknob turned. Jim walked into the bathroom to see Leslie quickly pulling her right arm out of sight. He knew instantly what had happened. He had been in her situation before. “Give it to me,” he said.

                “Give you what?”

                “The blade, I can see your arm.”

                “I don’t want to.”

                “You can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

                “You don’t have to watch.”

                “Leslie, please.”

                “For the last time, no. This is has nothing to do with you. Just leave me be.”

                “I don’t want you to do this.”

                “You don’t know what I go through.”

                “Maybe I would if you would tell me.”

                Leslie slid off the sink, the blood had dripped down her arm and stopped at her wrist, forming bulbous red bubbles at the end of matching lines. She wouldn’t move toward him or away from him. She merely stood there, still. He moved toward her, but she remained still. He put his arms around her, but she remained still. He said, “I love you Leslie.” She remained still. “I don’t want you to be hurt. Talk to me.”

                “Get the fuck out of my way.” Leslie pushed out of him embrace and past him to the door. “And get out of my house.”

This Could Be A Public Service Announcement

Hello friends, Romans, followers, victims of shameless advertising, email receivers, and random viewers. I really don't feel like writing anything this week or ever, but don't worry; I won't break the chain. I'm actually kind of hungry while I'm writing this and if it breaks off and makes no sense for a bit, that means I probably got up to eat some brownies and came back to write later. Or I'm just playing a game of phone-tag with my parents, like I just was. But there is now a promise of food in my VERY near future! That makes me happy.
Back to the point I was ORIGINALLY going to make. I don't feel like writing. It's like how JennaMarbles doesn't feel like cleaning her room, and I will say that I have tried a great number of things instead of both writing and cleaning my room. My room is quite a bit of a hot mess. Almost as hot as this mess. Yeah, I'm just spamming you guys. That's the main thing I like to do instead of cleaning my room and writing. I've been baking, eating, finding out that I subconsciously horde food, learning that I dislike people more than I thought I did, using the servants entrance at work, sleeping in a closet, playing with shoes, and graduating high school yet again. I don't like high school.
Got off-track again. I don't think I can write the next part of "Big Dick Little Dyke" yet. This is because the next part is going to be the continuation of Richard going through the music on Leslie's iPod. I haven't been doing my research. I just don't listen to that much lesbian music. Well I do, but it's not for her character. I'm not talking about my taste in music right now.
So anywhich, you guys might get something from Leslie's point of view. I'm kind of tired of writing from a guy's perspective. I thought it would be easy, you know: sex, women, how to combine them. Damn it, I had to make him difficult. Oh well, maybe I'll just throw some random stuff at the all powerful Steve and tell you to be happy with it. I'm hungry. BROWNIES!
Okay then, it is settled. I'll do my musical research later, and have Richard's part ready next week.
Say, "BYE SPIDERMAN!"
Well actually Batman is the one in my room.

BYE BATMAN!

Musical Exposure (Part 1)

                The final bell rang at 3:40. Les escaped Latin earlier, fleeing to French class, but Dick was trapped on a different pathway: he was headed for Calculus. The day wore on like this. He knew her schedule, and how their paths only crossed for lunch and Latin. She practically lived in the language hall, except for her intense biology course. He wore on through an ordinary day, English, Physics, Latin, Calculus, and Gym, all before running off to some sort of athletics practice. His days never changed, whereas she stockpiled up on everything so that her last year could be spent in tolerable stress.

                Around 4:30, Dick emerged from the school to find his shiny little Mazda. Les’s Ford  Fairmont had left the grounds as she normally took off the second she was released from school. He climbed into his car, after unlocking his door by remote, to sit almost comfortably inside with his legs stretched as far as was possible in the car. Maneuvering out the parking lot Dick left the campus too.

                A few minutes after he entered the world of moving cars, he noticed Les’s iPod was still plugged into his radio. He sighed in exasperation at her usual forgetfulness, but he pressed play to relieve his frustration. Immediately he was greeted by a loud beat and shouting. “What the-“ was all he could manage to say before the lyrics covered his words.

                “Stomp, stomp, I’ve arrived. Drop the beat, nasty face, why you looking at me?”**

                Dick was confused. How was this what Les was listening to? Why was she listening to it so loudly? What did she just say?

                “You think I can’t get hurt like you, you motherfucker. I can do it like a brother, do it like a dude. Grab my crotch, wear my hat low like you.”**

                This kind of music went on, scaring the mild-mannered Dick of his lifelong friend’s taste in music. He quickly pressed the next button on his radio. He was slightly comforted by the familiar sound of a beat from some kind of Hip Hop. This was what he was used to when it came to Les. She usually could sing along to any rap, it was just a bit weird when she would in his car. This song seemed friendly.

                “I’m captivated, mesmerized by your eyes. I saw you glance at me and look kind of shy. I think you’re sexy and you got a nice swagger.”***

                That seemed more like Les. Something fast paced, but listener friendly. He let it play for a while. Before long he was singing along to the repetitive chorus:

                “Hey sexy baby want to make you mine

                If it’s not for forever than at least tonight

                I’m a sucker for your energy come over to my house

                And feel my love machine”***

That was, until he wondered about the singer. Was that a girl’s voice? What was he listening to? He quickly turned it off as he pulled into his driveway.

                Dick climbed out of his car and unfolded himself next to the open door. He gathered his things and decided at the last minute to take Les’s iPod in with him. What types of things could he find out about her from this one little window to her life?

*I do not own any of these songs! These are merely songs that I know and thought would fit Leslie's character well.

**"Do It Like a Dude" by Jessie J

***"Love Machine" by God-Des and She

Red Ones Bring You Up, Blue Ones Bring You Down

Are they fucking kidding me? Seriously? Here is a rant. I am not writing. Well I am writing, but this shit is real. Holy Fucking Shit is it real.
So my whole purpose for going to New York all that time ago was to work for the Coen Brothers on their new film, but that didn't work out. Then I got a job working on The Corrections and Notorious. The Corrections is not going to air.
Seriously, I spent six weeks working on that pilot. I worked for the most awesome people I have ever known. I drove around New York City for that show. I got paid to work on that show. And now they are not going to show it because HBO thinks the viewers would not be able to handle the jumping back and forth between the decades that goes on through the plot. Seriously? IT WAS BEAUTIFUL! There was rain, and a set, they were going to buy a house for the rest of the shots in Gary's house, they paid me over $2500 in the six weeks I worked there. Why did this happen? Why are they putting out yet another cop drama? WHY? Notorious had better make it, or heads will roll. Probably mine. Well actually more like implode from the disappointments of my life.

To explain the title, you need to watch St. Trinian's. I've had awesomeness today: getting my hair dyed the colour of a TARDIS (accidentally, it was supposed to be purple), I watched Bernadette and Howard get married on The Big Bang Theory and getting my car resurrected from an exploded 18-year-old fuel pump. Sadly it had to be followed by this tragedy as I decided to Google any possible preview for the show I worked on. I fornicating hate this.

Aftermath...Afterlatin

                Back at the table, Renée and Donald, or as they called each other Soulflight and Riverhaze, had joined David. Les and Dick reclaimed their seats next to them as they were in mid-conversation with David.

                “What did that turkey ever do to the antelope?” Renée inquired of David.

                “What could it do?” David annoyingly responded, “Absolutely nothing. Thus why it-“

                “Flies away before this gets any weirder.” Donald piped in.

                Les waves her hands between her face and the others, “Once again, I don’t want to know what you freaks are talking about.”

                They all continue their lunch. When Dick had finished, he stood up to return his tray. “Hey babes, would you take this up for me? Please?” Les batted her eyelashes as she asked him.

                “Sure,” was all he could say.

                “Thanks Dick!”

                After he had walked far enough away, Les gathered her books and stood up. “Hey,” she said to Renée, “Tell him I went to Latin already.”

                “Why? Is something wrong?”

                “Nothing is wrong. I just have to go before you freaks stuff tofu in my face.” Les stood up, slung her backpack over her shoulder, and left though the doors to head to Latin.

                Dick returned to two empty seats.  Renée chimes in, “Leslie’s headed to Latin.”

                “Why? We still have fifteen minutes left.”

                “She just left, rather suddenly, and a little rudely.”

                Donald adds, “What Soulflight is trying to say is that she seemed to have a lot on her mind.”

                “What could she possibly have on her mind?” Dick inquires.

                “Well, have you ever noticed her taste in partners? You know; their generally not very masculine.”

                “The emo gays you mean?” David interjects.

                Donald, being the lover of mankind that he is, protests, “We shouldn’t call them that. They’re people, just like us. Although, he does have a point, they aren’t exactly perfect for her.”

                “Riverhaze, she probably just wants to be by herself. You know she’s not the most sociable of creatures.”

                “Okay, you guys are talking about her like she’s from another planet. She just went to Latin. Maybe I should join her. You guys just don’t know her at all.”

                “What a bitch,” David remarks as he follows Leslie’s path to the language hall.

*In Latin class*

                Les is sitting in her usual place, a desk near the window in the back corner. Her textbook is opened to the vocabulary list for the chapter, and an open notebook is overlapping the page. However, instead of diligently translating, she is facing the window. Her eyes are closed and her chin is resting on a fist, as the sunlight is just beginning to stream in over her fingertips stretched over the edge of the desk.

                “Don’t leave me with those freaks again,” Dick says as he slides into the seat next to her.

                “They had fake bacon,” was all Les said through lazy lips. She acted as though she were asleep and too exhausted to be angry that she was being woken too early.

                Dick sighs in exasperation at her excuses. It was always like this. She always had some crazed reason for doing anything, and they often made sense less than her actions did. “I see you’re working diligently as always.”

                “Four syllables, wooh. That’s a new record.”

                “You know that insulting me isn’t a good idea.”

                “And you know that I’ve already translated this chapter and I know how Sextus gets out of the ditch.”

                “And how does that explain your sleeping in class?”

                “Little hint: Sextus does absolutely nothing. He just sits there and watches the carriage transform into Optimus Primus.”

                “You’re insane.”

                “YOU’RE insane.”

                “Are you going to wake up any time soon?”

                Les doesn’t respond, but she overdramatizes her response with fake snores and letting her head fall off of her fist. She ‘startles’ awake.

                “Why do I talk to you?”

                “Because you love me.”

                Luckily for Dick, Mr. Bowserman entered the classroom at that time, following the students who had wandered in while Dick was talking to the sleeping Les. “Salvete class!” He was answered by some incomprehensible gibber that the students hoped could pass for Latin. “Miss Birch, is there a reason you’re resting? Are you deeply thinking about your opening remark?”

                Les sits up to look at Mr. Bowserman and says matter-of-factly, “Noli illegitimi carborundum, Magister,” before returning to her preferred sleeping position of resting her face on the desk with her forehead resting on the backs of her hands.

Well This Is Awkward

Later at lunch

                Dick is sitting at his usual table, waiting next to an empty seat for Les. He plans to make his move as soon as she breaks up with her newest boyfriend, Jim. This one seems even more messed up to him than she is. He is sure he can help Les. As he’s waiting for her to show up, she walks up behind him. “Guys are dicks.” She punches him in the back.

                “What did you do that for?”
                “Because guys are fucking jerks,” She massages her knuckles.

                “Is Jim in one piece?”

                “Oh that’s very mature. Just go make fun of the cutters.”

                “No, no. I meant did you kill him for being such a fucking jerk?”

                “No. He just can’t seem to understand me.”

                “Well what did you say to him?”

                “I told him that this just didn’t feel right.”

                “Fourth guy in two months. How long did this one last?” David appears across the table from Dick and Les.

                “We only went out twice.”

                “That has to be some new slut record.” Dick is appalled at David’s comment, and Les kicks him under the table. David cries out slightly.

                “Wow Dick, if looks could kill…” Les winks at him.

                David’s face has scrunched up as he mutters, “More like if heels could kill.”

                Les kicks him again. “Oh, they can.”

                These strange three continue their lunch in what could never pass for quiet. David badgers Les about Jim and the other boys. Dick defends Les. Les eats her fries as she accuses Dick of patronizing her and prattles on to David about the difference between being a slut and experimenting.

                “How is it experimenting if you always pick the same type of guys?” David asks.

                “They are not the same,” Les argues.

                “They’re always this creepy, emo type, which maybe is what turns you on, since you’ve got that whole-“ he looks at Dick trying not to upset him, “you know-thing going on. And just for the record, I always thought Jim was gay.”

                “He is not gay. He’s bi.”

                “Like there’s a difference. He likes dick.”

                Dick perks up, “Excuse me?”

                “No, no. He had no interest in you. I told him you were straight.”

                Dick isn’t consoled by this latest comment. He looks awkwardly down at his lunch as he swirls a French fry in ketchup. Les and David continue to debate the sexuality of poor Jim until he decides to leave. “Excuse me.”

                “Where are you going?” Les inquires.

                “To the bathroom?” Dick answers in a voice that seems unsure how to answer.

                “Oh. Have fun then!”

                After Dick has walked off David continues his tormenting of Les. “You know, you might get better guys if you grew your hair a little, or at least stopped dating guys that look like girls.”

                “I like my hair short. And they do not look like girls!”

                “Oh, come on! They all have longer hair than you and wear more makeup even.”

                “David, even you wear more makeup than me.”

                “I don’t wear any.”

                “Exactly.”

                “You do wear makeup.”

                “Yes, but it doesn’t look like I’m wearing makeup.”

                “But you’re still wearing makeup.”

                “It doesn’t count if you can’t see it.”

                “It does, especially to guys.”

                “Well I don’t wear it every day.”

                “Whatever. You still wear makeup.”

                “I’m tired of hearing that word.”

                “Fine then.” The conversation drops between David and Les for a minute. She continues her lunch before he strikes again. “You know, there are some guys who like you, even though you look a little butchy.”

                “None of them were gay!”

                “No, I mean guys you haven’t fucked around with yet.”

                “What?”

                “I believe you mean to say ‘who?’”

                “What are you talking about?”
                “Leslie, just go ask Richard. He’ll tell you. He should have by now anyway.”

                Les sits in front of him, a little confused. She decides to wait for Dick, not to talk to him, but just to get away from the confusion emanating from David. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She walks between the tables and leans against the wall by the entrance to the boys’ bathroom.

                Dick emerges to her calling, “What’s up, Big Dick?” His face reddens a little, but he turns around. He sees her waiting for him, and he has the urge to lean over her, to be close to her, to not care who was watching like her and kiss her. He puts his hands in his pockets and resists as he stands before her. “Hey,” he manages to get out.

                “Do I look like a girl?”

                Dick is taken by surprise by this inquisition. “You’re beautiful.”

                “Yes, but guys can be beautiful too. In many species, the male is the more visually appealing one and the females are often quite plain. But that’s not what I asked.”

                “Why are you even asking?”

                “I have no idea. David was talking about something, and then he mentioned you and something about us talking, or maybe you talking. Should I be talking? No you should have said something by now.”

                Dick is confused, as normal when she gets going on things that involve David. She doesn’t quite seem to understand his way of saying things. “What?”

                “That’s what he said: That you should have said something by now. What was he talking about? Do you want to tell me something? Or should you be the one to point out something obvious like half of my hair has fallen out because you’ve known me the longest? Or am I just confusing myself?”

                “You’re confusing me.”

                “Alrightie then…how about you just tell me something. Anything.”

                “Anything?”
                “Anything.”

                “Well I was just thinking, now that you and Jim aren’t you and Jim, maybe you would—or you don’t have to—unless you would like to go out with me—or we could just stay friends, I’m cool with being friends, but maybe you wouldn’t, or you would if I wasn’t. What I’m trying to say is—“

                “Will you go out with me?”

                “Yes. Well, I mean yes that was what I was going to say, unless you’re asking me. Are you?”

                “You were in the process of asking me.”

                “Oh right, so—“

                “Sorry.”

                “What?”

                “Look, you’re my best friend. You’re my oldest friend. You’re my biggest friend. It would just be awkward. I mean I like you, but what if it didn’t work out? We couldn’t be each other’s best friends anymore. Remember what happened with Mark?”

                “Yes, but I would never do that.”

                “No matter how much I hurt you? No. I’m sorry. You’re my friend. I am consciously putting you in the Friend-Zone because I don’t want to lose you.”

                “Tell me the truth.”

                “You’re just not my type.”

                “Oh.” Dick was crushed by this. He wished he could pull off a comical “ouch” like she could, but all he could do was stand in shame and embarrassment.

                “Oh come on you big pussy.” Les embraced Dick tightly before dragging him back to their table by his elbow.

Introducing Leslie and Richard

                There was Leslie, and there was Richard: two friends who had grown up together, two good friends who shared memories, two best friends who didn’t really know each other.

                “Hey Dick, can I charge my iPod in your car for a minute?”

                “You really should get an adapter for USBs.”

                “But why should I buy one when I can just use yours for free?”

                “So you don’t come off as a bum? And school starts soon; you won’t be able to use it anyway.”

                “…So can I charge it through the day?”

                “Do you know what that could do to my car battery?”

                “You were the one that told me about leaving your iPod charging in your car for a week while you were on vacation and nothing happened. So what is seven hours going to do to it?”

                Dick sighs irritated, “Fine Les, go ahead.”

                Les shouts a quick, “Thanks babe! I love you!” as she slips into his Mazda. Dick has heard this from her before, and he is getting tired of it not having any meaning.

                “You know, maybe the whole ‘I love you’ thing is what makes you come off as a slut.” Dick and Les walk at their usual pace out of the parking lot, him trying to take his enormous strides slowly, and her practically jogging to keep up.

                She kicks him in the calf at this remark. “I’m not a slut. I’m just affectionate! I don’t believe in hiding my emotions behind subtleties and innuendos.”

                “You know, maybe the old fashioned way of going about things works because it’s safer. You know, people don’t reject you so easily if you don’t let them.”

                “You sound like a whiny little bitch. Just grow a pair and talk to this imaginary chick you have been obsessing about for years.”

                “Will you please stop saying she’s fake?”

                “Oh come on, no girl is smart, pretty, and fun to be with. The closest thing I can come up with is a prostitute working her way through law school.”

                “Well you’re pretty.”

                “Oh really? Which is my better quality: my scars or my long nose?”

                “You’re smart.”

                “As every one of these pretentious bastards will agree with you as they call me ‘Nerd Girl.’ Can’t they at least come up with a more suitable or original insult?”

                “I like being with you.”

                “And that’s why we’re best friends, baby.”

                Dick and Les are entirely different. While Dick is introverted, Les is rather extroverted and tends to express her opinions more than she should. Dick quite the athlete: tennis, golf, and most importantly for a guy of his height basketball. Les is more content to stay home with her books. He’s a rich bastard, according to her. He can barely see her without tilting his head downward. His shiny silver 2011 Mazda 6 is always ironically parked next to her faded blue 1981 Ford Fairmont. She works on a farm; he’s only ever worked out. It’s weird how they’re best friends through all of this. They do share some qualities. They’re both seventeen. They share a short haircut for their curly hair, though hers is a soft brown while his is white-blonde. And they have something else in common Dick can’t quite see.

                They get through the front doors, and she’s still teasing him about his “imaginary” girlfriend. “Well I can’t tell if you really exist. I can’t see you half the time.” His usual comebacks to her insults involve her height.

                “Ooh! That hurts!” she exclaims, dramatically holding her abdomen over a invisible stab-wound. She sees a smiling face across the hall. “There’s Jim! Gotta go! Love ya!” She gives him one last punch in the arm before running off to grab the arm of a different guy.

                “Welcome to the friend-zone, my good man,” a sleazy David says as he appears next to a dumbfounded Dick. “Get over the bitch, Richard. She obviously prefers the emo freaks. And I mean ALL of the emo freaks.”

                “Shut up man. She’s not really a slut.”

                “Look all I’m saying is that you’re probably not going to tap that anytime soon.”

                “Oh yeah? I’ll ask her out if you don’t think I can.”

                “Go ahead. What’s stopping you?”

                “Well, I can’t now. She’s with her boyfriend.”

                “Give it a few days. She’ll dump him soon. Then he’ll have more things to be emo about. Is that why she picks them? Do they compare scars? Is that what emos do? Or does she just like to fuck with their heads like she does with yours?”

                “Look, she and I are friends—“

                “Hence, the ‘Friend-Zone.’”

                “I don’t want to hurt her. I just keep thinking that maybe I can help her with the whole-you know-thing.”

                “You can’t help her. She is the worst type to help. She has no reason to cut, so there is no reason for her to stop. It’s probably just for attention.”