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Feb 24, 2005 02:42

I'm starting to get a little worried about some of my students. A couple of them requested work from me last week - good students, by all accounts, listen when I'm talking in class, that sorta stuff... But these past couple of days? They've been distant. Sorta... Moody.

I'm not so damn old that I don't remember the pressures of college-life and all but my offers of being someone they could talk to? Sorta fell on deaf ears. And blank looks. Which just isn't like the two of them at all.

They're good kids but even the other professors have noted something off about them lately and the Dean is all about finding out what's going on. Drugs, he thinks. They're moody, withdrawn, irritable-- Sure, I see why he'd think that.

But those two? I'm not sure...

*shakes head, groaning as her car gives out yet again* Oh, man, c'mon... Not here.

*gets out of the car and lifts the hood, thinking she might actually know what she's doing, before slamming it shut again* Fuck, fuck, fuck! What is this, pick on Jenna day?

Okay, so I don't suppose it's good planning, heading out for fresh air without bringing your cell. I don't suppose it's better planning that I'm walking up to this big ass house, hoping that someone's inside and they aren't the Manson family, lying in wait.

Better planning? Would have been me having my car fixed up like I was supposed to... Three weeks ago. Man, I'm behind on this stuff since I moved.

I call out ahead of me as I reach the door, not wanting to scare anyone. I tell them my car broke down just up the block-- And if I could use the phone? That'd be great.

Nothing. Nada. In fact? I'd be getting more from that bush over there, if I was talking to that. I go to walk away, look for the next house on this huge-ass estate-- When I see the door, slightly ajar.

My theory on stuff like this? A young woman (especially one whose car has just broken down and has no cellphone) should not enter the house. I saw Scream, I know what happens! And yet that doesn't stop me from going inside.

It doesn't stop me from heading through into the living room. I'm invading someone's privacy, I think, belatedly, continue through the house. They could be dead though, or hurt. They could be lying on the floor, alone and hurt and-- I feel something tugging on the bottom of my skirt and look down, eyes widening a little.

"Mommy, Mommy!"

Mommy?!

"Is it here yet? Is it here?" The kid asks me, excitedly. The bright colored ballons are everywhere. Banners signalling a 6th birthday party... And this kid at my feet, calling me Mommy and asking me if it's here. It? And-- The hell?

"What?"

"Jenna? Your Mom called, she's gonna be late..." Eric calls from behind me. Chaos. Pure chaos. Kids... Of the little variety. Oh my God, they're everywhere, trudging cake through our beautiful house, smashing ornaments that - okay, I wasn't fond of anyway - but hello!

"Eric?" I head over to where my boyfriend is juggling about nine different cartons of juice, eye him suspiciously and lean over, "What the hell is going on? Weren't we having dinner at your place?"

He looks at me like I've grown a third head and that kid - the annoying one with the skirt pulling - barrels into him. "Daddy? Is it here yet? Mommy's acting all weird and won't tell me."

There's that word again. Mommy. And Eric looks so goddamn comfortable like that... With the kid. "Yeah, Ryan," he tells him, ruffling his hair, "The clown'll be here soon."

Okay, now that word? Freaks me out more than the Mommy word. "Clown?" I question quietly, then a little louder, the color draining from my face, "Clown?"

"We talked about this, Jen," Eric says, calmly, "You hired him."

I most certainly did nothing of the sort! The kid - I called my kid Ryan? - looks at me. "Yay, Mommy, clown!"

Oh God, and I might start hyperventilating. Because two words... In the same sentence. Mommy and clown. Oh God, it's all wrong! I woke up this morning following the kind of sex that you write home and tell your best friend about-- I didn't wake up to snot-nosed little kids and Eric being all domesticated and I think I might faint because there's the clown.

Right in front of me. Twisting one of those balloon animals that I'm completely and utterly afraid of. It was my 8th birthday and I'm sure that clown thought he was doing his job but-- "Relax, baby," says Eric from beside me, Mr. Smooth himself, "It's just a balloon animal."

Okay so maybe it is just a balloon animal to him. But in the three seconds it takes for the clown to reach out and try to get its hand round my neck? It's not just a balloon animal any more. Everybody's screaming. Ryan, Eric... Me. Although it would happen that way, right? I mean, I'm the one getting my head twisted off and all. And I've always been afraid of this. Which was the exact reason I never wanted to see another clown again after that. Ever.

And most certainly not in my house...

I stare up at the house from outside, sighing as I realise that it's really quite empty, no phones to speak of either. Great. I'm gonna be stuck in the ass-end of Sunnydale for hours, no cell-phone, just waiting for someone to come along. My night? Just got way worse.
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