Fic: Where it is I'm Going
Title: Where it is I'm Going
Fandom: Music RPF
Pairings: Chris Brown/Rihanna, Rihanna/Patrick Stump
Summary: "After the photos, flowers, spiked punch and after parties, the last four years would become fodder for nostalgia." High school is about to end for Chris Brown. As he desperately tries to hold on to the past, he finds that everyone else is moving forward without him.
Notes: High School AU
Where it is I'm Going
Unless he had basketball or football practice, Chris never liked to stay after school. He hated the way the empty halls echoed eerily like a ghost town. Stripped of students and teachers, the school seemed a mere building, unimportant in the grand scheme of things.
For the last four years all the defining moments of Chris' life had something to do with school. His first kiss: thirteen and desperate, needing to catch up with the other boys in his class, he asked Melina Suarez-who never said no-to meet him in the shadowed alcove near the art room. The kiss had been sloppy and sort of gross, but at least his friends wouldn't tease him so much.
A year and a half later, Chris asked out Melina's younger sister Sara, who wore knee-length skirts and went to church on Fridays even though she didn't have to. Melina gave him a feral grin when he came to the Suarez's door. "She's not going to let you feel her up," she said. "It's not like that. I'm not like that," Chris replied, more embarrassed than offended. But he was, he realized three days later as he pushed his hand under Melina's shirt while Sara slept in the other room, virtue intact.
The first time he had sex had been during a school dance in the backseat of his mother's Ford in the parking lot. His then girlfriend of a month and a half had suggested they do it there. It would be cool because it was so clichéd. She had a collection of teen movies from Pretty in Pink to The Notebook stashed in the back of her closet.
The sex was awkward and a bit unsatisfying, but Chris couldn't complain since he was no longer a virgin. His friends had been so proud of him they let him have the whole flask they'd snuck into the dance.
All of that wouldn't mean anything soon. Graduation was only a few weeks away. After he walked across the stage, he was expected to come up with a plan for the next fifty years of his life, difficult when there was a stack of rejection letters on his desk at home.
After the photos, flowers, spiked punch and after parties, the last four years would become fodder for nostalgia. Remember when everything was so simple? Remember when the future was abstract and a long way off? The empty halls reminded Chris of what was coming, of his failures, past, present, and inevitable.
Four-thirty and he should've been at home starting his homework so he'd at least have something done for Monday. There wouldn't be time to finish it, not when Cassie Ventura was throwing a party that would last all night and require a trip to Denny's and Rite Aide in the morning. Saturday was all ages night at Acid. An extra five dollars and you could get the bartender to slip some rum in your Coke.
Chris had to go on Saturday because it was the all important battle of the bands show. He wasn't all that into rock music, but he had to support the bands from his school, especially since a few of the competing bands had guys from their rival school. The loss of the season's county basketball championship still left a bitter taste in Chris' mouth.
Sunday was a write-off. Something-an impromptu basketball game or an invitation to dinner-always came up.
Chris repeatedly banged his hand against a wall of lockers to interrupt the silence of the hallways. He wouldn't have been in this suddenly dead place if it weren't for Rihanna. At lunch she'd promised to meet him after school in the parking lot when she was finished with the prom committee. It would be a short meeting, she said, to finalize decisions about centerpieces and menus, stuff that Chris hardly cared about.
She'd held his hand and smiled at him while she spoke, silently telling him she was trying, that everything would be back to normal soon enough. He'd believed her.
As far as everyone else was concerned there was nothing wrong with Rihanna. She'd changed since Christmas, but so had a lot of other people. After the winter break college applications and SAT scores were at the fore of every senior's mind. Come September they wouldn't be mere high school students but adults. Those who were anxious to be done with high school started trying on the new role of maturity, changing their clothes, speech, and opinions; while those like Chris, holding on till the very last minute, watched, confused and envious.
After the break Rihanna had stopped wearing cute brightly coloured tops she bought at Forever 21 and Old Navy, trading them in for black t-shirts, corset tops, and halters from Hot Topic and stores like it. She'd thrown away all of caramel coloured hair extensions one weekend after returning from the salon. Her hair had been dyed midnight black and cut into a chin length bob with a straight razor. If those things weren't enough, she'd started wearing a thick layer of black eyeliner, smudging them expertly to call more attention to her eyes.
If she weren't so gorgeous and the clothes didn't fit so well Chris might've been embarrassed by her. She almost looked like one of those goth kids he and his friends threw balled up pieces of paper at in class and shoved into lockers when they got too mouthy.
This version of Rihanna wasn't what he'd signed up for when he'd asked her out a year ago. Back then she'd been shy and sweet, blushing whenever his hand crept under her shirt. She didn't blush anymore. She kissed him hard and dug her shiny black nails into his skin, demanding something he didn’t know how to give.
Rihanna made Chris uneasy. The clothes, the make-up and hair were clues to some newly discovered part of her she was intent on hiding. It was as if she was telling everyone she'd changed, that everything would be different, but that was all. Everyone was to adapt and not ask any questions.
In many ways Rihanna was still the same person. She was still the nice girl who helped anyone in need. She didn't go around skulking and scowling at everyone, believing she was some misunderstood genius above it all. She didn't desert her friends, remained on the cheerleading squad, and didn’t give up her place on the prom or graduation committee.
The way Chris saw it, he was the only being affected by this new incarnation of his girlfriend. She didn't like talking to him anymore. She didn't laugh at his jokes, calling them stupid and juvenile. Worst yet, she'd yelled at him in front of everyone for roughing up Joe Trohman, the stoner in his English class with the impressive Jew-fro.
Rihanna had wrangled Joe out of the headlock Chris had him in and shoved Chris into the lunchroom table, calling him an asshole for picking on a kid who was obviously no match for him.
If Chris were honest with himself he'd have to admit that it if weren't for the stack of rejection letters he would've dumped her. The future, uncertain and murky, was nothing to be counted on so he held on to the few things that were familiar, even if in small irrelevant ways.
Two weeks ago the last of the letters had come. Angry and unable to take Rihanna's silences Chris vented his rage, telling her what he thought of her. She'd changed and he hated it and sometimes he hated her. He wanted his girlfriend back. It was either guilt, pity, or a mixture of both that led her to apologize.
She came to school the next day in a pink tank-top and green hoodie, black eyeliner conspicuously missing. She didn't know how to wear the clothes or lack of make-up anymore. Rihanna was uncomfortable and it showed.
For him she tried to be who she wasn't anymore. Rihanna started conversations about things they used to talk about, but lost interest five minutes later. As Chris tried to keep the conversation going she would nod absently, picking at her pink nail polish before colouring them over with a black Sharpie.
She disappeared after school two days later. Chris waited fifteen minutes before going back into the building. The first floor was deserted save for a few kids giving and needing extra help. He found her on the second floor in the art room, often used as a hangout spot for the more creatively inclined students. Rihanna had taken art as an elective last semester and had nearly failed.
She sat at one of the tables with her back to the door next to Patrick Stump. Chris only knew it was Patrick because he'd been to the last battle of the bands during Christmas break. The little band he'd put together with Joe Trohman and some guys from the Catholic high school had come in second place to a whiny band named My Chemical Something.
Patrick was a blip on the social radar. He was a band geek, spending most of his time learning how to play instruments and hanging out in record shops. He was short, pale, and a little overweight, therefore guaranteed not to have a date on Friday night. He was no one Rihanna should've known intimately enough to rest her head on his shoulder as he sketched something on a piece of paper.
The shock and confusion at what he was seeing prevented Chris from tearing into the room, pulling Rihanna away and punching Patrick. Rihanna and Patrick didn't make any sense as friends or anything else.
"I don't know what you want me to say," Patrick was saying, voice low.
"I want you to tell me what I should do."
Patrick snorted. "We both know it doesn't work that way with you. Besides, I'd only tell you what I'd want you to do not what's best for you."
"You don't think those things are the same thing?"
Patrick glanced at her. "I don't know. What I do know is that I understand. It took a long time for me and Vicky to break up. We've known each other since the sixth grade. We both knew that if we broke up it was going to be the end of our friendship, at least for a while. We were scared of that. Just because you stop loving someone doesn't mean it's easy to let go."
"What if I want to still love him?"
"Then we have nothing to talk about." Patrick rose abruptly, almost causing Rihanna to fall.
Chris took a step back away from the door so he wouldn't be seen if either of them turned around. Deciding he didn't need to hear more he started down the hallway.
So, there it was. Rihanna didn't love him anymore although she wanted to. Chris could've pretended to be surprised but there was no point. It was a small pleasure to know they had something in common again. It was hard to be in love with someone you could barely tolerate on the good days. They were both in the same situation: out of love but wanting to be, unable to severe ties and move on.
But what did Patrick have to do with all this? When had he and Rihanna become close? Had it happened at the battle of the bands after Patrick's band had gone off stage? Rihanna had disappeared for forty-five minutes after the set, coming back with a bright smile and eyes lit up. Had they ever fucked? Had Patrick given Rihanna whatever she couldn’t find with Chris?
He went back to the car to wait, mind racing. He'd be the laughingstock of the school if Rihanna dumped him for Patrick. Something had to be wrong with him if a girl like her left him for a band geek. Patrick must've had something that he and plenty of other guys didn't have.
If he were smarter and less emotional he would've told Rihanna it was time to call it quits when she ran into the parking, meaningless apologies falling from her lips. Instead, Chris told her it was no big deal and opened the passenger door for her.
They could make this work; they both wanted it to. They could take their time and fall in love again. Forget the last couple of months and move on, figure out what was to come next. They could forget Patrick and avoid anyone knowing what a loser Chris was.
)(
Chris tried the art room first but Rihanna wasn't there. Next he tried Mrs. Holt's room where prom committee meetings were usually held. The door was locked and the lights were off. It was possible Rihanna had left without him, taken the bus or got a ride with one of her friends. The twist of his gut wouldn't allow him to believe that.
The first floor would've been silent as the second if not for Gabe Saporta. He sat in front of his locker, long legs extending into the middle of the hall. Beside him was a portable stereo blasting Justin Timberlake.
Chris tended to avoid Gabe. The haunted, slippery air about him reminded Chris of serial killers. Rihanna said Gabe was harmless. He worshiped Justin Timberlake and loved the Eighties with an un-ironic glee. When Chris had asked her how she knew all that, she'd shrugged and went back to colouring over her nails.
Gabe was the last person Chris wanted to ask for information, but he was the only option. No one else was in the hallway.
"You seen Rihanna?" Chris asked, hoping his voice didn't betray his nervousness.
Gabe looked up, smiling at him slow and wide like a snake. "Maybe. Why?"
"She was supposed to meet me in parking lot, not that it's any of your business."
Gabe continued smiling. "Yeah. She's in the band room having a heart to heart with Patrick. They're, like, best friends now. Bet you didn’t know that?"
Chris glared at him. "Fuck off, Saporta." He pretended he didn't feel a chill when Gabe laughed.
Gabe became a distant thought as he got closer to the band room. Rihanna was with Patrick again, probably saying things to him she should've been saying to Chris. What was she saying now? Two weeks of wearing clothes that looked like they didn't fit her, of talking about things she didn't care about and she was ready to be done with him.
Chris walked faster, hoping to get there in time to stop her from making the decision that would fuck up his life, maybe not forever, but for a while.
He couldn't survive the next few months without her. He needed her to help him decide what to do next, show him what he had to do in order to make up for not getting his homework done and not caring about the F's because they'd be changed to C's or B-'s on account of him being a jock. He needed her make him believe something good was going to happen after graduation, that he wasn't going to be left behind, bitter and full of regrets.
Chris was breathing hard by the time he arrived at the band room. The door was closed and the lights were off. The room was dimly illuminated by shafts of sunlight creeping through the half-closed blinds. Chris peered through the clear panel in the door, scanning the room. Music stands, instrument cases, and sheet music on the floor. Nothing important to see except his girlfriend making out with a band geek.
Mr. Phelps, the head of the music department, had put in a couch in the band room last summer. The band geeks approved because they wouldn't have to go the drama room to shyly steal kisses and figure out what everyone else had already learned.
Patrick wasn't shy. He kissed Rihanna just as hard as she kissed him, fingers tight around her thigh. He'd already figured out what people thought he didn’t know; he'd figured out Rihanna.
Chris watched, equally fascinated and disgusted, as Rihanna shifted their positions so that Patrick was half on top of her. She smirked at him as she unbuttoned her jeans and guided Patrick's hand under the waist of her panties. She arched up to his touch, pulling him down for a kiss.
There was bile rising in Chris' throat. He stepped back from the door, dazed. Down the hall, Gabe was laughing. Chris glared at him. Gabe laughed harder. This was payback for four years of Chris and guys like him telling everyone Gabe locked girls in his basement and did all sorts of nasty things to them.
When Kimberly Stewart had gone missing last year a few people believed Gabe had something to do with it. Chris had passed rumours along, even started a few himself, to keep people believing. Kimberly turned up a week later, relatively unscathed. Her parents had found her at her twenty-five year old boyfriend's house, smoking meth and watching a Dukes of Hazzard marathon. Despite that, Gabe was avoided and watched.
A punch to the neck would shut Gabe up, but Chris wasn't stupid. Gabe was taller and more agile. He'd have Chris on the floor in seconds.
Gabe continued to snigger as Chris walked passed him. These halls weren't empty for Gabe. They held the ghosts of past crimes, future punishments, and friendships that would survive past the walk across the stage. This place still had meaning, and when it became nothing but a memory Gabe would be at the state university, enjoying keggers and long talks about literature. Chris envied him. For a second he was angrier about that than what he'd seen in the band room.
A strong breeze hit him as soon as Chris pushed open the door to the parking lot. It stung his eyes, causing them to tear up. The breeze died down; the tears kept coming.
Chris wiped his face with the back of his hand, steeling himself. He hadn't cried since the fifth grade. He wasn't about to start sobbing over a girl. No one was injured, no one had died. Everything would be fine, soon enough.
Chris sagged against his car, using it to support his body. He felt suddenly exhausted and wondered if he'd have enough energy to drive home.
He glanced up at the school. It stared back at him, windows like eyes, empty and dark. He looked away, hoisting himself up on the trunk. He made himself comfortable, settling down to wait until Rihanna came. He'd know what to do next when she did.
End.
Fandom: Music RPF
Pairings: Chris Brown/Rihanna, Rihanna/Patrick Stump
Summary: "After the photos, flowers, spiked punch and after parties, the last four years would become fodder for nostalgia." High school is about to end for Chris Brown. As he desperately tries to hold on to the past, he finds that everyone else is moving forward without him.
Notes: High School AU
Where it is I'm Going
Unless he had basketball or football practice, Chris never liked to stay after school. He hated the way the empty halls echoed eerily like a ghost town. Stripped of students and teachers, the school seemed a mere building, unimportant in the grand scheme of things.
For the last four years all the defining moments of Chris' life had something to do with school. His first kiss: thirteen and desperate, needing to catch up with the other boys in his class, he asked Melina Suarez-who never said no-to meet him in the shadowed alcove near the art room. The kiss had been sloppy and sort of gross, but at least his friends wouldn't tease him so much.
A year and a half later, Chris asked out Melina's younger sister Sara, who wore knee-length skirts and went to church on Fridays even though she didn't have to. Melina gave him a feral grin when he came to the Suarez's door. "She's not going to let you feel her up," she said. "It's not like that. I'm not like that," Chris replied, more embarrassed than offended. But he was, he realized three days later as he pushed his hand under Melina's shirt while Sara slept in the other room, virtue intact.
The first time he had sex had been during a school dance in the backseat of his mother's Ford in the parking lot. His then girlfriend of a month and a half had suggested they do it there. It would be cool because it was so clichéd. She had a collection of teen movies from Pretty in Pink to The Notebook stashed in the back of her closet.
The sex was awkward and a bit unsatisfying, but Chris couldn't complain since he was no longer a virgin. His friends had been so proud of him they let him have the whole flask they'd snuck into the dance.
All of that wouldn't mean anything soon. Graduation was only a few weeks away. After he walked across the stage, he was expected to come up with a plan for the next fifty years of his life, difficult when there was a stack of rejection letters on his desk at home.
After the photos, flowers, spiked punch and after parties, the last four years would become fodder for nostalgia. Remember when everything was so simple? Remember when the future was abstract and a long way off? The empty halls reminded Chris of what was coming, of his failures, past, present, and inevitable.
Four-thirty and he should've been at home starting his homework so he'd at least have something done for Monday. There wouldn't be time to finish it, not when Cassie Ventura was throwing a party that would last all night and require a trip to Denny's and Rite Aide in the morning. Saturday was all ages night at Acid. An extra five dollars and you could get the bartender to slip some rum in your Coke.
Chris had to go on Saturday because it was the all important battle of the bands show. He wasn't all that into rock music, but he had to support the bands from his school, especially since a few of the competing bands had guys from their rival school. The loss of the season's county basketball championship still left a bitter taste in Chris' mouth.
Sunday was a write-off. Something-an impromptu basketball game or an invitation to dinner-always came up.
Chris repeatedly banged his hand against a wall of lockers to interrupt the silence of the hallways. He wouldn't have been in this suddenly dead place if it weren't for Rihanna. At lunch she'd promised to meet him after school in the parking lot when she was finished with the prom committee. It would be a short meeting, she said, to finalize decisions about centerpieces and menus, stuff that Chris hardly cared about.
She'd held his hand and smiled at him while she spoke, silently telling him she was trying, that everything would be back to normal soon enough. He'd believed her.
As far as everyone else was concerned there was nothing wrong with Rihanna. She'd changed since Christmas, but so had a lot of other people. After the winter break college applications and SAT scores were at the fore of every senior's mind. Come September they wouldn't be mere high school students but adults. Those who were anxious to be done with high school started trying on the new role of maturity, changing their clothes, speech, and opinions; while those like Chris, holding on till the very last minute, watched, confused and envious.
After the break Rihanna had stopped wearing cute brightly coloured tops she bought at Forever 21 and Old Navy, trading them in for black t-shirts, corset tops, and halters from Hot Topic and stores like it. She'd thrown away all of caramel coloured hair extensions one weekend after returning from the salon. Her hair had been dyed midnight black and cut into a chin length bob with a straight razor. If those things weren't enough, she'd started wearing a thick layer of black eyeliner, smudging them expertly to call more attention to her eyes.
If she weren't so gorgeous and the clothes didn't fit so well Chris might've been embarrassed by her. She almost looked like one of those goth kids he and his friends threw balled up pieces of paper at in class and shoved into lockers when they got too mouthy.
This version of Rihanna wasn't what he'd signed up for when he'd asked her out a year ago. Back then she'd been shy and sweet, blushing whenever his hand crept under her shirt. She didn't blush anymore. She kissed him hard and dug her shiny black nails into his skin, demanding something he didn’t know how to give.
Rihanna made Chris uneasy. The clothes, the make-up and hair were clues to some newly discovered part of her she was intent on hiding. It was as if she was telling everyone she'd changed, that everything would be different, but that was all. Everyone was to adapt and not ask any questions.
In many ways Rihanna was still the same person. She was still the nice girl who helped anyone in need. She didn't go around skulking and scowling at everyone, believing she was some misunderstood genius above it all. She didn't desert her friends, remained on the cheerleading squad, and didn’t give up her place on the prom or graduation committee.
The way Chris saw it, he was the only being affected by this new incarnation of his girlfriend. She didn't like talking to him anymore. She didn't laugh at his jokes, calling them stupid and juvenile. Worst yet, she'd yelled at him in front of everyone for roughing up Joe Trohman, the stoner in his English class with the impressive Jew-fro.
Rihanna had wrangled Joe out of the headlock Chris had him in and shoved Chris into the lunchroom table, calling him an asshole for picking on a kid who was obviously no match for him.
If Chris were honest with himself he'd have to admit that it if weren't for the stack of rejection letters he would've dumped her. The future, uncertain and murky, was nothing to be counted on so he held on to the few things that were familiar, even if in small irrelevant ways.
Two weeks ago the last of the letters had come. Angry and unable to take Rihanna's silences Chris vented his rage, telling her what he thought of her. She'd changed and he hated it and sometimes he hated her. He wanted his girlfriend back. It was either guilt, pity, or a mixture of both that led her to apologize.
She came to school the next day in a pink tank-top and green hoodie, black eyeliner conspicuously missing. She didn't know how to wear the clothes or lack of make-up anymore. Rihanna was uncomfortable and it showed.
For him she tried to be who she wasn't anymore. Rihanna started conversations about things they used to talk about, but lost interest five minutes later. As Chris tried to keep the conversation going she would nod absently, picking at her pink nail polish before colouring them over with a black Sharpie.
She disappeared after school two days later. Chris waited fifteen minutes before going back into the building. The first floor was deserted save for a few kids giving and needing extra help. He found her on the second floor in the art room, often used as a hangout spot for the more creatively inclined students. Rihanna had taken art as an elective last semester and had nearly failed.
She sat at one of the tables with her back to the door next to Patrick Stump. Chris only knew it was Patrick because he'd been to the last battle of the bands during Christmas break. The little band he'd put together with Joe Trohman and some guys from the Catholic high school had come in second place to a whiny band named My Chemical Something.
Patrick was a blip on the social radar. He was a band geek, spending most of his time learning how to play instruments and hanging out in record shops. He was short, pale, and a little overweight, therefore guaranteed not to have a date on Friday night. He was no one Rihanna should've known intimately enough to rest her head on his shoulder as he sketched something on a piece of paper.
The shock and confusion at what he was seeing prevented Chris from tearing into the room, pulling Rihanna away and punching Patrick. Rihanna and Patrick didn't make any sense as friends or anything else.
"I don't know what you want me to say," Patrick was saying, voice low.
"I want you to tell me what I should do."
Patrick snorted. "We both know it doesn't work that way with you. Besides, I'd only tell you what I'd want you to do not what's best for you."
"You don't think those things are the same thing?"
Patrick glanced at her. "I don't know. What I do know is that I understand. It took a long time for me and Vicky to break up. We've known each other since the sixth grade. We both knew that if we broke up it was going to be the end of our friendship, at least for a while. We were scared of that. Just because you stop loving someone doesn't mean it's easy to let go."
"What if I want to still love him?"
"Then we have nothing to talk about." Patrick rose abruptly, almost causing Rihanna to fall.
Chris took a step back away from the door so he wouldn't be seen if either of them turned around. Deciding he didn't need to hear more he started down the hallway.
So, there it was. Rihanna didn't love him anymore although she wanted to. Chris could've pretended to be surprised but there was no point. It was a small pleasure to know they had something in common again. It was hard to be in love with someone you could barely tolerate on the good days. They were both in the same situation: out of love but wanting to be, unable to severe ties and move on.
But what did Patrick have to do with all this? When had he and Rihanna become close? Had it happened at the battle of the bands after Patrick's band had gone off stage? Rihanna had disappeared for forty-five minutes after the set, coming back with a bright smile and eyes lit up. Had they ever fucked? Had Patrick given Rihanna whatever she couldn’t find with Chris?
He went back to the car to wait, mind racing. He'd be the laughingstock of the school if Rihanna dumped him for Patrick. Something had to be wrong with him if a girl like her left him for a band geek. Patrick must've had something that he and plenty of other guys didn't have.
If he were smarter and less emotional he would've told Rihanna it was time to call it quits when she ran into the parking, meaningless apologies falling from her lips. Instead, Chris told her it was no big deal and opened the passenger door for her.
They could make this work; they both wanted it to. They could take their time and fall in love again. Forget the last couple of months and move on, figure out what was to come next. They could forget Patrick and avoid anyone knowing what a loser Chris was.
)(
Chris tried the art room first but Rihanna wasn't there. Next he tried Mrs. Holt's room where prom committee meetings were usually held. The door was locked and the lights were off. It was possible Rihanna had left without him, taken the bus or got a ride with one of her friends. The twist of his gut wouldn't allow him to believe that.
The first floor would've been silent as the second if not for Gabe Saporta. He sat in front of his locker, long legs extending into the middle of the hall. Beside him was a portable stereo blasting Justin Timberlake.
Chris tended to avoid Gabe. The haunted, slippery air about him reminded Chris of serial killers. Rihanna said Gabe was harmless. He worshiped Justin Timberlake and loved the Eighties with an un-ironic glee. When Chris had asked her how she knew all that, she'd shrugged and went back to colouring over her nails.
Gabe was the last person Chris wanted to ask for information, but he was the only option. No one else was in the hallway.
"You seen Rihanna?" Chris asked, hoping his voice didn't betray his nervousness.
Gabe looked up, smiling at him slow and wide like a snake. "Maybe. Why?"
"She was supposed to meet me in parking lot, not that it's any of your business."
Gabe continued smiling. "Yeah. She's in the band room having a heart to heart with Patrick. They're, like, best friends now. Bet you didn’t know that?"
Chris glared at him. "Fuck off, Saporta." He pretended he didn't feel a chill when Gabe laughed.
Gabe became a distant thought as he got closer to the band room. Rihanna was with Patrick again, probably saying things to him she should've been saying to Chris. What was she saying now? Two weeks of wearing clothes that looked like they didn't fit her, of talking about things she didn't care about and she was ready to be done with him.
Chris walked faster, hoping to get there in time to stop her from making the decision that would fuck up his life, maybe not forever, but for a while.
He couldn't survive the next few months without her. He needed her to help him decide what to do next, show him what he had to do in order to make up for not getting his homework done and not caring about the F's because they'd be changed to C's or B-'s on account of him being a jock. He needed her make him believe something good was going to happen after graduation, that he wasn't going to be left behind, bitter and full of regrets.
Chris was breathing hard by the time he arrived at the band room. The door was closed and the lights were off. The room was dimly illuminated by shafts of sunlight creeping through the half-closed blinds. Chris peered through the clear panel in the door, scanning the room. Music stands, instrument cases, and sheet music on the floor. Nothing important to see except his girlfriend making out with a band geek.
Mr. Phelps, the head of the music department, had put in a couch in the band room last summer. The band geeks approved because they wouldn't have to go the drama room to shyly steal kisses and figure out what everyone else had already learned.
Patrick wasn't shy. He kissed Rihanna just as hard as she kissed him, fingers tight around her thigh. He'd already figured out what people thought he didn’t know; he'd figured out Rihanna.
Chris watched, equally fascinated and disgusted, as Rihanna shifted their positions so that Patrick was half on top of her. She smirked at him as she unbuttoned her jeans and guided Patrick's hand under the waist of her panties. She arched up to his touch, pulling him down for a kiss.
There was bile rising in Chris' throat. He stepped back from the door, dazed. Down the hall, Gabe was laughing. Chris glared at him. Gabe laughed harder. This was payback for four years of Chris and guys like him telling everyone Gabe locked girls in his basement and did all sorts of nasty things to them.
When Kimberly Stewart had gone missing last year a few people believed Gabe had something to do with it. Chris had passed rumours along, even started a few himself, to keep people believing. Kimberly turned up a week later, relatively unscathed. Her parents had found her at her twenty-five year old boyfriend's house, smoking meth and watching a Dukes of Hazzard marathon. Despite that, Gabe was avoided and watched.
A punch to the neck would shut Gabe up, but Chris wasn't stupid. Gabe was taller and more agile. He'd have Chris on the floor in seconds.
Gabe continued to snigger as Chris walked passed him. These halls weren't empty for Gabe. They held the ghosts of past crimes, future punishments, and friendships that would survive past the walk across the stage. This place still had meaning, and when it became nothing but a memory Gabe would be at the state university, enjoying keggers and long talks about literature. Chris envied him. For a second he was angrier about that than what he'd seen in the band room.
A strong breeze hit him as soon as Chris pushed open the door to the parking lot. It stung his eyes, causing them to tear up. The breeze died down; the tears kept coming.
Chris wiped his face with the back of his hand, steeling himself. He hadn't cried since the fifth grade. He wasn't about to start sobbing over a girl. No one was injured, no one had died. Everything would be fine, soon enough.
Chris sagged against his car, using it to support his body. He felt suddenly exhausted and wondered if he'd have enough energy to drive home.
He glanced up at the school. It stared back at him, windows like eyes, empty and dark. He looked away, hoisting himself up on the trunk. He made himself comfortable, settling down to wait until Rihanna came. He'd know what to do next when she did.
End.