Scary Out There by Jonathan Maberry Page A

tried to keep our relationship
    private, and away from here,
    because I realized it might upset
    you. But we’ve been seeing each
    other for almost two years, and,
    well . . . The truth is, we’re in love.
    We think it’s time to take a big
    step forward and sanctify our union
    in the eyes of God. We want
    to get married, Chloe. And soon.
    Glad I didn’t eat any greasy
    meat. But I wish I’d popped
    a couple extra pills, and I’ll need
    to score hella more. This won’t be
    easy to live with. I feel like
    someone just sledgehammered
    me in the gut. “Know what?
    You suck. Why weren’t you
    straight up with me? You can’t
    just drop something like this
    in my lap. ‘Come have some pizza
    and, oh, by the way, we’re getting
    married soon.’ What does that
    even mean? Like, when?” I try
    not to look at Mark, but fail.
    Smirk. Is that a word? Yeah,
    it is, and that’s what he’s doing.
    Calm down, honey, says Mom.
    You’re right. I should’ve been
    honest with you, but I didn’t
    want to take a chance on hurting
    you before I was sure this was
    love. We’re talking about a June
    wedding. Kind of corny, I know.
    Now she looks at him with this
    weird adoration in her eyes.
    It totally creeps me out and I try
    to remember ever seeing her
    look at Daddy that way. Nope.
    â€œWell, obviously I can’t stop you.
    But don’t ask me to be a bridesmaid
    because I sure as hell won’t be there.”
    I Stand to Leave
    Mark gets to his feet too,
    puts a hand on my arm
    to halt forward progress.
    You go right ahead and
    be angry. But don’t you
    dare talk disrespectfully
    to your mother again
    because I sure as shit
    won’t stand for it. You
    don’t have to like me.
    But you do have to accept
    that I’ll be living here,
    and that means if you want
    to keep living here too,
    it will be by my rules. Get it?
    I jerk away, sheer hatred
    foaming at the corners
    of my mouth. I glance
    at Mom, whose eyes stay
    fixed on the muted TV.
    I really want to spew a stream
    of obscenities, but know
    it will only make me feel better
    for the shortest of moments
    before the crap pile hits
    the fan. So I fall back on
    my usual, “Whatever,”
    turn on one heel and stalk
    from the room. This will be
    a two Valium night.
    Tumbling Early
    Toward abysmal
    sleep, I know morning
    will still arrive too
    soon to vanquish
    the pills’ shadow.
    I stumble to my desk,
    find my phone in
    the depths of my purse,
    struggle to set the alarm
    that will send me off
    toward school on time.
    My sight blurs and
    my head spins, but I
    manage (I think)
    the necessary task.
    Now I wrangle myself
    out of my clothes,
    slip naked between
    the sheets, set my cell
    on the nightstand.
    I turn off the lamp,
    inviting night’s envelope,
    and just before I close
    my eyes, notice the text,
    highlighted in red.
    No rules here.
    If Sunday Was Awful
    Monday is worse, starting
    with the alarm dragging me
    into the mist-shuttered morning.
    I’m a crawling, voiceless zombie.
    I skip breakfast and manage
    to escape out the door without
    having to talk to Mom. Screw
    her. And Mark. And Pastor Smyth
    and anyone else involved in
    the upcoming farce. I get to school
    just as the first bell rings, which
    makes me tardy to first period.
    And from there it’s all downhill.
    My chemistry test comes back marked
    F, with the cheerful comment:
    If this represents your cumulative
    knowledge to date, be prepared
    to repeat this class next year.
    In the hall on the way to English,
    Taryn Murphy elbows me into
    a locker. Get out of my way, freak.
    Who taught you how to put makeup
    on, anyway? Considering I’m not
    wearing any, what the hell?
    PE brings the ultimate nightmare
    cliché—starting one’s period right
    before changing into white shorts.
    Not going to happen. I go ahead
    and ditch, ducking around the gym
    to hang out in smoker’s alley.
    I’d