I'll be waiting for you to come around

Chapter Two: Marryssa’s P.O.V.
I sit in my trailer staring at the packet in front of me. Surely, this is a mistake? A typo, maybe? Surely, that’s all it is. It has to be. It has to be a PRANK, at least, or well, that’s what I’m hoping for. Right? And if it is, why now? And why without telling me? Part of me thinks I know the reason, but I won’t admit it. I can’t admit it. It’s too hard.
I pull out my phone and dial Jeff Brown’s number, my lips pursed into a tight smile. He’ll clear this up, won’t he? After all, he was the one who typed it up. Of course, he’d have to admit to his mistake, and that’s not something Jeff Brown does.
He picks up on the third ring, as per usual. “Hello, Marryssa Wentscott,” he says, his professional monotone voice filling my hearing. In the sixteen years we’ve known each other, we’re still not on a first name basis, and it annoys the heck out of me. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” he said, and I can almost feel him forming a smug smile on his face, because he HAS to already know.
I set the packet on the coffee table in front of me, and in an attempt to ease my nerves, I sit down on the brown leather couch I've had since I first started acting. It was a bit worn down, but it gave me comfort, and that’s EXACTLY what I needed right now. Leaning back, my legs crossed and lips pursed, trying not to show any emotion, I say, “There’s a typo in the script.”
“No, there’s not,” Jeff Brown replies right after, almost as if he knew I was going to say that. “I checked. Where do you see that?” he said, and his voice goes a bit softer, and from the rustling and I know he’s grabbing his copy of the packet.
“Front page,” I answer curtly, my brain working slowly. I wonder if my words are coming out just as slow. I really hope not. “I don’t think you meant to put ‘series.’ It’s supposed to be ‘season,’ right?” I said, feeling emotions of tense fear and dread ebb into my voice.
Jeff Brown is silent for a minute, though it feels much longer. His voice then goes gentle, much more gentle than I was expecting, “Marryssa Wentscott, I think you and I both know I don’t make mistakes.” he tells me, his voice deadpan and monotone, which contrasts in comparison when compared to my emotional tone earlier.
I wince trying to shove a memory from my mind, a memory that will always scar and haunt me. Something that might seem irrelevant in the minds of others, but will always be on mine. I can’t bear to think about it. Ever.

I can’t bear to think about it. Ever. Somehow, thinking of it makes things worse. Worse than how I feel right now. A second later, it dawns on me what Jeff Brown said.
“No,” I whisper, my voice beginning to shake and tremble, almost like a leaf caught in a wind storm as my auburn hair fell in my face, covering my eyes with its silky smooth strands. “No. It can’t be over.” I say, hoping this is all a daydream I got too caught up in to know it’s not real.
Jeff Brown breathes in through his nose, a mix of a sigh of guilt and pity and a sigh of annoyance, his programmed response for when he knows I’m about to cry. It’s pathetic, really. I’m a thirty-year-old woman. Why do I cry so easily?
“Marryssa,” Jeff Brown whispers, making my breath get caught in my throat. I slowly wait for him to add my last name like he always does, I wait for that word to follow my first name, but it never comes. Not hearing my last name drudges up a memory I’ve worked so hard to forget. The last time he called me… No. Stop. Repress. Repress... I tell myself, though I feel my throat close up despite my attempts to control my body's actions.
I can’t believe he didn’t add Wentscott. It scares me that it’s come to this. But that doesn’t mean I can’t do the same thing. “Jeff?” I murmur, so softly I don’t even hear it myself.
“I’m sorry,” he replies, but somehow I don’t think he means it. Call it a woman's intuition, or call it that he never apologizes. For anything. Much less for anything like this. It makes me angry that he thinks this can all be fixed with just 2 small words that won’t do anything. But instead of the burning anger, it just gives way to more sadness.
My eyes feel wet and I blink, flustered. Like a dam breaking loose, a tear makes its way down my cheek, making a path for more that are soon to come. I raise my hand to my face, so I can wipe my face with my sleeve. I stop myself mid air though. Why should I care what I look like? He’s not here to see. To judge. I hang up without saying so much as an ‘I’ll call you back’ or ‘well, we had a good run, no?’ not even a ‘goodbye’ I set my phone next to the script, the truth staring up at me in two painful words:
Series Finale.
How could I have not seen it coming? All the closure we’re been doing during the shows, the sad looks I was getting from the rest of the staff….how could I have been so blind? Or was I just in denial…?
It’s over. My life as a star is over.

Over.

Chapter Three: Grayson’s POV
My fingers tighten around my backpack straps as I walk over to my locker. My usual button-down shirt felt different when I put it on this morning, and the fact that it chokes me as I reach up to enter my combination proves to be more affirmation to this fact. Mom must’ve shrunk my shirt when she did the laundry. I’ve told her a million times not to dry clean it. As usual, she didn’t listen.
“Hey, homo,” a voice dripping with ill intentions says, and my eyes squeeze shut as I focus on remaining calm, even though I KNOW he is wearing that smirk I hate so much. “How are you today?” he said, and if I didn’t know better, I would’ve thought he would’ve been talking to a friend.
My poker face on, I turn and say, “Hello, Aaron. I’m doing grand. Just splendid and gay.” I flash Aaron Windel a similar grin, though it is free of the malicious intent he has. “And I do mean it both ways. Happy and homosexual. How are you doing?” I say, my voice perking up, treating him nicely.
Aaron gapes at me for a minute, taken aback by my kindly response. It was just something I came up with on the spot. I didn’t realize my improv would get that kind of reaction, much less a reaction at all! Then he regains his composure and meets my eyes with a stone-cold gaze. “So, homo,” Windel hisses. “I heard you’re starting a- what was it… Fairy Fun Club?” he said, trying to take a jab at me.
It works, sort of. I frown then realize he’s talking about the GSA. I have to work hard to hide my disgust at being called a fairy, as I don’t want this to count as a tiny victory in his book. “Gay-Straight Alliance,” I correct him, trying to at least to PRETEND to have pateince. “Why do you mention that, Aaron? Are you looking to join? I didn’t realize that was your kind of thing. Here.” The whole time we were speaking I was fiddling with my locker. Having finally opened it, I pull out a photocopy of my GSA petition and held it out to Aaron. “You can sign this.” I say, giving him a genuine smile, as I know I got at least a BIT of a jab in.
Aaron’s face contorted into a malicious snarl. “Cut it out, Gay-Son,” he snapped at me, snatching the petition from my hand and ripping it into tiny pieces. I shrug, the small smile from before still on my face.

I’ve never really minded when he calls me ‘Gay-Son.’ It’s what I am- a gay son. He’s just putting what I am out in the open, and I really don’t mind. I don’t know why, but I’m just…immune to that one insult in particular. The truth isn’t as painful, bitter or as hard to comprehend as it seems. It shouldn’t even be considered painful. It should be considered normal. Some people like to think that because of the year, that it should be considered ‘normal,’ but really it shouldn’t even be considered. And I know that sounds weird, but I mean it. Being straight is hardly even considered. People just are. So why can’t being gay be the same as that?
I don’t really care that he ripped up my petition. I made photocopies for that very reason, so I've already countered him, in a way. I expected someone to want to mess it up JUST because they think being gay is bad. Even though it’s not. It’s really not. And I don’t understand why people don’t see it that way.
I grab a folder from my locker and when I shut it, Windel pins me up against it. His hands go to my shoulders, and he stays like that, his snarling expression unchanging. I manage to keep my balance and stay on my own two feet, but my hand opens on reflex, and my folder drops to the ground, and with that, all my papers get scattered everywhere. My eyes move upwards and meet Aaron’s and we both glance at the papers. At first, I think I can show him all the photocopies, and maybe score a tiny victory of my own, but…they don’t look like what I printed? I squint at the papers without moving from Aaron’s grasp, and it is at that moment when my poker face falls, the face I’ve worked so hard to perfect, to master. It falls and with it my confidence and dignity.
I got the wrong folder… the folder on the ground? Ohhohohoho HOO BOY- It has drawings in it. Fanart. My deepest secret. Well, one of them. The other secret… well, that’s something I’ll never tell. EVER. It’s too personal and way too complicated. It was so hard even to tell my mom. Which I almost never did. But it got REALLY bad REALLY fast, and well… That’s a whole other story that I’m not ready to share yet. I like to think I will be able to share it with those I trust but ah…no, no, not really. I highly doubt that day will come…but ah! Back on topic!

Aaron looks down, following my gaze, and I feel his hands loosen from my shoulders when he realizes what I drew. I can tell by the look on his face that he doesn’t really understand what it means, but his reaction to it- oh, lord, his reaction to it.

His eyebrows furrow, and scowls first at the papers, then he snaps his attention to me, and gives me the same snarling look. The look scares me, and I feel like a deer caught in headlights. I can't move, and I feel my chest tighten, making it hard to breathe. How does this one look scare me? I’m frozen in my spot, terrified of what he will do next. Will he hit me? Will he curse me out? I don’t know what to expect. This has never happened before.

I brace myself for the worst, but no. Nothing comes right away, and that makes me feel worse as I watch him carefully, expecting a sucker-punch. All he does is scoop up the papers, leaving the folder on the cold hallway floor, and he walks away, leaving me with my own pale face, and ragged breathing.

Chapter Four: Lanie’s POV
“Micah!” my foster mum calls from the kitchen. “You forgot to do the dishes!” she says, with a sense of almost urgency. You would think she was saying, “Micah! You forgot to disable the nuclear bomb in the kitchen!” by her tone.
I glance over at my foster brother, he’s a cute kid, but he can have a bitter attitude at times which is the main contributor to why I don’t spend as much time with him as I think I should. Micah looks up from his laptop with an annoyed expression as he quickly types something, then slams it shut and throws it aside. It lands on the edge of his bed, close to falling, but it makes a small Thump-! Sound as it hits the bed, and bounces once before it lands at an angle.
He’s been rather grumpy lately, which is why I'm sort of trying to avoid him for a bit, or at least until he improves. At first, I think about snooping on his laptop. The lock screen doesn't come on until the things have been closed for about 5 minutes, and he can take anywhere from 20 minutes to an hour and a half doing the dishes, meaning I have more than enough time to get a nice good scoop of info. The only thing that’s stopping me is that I promised I’d Skype with my twin sister, Janie, at 12:15 on the dot, and if I'm late, who knows how long she’ll blab on. Besides, it’s none of my business what’s going on with him, and he deserves at least a bit of privacy.
Although…
My arm is already reaching to his laptop, but I catch myself and I make an annoyed expression. No! No means no, and I am NOT going to…. My thoughts trail off, and I'm about to give into curiosity when I remember Janie.
Instead of my foster brother’s laptop, I grab my tablet, and open up Skype. I tap on her name, and Janie’s face fills the screen the second it starts ringing. “I have news!” she blurts out, with her signature excited voice. It's iconic, really…

“You told me in your text,” I say twisting my curly blond hair in my nimble fingers. “I’m waiting.” I say, trying not to be disinterested. It's not that I dislike talking to Janie, it's just that she wants to talk ALL the time and there’s only so much of her stories I can take!
“So,” she starts, and I groan inwardly. I know she is going to start on a long story and we might be here for HOURS. Trust me, it's happened before. Here we go, chatterbox… I think, before I tune back into her story. “My foster family and I were eating dinner, and my foster mum and dad said they had a surprise for me! And I need to start packing right away, because I was going somewhere, but I told them I didn’t want to go on a trip, and they said it wasn’t a trip, and if it were a trip everyone would be packing, and you know Marco and Syd, well they weren’t packing, so I had the feeling that- that- that- well anyway… my foster mum said I would be happy and then it hit me.”
She pauses to take a deep breath. “THEY’RE BRINGING ME TO YOU!!!”
We both start squealing happily, filled to the brim with joy, but then I stop. “Janie…”
She freezes, her voice drooping to that disappointed tone. “What?” she said slowly, like her voice was getting caught in her throat.
“I’m getting adopted,” I whisper, and I start to tell a story of my own. I gave a small cough as I continued. “…I found out yesterday. They only want one kid…” I said, and Janie gets the hint, and takes it harder than I thought her would.
Janie’s face falls into a dreadful, despair filled gaze. “No….” she said, and I think I can hear her tearing up. I want to grab her, hold onto her so, so tight, tell her it will be okay, but I can't. I can't do that.
“Yes,” I whisper sadly, my voice holding strong, though on the inside, I feel bad, “I’m sorry.” I say, looking back at her.

I look around in class and sit up, before grabbing my laptop, and opening it in front of me, and putting it on my lap. I unlock my laptop, then open up and start typing in a new document.
I love the show Carol Falls and I love writing fic about it. Maybe I'm a dweeb, but if it makes me happy and hurts no one, who cares?! It’s about this girl- Carol Fals- played by Marryssa Wentscott. She’s an actress who has worked on only one show in her sixteen- going on seventeen- of acting.
Anyhow, I got into the show because of my mother, which might make me sound like more of a fangirl, but anyways! She was re-marathoning the series in preparation for the new release of season eight. Carol Falls is basically about a girl who has these powers, right? But when she goes overboard she falls into another different dimension- which only happens, like, once, maybe twice, per season and she has to use her wits and logic to escape because her powers don’t work in the different dimensions.
Falscity is the ship pretty much everyone in the fandom is into. Meghan Trincity is this girl who came in around season nine. She has similar powers as Carol and in their first scene together, Meghan was so power- woozy she thought CAROL was her boyfriend, so she cried out “Anthony!” and gave Carol a big kiss on the lips then fainted. I know this story sounds wild and all over the place, but it makes more sense when you watch it, trust me. I can't get enough of it!

By then Carol was out (by which I mean she’s bi, like me) and was a little freaked out, but whatever. No big deal. An attractive girl just passed out in her arms. No. Big. Deal.
The funny thing is, when the first gay scene came on (season 3, episode 12, 17 minutes and 43 seconds in, yes, I DO know my facts, don’t try to challenge me.) my mom paused the show and looked at me and said, “Are you sure you want to-”
“It’s fine, Mom.” I cut her off, looking back at her. “I’ve known she was gay since she rejected Mason’s kiss in season one then subtly looked back at Veronica.” That was a good scene. It was subtle, but I enjoyed it. It was the scene that got me hooked, the scene that made me realize this could be more than just a show I watch with my mom.
It could be a fandom.
Carol Falls was one of my first fandoms. I’ve been in it for two and a half years now and it’s possibly my all-time favorite fandom. The night I watched that scene, I went to my room and googled ‘Carol Falls fanfiction’ and grinned at the variety of fanfictions- a number that has only grown since I was first introduced to the fandom. That was the day I first joined Tumblr. I only joined to find people like me. I didn’t expect to find what I did- a home, a community, a fandom.
My mom frowns. “Carol did that?” she says slowly snapping me out of my thoughts. Then it hits her. The realization evident on her face. “Oh my God! She did do that! You, Jess,” she pokes me in the stomach and I giggle at her playful touch. “are very observant.”
“Nah,” I reply. “I’m just good at observing people like me!”
It was true. I had a very good gaydar, even then.
My mom hesitates, sure she heard wrong. “Like… you?” I could tell she was wondering in what way I meant that.
“Oh,” I say with a laugh. “I forgot to tell you. I’m bisexual. Nice to meet you!” I say, and I will never forget the expression on my mother’s face when I jutted out my hand for her to shake. Her eyes were wide, but the twinkle of cheer was still there.
Priceless! I would trade anything to go back in time to be in that moment again, to see her shock all over again. Much more, I would love to see the look that appeared in her eyes after the shock of me coming out faded. The love, the support, that sparkled in her eyes. The pride. She still loved me, and that’s all I ever could’ve wanted.

The feeling in my chest, the tight tension that I had always experienced, knowing that I had this secret that needed to be told, that all went away in that moment automatically replaced by happiness and relief. I have never felt that feeling since I came out to my mom and I will never forget that.

Chapter One: Alyssa’s POV
The so-called “night” is young and apparently so am I. If that’s the case, why am I feeling all these emotions? More specifically, why do I feel the need to hurt myself? Or even… kill myself?
Not that anyone knows I feel like that… I don’t let anyone close enough to me to realize how depressed I actually am. My parents don’t even know. But then again- ever since their BIG fight- they haven’t been the most attentive parents. I don’t mind it, though. The privacy is nice. In a way…
When I say in a way, I mean that it’s nice to be alone for a while. But sometimes, that loneliness, that blanket that I wrap myself in, starts to crush me. It’s not often that it does, but when it crushes me I have to get out of the house, to keep my sanity. I go to the park, or (rarely) my school, Adamsburg High.
Adamsburg, Pennsylvania is the town I live in and it’s pretty boring as far as I’m concerned. The school in and of itself is pretty boring too. I don’t mind though because I don’t go there much anyway.
I spend most of my free time ditching school to talk to my best friends, jackinthebox and drop-the-micAH-56, on TalkRoom, which is basically this uncreatively named chat room. Surprisingly, the only days I got to school are when my parents leave me FULLY unsupervised, when my dad goes out of town, to probably hook up with some random girl, and my mom gives me her undivided attention for a FULL 24 hours!!! Or, no, to be honest, it’s probably less than that, but hey, leave me alone! After we have our special, mother-daughter time, she goes and drinks herself until she is absolutely wasted, and indulges in Advil pills the next morning to stop her pounding, more-than-just-a-hangover headache.
Right now, it’s 11:57 P.M. and I’m waiting for drop-the-micAH-56 to log on to TalkRoom. He lives in, like, London or something, so for him it would be 11:57 A.M or something along those lines. His family has some pretty strict rules about screen time, so he only has an hour on his laptop.
Jackinthebox is online, but I’m pretty sure he’s chatting with some My Chemical Romance fans in the chat room the three of us met in. Drop-the-micAh-56 and I automatically hated chatting with so many people, so we went off and created our own private chat. Jackinthebox sometimes talks to us on there, but, even now, he insists on talking to EVERYBODY.

Not that that’s a bad thing, that’s not what I'm saying…I mean to say something more along the lines of ‘How did I even manage to get along with this guy?’
TalkRoom has a wide variety of forums and chats, all of them just a single click away, as long as you know what you want, but I’ve only ever associated with the MCR ones. Even so, I spend most of my time on the private chat. I don’t like making friends. It was so hard to gather the nerve to talk to drop-the-micAH, so why would I want to talk to anyone else on TalkRoom?
The delightful ding! sound I get whenever a new notification comes snaps me out of my scattered thoughts, and I glance at my laptop a notification on the corner of the screen. It’s from TalkRoom. I grab the edge of my desk to roll my chair closer to the bright glowing box that is my laptop. I smile at the familiar screen in front of me. I wonder if Jackinthebox and drop-the-micAH have this sense of familiarity when they open TalkRoom.This nice, warm feeling, that gives some people bubbles, and others just a nice warm feeling from their heart. The feeling you have whenever you see your best, most trusted friend. It helps for me to know that TalkRoom will always be here for me when I need it.
I think of these feelings with a small smile as I click on what I need to get to where I want to be on TalkRoom, while rolling my eyes when I see that Jackinthebox sent his most recent message on a forum called ‘Make friends here!’ Figures, what did I expect? He’s such a social butterfly.
Ugh, did I just use the term ‘social butterfly’? I shake my head, partially to tell myself ‘no’ and the other half was to shake my head clean of the bad idea, like an etch-a-sketch gone awry. As I go to my profile, I click on the ‘private chat’ button, and it brings me to the web page. I select drop-the-micAH’s highlighted name to open the new message.

I’m smiling as I go through his profile, expecting the usual from him. My eyes widened when I read the five words he wrote, his most recent message to me, the alarming truth coming into light. Something I never expected to come from him. The words that tear my feelings of happiness, warmth and comfort away from me:
“What?” I say out loud, blinking my eyes, half expecting the message to change, or for him to at least send a ‘Haha, I’m just joking’ afterwards.

But he doesn't. That message never comes. Instead, I am left staring at those 5 words, having them echo around in my skull.

I want to kill myself.

Chapter Six: Aaron’s POV
I can’t believe that homo! I can’t believe him!
I rush into the boy’s bathroom then into a stall, intent on flushing the papers down the toilet. But when I take another look at them, I realize how good the drawings are from a technical standpoint.
I trace my fingers over little me with my stocky build and wide shoulders. My black hair is slightly messy as usual. My brown eyes are closed, but he got the eye shape perfect. In fact, he got everything perfect…
Suddenly the door bursts open and Grayson rushes in, tears in his eyes. Normally I would laugh at him, but my heart’s just not in it right now.
“Aaron,” he says. “I’m so sorry. My friends- they dared me to-” he says, either out of breath, or having a panic attack.
“Why would they dare you to draw, like, 50 pictures of us making out?” I say, my voice is slightly harsh.
“37,” he corrects automatically, and I frown. Why does he know the exact number? Why does he care so much about the number? He sighs and tries to meet my eyes, but his face goes red. “And you’re right,” he admits. “They didn’t dare me to. I guess…” he hesitates. “I’ve had a crush on you since freshman year.” He admits.
Oh… I study Grayson for a moment. How does he have a crush on me? Then I remember that I'm still here, and I need to respond. “But I’ve been so mean to you!” I protest.
“You weren’t then,” Grayson says fondly giving me a small smile. “You were nice. It was only when I came out that you became a jerk.” He said, biting his cheek a small bit.
I sigh. “I guess I should apologize. I don’t necessarily have a thing against gays. I just… When you came out, I was going through a tough time.” I wince. Was? No. I still am. “Picking on you just helped me feel better about myself.” I pause. Where was I going with this? Oh, right. “So, I guess I should apologize.” My thoughts are foggy as I try to keep up with the conversation itself, whereas I'm still reeling from the fact that Grayson has a crush on me.
Grayson looks at me, a hopeful look in his eyes. I realize he expects me to say the words, not just say I’m going to apologize. I should say those words, though. It’s the least I can do for him.
“I’m really sorry, Grayson.” I say, and strangely enough, that’s what lets me know I mean it. Grayson, however, seems skeptical.

“Does this mean you’ll stop bullying me?” he says, and his voice makes me become self-aware.
Wait, bullying? Oh, crap. I didn’t realize that’s what I was doing. I just…I wasn’t thinking at all when I started. I didn’t realize that’s how I made Grayson feel when I picked on him. But I don’t say that. Maybe I'm not as in touch with myself as I thought. I shake it off and give another shrug.
“Sure. You know I don’t apologize often.” I say, trying to sound monotone, but a bit of a nice edge ebbs into my voice.
Grayson smiles , wiping his tears away. “That’s true.” He says, a small chuckle coming from him.
Suddenly, I realize what I’m doing. I’m making it seem like we can be friends. But we can’t. My dad would actually kill me if I made friends with the gay son. I come out of the stall, and shove the papers at his chest, making him try to grab them all as some of the loose papers start fluttering dangerously free and say, “This does NOT mean we’re friends.” I say, trying to snarl, but it just comes out as a weak hiss. “We’re just…” I pause searching for the right word.
“Acquaintances?” Grayson suggests, with a raised eyebrow.
“Yeah, sure,” I say. That seems right, though I'm not really in the mood for thinking right now. “Now go.” I say, letting him go.
I give him a little shove. Not a mean one though. Just a… helpful one. To help him on his way
“Don’t let me see you with those drawings!” I call out as he goes to open the door. “You won’t,” Grayson calls back turning to push the door open with his back, holding the papers against his chest. “Also,” he adds. “I don’t mind it when you call me Gayson.”
And with a wink, he’s gone.

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