Over Again Chapter 2

*Author's note: This writing style is purposely not having any direction, and is supposed to confuse the reader. The reader is too feel as muddled as the character.
P.S. One Direction is sadly not mentioned in this chapter BUT there is more than enough of the boys in the next one to make up for it! So stay tuned!


Emptiness. This isn’t the same emptiness that has drained my spirit months before, but a new hollowness that remains in my stomach. But it is still the same pain. I am surviving off old memories; this is because I know I am incapable of making new ones. I don’t want to make new ones.

L.A. isn’t what it’s cracked up to be. I remember arriving. Freshly bleached hair, and enthusiasm emanated off of me. I was looking forward to the new opportunities and memories I would be exposed to. I was ready to leave all the terrible old ones behind. Funny how different my mindset is now.

A headache leaches my little energy I have to think. Nothing makes sense anymore. I get lost in my own thoughts. The California sun blazes on my skin. A terrible sting. ‘This is it.’ I think before I fall into unconsciousness. More memories evade my dreams, all of which feature one person over and over and over again. My sister, Elizabeth.

Elizabeth died in a car accident, along with my mother and my youngest older brother.

If she hadn’t died, I probably wouldn’t be in Cali.

Actually, that is a lie. She would’ve moved here with her girlfriend, and gotten married. That was what she wanted.

When Liz came out I was shocked. I was twelve and she was sixteen. I had never been exposed to any couple that wasn’t male and female. It didn’t have a large impact on my brothers Jonah, Marcus, and Logan, but my mother was another story.

There was a tug-a-war over me. Who to support? Liz and Chastity and their everlasting gayness, or my mother and her prejudiced ways. I however, have always had a knack of finding the middle. Somehow I managed to publicly show my support for my sister, and profess my loyalty that I had for my mother. I got away with being on both sides. This is because everyone loved me, so I got away with everything. Being the baby had its advantages.

I look much like my sister did, big brown eyes and dark brown hair. The only difference is that her face was much fuller than mine giving a chubby, but beautiful look. She also had her hair cut boy short while mine was long and wavy. When she died, looking in the mirror became painful. I bleached my hair blonde and chemically straightened it. I wanted to look as different as possible.

When they died, I went through the motions. Jonah came home from the air force to make the arrangements and fix the financials. Logan was unable to leave boot camp. I haven’t seen him since.

Even though Lizzie was dead, her words echoed in my mind “Live your dreams while you can Destinee,” She would say, “You want to sing in front of millions? Great, do it! Want to be a famous tattoo artist? Let me be your first costumer. Want to break the world record of eating the most fried chicken in an hour? I’m not paying for it, but I will contact an official. Just promise me to dream big.”

Elizabeth was a big believer in YOLO.

The muddled dream disappeared, as my eyes slowly opened.

There was a man there with blonde hair. He was staring at me intently. The sun illuminated that blonde hair of his. I’ve always had fetish for a man with blonde hair and blue eyes. But his eyes are brown like mine. He is very pale and could use a tan, much like me. If I was a natural blonde, he could pass as my brother. Which is ironic because the brothers I do have share no resemblance to me at all.

He rushes past me into the bar that I have decided is the best place to loiter in front of. People usually offer me a drink to distract myself from my pain. I made the mistake of accepting a beer once. I puked up what little was left in my stomach.

In the state I am, time seems to distort itself. It can be agonizingly slow and then so dizzyingly fast that my stomach twists and turns as if I had more booze. But I swore it was less than a second that the boy kneels in front of me. He speaks to me. It’s too difficult to interpret his words. But I can read his face. He is worried and guilt ridden.  Seeing that I am either being ignorant or not registering what he is saying, he lifts my chin making my eyes level to his.

Hatred geared towards myself fills my whole body. For the first time I see the reflection of what I reduced myself to, in the eyes of a stranger. He speaks to me some more, this time with sincere urgency. I can’t hear properly, I’m starting to be concerned about my condition. I try to make a list in my mind to grasp what he is saying.

1.      He is giving me a pep talk about how life is Hell, as if I didn’t already know. His words strike me though. No one would has fed me words so blunt as his. The words taste familiar (my condition is so severe now I’m mixing my four senses… There are four right?), and I realize it is the same bluntness I adopted from my sister.



2.      He wants to help. Is that possible? Can he help? Will he drop me off at a hospital? He could possibly be an undercover cop. Not that I care beyond this point who he is.



3.      He said he was gay. He uses this as a tool. He has mistaken my silence for wariness and assumes I will trust him if he has no sexual interest. I would be lying if I said this made no difference.



However, I was never concerned for my virginity, the thought never occurred to me.

But, I have always believed that a homosexual is more loving than any other being. Why? Because unlike any other, they have to fight for their love. They risk being ridiculed. But the gays that are truly madly and deeply in love don’t care.



I say my name. It tastes like venom in my mouth. ‘Destinee’ I don’t have one, and I’m probably ruining his if I allow him to take care of me. But I surrender, letting him help me up.



“Finnigan Cassidy.” Those are the first words I clearly hear him say. Rhythmic and beautiful. I have always measured a person by their name. This strategy is rather stupid and juvenile, but maybe, just this once, I can trust not only this name, but the man it belongs to.



He slips me into a cab, as I slip, once again, into unconsciousness.