English Sex Stories
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Couples engaging in sexual activity in the same room but in separate pairs
"Red, White, and North Carolina-Blue" by CopperSkink.

The date should be summer of 2043. If it's not, I'm sure the site editors won't mind me sending in an edit just to change the date.

Starring Scarlette; with appearances by her band known as Red, White, and North Carolina Blue; Jen; and Cloudy.

All rights preserved. In a jar of vinegar.

I don't know how much more of this I can stand. I look terrible, which is saying allot, I feel sick, and I haven't spoken to anyone I love in over a week. My precious hair that I used to take such immaculate care of is kept in a small handful of tight braids. After five or so days, it'll start to mat. I used to love my hair because of the person I got it from. A lot of things I loved about myself I got from her, but now I look like this. Heavy black eye makeup that doesn't go with green eyes, foundation on top of foundation, ruby-red lipstick that tastes sickly and doesn't match my outfit. The only thing the eye makeup does for me is cover the rings I've been getting from lack of sleep.

This outfit isn't me, either. I wear tight bustiers all the time, but the ones I wear to my shows remind me of some street-side "ladies" whose charms are for sale. That, and this ridiculous little skirt. It reminds me of those little deals we would wear as thirteen-year-old girls, only with half the frill cut off. The boots are worse, being all black leather like everything else, something out of a biker store rather than fine ladies' wear that I'm used to.

Must be the makeup getting to me. Too many young girls, younger than me, that I've seen dressed like this on curbs, dressed as trashy as they can to drive themselves through the cheapest fast food they can find to augment their cigarette diet.

And there's another thing, cigarettes. Where did I get one? It was right there on the sink next to a glass of something clear that stank of death. Were they mine? Do I smell the same thing on my breath? Things have been so unclear lately. Since...

I wanted to wash the makeup off my face to regrow some of my dignity, except I wasn't completely sure I hadn't performed already. I was dead tired, but that's true of my pre-show just like my post-show. There was tearing in my mascara that made me look like I'd been beaten to tears and sent onto the street without being allowed to fix my makeup.

Back to the makeup again. The part that stared at me when I looked into the mirror. The part that told me I wasn't myself.

Par for the course, that. I touched the ugly black tear. A horrible smear. If I didn't leave it alone I'd have to redo the entire thing. I still wasn't sure I had to go to work. The bathroom smelled of drugs and sex. Or was that myself I smelled? Either way, "varsity" bathroom. Place where the performers put on their war paint before a show and slummed it up with free hookers after.

The smell of the place was getting to me, as was my reflection. I quit the bathroom, hoping the smell would stay behind along with the evil mirror of myself.

Down the hall, gross blaring noise and gross blaring lights showed me what room I was staying in. The door was unlocked; must have been security watching further down the hall. Inside was a scene that shook my nerves, but I didn't have the strength to feel disgusted.

"Hey, look who's up!" called the white-haired Starry from behind some slug wearing a torn-up leather jacket. She had been glued to him top to bottom when I came in, but he didn't look like her boyfriend. But there was her boyfriend on the other side of the room, making out with Foilz, the keyboarder. Foilz usually prefers girls, but the few that had been brought back for the "post-coitus" part of the show were either dropped off already or in someone else's arms.

I felt that low-down tingle telling me something exciting was happening, and I felt an awkward sense of wrongness that my sense of disgust didn't override my hormones. I could only watch the two boys slithering together with a lewd stare. I was attracted to the other sex noises in the room, and I found Sunny likewise entrenched with a boy who seemed freshly ripped out of the slums for one day at whatever event center we had just performed at. A part of me recognized that such was the dress kids chose to wear when watching us work. A reminder of myself in the mirror explained to me that they had an excuse with me for a role model.

Dillie was almost on top of Sunshine with a girl who matched Sunny's boy. I'd seen enough roadies, lackeys, groupies, and grungies to pick out a couple when I saw them. Both were rather well tied-up with my bandmates just from the noise they were making. Sunny abandoned her boy after I watched for a few minutes to grab the girl Dillie was macking on, and my distasteful lust grew. With the enthusiasm Sunny was going for the poor girl, I couldn't help but start dripping.

Dillie made a move for the boy who was abandoned. Sunny still had her hands on him and he was trying to get in on the action between the two girls, but too much was too much when another guy put hands on him, and he rushed out the door, for which he had to crash into me.

I spared a thought for Dillie, though it didn't make perfect sense at the time. I know he's more phobic than Foilz so he must have been on X to have made a pass at another guy, it just didn't click then that it meant that my mates were probably on drugs.

A teetering, wobbling Dillie came lumbering after me when he was left with no one in his arms, having finally noticed me. He tripped over an unconscious girl gripping fast to her ghost-white arm. He fell hard to the floor, waking the girl up and causing everyone left awake to start laughing like hyenas. He got up, threw a tissy fit, and chucked out one of girls who dared mock him. Only he pulled her back in to get some touch, but she slapped his face and took off. Also bumping into me first.

When he was finished cursing his curse of a thousand lawyers upon her fleeting shape from the door, he staggered back around and had plain forgotten about me. "Whur's Rox?" he slurred, even after having just gone around me to slam the door.

"Right behind you, Dildo," Foilz giggled in his fruity jargon. He had gotten the boy he was with out of his shirt and was tweaking his nipples in the sexiest way. I knew I was supposed to be ignoring behavior like that, but I couldn't bring myself to.

Dillie turned to face me, but the combination of having a dry mouth and needing to curse out our keyboarder made him forget about me again. I got pushed out of the way like the trash he had just ejected from our room in his search for something he could both drink out of and smash Foilz over the head with.

Starry was nowhere near as far gone as Dillie, but then again she wasn't as heavy a drinker as he. I could still smell the amphetamines on her as she sashayed up to me with her bedroom eyes. The boy she had nabbed came with her, and I could see a familiar lust growing from every part of his body, the same lust I feel when I'm about to score two chicks at once. But for him, the prize was two of the girls in the band he had just gotten trashed at. In my exhaustion, I couldn't imagine even Dillie being in worse condition than I was. All the better for the boy.

I'm sure Starry said something to me when she got to me, but it was only a cursory greeting to her grabbing me by the hair and slamming her lips onto mine. The boy was quick to join in by planting his greasy lips on my sweat-slimed neck in anticipating of taking his turn with my lips. His hand was already under my skirt and trying to fit its way into my ultra-tight leather hotpants. Starry was doing the same from the front, attempting to accelerate the sickening feeling that was making me enjoy this sickening scene.

She pushed her tongue into my mouth, and mine went out to greet hers before my mind could catch up with what was going on. I felt the hard nub of her tongue piercing sweeping around inside my salivating jaws, but another less hard object was being forced in along with it, one not fixed to her tongue. I swear to God, I wouldn't be surprised if that woman had a pill dispenser hidden in her mouth. She only had the skills of a child in a toy store, after all.

My years of resistance training were all that I had in me when I forced myself away from my would-be molesters. I mindlessly spit the crumbling pill out of my mouth as I fell away. It landed in pieces on the face of Starry's boyfriend, he being naked apart from the usual black leather spikes in the form of collars or wristbands, on top of an equally-dressed girl who looked like she was about old enough to have snuck out of summer band camp to show up at our show to the show with her fake friends and her fake I.D.

"Hey, Rox," he muttered through blood and sweat when he saw my face looking down at him under the flashing shades of dark light. He turned back to his current conquest and went back to work on her, though she didn't wake back up. With my mind a little sharper from escaping the groping hands, I could manage the thought that she hadn't been awake when he did his little deed the first time since the rules of after-show parties like this and screaming teenagers didn't bleed onto boyfriends of band members, though none-too-few of the already-few boys that made it in were shy about going after the girlfriends of band members.

Speaking of whom, stumbling around the nude pair had landed me in the lap of Dillie's girlfriend, and Dillie not eight feet away waking up another passed-out groupie from the floor to deal with the flaccid wreck he had just pulled out of his pants.

I fell into her lap in hope for safety, and the joint protruding from her lips sang to me of false peace and comfort. She offered me a drag, and when I was too slow to respond she kept it for herself. When my eyes regained their infrequent focus I saw she had my hand in hers and she was smelling it with untoward affection. Her tongue creeped out to taste my hand, and of course I had to see perfectly how sickly my own hand looked to me, jet-black nail polish and all. She placed my hand on her breast and turned her attention towards me, still puffing on her stick. Our heavy eyes locked.

Her heavy breast warmed my hand and the rest of my body. When she kissed me, she was more reveling in the taste of my mouth and the feel of it under her tongue. Another ecstasy fallout, I cursed with empty resolution. But when I didn't feel another intrusion of those devilish pills, I was suddenly enthusiastic about kissing this sweet kid, whom I think I recall was an acquisition of Dillie's from only a few shows earlier. She had the biggest chest out of the group of screaming teenagers that was in line to follow us back to our room after our set, and if I recall, it was Foilz, not Dillie, who first got her clothes off and onto the floor that night. But it was Dillie with whom she woke up, and Dillie's then-girlfriend still moaning with Starry's boyfriend inside her. Starry's boyfriend survived Dillie's wrath, but this fresh thing replaced Dillie's previous fare and had made it to tonight.

The unnamed girl was moaning liberally at the pleasure of touching and tasting me. Normally I cringe at the mere sight of a girl lost on that drug, but I couldn't hold two thoughts together long enough to care. I cared only about how much she enjoyed touching me, how much I enjoyed having her large breasts in my hand. I untied her flimsy top to access her free breasts after she began tonguing my eyelids, and I sucked her nipples like they would feed me the drugs I craved to silence the pain in my body.

She moaned all the louder. One of her hands had gone down into her shredded jean shorts to supplement the pleasure I was giving her. Yet another of my weaknesses. I had to stop what I was doing to watch this beautiful little girl masturbating for me, and I could have come on the spot had someone touched me just then. To think that such an innocent-looking body was trapped here with us was nothing short of criminal.

She kissed me again when she caught me not doing anything. The combination of disgusting eye shadow on her lips and smoke in my mouth made me break into a fit of coughs. The incorrect noise seemed to bring everyone to attention. Foilz was the one to get up and offer me something to drink. The boy he was behind looked relieved that the pain had ended and he began to focus on yet another girl with whom he had entwined pelvises while Foilz was still giving him the prison treatment.

I accepted the short glass and drank it in one. It burned of pure liquor. Liquor, and something else. Something nasty. Something wicked. Something I had been trained to despise since I was a tender fifteen and too young for rock star parties.

The big-chested girl had gotten on her knees in front of me and was licking the sweat from the leather of my hot pants, but Starry claimed her for her own lust. Dillie then tried, but I wasn't so far gone as to accept the equipment he presented to me, especially after whom I had just seen it come out of. I got out of my seat on the smoky leather couch and found myself in the arms of Sunny.

Sunny had been making dreams come true for the same boy-girl couple I saw her with when I first came in. At least the boy's dreams; the girl had been forgotten on the wayside after a few rounds of three-person kisses and touches.

Sunny eventually weeded the girl out to get at the boyfriend's trousers and what he had on underneath. The sucking noises were somewhere between nauseating and thrilling up until I crashed into them. Sunny offered to let me take over, but I declined in a drunken slur. The boy's girlfriend tried to take over her man's tool, but Sunny quieted her with promising kisses before getting back to the job itself.

The poor, disillusioned girl then pulled me to the side herself. "Let me lick your cunt," she insisted in weak tones.

I turned her down as nicely as I could, considering my disposition, and Sunshine intervened. "Don't be a rotting pumpkin, Rox," she demanded. She abandoned her post a second time to initiate the girl and me kissing. The girl didn't kiss very well, but Sunny knew how to touch me from plenty of previous parties, and soon she had me on my back with the enthusiastic girl on top of me. She then got back to the boy in satisfaction while the girl slid down my body with rough kisses and gropes.

Again I fought back, only in a way that my perverted side insisted: I pulled what was left of Sunny's bottoms down and directed the girl's hand there. Once her fingers were inside, I directed her head down as well, only I stopped her when she tried to pull her fingers out in favor of her tongue. I insisted she use both, and in the girl's stoned state, and to my shame, she figured out what I wanted from her and began her assault.

Sunny was feeling good in no time, and all I had to do was watch. She pulled her body away from the girlfriend to mount the prone boyfriend, and she wasn't using the front entrance.

The girl stormed away in frustration to land in the lap of the first creature she could find with his eyes open. It turned out to be the kid who was doing strange things with an unconscious girl. The two pounced each other, kissing deeply and lovingly in a way only true love can achieve, yet is so easily broached upon artificially with the right combination of expensive party drugs. It wasn't until long after I watched them make it to the floor and begin making love that their faces were familiar to me. They were a brother and sister that I recognized from the local Christian church I sometimes visited. Poor kids would probably hate themselves in the morning if they remembered what they did. And from what I know about the ecstasy my bandmates used, they would. Worse was what their parents would do to them.

I tried to talk reason to them, but they only went at each other harder, even trying to get me involved. I gave up in vain, only to see the girl excitedly flip onto her stomach and invite her equally-stoned brother to do to her what Sunny was getting done next door. I still stayed and watched, finding the sight every bit as beautiful as it was tragic.

Dillie had finally recovered from whatever ailed him and he was finally trying to get something out of me. I had had enough at that point and I pushed him away. Foilz again came to his rescue, telling me that I was being unreasonable, or whatever it is someone stoned out of his mind says to someone too exhausted to think straight.

Though the rest of the band was disturbed at my willingness to be uncooperative, Foilz in particular seemed genuinely confused that I was putting up any resistance at all. He turned to check something, the same place he had gone to get me my drink earlier, and finally my brain was able to do some simple math: I had to get out of there.

Here you are again, Rox. What would your mother think? She doesn't get a say because she's dead. Maybe you should ask your twin sister. No, she's too busy crying about her own problems. Talk to your twin brother. Wait, that's the one your twin sister is crying about. You have other sisters, though. Pity they're all married with kids your age. Two of them being your precious twins that make your problem seem stupid.

She's dead, get over it. They're alive. They need you, but you're too busy moping about your dead mother that you can't help people in need. You can't take things for granted like you used to. You never know if today will be your last chance to...

Well, this is fun. Bitch all you want, but you still have a job to do. About the only thing you have left, so try not to fuck it up, alright?


So, did I sing already, or not?

Same scars on my wrists. Did I cut them? Doesn't matter. Didn't work if I did. Wristbands to keep guitar strings from digging into my wrists soaked in sweat. Feels like post-show.

"Rox, hurry up! We're running late!"

Okay, pre-show. What was I just doing? Why am I covered in sweat?

"What am I doing here, Star?"

"I'm Sunny, dipshits. What's wrong with you lately?"

Good question. Telling twins apart usually isn't so hard.

"Are we gonna do a show now?"

"Honestly? I don't know how much more of this I'm gonna put up with. Get it together, Rox. This is our last show for a while, but it's the big one, yeah? Just keep it together until we get off the road."

To Scarlette Roxabel Stetzen

"What's this, guys?"

"It's an..."

"Never mind. Just read it, Rox."

"The members herein have decided that henceforth, the mentality of the individual "Scarlette Roxabel Stetzen" is so deemed unfit for the needs of the band and the direction it is tending towards. As such, it is in the best interest of all parties involved that she and the remainder of the band part ways, effective immediately.


Starlight Shepherd

Sunshine Shepherd

Foilz Benny

Dillie DeLaGillo


"You had it coming, Rox. Sorry."

What time is it? God; cottonmouth. Fancy headache to go with it. Always headaches lately. Can't even string two sentences together lately, but I can remember that I have headaches all the time.

I don't feel half bad. Scratch that, I feel terrible. My head is pounding so loud I can't think.

Then again, I've felt worse. Or have I? My neck hurts, my back hurts, my wrists hurt, my ass hurts, my stomach aches, my pussy aches, my heart aches, my brain aches, my eyes sting, my mouth is dry, and I don't crave sex. I haven't felt this bad since... Yeah, best not remember. Better take a...

"Hello?" I asked of my bare surroundings.

Where do I usually get those from? They're usually just waiting here for me. Caffeine pills or something, that's what they said they were. Aren't there now.

God, I need a pee.

"Hello? Guys?" I tried again. Where the hell is everybody? Aren't there usually people here?
Nice. Bathroom in the room. And clean towels, too. Either this is our first night in a city and everyone else is still out, or I've got my own private room. Maybe they wised up that we all need separate rooms so we can catch up on some sleep for once rather than partying all night until we collapse, only to drink through the days on the road until we reach our next show already fucked up.

Ugh, ugly ugly ugly. Can't remember the last time I had a shower. Can't remember when I ever have time. Makeup's worse than ever. Looks like I didn't even bother cleaning it off between shows. Probably just fell asleep in it, only to cover over it the next morning without starting fresh.

"Hey, guys? I'm gonna hit the shower, alright?"

Where is everyone? Usually they take me with them. Something about "building team unity." Oh well, their loss. More shower for me.

Burns, the shower. I love it like a long-lost thing. Must have been a while. But it melts away the pain like always, leaving it in black streaks to swirl harmlessly down the drain. Once Foilz had the balls to say my mixed mascara and dried blood would fetch a pretty price if I were to bottle it. How long ago was that? A year? More? That was the beginning. I almost turned the foursome down then and there. But they needed a singer and a manager, and I knew how to put a mean show together.

It was Starry that managed to convince me to ignore the keyboardist's crude lyric and get me to sign up as the band's leading lady.

Biggest fucking mistake of my life, looking back. I hurt everywhere, I'm malnourished, I'm sick to my stomach, and I choke down pills and liquor all day long to keep the pain away.


Good job, Rox. You can't even remember what you're running from. This isn't like you, you know. You're normally so together, if a bit off the norm. You've had your wild past, but nothing like this. It used to be you never woke up feeling an ounce of regret, no matter whom it was with. Now you wake up alone, but you still wish you didn't have to face that person in the mirror.

Turning off that shower was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do in my life. When the flow of burning water ceased, I felt horribly cold and naked. Only the auto-drive to find more pills kept me from plugging the tub up and turning the hot water back on. Thing is, weren't no pills in the purse. None in the cabinet behind the mirror. Nothing on the coffee table.

Where is everyone?

There's no time for this. Always another show to do; always another road to hit. Wherever I am, bandmates gonna be pissed I'm late. Always pissed at me lately. Pissed for not partying after shows and not drinking on the road. Pissed for not dating. Dating? Is that what they call it? Every few shows someone gets a new flavor he or she likes enough to bring on the road with us. The one getting replaced sticks around because she doesn't know any better, lugging gear around and coming to parties without anyone paying attention to her. Soon she just stops showing up, left with nothing but unpaid bills, no job, a brand new drug habit, and a long way from home.

Bunch of idiots, anyway. How'd I ever end up with them?

"Help you, miss?" a guy behind a desk asks. There I go thinking so much I don't realize where I'm going. I'd put on some track pants and a half a hooded sweatshirt that leaves my stomach bare.

"Yeah; donde esta?" I ask, rubbing my sore neck.

"At your hotel, miss," the nice old man says. He looks like one of those retired Florida types. Nice old man. Like Dad. "Are you checking out? The people you checked in with have already moved on."

I stood there dumbly for a minute, too dumbed to process. Brain overheating tends to hurt my thoughts-per-second score. "Huh?" I finally said.

The old man shut his eyes behind his wiry glasses and sighed. I knew what he was thinking somehow. Probably saw me as some stupid party girl come to see the show got too fucked up to get out before her reservation wore out. I knew it, and I felt bad for the old man. Poor guy, probably raised a family of his own. Probably sacrificed a lot in his life too. Probably has a granddaughter like me that went sour. I probably remind him of how he failed at something.

Still, I couldn't brain fast enough to get my bearings. I should be doing something. Should be going somewhere. "Where's breakfast?" I asked in an innocent attempt to regain some of my dignity in the old man's eyes.

"Across the street," he said, once again resuming the dignity afforded to a consièrge.

"Huh?" I stuttered. He apologized, and gave me proper directions to a diner within sight of the hotel. He was real deliberate about it, too. Explained slowly how to get there. Even offered to call ahead to tell them to expect me. How fucked up does he think I am? I was only surprised I wasn't in a proper grand hotel that had its own dining room. There should be a VIP room or something for me that has the best in the house.

Where in the hell am I? I used to get the best hotels, the best venues. My shows were always the top in the town. People came from all over to see me. How'd I end up staying in shitty hotels that send people across streets to eat greasy food at shitty diners? But of course; when I started hitting the pills, I probably lost focus on some of my duties. Sets started sounding the same every time; we'd show up in a new town without anywhere to stay. Sometimes we'd stay in the car because all the local hotels were full-up with everyone come to see us.

"More coffee?" the hardened waitress asked.

"No, thanks," I declined with a heavy sigh that matched the old man's many minutes ago. The square woman tottered off, the last of a dying breed. With magnetic railways so cheap and omnidirectional, truckers were on the decline. And with them, diners like this. I wonder what they'd think of me if I told them my dad was the visionary who killed their way of life.

"Just keep that bit to yourself, girl," I told myself. It was a crying pity, too. Real diner hash browns they serve here are a delicacy you just can't get anywhere else. Makes me forget all the pain before I remember I had any. Coffee sucks, though.

Don't have a purse or even a wallet, but my thumb-print is enough to buy dinner. Wiped the look of disgust on the waitress' face when she saw the readout dumping a tip in her favor five times the price of my breakfast. She had a right to glare, though. I felt like the old man, disgusted at myself. I was a beat-up wreck. I didn't even bother going back to the hotel because whatever I'd brought with me there was probably best left there. With food in my belly, I was already feeling like half the woman I used to be again. No use reminding myself what I'd just been by going back for artifacts.

And I was going to stop being that woman, too. Before I set foot back on the train, it had finally hit me: my band had fired me. After begging me to put their show together and run it for them, they dumped me after my work ethic and whip-cracking got to them.

Why'd I even sign up with them? I should've turned them down after that ogling Foilz said what he said. Because they're orphans, of course. I felt sorry for them. I had two parents, and the last thing I wanted to do was rub that in anyone's face like it made me better than them. I joined their fucking band, and they nearly killed me to death.

I hope you learned something, Rox.

The light in my private cabin flipped green before the residual pain could finally give way to weariness. Must only have been a few states away. Off I got, and the familiar air hit me at once. Good old home; there's no mistaking that smell. My feet took over from there, purveying me with the sun glaring into my left eye. Before it could reach its apex though, I buried myself amidst the trees. Dad's genius at work again, buying up a vast national park to bring a dying county out of the red.

The endless stretch of eternal wood was just what I needed to clear my head. I used to spend hours, days out here, nothing but a knife and a lighter in my pocket to get me by. I could lose myself out here forever with nothing to do and no expectations held on me. It felt appropriate to return here now that I no longer had a job. I had no goal anymore, no purpose. I could simply wander out here forever, for as long as it took to return to my old self.

But that wasn't to be. Adulthood had crept up on me after what seemed like eternity as a foolish child, and now I counted each of my days as precious. That, and there were people that needed me. I knew that finally, realized it at last. The gold strapped to my left wrist reminded me of that. Out here, my old self would find me again, and I could once again be who I needed to be.

One thing before I face the hardship. There's nothing between me and my destination but a huge multi-floored building with a central promenade more than a quarter mile in circumference. Nothing going on in the north end as usual, so I can creep around to the west side without being seen. Once I get that far, I can wrap my aching fingers around a precious jewel I never should have left behind. It fits my lips perfectly as always. The three simple notes flow out as beautifully as ever, coming to me as though I'd never left them behind.

He's upon me before the memories of the small whistle finish with me. It's a huge nose nuzzling up against my bare skin. Loud snorts tickling the small of my back. I turn to face him with a scratch to his neck. "Good to see you too, Delito," I say with a forlorn familiarity. He's only too happy to let me dig my fingers into his long red mane so I can drag myself onto his back. It's his warm skin and indomitable spirit that gives me the strength, or else he would've had to lie down for me to mount him, me nearly ready to collapse with exhaustion. But I can't collapse; there's something I need to do first.

All I need do is touch his flank with one toe to turn him in the right direction. The rest is up to him, cruising along at a slow pace to the south-west. There's a creek there, far from the south road that's the only hard entrance to this isolated paradise. Dense foliage. Little trail. You'd have to know where it is to find it. And once you were there, you'd hardly recognize it for what it was.

A small clearing in the trees by the creek, just big enough for several people to sit comfortably on the rich grass kept tall and green by the bubbling water.

"Hi, Mom," I say to one of two stones amidst the ferns at the edge of the circle. The other is almost completely indistinguishable with age and overgrowth. Touching the rock doesn't make her death any more real to me. Nothing changes inside me. It makes me sad, like I'm too dead inside to feel anything towards the woman who in life was my reason for breathing.

"You're probably gonna be mad at me, but I've done a few things you're not gonna be too proud of." I stop to draw a breath and look up at the bright sky from between the thick canopy of the forest. I find myself wanting an agent to speak for me. Is that really what I've become?

"I couldn't tell you when it started. It's always so gradual, you know. First it's just work getting to you, then it's a habit, then you don't even realize it." I was struggling for words when I didn't even know what I should be talking about or if I should be talking at all. My mom was the best person ever, and here I was admitting to something that would turn her over in her grave. Some daughter I turned out to be.

But I found some words anyways. How I started taking pills to stay awake longer to get the schedules done before getting to the show, then the pills to sleep. Then the parties I needed to show up at to give face to the select individuals that showed up for post-show madness. Then with the parties came pills of their own. Between all that, there were the outfits and the hair and the makeup and the cigarettes and the sex.

Words came spilling out of me like never before. I was telling her everything now that it was too late for her to get to know the real me. I didn't even try to fool myself into thinking that it was someone else in my body and that I'd be back given enough time. It was me, and if Mom was still alive to hear it, she'd probably die to think of me being what I'd been.

Soon words gave way to sobs, and sobs to tears. Sometime after I couldn't cry anymore, I think I fell asleep. I just can't remember waking up.

"Scarlette, Scarlette? Wake up, you big idiot!"

"Leave her alone."

"You leave her alone. I'm her godmother, and I have a job to do."

"You're her doctor too, if you care to remember."

"Which helps when she's sick."

"This isn't sick."

"What do you call it?"

"Something's obviously very wrong with her."

"The genius strikes again."

"Children, children," a third voice said, "that's quite enough of that unless you want her to retreat even farther. She'll wake up when she's ready."

"What if she never does?"

"I've thought of that."


"It's killing me, too. But it's up to her, not us."

So, I honestly have no idea who the father is. Mom says she knows when someone gets pregnant within minutes, but it usually takes me a week or two. It could have been any of them. So that's my life, what about you? Where do you come from?

You wouldn't believe me if I told you.

Sure I would. I told you all my secrets by now.

There's still one more secret.

Don't be silly. I can't hide anything from you.

There is: There's that which you insist on hiding from yourself.

What on Earth are you talking about? I don't hide anything; my life is an open book for all to see.

That sounds like Stormie talking. You're free-spirited for sure, but unlike her, you keep great fear inside you.

Try me then.

Why do you despise Calvin so?

Calvin? Is that what this is all about? You ought to know; I told you all about him.

You told me how much people despise him, but you've never spoken a word of his actual deeds.

What's there to say? He's a self-absorbed asshole, he's dangerous, and he's mean.

But what did he actually do?

He's mean to his sister, and he's creepy around Stormie, and his friends are all stupid, tactless ogres.

This isn't like you. You're usually so full of love and life for everyone.

Not him. He raped Kitty!

Yes, that can happen. Does he know that?

How can he not?

Does he know he raped her?

He could never believe he does anything wrong. He's self-righteous like that.

From how you described it, it sounds like they were both young. Thirteen, did you say?

Yeah. Those two are just a bit older than the rest of us.

Had you been taught about sex yet?

Maybe not. I think I was thirteen when we all did that class.

Has Kitty ever told Calvin that she wasn't ready at the time?

Well, no... she'd be afraid to, right?

Maybe it's up to you, then.

Me? What have I got to do with them? That's their issue.

Is it? It sounds as though Kitty has everybody's sympathy but her own, and Calvin has nothing from everyone. Is that fair for either of them?

That's if...

You'll never truly know what happened. But you do know the after-effects of what has been caused, and Kitty never even told anyone.

She was afraid to. What other proof do you need?


Yeah. That solid piece of evidence that irrefutably states that Calvin raped my Kitty.

Oh, yes. She was afraid, and that is your solid evidence.


Like she was afraid when you pushed her off that cliff.

What are you bringing that up for? It was perfectly safe...

So is sex, when done properly.

Not when someone doesn't want to.

Didn't she tell you she didn't want to jump?

She was just being silly.

I see.

I know what you're trying to do.

I'm not doing a thing.

Oh, right. I'm battling with my own conscious. So I gave her a little "nudge"; now she's not afraid to jump in the lake any more, is she?

But she doesn't let anyone stand behind her when she jumps, does she?

I didn't mean for her to...

And she still has sex, does she not?

Just not with guys. Oh, I see.

What is it that you see?

You're part of me, if what you keep saying is true, so you ought to know.

So say it for yourself.

That I may be as bad as Calvin.

I wouldn't put it quite that way. Maybe that Calvin isn't any worse than you?

What must I do?

Save him.

I can't save anybody; I'm still lost myself.

How can you be lost if I see you right in front of me?

Because you're a figment of my imagination. I made you up so I wouldn't be so lonely.

What does that matter?

It matters because you're not real.

Silly girl. To say that I'm not real is to deny your own existence.

I have no existence. Not anymore. My mother is dead, my beloved triplet sister is lost to me forever, and the people I thought cared about me kicked me out once they got what they wanted out of me.

You still have your son.

But not his father.

That was your choice.

I regret it now.

What else do you regret? Perhaps your mother did not know how much you loved her before she came to join me?

What in the bowels of Hell are you talking about, "join me"?

Did she know?

Yes, of course she knew. I told her every day.

With your words, or with your actions?

With both.

Perhaps your sister will return, and she can tell you herself how proud of you she is, because obviously I'm not doing a good enough job.

Bring her back for me, then I'll come around.

I can't bring her back. If she's meant to, she'll return to on terms other than mine.

So what is it you're actually good for?

Are you still blaming all of your problems on Calvin?

When did I ever do that?

Do I really have to answer that?

Okay, so say I blame myself instead. So what?

I told you already.

Tell me again.

Save him.

Save him what?

Save him.

I heard that part. What is it that needs saving?

Save him.

Hello? Can you hear me? What I'm asking is what am I supposed to do that he can't do for himself.

Save him.

Now I know you're not me. I'd never be so repetitive.

Save him.

Alright, I'll try. Will you please talk to me again?

I'm merely saying what you need to hear the most.

That's funny; I thought you were here to comfort me.

Now who's self-centered? I thought you didn't want to be comforted.

Why do you insist on talking in riddles?

Because that's how you talk to me.

Then I'll be direct for a change. I understand I haven't necessarily been fair to Calvin, and because you asked me to, I'm going to put aside my problems and try to help him with his. But what if I don't succeed?

That doesn't bother me.

Why not?

You've lost at baseball before, and the world didn't come to an end.

If it's so important for me to "save" him, why shouldn't it matter if I fail?

Because it's doing the right thing for its own sake, not because you're trying to save lives. He needs you for himself, so you shouldn't worry about what you get out of it.

Can you explain it a little better?

Let me just say that even if you don't care about him, he's still a human, and you still have a heart. You should be able to figure out the rest on your own.

Can I ask you a favor?

If you want me to give you more riddles, I should be able to accommodate you. Otherwise, I'm rather limited.

Will you show yourself to me?

You mean you don't think I'm a figment anymore?

Honestly? I'm never sure whether you're really here, or if I'm just talking to myself. If you are here, I'd like to see you.

That's just no fair at all. I never accused you of being my figment.

But you can see me.

Actually, I can't.

What do you mean? This works both ways?

Not at all. While it's true that I'm invisible to everyone when I wish to be, everyone is invisible to me whether I will or won't.
Tough job.

It's not part of the job description; I'm blind.

How can you be blind if you're a...

A what?

...an angel?

Is that what I am?

Yes, you're my angel, and I will do whatever you ask.

Then I think Calvin will be in good hands.

While we're on the subject, why are you with me rather than him?

I don't know him. I would probably just make him worse.

And you know me?

Yes, I do. We've met twice. Or rather, we will meet a second time.

Where have we met before?

How many blind girls have you met in your life?

Just one, at the... that was you?

I'm flattered you remember. So there you have it. You know how I look now.

You're breathtaking; I remember it like it was yesterday.

Thank you. I can say the same about your voice, I think.

What happened to your vision?

It's a long story that I must never tell until it is too late.

Too late? Too late for what?

Too late for it to matter. Will you be satisfied with such an explanation?

For you, anything. I just hope you know what you're doing.

That's the tricky part, isn't it? I'm trying to do the right thing, but who knows how everything will turn out? In fact, I used to know. In retrospect, that may be what caused my eyes to bleed. In knowing what was to happen, I grew careless. Rather than pity myself for my loss, I decided I was better off doing what was right for its own sake than doing what I thought needed to be done for the sake of the future.

That sounds like a hard lesson to learn. I wonder if I'll ever be so benevolent.

Silly; I learned it from you.

You're teasing me.

Remember when you said you didn't want to know who the father of your son was?

Yes, but what does that have to do with anything?

It was important for you to make love to people you loved whether you had a name to give to your son as his father or not. His father will be with him whoever he is just as I will be with you wherever you are.

You will?

Granted, there are other obligations I have, but if ever you talk to me, I listen, wherever I am.

I love you, you know.

As I do you. With all of my being. I also know that whatever you do, you'll never fail as long as you lead with your heart. In other words, keep doing what you're doing.

You there?

Always, as I told you. Not doubting me already, are you?

It's all so new to me.

You always spoke to me before; this doubt is new.

You didn't used to talk back to me.

I didn't always exist.

I'm not gonna ask.

What are you going to ask?

You remember how you told me you loved me?

You said so first, but yes, I do.

I was thinking earlier. Isn't it required that angels love us?

An interesting notion; I can't comprehend life without unconditional love. But then, that was true of me before I ever rose. Coincidence?

I'd like to think not. Are you sure you're not a ghost?

Ghosts are stuck in the place and time of their passing.

You're right. Do you like me?

You do have some silly questions. Do you doubt that, too?

I know you love me, more than I know anything else, I know it.

Well, there you go.

That wasn't my question.

Do I like you?

It's completely different.

What does it mean, liking someone?

I suppose I wonder whether you approve of me sleeping with so many different people, or kissing so many more at random, being so mean to Calvin, all that.

Darling, it isn't for me to approve or disprove of anything you do or don't do. I love you regardless of any condition.

I know. What I'm asking is whether or not there's anything I might do or might be doing already that sickens you so much that you can't stand to be with me anymore, whether you love me or not.

Oh. I see your point.


I suppose that's only something that comes after getting to know someone.

You make it sound like a problem.

It is, in a way. After all, I'll be here no matter what you do, so it sounds as though it doesn't matter whether I like you or not. And it's not like we'll ever get to know each other, because you'll only ever tell me the things you can't tell anyone else, and I can tell you nothing about me at all.

That, and we can never even see each other.

Yeah, I'm sorry about that part. Look at it this way: I'll never be able to tell you about myself, so you'll never really get to find out whether you should like me or not. On the other side, I only see what's in your heart, rather than the halfway actions you show everyone else.

I suppose that will have to do. After all, there's no one else I deal with that I don't have to bother with liking or not.

Likewise. Is this goodnight, then?

Do you sleep?

I do other things...

Goodnight, then. Love you.

Goodnight, my love.



"Awake at last, are you?"

"Yeah; I'm awake." Finally, truly, I felt awake. Endlessly wandering through the void, dreaming and not able to tell awake from sleep in my dreams, I knew I was finally awake.

"Good. That means we won't have to bother keeping you on life support until you come to term."

"And not a word about the tragedy of never knowing his father?" I asked with a bit of cheek. Being awake again had me feeling energized. The pain that had put me to sleep in the first place was hardly even a memory anymore, and it had left a giddiness behind.

"I know very well who the father is," Jen said with a sour look on her face. Only then did it occur to me that I had probably been asleep for a very long time indeed, that she and probably others were probably very worried about whether there were actual concerns about whether I'd ever wake up. Hell of a way to bring a child into this world.

"Thanks," I said somewhat weakly to her.

"It's my job," she said grumpily. "Mom put me in charge of you for a reason."

I looked away, down to my feet. Another scoop of shit from the hole I'd dug for myself. I'm not Mom's only daughter, so it isn't right of me to be causing more trouble for people who are already dealing with loss.

"So you mentioned the father..." I said in a half-attempt to get a new conversation going.

"Don't worry; I didn't give away your dirty secret," she said in that bit of sneer older sisters are entitled to.

"So... mind letting me in on the secret?"

"You mean you don't know?" she asked in surprise. Still the older sister, now her face was warping into abject joy. To think such a proper woman with as many titles as she had could get such delight at knowing who fathered my child when I did not.

"No I don't, if you must know," I spouted back at her, finding a pillow to chuck at her in addition. She caught it with pristine ease and set it on another bio-bed. At that moment I began to rub my tummy. I was pregnant, and I knew it. Before, it had been more of a guess. Mom, she always seemed to know. Now, with my doctor sister telling me so, I finally felt sure. I was going to have my son at last, and Mom was going to be proud of me despite everything I'd done.

Then again, it takes more than raising a child to be a good person. You have to do the hard thing if it means doing the right thing. It means sacrificing your own comfort, putting yourself into the den of lions, of thieves. It means opening yourself up to get hurt.

"Uhh... Jen? You wouldn't happen to know where Calvin is, would you?"

"Calvin?" she asked, confused, and more than at the simple change of topic. "I'm sure he's here. Why?"

"Because I have a job to do." No, I didn't forget my dreams. Do I really have a guardian angel? But it doesn't really matter, does it? I have a conscience either way, and my conscience tells me that there's someone that needs help for his own sake, no matter how big a shit head he is. Even if there are plenty of other people that can help him, that doesn't excuse me from trying myself. "Because I have a job to do."

Author's notes

This bit is part of the biggest challenged I faced since beginning the Rotterdale project, that being the fate of Calvin. With so much else going on, this story arc ended up being a major part that would involve two dozen main characters or more, and that would be a mess in itself because of the twenty or more stories already going on in the course of two or three years, and everything hadn't been coordinated into a timeline yet, nor had all the stories been at least outlined to tell me where and when everybody's doing at the time of Calvin's saga-to-be.

At the time of this footnote, which is at least two years after writing Scarlette's and Cloudy's dialogue, I still haven't finished the individual stories of those in Rotterdale's third generation nor have I written Calvin's saga. At least I've gotten this far: how Scarlette ends up being designated as the one who fixes him, an event without which there would be grave consequences for the entire planet. But that's in another timeline, which may or may not appear online for the world to see.

The first part of this story was written much later to describe more precisely the life Scarlette was living at the time of the other two tragedies in her life. It was inspired after reading "Whole Lotta Love" by BadHobbit, one of the authors I've had the pleasure of editing for. The two stories admittedly have nothing to do with each other but for the band party concept.

The dream sequence was a difficult issue I had that fulfilled the duty of describing what goes on in the mind of someone in a coma. Sometimes, like the band party scene, I'm just on and I can write whatever wherever. Other times, I'm at a loss. I've always been at a loss of how to write the whole saga of Calvin fucking everything up and I was at a loss of how to set Scarlette on the path of preventing it. In this way, I'm cheating sufficiently to put people on the road to understanding. In the end, I don't think I'll ever have all the story I have planned posted. Maybe if I get enough demands for it, which usually gets me writing.

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