The Demoness of the Hall

Libby’s POV ~Two Years Ago

 

The ticking of the counselor’s wall clock is way too loud in the otherwise silent room. Normally you don’t even hear these damn things, but somehow, when you’re in a staring match with a stone-faced ogre (not an insult, the man looks like Shrek’s less marketable understudy… damn, guess that’s an insult after all) every click and clack is like nails on a mutilated chalkboard. Just ten more minutes, and I’m home fr–

 

“We’re not leaving here until you explain what happened,” Mr. Savrough says, finally ending our wonderfully unproductive meeting. Our school counselor is usually a peppy guy, always ready with a quip and a chuckle to match his ridiculous collection of novelty ties. Today, his serious disposition works in stark contrast to the lines of marching four leaf clovers hanging around his neck. “Your classmate was seriously hurt. Her friend is refusing to even speak. This isn’t something you can just coast through. What happened?”

 

I guess the simple answer would be… I happened. It might sound like a cliche, or some inane excuse at this point, but I really was trying to help. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for–”

 

“Ms. Siska, I’m not looking for justification here, the school administration needs to know exactly what happened!”

 

There’s an old quote about the three things wise people fear: The sea in a storm, a night with no moon, and the anger of a gentle man. They weren’t just blowing smoke when they minted that one. After raising his voice, Mr. Savrough leans back in his chair and adjusts his jacket. Guess there’s no real choice here.

 

“Haley and I were walking down the hall…”

 

How many fucking stories of mine start the exact same way? How many of them lead to the same conclusion? It’s like my life has become a series of reruns in some demented sitcom about a pair of student assholes. I’m so sick of this.

 

***

 

Three hours later, my parents pick me up. Another suspension… another silent ride home. When did they stop trying to guilt me after these meetings? They must figure it’d just be wasted breath at this point. I can still remember Mom’s face the first time I got in trouble. She sobbed for a couple of hours, made some impassioned speech about moving forward… even gave me a hug. “I’m sorry.” My voice is weak from crying in the counselor’s office earlier, but I know they hear me.

 

After a few minutes, we arrive back home. Before getting out of the car, Mom looks at me through the rearview mirror. “You know the deal: no TV, no video games, dinner in your room.” She doesn’t even look at me anymore. Dad’s out of the door before Mom even finishes going over the all too familiar grounded ground rules.

 

I slowly slither inside and head straight for my room. The moment my door is closed, I hear my parents start screaming at each other, no doubt fighting over who’s to blame for their bitch of a daughter.

 

Collapsing on my bed, I see a familiar book spine sticking out of a pile of magazines Tammy lent me the last time I spoke with her… I wonder how she and Xander are doing these days. They look happy enough when I pass by them. Not wanting to get out of the comfortable position I’d miraculously lucked into on the first try, I send my tail to retrieve the small, worn-out, yellow book. The cover has a childlike drawing of a gorgon on it, with bright red letters printed across in a ridiculous “fun” font. “Medusa’s First Friend,” I read aloud, voice cloudy with nostalgia. I’ve had this book for a little over a decade now, and I’m honestly not sure why I keep it. 

 

Flipping through the dried-out pages, I immerse myself in the brief illustrated adventure of Medusa as she meets a young hero sent to capture her. The woman doesn’t understand why the people have called Medusa a monster, as she’s just a kind lady with a penchant for sculpting. The two become fast friends, but there’s a problem: The hero is supposed to return with Medusa because of the rumors that her terrifying gaze turns anything to stone. They want her to kill a sea monster to save the princess that the monster wants to eat. So Medusa carves a statue of the princess, a perfect likeness, to replace her as the sea monster’s prize. When all is said and done, the people who rejected Medusa welcome her with open arms and she lives happily ever after with her new best friend.

 

Gag.

 

I can’t believe I liked this “ain’t the world wonderful” bullshit when I was a kid. Guess it is heavily queer coded, which is cool, but other than that it’s just fluffy nonsense. The world doesn’t forget its prejudice just because you’ve helped them. The only way for the world to see you differently, is if they see you differently. Now Clash of the Titans Medusa… there’s a realistic story.

 

When I was a kid, I tried everything to make people like me, or at least stop tipping my wheelchair. It didn’t matter what I did, what I said, how many favors and compliments I passed out like candy. People only started treating me like a person once I metamorphosed and became more pleasant to look at… Yeah, put that shit in a Hallmark movie script and smoke it.

 

As I toss the book back onto the pile of worn-out magazine pages, my phone, which Mom forgot to confiscate, starts ringing. Haley. That should’ve been obvious, she’s the only person that still bothers calling me. I pick up the phone and before I can utter a single syllable of greeting, she starts yelling.

 

“Where the fuck did that son of a bitch get off spouting all that nonsense!? Honestly, I have half a mind to track his ass down the moment we’re off suspension. If anything, what happened today was his fault for being such an idiot.” I pull the phone away from my ear as my girlfriend’s piercing shrieks damage both my ear, and the speaker on my phone. “Honestly, I’m glad you smacked that little piglet for even encouraging that guy. Ha! And the way she went flying, woo, you still got it, babe.”

 

The anger I felt earlier today boils back to the surface as I sit up, hand shaking. “You know I didn’t mean to hit her! I was trying to stop you from taking things too far… again! There was no reason for you to even instigate that whole mess!”

 

I can almost see Haley’s stunned face through the phone. This might be the first time I’ve ever yelled at her. “I didn’t instigate shit!” she yells back, defensive as usual. “I was just pissed off that he–”

 

“She, Haley. If she’s trans, she’s a woman.”

 

The conversation pauses as Haley processes what I’ve just said and I brace myself for the inevitable–

 

“Oh, so now you’re taking his side!? Really? I thought you of all people would understand that you can’t change who you are.”

 

“Please, you’re living proof that people change. You never would have harassed someone who didn’t have it coming before.”

 

“Ahhh, I see what this is about; This is because of your dumbass obsession with myths and legends. Newsflash, hun, fighting bullies doesn’t make you some Grecian hero, it just makes you an asshole, once removed. At least I’ve accepted my role and haven’t deluded myself into thinking I’m on some righteous crusade.”

 

“Who the fuck said I was trying to claim the moral high ground? I know what we do isn’t good, we act out violently on a regular basis. I’d have to be a complete idiot to think we were doing something upstanding. But at least when you picked fights before, it wasn’t some defenseless, unmetamorphosed person. Don’t you remember what it was like to be a plain old human? You were scared all the time and–”

 

“And now I’m a monster. Not everyone gets to turn into a serpentine supermodel. I’m the literal devil, just a carbon copy of an abusive scumbag.”

 

“But you’re not a copy of her! You’re Haley! You’re the sweet girl who used to sing in the bathroom when she thought nobody else was around and quoted romcoms like they were going out of style. You’re smart, and funny, and used to make me smile all the time.”

 

Haley takes a deep breath. “Used to… Then that girl was replaced… by this.”

 

“You didn’t magically become someone else! You’re choosing to be just like her. It isn’t who you are.”

 

“Metamorphosis changes us based on who we are… and I became her. On some level, I must’ve always been like her, everything else was just me kidding myself.”

 

When I metamorphosed, I went from the butt of everyone’s jokes to the apple of their eyes… overnight. The change was jarring, and although I’m ashamed to admit it, the difference went straight to my head. I loved the attention, relished it, let people dote on me the way I had tried to dote on them before. Then something changed. The adulation I’d embraced started grating on my nerves. I saw ulterior motives in every smile and each kind word. They still didn’t like me, they never had, all I’d ever amounted to… was decoration.

 

When I lash out, I’m trying to defy the new expectations people have for me. When Haley does, she’s trying to prove to herself that they’re right.

 

“Please, Haley, don’t resign yourself to being her shadow. You are so much more than she ever could be. The love you have for your sister, for me, I hope… it’s more than she could ever understand. Let’s stop this. We’ve gone too far. Let’s go back to how it was before. We can watch old sitcoms at lunch, do over-the-top impressions of the teachers behind their backs, start having fun again.” I can feel another batch of tears collecting in my eyes. How many times does this make today? My face is going to be swollen for a month at this rate.

 

“I’m sorry, Libby. That’s not who I am anymore. It’s high time you give up on going back. We’ve grown.”

 

Like a cancer, malignantly attacking everything around us. “If that’s not who you are anymore… then you’re not the person I asked out, are you? You’re not the person I love. I – If you’re not my Haley, I think we should end this.” The words come out of my mouth faster than even I can process them. On the other end, all I get back is dead air. “Goodbye, Haley.”

 

As I press the end call button, I hear a sharp growl growing into words I’m sure I’m better off not hearing. That’s that… I suppose. Now I’m well and truly alone. My body starts trembling uncontrollably, as the grief and gravity of what just happened hits me. I wrap my tail around myself for comfort, hoping that feeling something holding tight will calm me down. My parents have given up on me. The general population of the school either hates or fears me. Who the hell can I even talk to about this?

 

Out of nothing but desperation and a raw need to hear someone’s voice, my fingers dial a number I haven’t used for quite some time. After a couple of rings, a sing-song voice answers.

 

“T–Tammy? Hi. It’s Libby. I’m sorry to call you out of the blue, but… can we talk?”