BMW fanfiction

Okay, I get that this is juvenile and maybe little obsessive sounding, but I’ve really been on a Boy Meets World kick and took a break from my normal writing to explore some fanfic. I find it entertaining and good practice.

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. They are borrowed from the series Boy Meets World.

Shawn Angst

(The Lines I Wear Around My Wrist Are) There to Prove That I Exist

They painted up your secret

With the lies they told to you

And the least they ever gave you

Was the most you ever knew

And I wonder where these dreams go

When the world gets in your way

What’s the point in all this screaming

No one’s listening anyway

Turner opened the door to find his young student waiting. “Matthews!” he exclaimed, letting him into the apartment. “How’ve you been?”

“Just fine, sir,” Cory responded. “Is Shawn here?”

Turner motioned to the back of the apartment where Shawn’s room was. Cory walked over and banged on the door, opening it as he did. “Shawnie,” he called out.

Shawn heard the noise but didn’t have much time to react before Cory was inside the room and shutting the door behind him. He threw the blade that was in his hand onto the floor and jumped off the bed.

“Cory,” he stammered, “what are you doing here?”

“I just came by to” Cory stopped when he noticed Shawn’s arm, which he’d tried to hide behind his back but to no avail. “Shawn, what happened? Did you cut yourself?” He reached out to look at it better but Shawn pulled it away.

“It’s nothing.”

“No it isn’t. You’re bleeding.” He grabbed his arm and pulled it towards him, staring in disbelief at the three dark lines across his forearm. Blood was still oozing out of them. Then he noticed the razor blade by Shawn’s feet.

“What’s going on? Did you do this to yourself?”

Shawn yanked his arm away and grabbed a towel off the nightstand. He pressed it on the wound and sat back down on the bed.

“Shawn, talk to me. What are you doing?”

“Cory, just forget about it okay? You wouldn’t understand.”

“Wouldn’t understand? Shawnie, you’re my best friend. I can’t believe you’re doing this. Do you have any idea… Have you lost your mind?”

Shawn just looked at him.

“Why are you doing this?” Shawn looked down but didn’t say anything. He added, “If you don’t start talking, I’m gonna yell for Turner.”

The thought of Jon finding out about this made Shawn concede. “Okay, okay. This isn’t easy to explain.”

Cory sat on the bed next to him. “Try me.”

Shawn took a deep breath. “I mean, how could you even begin to understand? You have a house, you have a home. You have parents who care about you.”

“People care about you Shawn.”

“I don’t have a home, okay? I don’t have any parents.”

“Your dad’s going to come back. He’s going to find your mom, they’ll come back and you’ll be together again. I know it’s tough being away from them but it’ll all be over soon.” He looked over to see Shawn staring at the floor. “I don’t know what reasons you might have for doing what you do, but it can’t be helping anything.”

There was a pause before Shawn spoke, his voice thick with emotion. “He’s not coming back.”

“What do you mean?”

He picked up a single sheet of paper off the floor and handed it to Cory. “My dad isn’t coming back. He sent me this a couple weeks ago. Verna isn’t my real mother either.”

Cory looked up from the paper which only consisted of a few short paragraphs. He watched as Shawn’s eyes watered and his lips trembled.

“My mom was a stripper, Cory. She died of an overdose five years ago. My dad said I’m better off, staying here, without him. He isn’t coming back for me.” His voice broke then and he put his face in his hands.

Cory set the letter to the side and put his arms around him, pulling him close, letting him lean against his shoulder. He felt Shawn’s body shudder as a sob escaped him.

“It’s going to be okay,” he told him, the only thing he could think to say.

Shawn laughed bitterly before pulling out of the embrace. “No, it’s not Cor. Things are not going to be okay. Things are never okay with me.” He got up, grabbed the letter and crumpled it in his hands. “The only constant in my life is pain. Pain and disappointment. And you know what?” He held out his raw arm. “This is the only thing that makes that pain go away.”

“Shawn, that’s ridiculous. You may think that, but it’s only a distraction.” He watched as Shawn pulled on his jacket. “The pain is only going to come back. And it’ll just be worse.”

Shawn glared down at him. “I’ll take any distraction I can get.” Then he walked out, leaving Cory to wonder just what in the hell to do.

Your voice is small and fading

And you’re hiding here unknown

And your mother loved your father

Cause she’s got nowhere to go

And she wonders where these dreams go

Cause the world got in her way

What’s the point in ever trying

Nothing’s changing anyway

Cory trudged home feeling confused and dejected. The thought of Shawn doing anything to harm himself consumed him with rage. How could he be so stupid? How could he possibly think this helped anything?

He didn’t want to talk to anyone about it, but knew he had to. When he arrived home, he went into the kitchen, relieved and anxious to find both his parents there.

“I need to talk to you guys,” he said immediately.

“Well hello to you too son,” Alan answered from behind a newspaper. “Yes I had a wonderful day. How was yours?”

“Just perfect. You wanna know how perfect things are?”

“I’m sure you’re going to tell us,” Amy said with a smile as she added a layer of carrots to the salad.

Cory opened his mouth, ready to blurt it all out, but then stopped. For some odd reason, he took the time to think first about what he was going to say. This was a serious and delicate situation. “First, I need to ask that you won’t get mad.”

His dad laughed lightly. “That’s a hard thing to promise if I don’t know what you’re going to tell me.”

“I just don’t want you to overreact, okay? I want you to hear me out first. This is, this is a delicate subject.”

“Mhmm, who does it involve?”

Cory sighed. “Shawn.”

They both nodded. With how serious Cory was acting, they figured it had something to do with his best friend.

“What did Shawn do this time?” Alan asked. He folded up the paper and set it on the table. “Because if he stuck another cherry bomb somewhere…”

“No, it’s not like that.”

“Do you want me to leave?” Amy asked.

“No, please, I need both of you here. See, when I first found out, I overreacted a little. I was really upset about it. But then when I heard the full story, why he was doing it, then I don’t know. I guess I understood it better. Not that that makes… what he’s doing okay.” He stopped when he saw both of them staring at him.

“You care to fill us in?” Alan asked.

Cory slumped into a chair. “Okay, so I went over to Shawn’s and I caught him doing something.”

Alan gestured with his hand to continue.

“He was, he’d just cut himself. On his arm. With a razor blade.”

Amy drew a hand to her mouth. Alan didn’t say anything but the expression on his face changed to one of deep concern mixed with anger.

“And I was asking him why he was doing it, and he showed me this letter. From his dad. His dad’s not coming back. He wrote Shawn to tell him that Verna isn’t his real mom.” A lump grew in his throat and he felt tears come to his eyes. “His real mom was some stripper and she’s dead and he’s not coming back for him. He said Shawn was better off without him.”

Alan swore under his breath and Amy laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Poor Shawn,” she said. “That’s awful.”

“Where’s Shawn now?” Alan asked.

“I don’t know. He took off.”

“Does Jon know anything about this?”

“I don’t think so. Shawn’s had the letter for a couple weeks now.”

Alan stood up and grabbed his coat. “And you saw him cutting himself?”

“Yeah, his arm was all bloody.” Cory got up and followed his dad to the door. “What should we do?”

“Let’s go over to Turner’s. He needs to know what’s been going on.”

 

They press their lips against you

And you love the lies they say

And I tried so hard to reach you

But you’re falling anyway

And you know I see right through you

Cause the world gets in your way

What’s the point in all this screaming

You’re not listening anyway

 

The three sat in Jon’s living room.

“I came by for a reason,” Alan began. He studied his coffee cup for a moment. “How’s Shawn been doing?”

“Fine, I guess,” Jon answered hesitantly. He wasn’t sure why the elder Matthews had shown up at his door with Cory in tow, both looking serious and concerned. And he didn’t know where Shawn had taken off to. Neither did Cory. “I mean, given the circumstances. If my dad just dumped me off somewhere while he goes off on a wild goose chase, I guess I’d be moody too.”

“When’s the last time you heard from Chet?”

Jon thought for a moment. “Couple of months, maybe? He sent a postcard. Hasn’t actually called or anything.”

“Has Shawn been different? Other than moody, I mean. Have you noticed anything unusual?”

Jon gave him an odd look. “What do you mean?”

“Look, Jon, I need to tell you something. About Shawn.”

“Okay?”

“Cory told us that he saw Shawn…” Alan didn’t realize how hard it was to say out loud. “He said Shawn was cutting himself.”

Jon’s eyes widened. “What?” he exclaimed.

Just then the front door opened and Shawn walked into the apartment. He stopped short when he saw Cory on the couch, Alan in the armchair, and Jon with a shocked expression on his face. He was surprised at first, then angry.

“Shawn,” Alan said as he rose from the chair. “Have a seat.”

Shawn’s eyes flicked from him over to Jon then Cory. What did he tell them? “No thanks. I’m going to my room.” He started to leave but Alan stepped in front of him.

“I didn’t give you a choice,” he told him. “Now sit.”

Shawn glared at him but gave in and slumped down next to Cory, folding his arms over his chest. He ignored Jon.

Alan sat down on the coffee table in front of him. “I want you to understand something, Shawn. You don’t deserve anything that’s happened to you. Not your mom leaving or your dad abandoning you. You are an incredible person. You deserve to have a family that cares about you.”

Shawn stared at a spot just past Alan on the floor. He refused to look up at him.

“Now, I know that nothing is life is perfect. People aren’t always what they should be. Parents,” he emphasized, “aren’t what they should be.” He put a hand on Shawn’s knee. “But that doesn’t mean that there aren’t people out there who care, who would do anything to make the pain go away. You have a lot of people that care about you Shawn.”

He could feel the tears well up in his eyes. Damn it. He tore his gaze off the floor and met Alan’s eyes.

“Jon cares about you. Your best friend loves you. I love you Shawn. You have always been a son to me.” He reached out and took Shawn’s hand, pulling his arm toward him. “I am so sorry this happened to you.” He gently pushed up Shawn’s sleeve, revealing the scarring up and down his arm. The skin was red around each dark line. He ran his hand gently over it.

Shawn struggled to fight his emotions but he couldn’t hold back anymore. He buried his face into his hands and cried. Alan pulled the young man into his arms and held him as he began to sob. He kissed his head and whispered to him, “Everything’s going to be okay.”

I hurt myself today to see if I still feel

I focus on the pain, the only thing that’s real

The needle tears a hole, the old familiar stain

Try to kill it all away

But I remember everything

 

Title from Boys Night Out song “Introducing”

Lyrics from GooGoo Dolls and Nine Inch Nails

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Girl Meets World

Yes, I know. Total steal. But I feel it’s appropriate.

This is a background and introduction to what type of blog this will be. I’m 28 years old. I’ve been out in the real world for ten years now, and I feel like I’m just starting my adult life. I am on my own, paying my own rent, working, and going to school. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about what I want out of life and what path I want to take. There are many options, but I have narrowed down a few goals.

– Finish school. I’m getting an Associates in Medical Lab Technology.

– Get a job. As a Medical Technician.

– Get a bachelor’s degree. This is optional. But I will probably work on it slowly. Either in some type of Biology or maybe English. Maybe both.

– Write and get published.

This last goal is the purpose of this blog. I want a place where I can post my writings, so that hopefully somebody might read it. I don’t care who. And that maybe they might like what I write. And if not, be able to critique what I’m doing wrong so that I can fix it.

I’m nervous about putting my work out into the world. What if people hate it? What if they tell me I’m no good? What if they say, “Get out of here, kid. You have no future.” To quote “Back to the Future.”

But… if I never show it to anybody, what will that get me?

I want to grow as a writer. Challenge myself. Develop my skills and learn new ones. Learn how to write properly. So I hope this will help that. And if not, at least I’ll be writing.

Curious Part 2

I started noticing differences between my friends and myself at the end of fifth grade. Girls changed from playing with dolls to doing each other’s nails and makeup. They also began obsessing about boys. Conversations turned into who was dating whom and who they all had crushes on. That summer, boys changed from slimy worms into magnificent gods. That was when I realized there was something wrong with me, because I failed to notice these changes. I didn’t understand what was so appealing. I would sleep over at friends’ houses and they would pull out the Cosmo magazines and we would scour over them, scrutinizing the women and drooling over the muscular men and learned how to make them want us. I was drawn to the women, their beauty, smooth skin, perfectly round breasts. Sometimes one of the girls would get a hold of her dad’s Playboy magazines and the girls would all act grossed out, but I was fascinated, even aroused. I kept these feelings to myself because it was clear no one around me felt the same way.

Then things got more complicated. I developed a crush on my best friend, Nicole.

It was seventh grade and she had just moved. We quickly began spending almost every day together, and over time a crush began to form. I wasn’t immediately aware of my physical attraction. I just attributed it to the fact that she was a smart and fun girl and I enjoyed spending time with her. And yes, she was beautiful: Tall, lean, with long brown hair that framed her freckled face and gorgeous hazel eyes. As the year progressed, I realized I was indeed falling for her. I understood how the girls around me felt when their crush of the month would walk by.

I spent many months hiding my feelings. I wanted to tell her, but what if she didn’t feel the same way? I certainly wasn’t going to approach my parents with these emotions. They were Evangelical Christians, attended church every Sunday, and hosted a weekly bible study at our house. One time, when I was in sixth grade, I approached them with an idea of homosexuality (not me as the example of course) which they promptly dismissed as being coined by the devil and that if anyone were to live that lifestyle, they would be rewarded with an eternity in hell.

Not exactly the response I wanted to hear. This made me think that it was a phase that I would grow out of. But as the year approached the end, I decided I had to tell Nicole how I felt.

It was her birthday and she invited a bunch of friends to a sleepover at her parent’s sprawling ranch house. There were a total of six of us. Later in the evening, after her parents went to bed, a few boys from our class came over and we moved the party to the basement to play games. Eventually, inevitably I suppose, we played Spin the Bottle.

After a few goes of spinning and laughing, embarrassing moments as kids were forced to peck each other on the cheek, it was my turn to spin. I acted casual as I pushed the stem around, an old wine bottle from the recycling. My nerves were a wreck. What if it landed on Nicole? A couple of girls already had given each other kisses, much to the delight of the boys in the crowd. Everyone was in good spirits and found the whole game to be hilarious. That may also have been from the bottle of whiskey we were passing around.

Someone handed me the bottle of Jack and I took a long sip, my eyes on the bottle as it slowed and stopped, its long neck pointing at, you guessed it, Nicole, who was sitting two spaces from me. Had I not already had a few sips of alcohol, I would not have had the guts to do what I did. But as it were, my nerves were steel. As people were conversing and laughing around me, I crawled over to Nicole and kissed her. On the lips. Not just a short peck but a deep, longing kiss.

The room fell silent. I felt myself being shoved back and saw Nicole jump up and run upstairs. I sat for a moment, all my friends staring at me. Did I really just do that? I got up and went after her. From below, I heard someone say, “Dyke.” Then everybody burst out laughing.

I found Nicole in the upstairs bathroom. She was pacing but when I came in she stopped, her hand to her lips.

“Nicole, I…” I began.

“Just. Stop,” she said curtly. She was looking at me with a sort of horrified expression, like I had just strangled her cat.

“Nicole, please.” I wasn’t sure how I was going to explain any of this to her, but then I blurted out, “I love you. I’m sorry, I’ve been wanting to tell you…”

“You love me?” She cut me off. Now she looked shocked and pissed. “Emma, what the fuck is wrong with you? You’re such a pervert!”

She advanced on me then, shoving me out of the bathroom and slamming the door in my face. I waited a moment then knocked.

“Get out, Emma! Get the hell out of here!”

I left the party but in a way it never left me. The rest of the school year, Nicole and her friends avoided me like the plague. One time when I came over to her table to talk, she whispered to her friends and they all laughed. Then they got up and left. One of them called me a dyke.

It wasn’t long after the party before everyone in the school knew what had happened. As I walked down the halls, people shouted dyke, faggot, carpet muncher, queer. None of my friends would talk to me anymore. Eventually, mercy was shown on me and the school year ended.

That summer I holed myself up in my room. My parents for the longest time didn’t understand what had happened to me. Then they got “the call.” Nicole had told her parents, who in turn decided to tell mine. I was set down at the table and lectured to. My parents wanted to know if this was some kind of phase I was going through. Had I been influenced by somebody? I tried then to explain how I felt, how I knew I was different from other girls. I didn’t go into detail about my crush. At the mere mention of my possibility of actually being gay, my parents both dismissed it immediately, said it was all the television I was watching and that I would grow out of “the phase.”

I thought that would be the end of it, but the summer progressed from bad to worse. My parents made sure I attended church with them every Sunday, enrolled me in some youth group that met once a week and after a month or so sent me to a therapist.

When school started in the fall, I had regular panic attacks. I didn’t get as many name-calling as before, but I no longer had any friends. I was like the new girl.

I made friends with a petite goth girl (I call her goth because she always wore baggy black jeans, heavy dark eye shadow, and listened to Marilyn Manson constantly) in my art class. I started cutting class with her and a few other misfits. We sat under the bleachers and smoked Paul Malls. I confessed to them my dark secrets. Their response was, “Life’s a bitch.” I decided with my new friends that I would embrace who I was, ditching the preppy tops and trousers I used to wear for grunge t-shirts and jeans held up by a metal belt.

My grades took a hit that year. I didn’t give a shit. I would leave class early with Becky (goth girl) and we’d hang out in her mom’s basement, smoking pot and sipping whatever we could steal out of the liquor cabinet.

After a few meetings with the principal (addressing my frequent tardies, absences and detentions) my parents were at a breaking point. They knew every teenager was bound to have their rebellious stage. They just didn’t think their dear little daughter would ever disappoint them so. My church involvement increased, as did my therapy sessions, but neither seemed to have an effect on my behavior.

A week before spring break, my parents approached me again. My father had accepted a transfer and we would be moving. The town I was growing up in had tainted me and neither one of them thought it would do us any good if we stayed here. I welcomed the change because in all honesty I was getting tired of acting out. I was pissed off and tired of being pissed off. Tired of not fitting in, tired of not being accepted.

That summer, when we made the move to our new house, I decided to give up and start again. The rebellious nature had worn off. I was getting nowhere and had no means of exploring my homosexuality which was all but forbidden by society. My parents weren’t happy. They mentioned the idea of “intense psychotherapy” which was not something I wanted to involve myself with. I’d dabbled with my last therapist, telling her that I might be a lesbian but was immediately greeted with the same reaction: that it was a phase, a sin, a path to the dark side, etc.

I came to the realization that these feelings I had were never going to be accepted by anyone, and that if I wanted to live a “normal” life, I would have to behave like everybody else and complete the formula. Meet guy, go out, get married, have kids.

As high school progressed, I threw myself back into the typical teenage girl. I made friends. We had sleepovers, gawked at the guys in Seventeen and Teen, told each other who we liked and hated. I picked out one boy early on and decided that he would be my crush. His name was Jake. I never actually talked to him until sophomore year when we were in the same science class together. He eventually asked me out. I immediately said yes.

We became the high school couple. We went to movies, parties, youth group, dinner with my parents, his parents. He played basketball, got good grades, had dreams of law school, marriage and a two story house. My dreams were to meet a gorgeous woman, live on the beach with two dogs and study oceanography. Of course, I didn’t tell him about my dreams.

I lost my virginity to him our senior year. He’d been pressuring me all summer and I finally gave in, figuring I’d have to sooner or later. It was okay. I won’t go into details, other than the fact that the whole time I thought about Jennifer Aniston.

By the end of senior year, I was about to go crazy. I felt tied down, set on a path with this guy towards a life I feared and despised. I began applying to colleges, anywhere that was at least four hours away. I entertained the thought of attending school with Jake, but only to humor him. I never actually mailed those applications. My plan was to get to a school, by myself, where I could start again, remake myself. I wanted a girlfriend. The college I got into, the college I’m starting now, is going to help me find one.

Curious Part 1

Author’s note: This story has been in development for a number of years, first starting as a simple idea: What if? What if what you thought was right wasn’t, who you were was just a lie, a fabrication? A lot of things I’ve discovered about the world has been boiled down to one simple irony. That things are not what they seem, are never what we expect them to be. I try to incorporate this into a lot of my writing. See what my characters do with it.

This story is based on my own thoughts of sexuality. And the big what if. So I tried to develop a character that would explore this question. And find out for herself.

Curious

I survey my side of the dorm room, the other already taken over by my roommate, whom I’ve yet to meet. Books are neatly arranged on the one bookshelf we share. Her bed, against the wall and parallel to mine, is done up in a soft lavender comforter with matching throw pillows and a small white teddy bear. There’s a rather large television on her dresser behind the bed and, close to the window, was her desk with a small refrigerator under it. The desk itself was spotless except for a couple of notebooks and one of those mesh metal pencil holders.

By contrast, my shit is everywhere.

I’ve taken over the opposite corner, across from her neatly arrange space, and this is where I instructed my parents to put all my stuff:  boxes of books, clothes, stuffed animals, worldly goods from my bedroom I couldn’t bear to part with for the next nine months. My bed is naked with sheets and comforter still packed in a box. Here is where I’ve laid out all my books for the semester. Biology, Chemistry, Logic, Calculus.

I set my backpack on the bed, undecided whether to make the bed or start unpacking my stuff. I glance over again at the 26” TV. My parents didn’t offer to buy me any sort of luxuries, as they called it. I was here to study. If I got hungry, the cafeteria was on the first floor and there was a TV in the lounge. As I look over her side of the room again, I notice something tacked on the ceiling above her bed. It’s a life size poster of a blond guy. His bright blue eyes seem to sparkle and his hair is gelled to perfection. He’s dressed in a blue button down and starch white khaki pants, a sly smile on his beautiful, tanned, clean face.

I begin to wonder if I’ve made the right decision.

My plan to attend a college four hours away from home was to escape from a life mostly fabricated for others. I pretended to be a lot of things growing up. I guess a lot of kids do. They try different things to see what fits and what doesn’t. The difference with me is that I know what fits already, but in order to be accepted and fit in, I pretended to be someone I wasn’t. Now that I was here, and not under the scrutiny of kids at school or my parents, I could try to become what I thought I was.

I stack my books on the desk and pull out my sheets to make my bed. Pretty soon I have things somewhat organized, at least so I don’t look like a complete slob.

“Hey, look at this.” I turn and see my dad come in. I smile and shrug.

“It’s really small in here,” I tell him. He laughs.

“Well, they want to fit as many as they can in here.” He’s standing by my desk and picks up a picture frame that’s faced down. It’s one of me and Jake. In it his arms are around my neck and we’re smiling. My dad sets the frame on the top of the desk so it faces my bed. Then he gives me a hug.

“We’re proud of you Emma,” he says, squeezing me into his big chest.

I smile as tears come to my eyes. As much as I was looking forward to this, I’m just realizing how much I’m going to miss my family.

Since my brother joined the Peace Corps two years ago, it’s just been me and my parents. We get a long better now after moving to a new city. A few years back I got into a bit of trouble with my friends at school and started acting out, skipping classes and getting into trouble. My parents were pretty pissed at me. They thought I was going through some kind of rebellious phase and that a change of scenery would help me out. So my dad transferred his job and we ended up in a new town where I was met with the realization that my parents thought I would outgrow this “stage” in my life. Rather than continuing to fight them, I gave up and started acting like the typical teenagers I saw at school. But I never really changed. I just didn’t show my real self to anyone.