FicWad

Connor woke up feeling like his body was made of lead. Like he was made of cement.

Or like someone had tied an anchor around his waist and tossed him into a lake.

He had gone swimming as a little kid a lot; his parents were always dragging them out in the summers. The beach on the lake. He was almost always sunburnt for the few weeks of summer; Zoe used to get covered in so many freckles and Connor would be almost jealous since he didn’t really get any.

At the lake… He and Zoe used to play this game where one of them would pretend to be drowning, staying underwater for a long time, holding their breath, practicing the “dead man’s float,” and the other would “save” them. Grab them and drag them up and laugh and then do it all over again.

Connor didn’t remember why but they called it mermaids. Playing mermaids.

He had really liked pretend games.

If it wasn’t weird, he’d probably still play them now. He would love to shed his own skin

for a while, become someone else.

Connor remembered this one time Zoe got mad at him when she was nine and Connor was ten and they were playing this game at the beach and it was Connor’s turn to “drown.” And he waded out as deep as he could, until he was up to his neck in the water, until he couldn’t touch the bottom anymore… a little too far out, a little too far from the shore, from his parents, and…

And then he took a deep breath and went under the water. Because it was his turn to “drown.”

He pulled his head under. Kept his eyes closed.

And after a little bit he knew he needed to breathe. Zoe wasn’t there yet to “save” him.

But he stayed under. His eyes opened.

He kept them open.

Watching the way the bubbles from his mouth floated up to the surface, far up above him. He wished he was a merperson then. He wished he could stay under the water forever.

His lungs started to burn. He knew he should start kicking, start scrambling to the surface. But.

He didn’t.

He stayed down. Closed his eyes. Imagined being a merperson. Living underwater, eating seaweed and whatever. It was quieter under the water.

A lot quieter.

Connor liked that. He wished his real life was like that. Quieter.

Were merepeople allowed to read, he wondered? Did they make waterproof books?

Could he sprout gills and stay down there forever? Was there a real-life version of gillyweed from Harry Potter? In the quiet, in the dark, could he just learn to live down there? He liked the way the light played under the water, the steaks and beams which couldn’t even reach the bottom, the cool, dark, bottom.

Quiet.

So quiet.

God he liked it when it was quiet. He wished it was quieter above water.

His lungs burned. His throat ached.

He knew he needed air.

He could hear something distant, some kind of distant noise.

And then a pair of strong arms pulling him up, fast, not Zoe’s, and then he was coughing and sputtering and his mom was the one yelling, from far away, her voice brittle and scared, his dad pulled him out, shaking him, saying, shouting, “Connor what the hell ?”

He and Zoe weren’t allowed to play mermaids anymore.

Their family didn’t go to the beach as much.

But sometimes Connor felt like he was still playing.

Still drowning.

Waiting for someone to pull him out of the water.

Only nobody else was playing. Nobody was looking to see if he was drowning.

So he just kept holding his breath.



“Connor finished the milk,” Zoe complained at breakfast. She looked tired. She was frowning, her hair in a tight ponytail.

“I thought there was more in the fridge?” His mom said.

Dad nowhere in sight. Early meeting, apparently. Not even here to wish Connor good luck with premiering his new terrible hair cut. Connor wondered if he was actually sleeping with his secretary or something. He half dreamed that his dad was. That his mom would find out. That they’d get divorced. Zoe would live with their dad, but Connor would stay with their mom. She’d go back to teaching; they’d move to a new school district. Maybe one where people weren’t so fucking awful.

“No, there’s nothing else in the fridge,” Zoe complained, sitting down dramatically.

“Sorry,” Connor mumbled.

“Zoe, here, just… eat this,” His mom said, distractedly, putting a Poptart in front of her.

“Mom,” Zoe complained. “He finished the milk on purpose.”

“What? No I didn’t.” What a stupid thing to say. He obviously hadn’t done that. That would be so beyond dumb.

“Zoe, don’t pick at him, he didn’t do it on purpose,” His mom said. She sounded exhausted. Connor had heard her and his dad fighting again the night before.

Connor wondered if she’d been crying.

He hoped not.

“Yes he did! He saw that I was going downstairs and he finished the milk!”

“Oh my god, Zoe, no , I didn’t! Don’t be crazy! Are you on your period or something?” Connor mumbled around a mouthful of cereal.

And then Zoe burst into tears.

Fuck.

“God, screw you Connor!”

“Screw you!”

“Everyone’s going to make fun of you today!” Zoe shouted. “Everyone’s going to tell you how stupid you look!”

“Zoe!” Their mom said sharply.

“Whatever. God, I hate this family!” Zoe shouted, shoving away from the table and racing off to the bus stop.

Connor’s mom caught his eye for a moment, then sighing, she said, “You’re going to be late.”



The bus ride was brutal.

Just brutal.

He always sat alone, but today it might have been nice to have literally anyone to block him from view.

He’d worn a hoodie that day, even though he didn’t like wearing long sleeves. His mom had insisted. It was cold and raining; too cold for late April, if you asked Connor.

The rain was really coming down.

Pouring.

The bus looked more like a submarine from the inside.

He could hear Zoe sniffling from the back of the bus.

He felt terrible.

He wished he had slept.

Connor wished Jared had texted him at all after he went home. He wished he had heard from him at all. The night before, after they finished the sad movie version of Bridge to Terabithia, Connor, Evan, and Jared all played Mario Kart. Connor hadn’t played with anyone other than Zoe in ages; Evan beat them both handedly the first round.

“God, we suck.”

“We definitely suck,” Jared agreed.

Evan blushed.

“Where’s your dad?” Connor asked Jared. “You never said.”

“He’s off being an asshole somewhere,” Jared said. “He’s been like buried in some kind of home improvement thing for like a month now. He’s probably at the hardware store buying shit we don’t need.”

Connor nodded.

“He’s nice,” Evan volunteered. Connor looked at him, surprised.

“Yeah. When he’s here,” Jared said, rolling his eyes.

“At least he is here,” Evan mumbled. His cheeks were pink.

Connor didn’t know what that meant.

“Hey! Kid! Come on, you’ve got to get to class.”

Connor blinked. They were at school already. Somehow.



“Nice hair, asshole.”

Connor ignored it.

Brian Harris and his lackeys kept coming though. That wasn’t all they had to say. Very chatty, Brian and his friends.

“Did you lose a fight with some scissors?”

“I bet he has cancer.”

“Yeah, ass cancer.”

“From being gay.”

Connor ignored it. He said nothing, hands balled into fists at his sides. He had thought about wearing a hat to school at first, but he knew it would only make it more obvious.

Brian checked Connor’s shoulder as he walked past to get to class.

Connor thought he had gotten off too easy.

No.

He knew he got off too easy. Something wasn’t right. He knew it. They were going to come after him and he was going to get his ass kicked. Connor knew. He knew he knew.

He just.

He kept his head down.

He was just going to try to be normal.

He going to try.

But was was getting really hard.



He slunk into homeroom, head down, trying to avoid the stares of everyone in the room. He put his head down the moment he got to his desk. Eyes down.

Look at nobody and nobody looked at you.

If you can’t see them, they can’t see you. All the usual bullshit.

“Connor?” Mr. Weston had stopped at Connor’s desk before the start of homeroom.

“Hi,” He mumbled to his teacher.

“You alright?”

Connor didn’t really think it was appropriate for a teacher to be commenting on his stupid hair. He didn’t look up. “Yeah, Mr. Weston. I’m fine. Thanks.”

His teacher just. Stood there. “Is… is everything okay at home, Connor?”

Connor felt his face burn. “Yes,” He said through gritted teeth. He kept his head down. He wouldn’t look up. He couldn’t look up.

“It’s just…” Mr. Weston sounded uncertain. He sounded worried. “You don’t… look okay.”

“It’s just a haircut, Mr. Weston. Don’t... Please .”

He saw his teacher frown. “Connor… Look, I know…”

“No. You don’t,” Connor snapped, his fists clenched. He looked up then.

Mr. Weston took a step back.

“You don’t know. That’s… Nobody does. Just… leave me alone.”



Evan wasn’t at school on Monday.

Jared looked sort of relieved.

“Today’s gonna be bad enough as it is.”

Connor knew Jared was talking about his hair, but he weirdly thought it might be… a sort of solidarity thing.

“I feel bad because, like, Evan’s.. grandpa is like sick and whatever, but… sometimes he’s just. So.” He made some gesture that Connor didn’t really understand. “He can be kind of lame.”

Connor shrugged.

He was trying to be normal.

He knew being normal sometimes involved talking crap about people behind their backs. But Connor thought Evan was… fine. And he didn’t want to talk about him like that. It felt. Awful.

“Dude, come on, I saw you roll your eyes yesterday too.”

Connor felt his face heat up. He did definitely roll his eyes when Evan started going on about this tree thing to Mrs. Kleinman and it went on for forever. But it was more because Evan didn’t seem to realize that Mrs. Kleinman was talking to him like he was a five year old. Connor had been, like, embarrassed for him.

“Yeah. I guess that was lame.”

“Thank god I’m not working with him on this project,” Jared went on. “Last time he was supposed to speak publicly was in like, Mrs. Feld’s fifth grade Christmas play. He just… like. Stuttered through a whole stupid line about snow.”

Connor hadn’t been in Mrs. Feld’s fifth grade class, but he had definitely heard about that.

“Pretty messed up that teachers can make us do Christmas stuff,” Connor said without really thinking. “Just, obviously everyone doesn’t celebrate Christmas.”
Jared looked at him funny. “Are you Jewish?”

“No. I think my parents used to be Catholic?” Connor, in fact, knew his parents used to be Catholic. He and Zoe had both gone through all of the nonsense around making their first communions, but then their parents sort of quit going.

“So, what, you’re just a naturally good person who cares about other people’s religions?” Jared said and Connor realized, shit, Jared thought he was making fun of him. Shit.

So he shrugged, knowing his face was warm. “I dunno. Like… there’s a lot of kids who don’t celebrate Christmas. Is all I meant.”

Jared eyed him skeptically for a second. “You’re weird.”

Connor rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

“So like… we have almost all of this presentation done,” Jared said, smiling. “I should have picked you to be my partner sooner. No way we don’t get an A.”

Connor knew his face had gotten even warmer, but he just nodded. Their whole English class was in the computer lab, and like Jared had said, they were almost totally done. Almost a week early.

That was overachieving in class, even for Connor.

“Hey Jared. Hi Connor.”

Connor tried to pretend not to get annoyed when Alana Beck walked over to him.

“Hi Alana.”

She smiled. She had changed her hair, Connor noticed. She had worn it in a pair of puffy pigtails for the last few weeks, but now it was all in little braids.

“Jared, I don’t know if my mom has called your mom yet, but I just wanted to confirm my R.S.V.P. to your bar mitzvah this weekend.”

Jared smiled. “Awesome. You’re the last person I was waiting to hear back from.”

“Sorry, I had to make sure there wasn’t a conflict with my leadership club,” Alana said. “But the invite said to let you know by today, so I am letting you know. Also I wanted to tell you that I really enjoyed the invitation envelopes. I think the design on them was fun without being too busy.”

Jared rolled his eyes, but Alana smiled harder and Connor wondered if they did that a lot. “Thanks, Alana.”

“My mom wanted to know if your mom needs any help with anything?”

“Nah, I think we’re covered though. Thanks.”

“Cool. Well. See you Jared. Later Connor.”

“Bye,” Jared said.

Connor waved.

So.

Jared’s bar mitzvah was this weekend. And he was having a party.

Connor hadn’t been expecting to be invited before but…

He bit his lip.

Jared didn’t say anything.

So Connor said nothing. Feeling… just. So stupid.

Of course he wasn’t invited.

Of course not.

Stupid of him to think he might be.

Stupid, stupid, stupid… how stupid could he be?

What was wrong with him?

Why had he let himself think… for even a second?

“So? That’s this weekend then?” Connor said, and he knew his voice gave him away so he just kept staring at the keyboard.

“Yeah,” Jared said awkwardly.

“Mr. Weston,” Connor said, raising his hand. “May I please use the bathroom?”

He eyed Connor suspiciously, but nonetheless handed him a pass and let him go. Connor walked down the hall, but it felt like when you tried to run in waist deep water. Like he was weighed down.

He walked past the boys’ bathroom. Past the girls’ bathroom. Down the hall, past the classrooms, walking as fast as his legs could manage, wishing he could be more like Melinda from the book, wishing he had a closet to hide in like she did, but instead he just walked down to the copy room, which was empty, and Connor threw himself inside and closed the door.

He breathed heavily.

Like coming up for air.

He couldn’t catch his breath.

It was…

He was…

Jared hadn’t invited him. He had expected this. But it still hurt, he still felt it, he still…

Connor walked over to one of the drawers, fingers searching for something before he even knew what it was.

But then his fingers closed around the box cutter.

And he.

Felt like he could finally breathe.

He pushed the little lever, revealing the blade. Looked at it. It looked dirty, dull.

Those blades had little hatch marks, like you could snap them off.

Connor’s fingers shook.

He snapped off the old, dull edge, revealing a sharp new cutting one.

And put it to his wrist.



He had jazz band that day, last period. Playing the stupid keyboard.

His wrist hurt.

A lot.

But he sort of liked it.

He liked having something to focus on. The sharp little stabs of pain.

He’d had to wrap a piece of toilet paper tightly around his wrist. He probably should have been more tentative. He probably should have been more careful, but he got a little carried away.

He was glad for the cold weather that morning. He’d worn a black zip hoodie from the back of his closet at his mom’s insistence.

Zoe kept turning to glare at him. She was apparently still angry about this morning. All he’d done was finish the milk.

He wondered if she really did have her period.

He wished someone could just tell him if there was something he should be doing differently. Something that could make Zoe stop hating him so much.

“What are you looking at, freak?” spat Sabrina Patel. She sat next to Zoe. She played the bass. Connor used to think she was cool, back in like the third grade. She had the same birthday as Connor and their moms used to coordinate treats.

“Shut up Sabrina,” Connor mumbled.

“Why? You start your period today, Connor?” Sabrina retorted.

Zoe laughed.

Connor’s face burned.

He trained his eyes on his sheet music. At the notes he had made, about tempo, about key changes. The notes seemed to swim before him. Connor felt a little like he was looking at them from underwater.

“Alright, we’re getting started folks... “ The teacher said. He sounded far away to Connor’s ears. “...and remember this isn’t a race, people, no need to be rushing….”

Connor’s fingers were clumsy on the keys. He missed more than a few notes. Becca who sat next to him rolled her eyes, called him a fag, and told him to get it together.

The band teacher got pissed off a few times because Connor kept messing up his part. “Mr. Murphy, I would appreciate it if you could try to stay on tempo today, thank you.”

A lot of the other kids laughed.

Becca next to him laughed.

Sabrina Patel and Zoe both turned around to laugh at him.

Connor swallowed hard.

And kept his head down.

And then he noticed that he was bleeding. A little trickle of blood, running over his hand from when he dropped it at his side.

Connor wiped his hand on his jeans. Trying to be sneaky about it.

“Let’s go again.”

They started again.

And just tried to keep playing.

And playing.

Badly.

He was playing badly.

“Connor, come on!”

“Sorry,” he mumbled, looking down at the keys. There was a spot of blood, bright red against the white. His hands were shaking. He used his sleeve to wipe it away.

He kept fucking up the tempo.

“Let’s go again.”

It was not a great day of jazz band for Connor.



“Loving the new hair length,” Brian Harris said in the hall after the last bell of the day rang. “What’d you do to piss off Larry that much, eh? He catch you jerking it to the guys in in your sister’s Cosmo?”

“Shut up, Brian.”

Brian just laughed.

Connor wished he would just hit him. He would really really like it if Brian hit him.

“You remember the summer before fifth grade?” Connor heard himself saying, because apparently he was absolutely trying to get murdered or something.

Brian slowed.

Stopped.

Looked at him.

“Your dad grounded you at the end of the year for trying to quit the volleyball team and you cried, saying it was too hard and you hated it.”

Brian looked pissed. “You’re out of your mind, Murphy, that didn’t happen.”

“Weird, I remember it so vividly. You, crying, covered in snot, because the other kids made fun of you for being fat and so your dad made you do sports. Me, stuck at your parents house because they were all out drunk together and your oldest sister was keeping an eye on us.”

“You better watch your mouth,” Brian said lowly.

“Was it gay then when you wrote me letters every single day from fat camp? Talking about how you hated it, about how you missed real food and people who weren’t total zombies who just wanted to run all of the time, and how I was your best friend? Sorry, it’s just, I’m confused. And you’re the expert apparently... Was that gay?”

Somehow, he didn’t know how, but somehow Connor managed to dodge the punch that Brian threw. Somehow he managed to run away fast enough.

He knew he was dooming himself to hell tomorrow. But for now he felt a little bit better.

“MURPHY!”

Connor ignored the yell. He assumed it was Brian, having some how cut him off and raced outside already.

“Connor, dude, I know it’s you!”

He blinked.

Turned and squinted (glasses stashed in his backpack). Jake, Aidan, and Sarah, all crowding around a street lamp. Sarah and Aidan were smoking. “You wanna come hang with us?”

Connor swallowed.

“Sure,” He said, shrugging. He started off toward them.

“Connor!” He turned back toward the school. Jared was waving. “Hey, my mom was wondering if you wanted to come over again this week? She’s got like, I dunno, a total boner for you or something since you came over on Sunday…”

Connor blinked. Confused. “Sorry, what?”

Jared’s face turned a little bit red. “I… you know. Do you wanna come over this week?”

“No,” Connor said, coldly.

Jared blinked rapidly behind his glasses. “W-why not?”

Connor bit his lip. “Well. I assume you’ll be busy with bar mitzvah planning.”

Jared’s face went really red then. “Connor…”

“Look, my friends are waiting so,” Connor mumbled, starting to walk away.

“Those kids aren’t your friends,” Jared said.

“Well, clearly you aren’t either so.”

“I’m sorry,” Jared said, looking behind him, face deep red. “I… Dude, look, I’m sorry. I couldn’t… I handed the invites out weeks ago.”

“Sure,” Connor said. Shrugged.

“Look, you know I can’t invite you. I’m sorry. It would… I’m having a hard enough time getting people to come to this stupid party.”

“Right,” Connor said. Hollowly. “I’ll see you in class or whatever.”

He walked off toward Jake and the others.

“Dude,” Jake said, throwing an arm around Connor’s shoulder. “You look like you need a pick me up.”

“Yeah,” Connor said, reckless. “I do.”

“Well then I’ve got a present for you,” He said, pulling what looked like a hand rolled cigarette out of his pocket. Connor wasn’t stupid. He knew it was pot.

“Alright.”

Sarah leaned over and planted a kiss on Connor’s cheek. He felt his skin light on fire. “God, I love you. So cute. I’m so glad we’ve adopted you.”

Connor blushed harder.

He looked quickly back at Jared. He looked upset, hanging onto his backpack. Looking after Connor.

Fuck.

God, he was so stupid. To think Jared had wanted to be his friend.

So fucking stupid.

“Alright, kiddo, make sure you don’t take too hard of a pull, yeah? This isn’t a cigarette,” Aidan said, and Connor nodded.

“Don’t get paranoid, yeah? It’s super annoying when people get paranoid,” Jake said.

“Okay,” Connor said. Taking a hit.

Connor was an idiot. He was so stupid. He didn’t have anyone at school. He didn’t have anyone at home.

But.

At least he wasn’t alone.



He stayed up too late. His eyes itched.

His mouth finally stopped feeling funny after a few hours. After he faked a headache and headed upstairs before his parents could smell it on him or see how red his eyes were.

Connor didn’t sleep.

But he didn’t want to sleep.

He’d gotten this book from the library.

Stayed up all night reading it.

Hate-reading it.

It was stupid. This girl made all of these tapes before she killed herself…

Connor stayed up all night.

But not because of the book.

Because he couldn’t think of thirteen reasons he thought sometimes about playing in traffic or finding something really high to jump off of or tying a belt around one of the support beams in his bedroom with the other side around his neck.

He didn’t know why he felt this way.

There were no people to point the finger at.

Connor only had one.

Himself.

He was a bad person.

He knew that. It was so fucking clear. His parents had been arguing again. About him, over him. Zoe hated him. Jared Kleinman couldn’t even invite him to a stupid bar mitzvah because…

Because.

He was a bad person.

That was reason enough. He didn’t need twelve more.

The book was idiotic.

So idiotic.

People didn’t kill themselves because people were mean. If that was true nobody would ever survive the fourth grade.

If that was true Connor wouldn’t have survived the second grade.

People didn’t just do that.