This is a work of fiction. Names, Characters, Businesses, Places, Events, and Incidents are either products of the author's imagination, or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Published in the United States by Shannon Youngblood
Prologue
Have you seen that movie? You know the one where the guy in the white lab coat yells “It’s Alive” over and over again? I’m pretty sure everyone has seen it, but I would bet my life savings (not that I’m made of money or anything), but I would bet that no one remembers the monsters’ name. Sure, he referred to himself as “Adam”, and I guess it makes sense as he was created in the image of his creator. But what was his actual name?
Truth be told, I don’t even know his name. I remember watching the movie with my mom and dad when I was younger, and I used to name him different things according to my mood. Sometimes I called him, Bruce. He looked like a Bruce to me. Other times, normally when I was feeling down, I would refer to him as Billy Bob. That always made me laugh. My parents used to laugh at my antics too, although they don’t laugh much now from six feet under.
I think my favorite name for the creature on the black and white television, would always be Leon. The name was both sturdy and handsome, just like the misunderstood monster. My fictional boyfriend may have been a little bit soft in the head, and who wouldn’t be after being dead for however long, but even as a little girl, I knew Leon, had a big heart. Ironically, the only other person I liked back then was also named Leon. He was the youngest of eight brothers and he lived next door.
I used to do what young teens did back then and draw hearts in my notebook, but instead of filling it in with a name of one of the stupid boys at school, my heart belonged to Leon. The parental units thought it was cute at first. “Awwww. Little Annie has a crush on little Leon.” But they didn’t understand. No one understood.
Little Leon was my knight in shining armor. When his older brothers would make fun of my hair or my clothes, he would always stick up for me, even at his own detriment. More often than not, he would come to class with a black eye or a busted lip on my account. I wanted to protect him like the doctor protected his monster, but I was just a wimpy little girl. What could I do?
Leon’s and my bedroom faced each other, and after some saving, the two of us acquired some walkie-talkies. Late into the night we would talk to each other about movies, music, kids at school, and his stupid brothers and my dumb parents. Our friendship was unshakeable. Or so I thought.
The year I turned fourteen, I vividly remember grabbing our old walkies and turning it on, only to hear my precious Leon talking to one of his brothers, Cory, his roommate.
“She’s obsessed with me bro,” Leon laughed. “Like every time I turn around, there she is. I get that we were childhood friends and all but come on.”
Were they talking about me?
“Yo, Annie has been in love with you forever, Leon. You better do something quick or you’re going to end up marrying the chick. I will legit straight up vomit if you do.”
They were talking about me. Every word that left Leon’s mouth was like a dagger to the gut. How could he say these things?
“That’s gross, Cory,” Leon spat out to his next eldest brother. “I wouldn’t marry that bitch if she was the last woman on Earth.”
The brothers shared a hearty guffaw before the sound crackled out. I looked out the window to see Leon’s light shut off. One of them must have been sitting on the receivers button and didn’t realize I had heard every word.
That night, I laid in bed, tears streaming down my face. A familiar crackle sounded from under my pillow and I grabbed my walkie.
“Annie? You there?” Leon whispered.
I wanted to answer, but the hurt in my heart was too raw, the anger too vibrant.
“Ok, I guess you’re asleep. Talk later.”
The static went out as he shut his off.
“Yeah. Later,” I scowled, letting the hurt wash away, leaving behind a red wall of unyielding and warranted rage.
I sat up in my bed and grabbed my notebook. With a fresh pencil, I spent the next five hours scratching through Leon’s initials on every page. That boy was dead to me. I ripped out every page and crumpled it up into little balls throwing them, scattering them across my room. Even at such a young and vulnerable age, I knew I was experiencing the worst sort of heartbreak imaginable, the loss of my first friend.
The next day at school, I attempted to avoid Leon like the plague that he was. I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that if I saw his face, the words he spoke would come alive, and there would be nothing to stop me from breaking his nose. I couldn’t focus in class and I earned myself two detentions for talking back to my teachers. I didn’t fucking care. It didn’t matter. In fact, nothing mattered. After school, I made a pit stop at a shadier place of town. There was something I needed to buy.
My parents were waiting for me when I got home, and for over an hour they scolded and reprimanded me. They took away my electronics, like I
