The Inevitable Demise of Judas

 

The Inevitable Demise of Judas

A short story by KC

 

            Part One: Poetic Foolishness

 

            He watched her go, as he did numerous times a day, desperately afraid he wouldn't see her again, and even more afraid he would. It troubled him, this alternating desire and hatred of her. She aroused feelings he knew he shouldn't act upon, and yet they were all the more magnified for his lack of action.

            Year after year he had watched her life unfold like a soap opera, being jealous of every man who'd dared to momentarily claim ownership of the place he wanted above all. That sweet, soft spot in her heart unfettered by the longing that plagued his own. Those suitors, God how he hated them. Rage thudded through his veins every time one touched her and then as quickly as it had come it was always replaced by guilt. Guilt for succumbing to the inexplicable attraction to her.

            And so time passed in a solemn fashion. Marching relentlessly forward as if to leave her and every flickering, shadowy memory of her behind. But he winced at the unexpected pain when a scent reminded him of her perfume. His traitorous heart slammed wildly against his chest when some girl ahead of him in the hallway did the same achingly familiar shake of her hair.

            His walls, now papered with poems for her, spoke softly of unrequited love. And the floors, long since buried beneath rejected rough drafts, groaned good-naturedly as he padded across it as if it sympathized with him. He sighed and sat down heavily at his desk.

            His unruly, dark hair flopped across one eye as he leaned to rescue a pen from the clutter underfoot. He held it poised for prose, hesitant to spill his messy thoughts onto the clean sheet of paper. Then with another sigh he flung his hand, sending the pen sailing and scattering the half finished papers that lay on the desk. Watching the flurry with disgust he snatched some of the sheets from midair, shredding them. Snippets of wording floated downward. Silence filled the room as he stared at them.

 

"…for the raven-haired beauty…"

"…and in the darkest hour…"

"…gathering dust…"

"…of which you'll never know…"

"…but I can see you're unimpressed…"

 

            How poetic, he thought, giving them a little kick. A damn, poetic fool. His eyes rolled toward the ceiling and then down again, skimming over a notebook, torn, lying pathetically on the floor. Its spine was bent almost double. His name was scribbled from its front, as if to erase the boy attached to it as well. He squinted. It was still legible.

 

            Judas.

 

            He stared at it a moment. Then suddenly, as if horrified by his anger, he stooped down and gathered the bits of paper. Cradling them like a child he lovingly laid them back onto the desk.

 

 

            Part Two: A Dance Between Friends

 

            Judas lay unmoving, staring fixedly at his ceiling. So this is what it feels like to be dead, he mused. How fitting, seeing how he had wanted to die, had wanted to crawl into the earth and waste away, only hours earlier. Hot anger flooded his veins, flushing his face and neck, at the remembered feeling. The recollection of the evening's events made him sick with hatred…

            The next time he saw her was the school dance. It was an event more for show than recreation. A figurative ring in which the local boys displayed their trophy girlfriends. Although the thing that separated her from them was that they seemed quite content to be showpieces.

            Unlike Charlotte.

            He stood against the wall, watching the antics of his classmates but also trying to keep an eye on her. He sifted through the crowd, searching for her peach dress and dark hair, finally finding her in the middle of the gym. His heart skipped a beat. She dominated the dance floor. His eyes followed her and she spun across the room, in the company of one boy or another. Each held her as if they'd never let her go, but in turn they were all disappointed when the inevitable parting came.

            No matter how tightly they held her, no matter how badly they wanted her. He could always hold her tighter. He wanted her more. He guaranteed it.

            Cheap paper decorations littered the floor, some hanging limply, some long since trampled. Tiny lights marched across the ceiling, bathing the room in a soft, creamy glow that seemed confined to the edges of the floor. Around him, the frantic tempo urged the mass of bodies into equally frantic steps.

            Fog swirled around his own unmoving feet, seeming to cut his leg off at the ankle. His hair sparkled with glitter someone had thrown unceremoniously into the air. He must look ridiculous he thought, sighing.

            The music smoothed itself into a ballad, blending seamlessly with his thoughts. The crowd slowed, pairing off. He saw Charlotte being led away by a boy whose profile was swallowed by the darkness before Judas could get a good look. But she was smiling.

            She was happy here, more than he'd ever be. This was her element, commanding the attention of everyone around her. Maybe that was why he was so drawn to her. She was independent and content with it. He liked that about her.

            Judas looked down, plucking at the fabric of his shirt. Against the background of loud party colors his t-shirt and jeans attracted mystified stares. He knew what they were thinking.

            Poor Judas…

            Morose Judas…

            Judas, why did you even bother showing up?

            Pity me, go ahead. I dare you, he wanted to say. The ferocity of the thought made his jaw grind. It's not as if their opinion mattered. He leaned back, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. No, they didn't matter at all. His eyes narrowed, beginning to accustom themselves to the dimness, as they followed the couples dance.

            The males looked long-suffering as they allowed themselves to be whirled around the floor. They were satisfied in the knowledge that this act would humor the girls, enough so they would succumb willingly to the leash again when the song ended. They sighed amongst themselves, throwing knowing glances and small smiles to each other.

            Judas knew the drill.

            This one dance, this one little favor, would be manipulated into a big event. It would become a debt to be repaid, with the possibilities as limited, or as endless, as the imagination.

            He tensed when he heard the amused ring of her laughter behind him. His shoulders squared, anxiously sensing her, infinitely wanting her. Half-turning he caught a glimpse of her dress. She was only an arm's length away. The realization made his stomach sink deliciously. Charlotte laughed again and playfully pushed one of the boys, the one from earlier, away, unlacing her fingers from his as she did. He looked politely ashamed, having been caught in the act of hand roving. His expression holding just the right amount of humor and apology, thought Judas, because he's played this game before. The boy stepped away, hooking his offending thumbs into his belt loops. Judas' fists clenched.

            That blonde-haired, blue-eyed, cliché of a pretty boy was unmistakable.

            Cruiz Hollowell.

            His name was like a mantra his adoring fans chanted. His body was a temple they worshipped.

 

            Judas made a move as if to interrupt them, but fear paralyzed him. He wiped his damp palms on his jeans, chastising himself for momentarily forgetting his low rank. Long ago he had resigned himself to the bottom of the hierarchy.

            Cruiz was the alpha male.

            Judas was nothing.

 

            Part Three: When Conversation Becomes Superfluous

 

            Say something... anything, Judas pleaded with himself. He opened his mouth, willing his voice. His mind, suddenly and fatally blank, refused to operate. The poetic words he so quickly composed had deserted him.

            You idiot... you're letting her walk away...

            He stared across the parking lot at her retreating back, mad at himself for following her out here. Whatever had happened between her and Cruiz was their business. He was intruding, but, God help him, he couldn't move his legs to start back inside.

            It was just that... he'd seen the pain in her eyes as Cruiz stormed away, still in his basketball jersey, leaving her standing, confused, at the school entrance.

            So he watched, torn between chasing her and letting her go, as she stalked down the line of cars, unable to drum up the courage to speak. Here it was, his big chance to charm her with his wit.... and he'd frozen.

            Two spaces away...

            Three...

            Do it.

            Four spaces...

            DO IT! He screamed at himself, before you lose the nerve. "Hey, you okay?" He said softly, half hoping she hadn't heard.

            But she had, he saw her pause mid-stride, and turned to face him, angrily wiping her face. She stared disdainfully at the black lines of mascara covering her hands. "What do you want?"

            "I saw you... I saw, um... are you okay?" He faltered, hating himself for letting the words trail off into nothing. "I mean, do you want to... talk?"

            Hah... his daydreams had never covered that particular subject...

            He saw her take a half-step backward, saw the hesitation in her eyes, and then, miraculously, they softened. "I've seen you around school, haven't I?" She smiled at him. "It's... Judas, right?"

            "Yeah," he stammered, "I just... saw you storm out of there... I wanted to make sure you were all right.... it's stupid, really, of course you're all right. It's just, that Cruiz is a jerk. I didn't want you upset over him..." God, you babbling idiot.... just shut up.... Just walk away, stop making a fool out of yourself.

            A smile was playing across her lips, her eyes amused. She’s laughing at me… She’s laughing…at… me…

            He stared at the ground, unable to meet her gaze any longer. "I'll just.... go." He dug his hands in his pockets, hoping the red flush of shame hadn't reached his face yet, and turned from her. Furiously he snatched the glasses from his face, rubbing his hot forehead in frustration and humiliation. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

            "No, hey wait. Judas! Hold up a minute." She caught up with him, taking two steps to accommodate his long stride. "Thanks for coming out here. It means a lot to me..."

            She took his hand as they walked down the parking lot. The night had suddenly gotten still and quiet, conversation became superfluous. Hell, breathing became superfluous. Judas took a deep breath, trying to still his pounding heart, his pulse jumping madly in his throat, as he delivered her to her car. "Goodnight," he said softly.

            "'Night," she replied, pulling her keys out of her pocket. "Hey Judas?"

            "Yeah...?"

            "Thanks for being here for me..."

            His smile was rueful, his words lost in the roar of the ignition. "I've always been here for you..."

 

           
            Part Four: The Day Judas Ceased to Exist

 

            "Stop it. Just stop it. I'm not a little kid, don’t patronize me." He snarled, turning to walk away and crashing into his open locker door. Swearing, he slammed it shut, hinges screaming in protest. The vibration shook the whole row. He spun the dial on his lock and closed his eyes against his throbbing headache.

            That moment in the parking lot had blossomed into an unspoken friendship between them. For two months he’d floated on air, buoyed by her small smiles and tentative hellos, sustained on her phone calls, and commiserating with her boyfriend woes.

            But that had all changed today, and Charlotte’s betrayal hurt worse than any of Cruiz’s biting remarks. She could confide in him, she could sneak away to watch the stars with him. But publicly defend him? Announce to the whole student body she’d befriended Judas the social outcast?

            She could never do that…

            "Judas, come on. It's not like that." She said, grabbing his arm. He twisted out of her grip, his shoulders tense.

            "It's not like what? It's not like I matter?"

            She recoiled from his words as if he'd physically struck her. "You do matter, but…”

            "But what, Charlotte? Your friends matter more?"

            She looked at the floor, unwilling to answer his question, but he didn’t need her confirmation… he knew the rules.

            “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he spat venomously. “Go ahead Charlotte, just leave. Go back to Golden Boy.”

            Somewhere distantly he thought he heard the bell, but Charlotte didn’t move. She crossed her arms, cocking a hip out in what he’d come to know as her fighting stance.

            “Oh Judas, stop being stupid. Look, you’re bleeding.” She said irritably, gently touching his left temple. “Does it hurt?” She rummaged in her book bag for a tissue, and pulled a handkerchief out. “Here, hold that against it.”

            “You’re late for class,” he hissed, brushing her hand away bitterly. He was indeed bleeding, and it did indeed hurt, but he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing that.

            She bit her lip, and he could tell she was about to argue, but slowly she nodded and turned away from him. He leaned heavily against his locker, and stared at the handkerchief for a long time, tracing the monogrammed C continuously with his eyes.

 

            That glimpse of her, the hurt expression, her fleeing back, was the last time he saw her. They avoided each other after that, each instinctively knowing theirs was a star-crossed friendship. It didn’t make it any easier, but at least he was left in peace to shrivel and die.

            He looked at the world through wounded eyes after that day, the day the nobody named Judas ceased to exist. He was replaced by a boy who wore his misery like a badge, a cross to be carried dutifully. A boy who found comfort in nothing, felt nothing, saw nothing. He looked through everything, everyone… no longer caring if anyone looked through him as well.

            Once upon a time he would have cared. Once upon a time he would have strived for approval, he would have hungered for it, done anything for it. But the world had failed him.          He had been taught his last lesson by society.

            Retreating to his room, he ripped the pages from his walls, and banished the repulsive words to a garbage bag. His pens went unused. His thoughts strayed to “what if’s” less and less, and even more rarely to Charlotte. He was the worry of his parents, labeled the unstable, suicidal kid at school.

            But time passes. Even when it feels unbearable. Even when it seems impossible that the world goes on despite your anguish. Even when each tick of the clock aches. Time passes. Nearly nineteen now, he saw humanity through the eyes of the jaded. He knew enough to laugh at the boys still blinded by love. He could identify with them, could count the days till they too would realize the awful trick played on them.

            And with absolute understanding and acceptance he knew that an unassuming girl named Charlotte had been the inevitable demise of a boy once called Judas.