"You've got to break up with her."

He knows Dan is right. The situation is simply getting worse. She was going to become his own personal escort to self-destruction.

Ricky sluggishly shakes his head. No.

An unfitting grimace settled on Dan's face. Dan was one who is naturally gleeful, constantly adorning a cheek-tearing smile.

A periodic buzz and whir came from passing cars as the adolescent sit on the edge of the sidewalk. Their lights blink as they curve into the next street.

"Ricky, I'm not going to force you out of your relationship, but this is getting bad."

But Mariam was once a woman he admired and adored. Mariam's unwavering laughter, chipped voice, brown sprinkled freckles, music… Everything about Mariam was beautiful.

"We both understand who Mariam used to be. We all were friends, remember? But she isn't the same person anymore. She's insane and you know it! Get yourself together, Ricky!"

Ricky slumps forward and mutters bitterly, "Shut up."

"… Fine," Dan strides three steps towards the school's parking lot, before sternly shouting, "But, if it happens again, I'm going to tell this to the police, your parents, anyone that can stop her. Got it?"

Ricky ignores his friend's words. Dan couldn't possibly do it. He's more social and outgoing than Ricky would ever aspire to be, however he was unsure and hesitant when it came to serious circumstances.

Despite how Mariam has been acting towards him, Mariam doesn't deserve it. She needs help. She's confused. Once he finally clears the confusion up, her anger will dissolve. She will return with a smile on her chapped lips and chortle with delight. They will play Mario Cart on the Wii, chat obsessively over the most recently read science fictional novels, sing and play on the piano. His soft, breathy singing overpowered with her firm, composed alto tone. Her fingers would skitter gracefully across the black and white keys while singing of adventure and love.

"Oh look, it's the masochist."

Look away. Sink into the chair, pretend he doesn't exist. Drown, drown, drown.

"Where's your slutty girlfriend? Is she playing with her whip? Is she doing some kinky stuff with her other boyfriends?"

The vulgar scent of tobacco plugs Ricky's nostrils. The boy pulls on Ricky's mohawk harshly. His scalp shrieks in pain. Ricky clenches his toes and prevents the animalistic noises in the back of his throat. Ricky's blue eyes meets dark, void pupils.

"Answer."

"I don't know."

The teenager punches Ricky on his jaw. His eyes stings and he could feel a bruise forming on the side of his pale face. Strands of his hair are ripped off of his head.

"Pathetic wannabe," He spat, "I bet you enjoyed that."

Ricky doesn't reply, leaning forward on his knees. He stares at the remnants of crunched rocks as if he could sink into the cracks.

He laughs and coos mockingly, "S***, you really are just a wimp. Crawl back to your girlfriend."

A swelling rage builds in his chest as Ricky flees back home. Kill him, beat him up, make him pay for what he had said. His mind swirls as he weaves through the crowded roads.

He realizes he can't fight. He's weak. He's bony. He's bad at athletics. He's basically the equivalent of an incoming nerdy freshman. Besides, his classmate was probably armed with a knife or some other dangerous sharp object.

Ricky's heart slows as he realizes he's far enough from his adversary. As he walks on the sidewalk, he spots his bland apartment building. 

"Hey, there you are!" Greasy red hair bobs on his forehead as runs towards Ricky. "For a second I thought you got mugged or something."

Ricky chuckles quietly. "You don't have any faith in me."

"Yeah-" He noticed the blackening bruise on Ricky's chin. "Oh man, what did you get into this time?"

The bruised teenager replies with a blend of incoherent words. It wasn't that bad. It still left a small sting, but nothing much.

"We're going to need a bag of ice for that. Your pathetic-ness sure attracts a lot of trouble."

"That isn't a word, Paul."

"Does is really matter?" He blatantly points to the side of Ricky's face. "You've got a gigantic bump on the side of your face!"

"We've both gotten worse."

"This is still worth the attention. Stop stalling. We need to go into your apartment."

With a reluctant groan, the two scramble into Ricky's apartment on the fourth floor.

"Paul, you don't have to do this," Ricky mumbles, "I can handle it."

Paul scoffs and elbows Ricky's shoulder. "You're probably going to ignore it. It isn't so bad, that's just a load of baboon testicles."

"That's a new one."

"Thanks," Paul's chest puffs, "My differentiating use of proper swear words are increasing rapidly."

"Soon you'll obtain a gigantic vocabulary just to piss everyone off with fancy words."

"Exactly. Now, shut up and use this."

Paul tosses ice in a plastic bag and a towel along with it. As Ricky places the frigid bag against his cheek, he hisses. The bruise stings.

"Hah, what did I tell you? It probably hurts like hell," Paul flops on the couch next to him and clears his throat. "Say, where's your girlfriend?"

"Not here, I guess," Ricky shrugs, "Probably shopping."

Paul frowns. The same one as Dan's. "Ah. Okay."

An awkward silence sat itself between them, enjoying the tense atmosphere.

"… So, where's your Playstation?" Paul adds, attempting to pick a conversation. Paul and Ricky used to play on the same Playstation months ago. Two controllers are left untouched on the table where the flat-screen television is placed; disconnected from any device.

Ricky fiddles with his pockets, pulling out empty wrappers. "It's gone."

"Why?"

"Mariam doesn't like it." Ricky peels a plastic wrapper and settles a lemon cough drop on his tongue. "She sold it so we can have a relationship without any distractions."

"Well, they should've bought the controlers with it." Paul shifts uncomfortably on his seat.

The ice cubes scrap against each other. "You don't look to satisfied with that answer."

"I'm not," Paul admits, his eyebrows scrunched close together, "You've been so, out of it. I haven't seen you hang out with all of us for two months! We're worried, Ricky. It isn't okay at all."

Ricky inhales and sighs, "I don't want to talk about it anymore."

"Whatever, but you need to rethink your life choices. She's not the one, got it? Pick up another girlfriend. Another girl would satisfy you."

"No one could satisfy me," Ricky snaps.

"Then-"

"Break up with her, I know, I know!" Ricky says exasperatedly, "But I can't!"

"… Okay then," Paul grips the handle of the front door, "I'll go."

"Fine. Thanks."

Paul leaves.

Ricky collapses onto his brown leather coach. It's a good thing his parents aren't back from work until 10.

knock knock

"What is it Paul? Did you leave something?" Ricky calls and opens the door.

A frigid pair of amber eyes.

"Rick." She says abruptly.

"Mariam." He replies.

Mariam hands him some Chinese takeout food and smiles. "I've got food for you!"

"T-thanks," He grabs the fast-food and places it on the dining table. He opens the styrofoam containers to reveal the chow mien, fried rice, and orange chicken. The vegetables are dipped in greasy, but delectable sauces. The wisps of heat rises from the food and into the air. He turns towards his girlfriend. "The food smells great."

There is no immediate response. Ricky freezes. His adam's apple drops into the pits of his stomach.

Mariam stiffens. "What happened to your face?"

"I got hit by a classmate."

"Why didn't you hit him back?" Concrete-hard eyes fix onto his back.

"I couldn't."

"Why didn't you hit him back?" She snarls again.

Don't repeat.

"I was hurt and I needed attention," Ricky answers. "Besides, he hit me on accident."

"Ah."

Suddenly, a clenched fist collides with the same place the bruise was. Ricky howls in pain and falls backwards. Mariam straddles on his stomach brandishing her fists, preparing to punch his head. His vision was blurry until it clears after a few seconds.

"You lied," She hisses, "How dare you lie to me."

Ricky escapes by using the remainder of his strength to slither out of the position. After losing her grip on him, her left hand claws at his wrists; her fingernails left light, bleeding lines. 

She swiftly stands in a hunched position, as if she is ready to lunge to kill him. "I though we agreed to be truthful with each other, right?"

Ricky nods hesitantly.

Mariam stands properly, her chin up and her shoulders relaxed. Those actions only made Ricky more tense. Escape. Door. His foot shifts towards the only exit.

"Don't talk about leaving. Don't even think about closing our relationship. You shouldn't suggest doing such a thing, coward." She raised her voice a few notes higher, "Oh, but I don't want to do it, bullsh*t." A scowl. "Utter bullsh*t. You're supposed to like being with me, right? You're supposed to love me!"

"But I do!" Ricky blurts. It was genuine. He does love her. He does, right?

"Then why won't you take our relationship further," She cries, "I'm trying so hard for you to accept me!"

"But that isn't-"

"That isn't what?" She screams, her mood twists 180 degrees. "What is it that I am not doing?"

"I can't take our relationship that far," Ricky feels he is going to hyperventilate. "I'm not capable of sexual intercourse! I already told you this!" He felt his blood dripping on the carpet.

"You're not a sponge, god dammit. You've never even done it before! How are you so sure?" Her hands clasp his arms, her fingernails digs into his skin. "You just don't love me, huh?" She shakes him violently, "Admit it already!"

As Ricky stares at Mariam's face, he notices the wrinkles contorted with confusion and desperation.

Mariam simply needs time to understand.

She can't, he realizes. She can't.

Did he do something wrong?

Slap.

His wounds bleed. It hurts.

Slap.

She isn't Mariam. That wasn't Mariam. Or did Mariam never exist in the first place?

Slap.

Stop it.

Stop it.

Adrenaline kicks into Ricky's head, clearing it of all rational thought. He gives her a left hook on her cheek. A sickening crack. It squeaks and held both of its hands to its face.

"Look what you've done!" It shrieks with a nasally voice, "My nose!"

He runs.

He dashes and picks a subway through the city. His shoes squeak on the filthy, untouched floors of the subway stop. He sluggishly enters the beach, giving meaningless glances at the labeled warning signs. WIth a sense of detachment, he begins to stroll on the sand. The Atlantic Ocean crashes against the shore. The sound drums tranquilly into his ears.

Mariam softly touches his cheek. Kindling ambers radiate from her pupils. Her head is warm and her breath smells of minty toothpaste. As she leans her head on his shoulder, she whispers kind, soft nothings into discussions; vibrations that gently engulf him.

He sits on the ground, cross legged, feeling the sand's collective heat fading into an indifferent nothing.