I've been trying to write this Jeckole fic for like two weeks now. The idea has a ton of mileage left in it, but I don't think I've got the energy to explore it any further. But I enjoyed what I've written and wanted to share anyway! Do be aware that it explores some heavier themes, so be cautious. See the tags for appropriate trigger warnings. Otherwise, please enjoy!
Chipped nails crept along her skin; tracing the ridged lines of old, half healed scars. Nicole slid her fingers over every bump and crevice; exploring each with an intentional languidity.
Some she remembered. Most she’d forgotten. Strangers, carved into her flesh.
Nicole couldn’t say why she’d used to slice herself so often. True, the rush of that very first stroke of the razor blade had been intoxicating. The welling of blood in the wound. The pain stabbing through her leg. The fucking release. How her brain had completely short wired and simply stopped feeling.
It had been glorious.
Euphoric.
Addicting.
She’d needed it. Craved it. Anything to shut her mind up for once. To muzzle her feelings and not have to deal with the absolute misery that was her life for two goddamn minutes.
But now? Now she’d built up a practical immunity to it. When she tried cutting herself now, her brain barely even registered it. No more than if she’d just gotten a static shock from putting on a sweater. A simple, quick registration that it had happened, and then nothing.
No release. No muting of her emotions. Just…blood.
Blood, with none of the gratification.
So, she’d stopped; switching instead to that solution all hot bitches like herself eventually settled on. Substance abuse.
Pills, alcohol, and whatever she could raid out of her mom’s drug cabinet.
Unlike the razors, they didn’t leave scars. No visible traces to mark her skin. They were cleaner. Better. They didn’t just short wire her brain. They fucking fried it. Burning out every synaptic circuit and plunging the whole thing into a blissful, wondrous blackout.
There was no room for feelings in that joyous darkness. No emotions to snap at her face, like the jaws of some rabid rottweiler. No emotions to stab at her chest, like the traitorous knives of Caesar’s assassins. No emotions to curl around her neck and strangle her, like a hempen noose hanging from the gym rafters.
Just…oblivion. Sweet, sweet emptiness…
Nicole sighed, propping herself up her elbows; joints digging deep into the mattress. Was it worth getting up to try and find a few pills to pop?
Today hadn’t been too bad, she supposed. Her mom hadn’t yelled at her. She hadn’t heard or seen her brother at all. Always a win. And having skipped most of her classes all day she didn’t feel that usual disgusting weight in her stomach that came with dealing with all the pedo teachers or any of her mostly brain dead classmates.
Yeah. Today had been…alright.
And sometimes…most of the time, alright was really as good as life got.
Fuck. Now that’s a depressing ass thought.
Was this really as good as things got? Was her day being merely mediocre actually the best she could hope for out of life?
…maybe getting shitfaced on percs right now was exactly what she needed after all.
Nicole began leveraging herself up off the bed—already savoring the idea of her soon to be high—when her phone abruptly started buzzing.
A quiet, annoyed huff escaped her as she slumped back down onto the mattress.
Goddamnit.
Her hand shot out, grabbing the mobile off the dresser and flipping it open.
It was a text from Jecka.
A picture of…was that a cake? Some basic ass kind of sponge thing, slathered over with neon pink frosting.
Pretty good right? Jecka texted as follow up.
Nicole simply stared at the screen for a moment.
Yeah, I guess? Sorry. Did I miss the memo where you suddenly got into baking or something?
Jecka came back at her fast.
What? A hot bitch can’t bake things now? I just wanted to try something new. Sue me, bitch.
Nicole’s fingertips hovered over her keypad, unsure of how to respond to that. Of all the things Nicole could have expected of her best friend, Jecka suddenly getting into baking of all things was so far down the list that it wasn’t even on the list.
I didn’t say you couldn’t bake bitch. Only that it feels super fucking random. Like, why baking?
Found a recipe in one of my mom’s old cookbooks. Was bored and wanted to try it out. It was actually pretty relaxing, honestly.
Again, Nicole was left floundering for a response. A half dozen acid tipped retorts rose to her tongue. Each snarkier and more viscous than the last.
Like, baking? Seriously?
But, strangely, Nicole found herself hesitating. Jecka seemed genuinely excited about this, as weird as it was, and Nicole didn’t feel like ruining that for her with some smarmy ass wisecrack. If it had been anyone else she wouldn’t have thought twice about doing so. But then this wasn't just anybody else. This was Jecka.
No. Nicole wouldn't spoil this for her. She’d play it safe. Keep it neutral.
Okay. Well, glad you enjoyed it or whatever.
The problem with keeping it neutral—Nicole reflected as she read Jecka’s reply—was that you could only really pull it off if you didn’t sound like an overly snarky, sarcastic bitch all the time. Otherwise people would always assume you were being disingenuous by default. That no matter what you said or how you said it, it would always be assumed you were somehow being a sardonic, condescending cunt about everything.
Really? Well gee, thanks, or whatever. So glad I shared this with you now, or whatever. Not like I thought, hey maybe my bestie would be happy for me or anything. But then I guess I forgot who I was talking to for a second there. That’s my bad, or whatever.
Nicole spammed her keypad. An acidic text forming beneath her fingers.
I was being genuine! What else did you want!? Did you want me to put on pom-poms and waggle my ass in celebration!? Alright then! Whoo! Yay! I’m fucking happy for you! You made a fucking cake! Yay! Go Jecka!
Her finger hovered over the send button. A slight application of pressure and it would go. Nicole frowned at the words. At the bile on screen. She imagined Jecka reading it.
Something clenched in her chest.
She deleted the message. And wrote back a single word instead.
Sorry.
A long minute passed before Jecka responded.
Whatever. Guess I’ll see you at school tomorrow, or whatever.
Nicole dumped the phone onto bed and groaned, grinding the palms of her hands into her eyes. Was she really having drama with Jecka now over a fucking cake!?
God. Now I definitely need to get shitfaced.
It was that or slit her wrists and try to bleed out…
…no…too much effort.
Shitfaced it was.
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