CHAPTER ONE 001. Hawkins hierarchy CALL ME- BLONDIE
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ADELADE HAD A MONSTER in her head; one which, like Frankenstien himself, was cobbled together from a series of parts that were never meant to mix.
It had uneven feet. One, made from conversations she overheard during her time in the school gym, was entirely too big to match it's overly skinny legs. The other was only just large enough to keep it steady, which was rather important, as it's legs were compiled from observations, and grew every second she spent avoiding the middle of the room. It's torso was a pot bellied addition made from paranoia and anxiety, while it's arms were made from the music she continued to blast through her ears as the assembly continued. It wasn't rudeness which compelled her to drown out Hawkins in song, but the head of her mental devil, that ballooned three sizes bigger than the rest of the poor creature's frame.
Her Frankenstein had slippery skin and sunken eyes and a mouth that was large enough to swallow her entire frame whole. It was inside this terrorised head where Adelade kept all thoughts of Heather Holloway; securely wrapped in the grief that had swollen everything else.
Adelade's monster was a gargantuan thing. One which could never be stifled or hidden away, unless there was a matter so pressing, that a fog overcame everything else. She had tried almost everything to squash it ( drugs, alcohol, and a multitude of decisions that had ruined the very thing she was trying to maintain ), and yet, the answer had been right in front of her all along.
It wasn't a distraction that she needed. No, her Frankenstein needed a larger opponent — something so uncomfortable and garish, that the freak of nature became nothing more than an addition to the furniture. Like an old family heirloom; the type that completely destroyed the aesthetic of the room, but was too familiar to seem even remotely unusual. Something that might have seemed impossible to find, until Adelade became surrounded by her friends, and was forced to listen to her sister sing.
Then, Addie's hands were placed firmly against her cheeks. Her curly hair only half covered her face and equally dark eyes, which trailed the hustle and bustle of the school gym with an intensity that was rarely seen. As a generous cheer rang around her from both friends and strangers, she found her Frankenstien shrinking; replaced instead, by a hideous gas made from equal parts dread and worry. All she could do to tune out her concern for her sister, was focus on anything which dragged her away from 'centre stage'.
In her subtle desperation, she found herself skimming the shoes on her row of bleachers. She noticed the muddy sneakers and polished loafers around her own Doc Martins shoes, which seemed to stand out with their customised appearance. Even among her friends, her shoes — leather, with small embroidered flowers decorating the side facing other people — were the most excessive. Penelope's Reeboks were almost there, but were brought down by the mud that covered the souls from general wear and tear, and hid the stripe of purple paint she'd added one day during art class.
