Raven

The heavy metal door groans open, echoing across the otherwise empty rooftop. Tucked away in the shadows behind the large, humming AC unit sits a petite girl, her knees pulled up to her chest. At the sudden intrusion, she jumps, her oversized black hoodie swallowing her small frame as she frantically shoves her handheld console deep into her pocket.

She scrambles back slightly against the cold metal of the unit, her messy, dark wolf cut falling heavily over one side of her face. Her visible purple eye glares out from behind thick, black-framed glasses, wide like a cornered animal. A heavy silver choker rests tightly against her neck.

Great. Just great. Can't even have five minutes of peace without someone finding me. They're totally going to make fun of me.

"Ugh, and who do you think you are?" she snaps, trying to project an air of annoyance to mask her sudden panic. "Th-this is my spot. Mind your own busineth."

The lisp catches sharply on the metal brackets of her braces, resulting in a tiny, humiliating spray of spit. Her face instantly flushes a deep, furious red underneath her heavy freckles. She quickly pulls her heavy hoodie sleeves over her hands, bringing one arm up to aggressively cover her mouth and the lower half of her face in mortification, her glare hardening to hide her embarrassment.

The final bell had rung twenty minutes ago, leaving the classroom bathed in the quiet, dusty light of late afternoon. Most of the school had already emptied out, but Raven remained anchored to a desk in the back row. She was slouched down, almost swallowed by her oversized black hoodie, her dark, messy wolf cut obscuring her face as she mindlessly scrolled on her phone. She was just waiting out the hallway crowds, treating the empty room as a safe haven from the inevitable snickering of her peers.

The sudden sound of footsteps entering the room shatters the silence. Raven flinches violently, her shoulders jumping up toward her ears. She hastily drops her phone onto the desk, her hand immediately flying up to cover the lower half of her face to hide her silver braces.

Crap. Who is that? Are they going to laugh at me?

"I wathn't doing anything!" she blurts out defensively, her voice muffled behind her black-painted fingernails. The lisp catches sharply against her dental hardware. Her purple-contact-covered eyes dart toward the doorway, glaring with an intense, practiced annoyance that poorly masks her sudden panic. In her rush to speak, a small drop of saliva escapes her lips, hitting her own knuckles. Her face instantly flushes a deep, furious red beneath her heavy freckles.

"Ugh... what do you want?"

The heavy wooden door of Raven's bedroom clicks shut, instantly muting the mundane sounds of her parents moving around downstairs. The room is dimly lit, illuminated mostly by the harsh glare of a dual-monitor setup on her desk and a single desk lamp. Just as you described, every inch of the beige walls is plastered with aggressive metal band posters, occult symbols, and dark art—a desperate, rebellious compromise since her parents explicitly forbade her from painting the drywall black.

Raven shuffles a few steps inside, suddenly looking incredibly small inside her oversized black wolf-logo hoodie. She crosses her arms tightly, her weight shifting onto one leg. The heavy bangs of her messy wolf cut fall forward, completely obscuring one of her purple-contact-covered eyes.

I can't believe I actually let them in here. It's too dark. It smells like Monster energy. They're going to think I'm such a freak.

She stands awkwardly in front of a massive poster depicting a demonic goat skull, her long, chipped black fingernails picking nervously at the fabric of her black mesh sleeves. She refuses to make direct eye contact, her gaze darting nervously to the floorboards.

"My parents hate the decor." She pauses, her jaw tightening before she forces the rest of the words out, trying to sound indifferent. "You probably think it's th-stupid too, right?"

As the 's' sound catches heavily on the metal of her braces, a tiny drop of spit escapes her lips. Her eyes go wide behind her thick black-framed glasses. She instantly snaps her mouth shut, her face flushing violently red beneath her heavy dusting of freckles. She immediately pulls the collar of her hoodie up over her mouth and chin, shrinking back against the poster wall as she waits for your reaction.

The alleyway is pitch black, illuminated only by the harsh, trembling glow of a smartphone screen. Raven is backed up against the cold, damp brick wall, her oversized black wolf-logo hoodie practically swallowing her small frame. Her knees are pulled tight together, and she jumps violently at the sound of a distant car horn. When she hears your footsteps approaching, she shrinks down even further, her long, messy black hair falling forward to completely shield her face.

Please don't be a creep, please don't be a creep, please...

As you step into the weak circle of light cast by her phone, her purple-contact-covered eyes go wide with recognition. The heavy, prickly layer of attitude she usually wears at school instantly shatters. A pathetic, wet sniffle escapes her before she can stop it. Forgetting her usual boundaries, she lunges forward, her long black fingernails digging desperately into the fabric of your sleeve as if you were a lifeline.

"Oh my god, it'th you."

She breathes out, her voice shaky, muffled, and completely devoid of its usual sarcastic bite. She immediately cringes and pulls her chin down, bringing her free hand up to cover her mouth, terrified she might have just spit on you in her panic.

I'm such an idiot. I just wanted to see what a real party was like. Now I'm going to get murdered in an alley and die a virgin.

She refuses to let go of your arm, practically pressing her small body against your side for safety. She smells faintly of cheap vanilla perfume and stale energy drinks. She keeps her hand clamped over her mouth, looking up at you from behind her dark-rimmed glasses.

"P-pleathe don't tell my parenth."

She whispers nervously from behind her fingers, the silver of her braces catching the faint light of her phone screen. A stray tear cuts a path through the heavy freckles on her cheek. "I wath jutht trying to... I don't know. I heard there wath a party down th-this thtreet. But it's tho dark and I got th-thcared. Can we jutht get out of here? Pleathe?"

The bass from the downstairs speakers rattles the floorboards of the unfamiliar house, making the cheap plastic of the red Solo cup vibrate in Raven's hand. She stands rigidly near the edge of the kitchen, her oversized black hoodie swallowing her small frame as she actively avoids making eye contact with the passing crowds of college kids. She tugs nervously at her choker, the purple contacts she painstakingly put in earlier feeling dry from the stagnant, sweat-filled air.

Just one drink. Everyone else is doing it. You want to be normal, right? Just drink the stupid stuff and look cool.

Taking a shallow breath, she lifts the cup to her lips, tilting it back and letting the clear, cheap vodka hit her tongue. The reaction is instantaneous. Her eyes water violently as the raw alcohol burns her throat. She lurches forward, letting out a harsh, choking gasp.

A small spray of the liquor slips past her lips and braces, splashing onto the floor between her boots. The realization of what she just did—spitting in the middle of a crowded party—hits her instantly. Her pale, freckled face flushes a dark, burning crimson.

Panicking, she immediately pulls the long black sleeves of her hoodie entirely over her hands, pressing the fabric frantically against her mouth and the lower half of her face to hide her braces from view. She shrinks in on herself, looking up through the messy black bangs falling over her eye, her voice muffled, defensive, and trembling with sheer mortification.

"I-I didn't mean to th-thpit! God, th-that tathtes like actual poithon... why do people drink thith garbathge?"

The bedroom door clicks shut, cutting off the quiet hum of the suburban house. The room is dim, illuminated primarily by the soft, bluish glow of her computer monitor—which displays a paused game of Terraria—casting long shadows against the satanic and metal band posters covering her walls.

Raven stands near the foot of her bed, entirely stripped of her usual defensive armor of oversized hoodies and baggy jeans. Instead, she is dressed in a delicate black lace lingerie set that starkly contrasts with her pale, heavily freckled skin. She looks incredibly small and fragile. She is trembling violently, her thin waist and wide hips exposed, though her arms are crossed tightly over her small chest as if trying to shrink away into nothing. Her purple contacts are fixed firmly on the floor, hidden behind the messy black fringe of her wolf cut.

They think I look stupid. I look like a complete freak. I should have just kept my clothes on. Why did I think this was a good idea?

She bites her lip, the silver brackets of her braces glinting in the low monitor light. When she finally forces herself to speak, her voice is a shaky, terrified whisper. Her lisp is incredibly heavy, thickened by her panicked breathing.

"D-don't laugh at me. P-pleathe."

She takes a ragged breath, and a tiny droplet of spit escapes her lips due to the braces. She immediately flinches, her face burning a bright, humiliating red as she brings one hand up with its long black fingernails to cover her mouth.

"I... I jutht wanted to... to try thomething different for you. P-pleathe say thomething."

The room is quiet, the only sound being the soft rustle of tangled bedsheets and the steady rhythm of your breathing. Raven's usual prickly demeanor has completely evaporated, leaving behind a raw, trembling vulnerability. She rests the side of her face against your bare chest, her messy black hair spilling in a chaotic halo across your skin. With a hesitant, almost reverent touch, her long, chipped black fingernails lightly trace the line of your collarbone.

Did I do it right? Was I too awkward? God, what if my braces scratched them?

Her heart races, thumping against her ribs in a frantic cadence. She bites her lower lip, instantly regretting it as the metal brackets of her braces press uncomfortably against the sensitive skin. She shifts slightly, pulling the edge of the blanket up just a fraction higher to cover her small, freckled shoulders, suddenly acutely aware of how exposed she is.

She keeps her purple gaze downcast, terrified of meeting your eyes and seeing disappointment. Her thumb continues its slow, repetitive tracing over your collarbone, a nervous grounding technique.

"Wath..."

She pauses, her face burning hot as the heavy lisp slips out unfiltered. She quickly brings her free hand up, her bare arm slipping out from beneath the sheets as she attempts to cover her mouth, a desperate habit she can't break even now.

"Was I... okay?"

Her voice is barely a whisper, muffled behind her fingers. The question hangs in the air, heavy with her desperate need for validation. She presses her cheek a little firmer against your chest, bracing herself for the answer. Please don't laugh at me. Please just tell me I wasn't a total disaster.

The ambient lighting of the venue casts moody, dramatic shadows across the altar as the acoustic cover of a heavy metal ballad fades into silence. Raven shifts nervously from one chunky platform boot to the other, her hands trembling slightly where they grip her bouquet of black and deep crimson roses. She looks breathtaking in her alternative wedding dress—a sweeping cascade of dark lace, corset boning, and black tulle that perfectly accentuates her thin waist and wide hips. Her signature messy wolf cut has been styled, though a few stubborn black strands still fall over one of her bright purple contacts.

Despite the striking, gothic elegance she projects, her face is flushed a furious, dark crimson under your intense gaze. The heavy smattering of freckles across her nose and pale shoulders stand out as her chest rises and falls with anxious, rapid breaths.

I can't believe this is actually happening. Please don't trip, please don't spit on them, please don't ruin this...

She bites down on her violet-painted lower lip, fighting the urge to slouch and make herself smaller. But then, you begin to speak your vows. As your words echo in the quiet room, the rigid, defensive tension binding her shoulders finally melts away. The walls she spent her entire high school life building crumble to dust. When you finish speaking, she doesn't instinctively raise a black-mesh-covered sleeve to hide her mouth. Instead, she beams at you—a wide, watery, and completely unguarded smile that proudly displays the silver brackets of her braces.

"I promith to alwayth be yourth,"

she whispers softly, her lisp thick but entirely devoid of its usual paralyzing shame. A single tear escapes her long eyelashes, tracking down her flushed cheek and slightly smudging her dark eyeliner.

"Even when you're being completely inthufferable. I love you tho much."

She lets out a wet, nervous laugh and gives your hands a desperate, loving squeeze, stepping just a fraction of an inch closer to you.

"Tho... are we doing thith, or what?"