Chapter Text
Terry left on a Tuesday. A perfectly normal day, for a perfectly normal, non-goth, non-warlock, non-seeker of darkness.
She hadn’t planned on leaving, like she hadn’t planned on her dad leaving her before she even had the chance to defend herself, or worse, like she hadn’t planned for her mom to remarry to some guy with the same name as her. As if the remarry part wasn’t betrayal enough. It was like the bubble of blissful ignorance she had lived in her whole life filled enough to burst, and all she was left with was hurt. When the hurt became too much to bear, it became rage.
Terry stared at herself in the locker room mirror, and it was like she could finally see herself for who she was. A fake, prissy, popular soccer jock stuck with a just as fake, and probably prissy, shitty stepdad with the same goddamn name. Well not anymore.
Scary Marlowe ditched soccer practice that day, and rode her bike to the nearest corner store. She used all the money she had to buy black and purple hair dye, the blackest black eyeliner, and a journal with a black cover on it that she decided would be her new slam poetry/songwriting/not diary. Terr-Scary rushed home right after, ignoring her mom’s calls of what she was doing there so early in favor of locking her door and writing the first of many genius poems that would come to her during times of intense emotional pain.
“hello darkness, my new friend
this is our first time speaking, but it won’t be the last
the pain in my soul will never end
and scary’s here to stay, like a personal podcast
made to kill the old me”
She stared at the fresh ink on the page and felt something akin to pride, relishing in the relief that the words brought her. Couplets were cheesy, sure (Terry always loved couplets), but it was a good start for someone trying to change their entire personality in one day. It was like saying that she wouldn’t have to be associated with her dumb old self or her dumb stepdad anymore. Or even slightly anything related to him. Cause she’s not even related to him. Seriously. Scary would be everything Terry isn’t, or wasn’t in the first place.
She chopped her hair off that night, after a lecture from a mom that turned into the first argument they’ve had in years. It was terrifying, and exhilarating, shouting out, “God, you just don’t understand me anymore!” and seeing her mom visibly recoil. It felt like a new superpower, the ability to make parents see the mistakes that they’ve made right in front of them.
Her mom was part of the enemy now. And no matter how much Scary might, ugh, love, or even miss, their closeness, things would never be the same. Veronica was too tight-knit with the man who she even refuses to look at some days, and it felt so fucked up with how seemingly easy it was for her to forget about her dad, to leave behind the idea of them being a family ever again. In her heart of hearts, Scary knows that he would have stuck around if she’d just been better . She’s learned her lesson since then, of course.
Get ready world, because Scary Marlowe was going to be the best.
-
The next day, she told her coach that she would be quitting the soccer team, effective immediately.
“And you can’t change my mind.” She stared at the older man, arms crossed and a strong frown on her face. Scary wasn’t about to let anyone get in her way, even Coach Taylor.
He was shocked at her new appearance, and even more so at the thought that she was quitting the thing that made her the happiest. It wasn’t hard for him to resort to bargaining, then begging, especially because she was the best forward on the team. Scary just rolled her eyes. No matter how good this might have been, everyone was going to have to accept the new her.
The last straw was when he looked at her with pity, leaning down and asking, “Terry, kid. Is everything okay? Everything alright with your mom?” And she scoffed, unwilling to take a handout for this.
“My name is Scary, okay, and everything’s fine, geez! Just get off my back, I’m done playing soccer. God, stop acting like you care, you’re not my dad!” It was a test of her new superpower again, words spitting out like fire and making his face crumple in real time.
She knew the weight behind the words, the man had mentored her since middle school, his own kids already out of the house. Scary stamped down any guilt she felt in favor of stomping away; the combat boots she Amazon Prime’d that morning making messy prints in the damp mud of the soccer field.
It felt good in the moment, and bad after. That was something that she wasn’t used to, feeling bad like this was completely foreign to her until yesterday. Maybe that means that she’d been worse off than she realized. Stuck in a bubblegum pink world, unable to look past the rose-colored glasses and see things for how they really were.
The feelings turned even worse when she learned she was getting detention for the first time in all of her school years ever due to her actions on the field today. Just what she needed, to go to detention with the bad kids.
Suddenly, Scary felt a sliver of happiness sneak up on her. She was going to be in detention with the bad kids. That made her a bad kid. Wow. First day back and already she was riding out on the wave of Goth-ness.
-
Detention wasn’t even that bad.
Like, it was boring as hell and she got way too many looks thrown her way, but it wasn’t like it was hard. Just shut up, do some work, and don’t start shit.
Scary guesses that normal kids were doing homework, except maybe that Normal kid who was sat at the back of the room in the Teeny the Teen costume to ‘boost morale’ amongst the troubled youth in detention. Weird. Either way, she was doing real work, making a plan on how else she was going to change her life around.
‘Terry Scary’s Steps to Kicking Ass and Taking Names’
- Listen to Goth music
- Work on signature
- Unpack Amazon packages (angstily)
- Make your problems everyone’s problems
- Don’t be afraid to curse more
- Don’t give in to Terry(Stampler)
- Learn how to play guitar and form a band
- Ditch the girls
That felt like a start. It was a plan on becoming so metal and so detached from the world that she would become something new and incredible that nobody had ever seen before.
It was like saying that this truly was doable, and not just another flight of fancy that she would give up on in a week. No, this wouldn’t be a phase. This was her real life, being in detention, and dreading the conversation that she was going to have to have with her actual friends.
Scary knew that she couldn’t be with the girls anymore. She was off following her dreams, becoming a new person, and what were they doing? Being silly, being good girls? Or maybe laughing at her? Judging her? Were they ever even friends in the first place? Scary wasn’t sure.
Seeing them after detention really confirmed all of her fears. They didn’t understand why her hair was black, why her eyes were dark, or why she was ‘acting like a real b-word, Terry’.
That was the last straw, she called upon that confidence again, to sever one final tie.
“Shut up, oh my god, you don’t even know what you’re saying. My name is Scary. I’m a Goth. And if you think I’m being such a bitch now, you haven’t even seen me at my worst.”
She looked at their shocked and confused faces, putting on her best ‘I am so sick of this’ look and gestured for them to walk away.
There was a small tug in her chest as they left, but she knew that things would be better this way. Goodbye Erica Drippins. Adios, Margarita Pizza. Farewell, San Dimas Teen High Junior Varsity Soccer Team movie nights. She was a lone wolf now, she had a pack of herself and herself alone to take care of.
She was going to be the best, and the road to the top was often a lonely one, or she’s pretty sure that’s what people say about it. Scary could deal. She was a Goth now, or she would be, when the rest of her Amazon packages got to her house. It’s either Amazon or dealing with the monstrosity that was the Hot Topic in their town, which was least preferable because then she’d have to ask for a ride. Plus, since her mom was mad at her, she’d have to end up turning to he-who-shall-not-be-named. So. Lame.
For now, she would deal. She could do anything she wanted now, really. Scary Marlowe was fucking crazy, but she was free.