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Sublime Awakenings	By : Kailean Category: Comics > Squee! Views: 1478 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Squee!, JTHM, or Invader Zim, nor any of the characters from these works. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 13
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Sublime Awakenings: Chapter 14

The room was a soft pink; not at all the color he had expected it to be. There were posters of pop stars covering older posters of a more sinister nature, which the purple-haired teen had obviously been too lazy to take down before redecorating. Only one of the older posters was left uncovered: a heartagram above the bed they were both sitting on. Signed Happy Noodle Boy comics were spread on a lite purple comforter that was bespeckled with little hearts.

“I want to thank you Squee,” She was smiling that sweetly unnatural smile again. It, and her voice, reflected hidden pernicious intent. “for getting me Johnny's signature.”

Squee was filled with a nervous excitement. He wasn't sure if it was fear or anticipation, but as the girl crept across her bed, in his direction, with feline-like grace he felt it building steadily. He found himself leaning back as she reached him and kept crawling, right into his lap.

“I want to thank you for being such a nice guy.” Gaz's smile only grew as she leaned over him, and pulled the boy back toward her, her black fingernails nearly ripping holes in the fabric of his shirt.

As his face was drawn closer to hers their eyes locked. Something was wrong. Hers were completely unnarrowed and full of a distracted, far away look. They were full of emptiness; of nothing. He tried to pull away, but she was surprisingly strong. He attempted to voice a protest, but before the words could escape their lips were pressed together hard.

His eyes closed, and he could almost suppress the sense of foreboding. Her lips were kind of nice, even if they were covered in sticky gloss. He gasped when he felt her warm tongue trace his bottom lip, allowing it to enter his mouth. A warm and tingly sensation shot through his abdomen for a brief moment as their tongues played together. Her lip gloss was cherry flavored.

The bubble of contentment was ruptured when she pinned him roughly to the bed, and clamped down on his mouth with her own open discerningly wide. Her tongue forced his own to his lower jaw as something that wasn't her tongue brushed his lips. Gaz's mouth muffled his scream when two sharp, small claws embedded themselves in his gums, and used them as leverage to thrust the thing to which they were attached into his mouth. Once set lose inside, the thing went into a frenzy; lacerating his mouth with multiple claws that hadn't been able to reach him before, and pressing forward into his throat, blocking his windpipe.

Gaz released his mouth, but retained her grip on his body. He struggled in vain as she smiled down at him, seemingly oblivious to his plight. “I just know you're going to love your gift, Squee. It's so much better when you're part of the collective.”

Squee continued to scream as consciousness slowly returned to him, but the scream was once again muffled. When his sleep induced paralysis lifted he tore the offending object from his face: a pillow. He caught his breath as his bedroom light entered his retinas, making him see colorful dots on the ceiling. He laughed softly to himself in an attempt to affirm normality. It had been a dream. A horribly mortifying, yet sickeningly cliché dream, but a dream all the same.

A dream that was all Nny's fault. He had, cautiously, paid a visit to his scary neighbor's house after work in order to obtain the signed comics he had promised Gaz earlier that night. He had finally been allowed to leave, with the comics in tow, after an hour and a half of being forced to eat “Sketti-Os” and listen to stories of Nny's latest encounters of the social (and therefore bloody) kind.

Okay, so he hadn't been physically forced, but it was Johnny so maybe “unintentionally intimidated” would be a better description. Along the way he had been unintentionally intimidated into admitting that he wanted the signed copies for the “scary purple-haired fan-girl” from the Mall, leading Nny to conclude that he had a crush on her. After crashing into that brick wall of a plainly disturbing conclusion, Johnny had proceeded to to give Squee exactly what he needed: dating advice from Mr. “immortalize the moment”. The only thing that could possibly top that would be parenting advice from the boarders.

He let out an exasperated sigh. Sitting up, Todd glanced out his window to see that the sun had yet to rise. The time on his cell phone read six AM. It was too late for more sleep, but too early to get ready for skool. With a shrug he hauled himself from the bed, and prepared to do his art homework. It wasn't due until the end of next week, but if his recent experiences were any indication, he could use all the head-start he could get.

He set up an easel and canvas between his bed and bookcase, facing the door. It was always important to make sure you're facing doors or windows. He gave the window behind him another glance, this one paranoid, but decided that Johnny had been appeased for the night. Giving his room a quick once over, he figured that his creepy old teddy bear would have to do for a still-life. He placed Shmee in a sitting position on the foot of his bed before hastily mixing some cheap, store-bought paint.

He could feel himself enter an almost hypnotic calm as he painted the tattered thing that had once been his best friend. Time seemed to slip away like bloody water down a drain as the bear slowly appeared on the canvas, looking even more eerie than in real life. Its hollow, black eyes were more piercing. Its one-toothed grin was more sadistically ecstatic. As Todd was about to add a shadowy outline that resymboled a dark aura around the bear, he was interrupted.

His bedroom door was slammed open so hard that when it hit it left a small hole in the drywall. His dad stumbled in groggy and irritated. He was dressed for work, and in the process of putting the final touches on his tie.

“When I went to bed last night this light was on. Every time I got up to pee or get a drink this light was on. This fucking light is still on! Did you even sleep last night? What the hell is this?!” He gestured to the canvas. He broke his scowl for a moment to search his pockets for his morning nicotine fix.

"Can't you see I'm trying to express my teenage angst through art? And didn't I ask you not to smoke it my room?" Squee groaned internally. He tried his best to ignore his “parents”. He really did. So why did this man always have to confront him about such trivial matters? It wasn't as if the light being on affected him, or he actually cared if his kid stayed up all night.

“You're not going to become an art fag now, are you? That's all that I need.” He finally retrieved a pack of Cancer Lites from his pocket before placing one in his mouth, and beginning the search for his lighter. “And let me tell you something, dependent. This is my house. I pay the bills here, so all these rooms are mine. You're just some useless little brat who has brought me and your poor mother nothing but trouble since the cursed day that you were born. So in my house, I'll smoke where I damn well please. You got that?”

Squee could feel his metaphorical thermometer rising. It wasn't so much the words, which he had heard thousands of times as a child, but the tone that annoyed him. That, and that he was still standing there trying to pick a fight or assert some type of make-believe dominance. The cigarette that he was now in the process of lighting wasn't doing anything to brighten the teen's mood either. In his peripheral vision he spotted his paint sealer, which was chemically equal to hairspray, sitting innocently on his bookshelf.

“Sure.” As he picked the sealer up, he couldn't help the ironic smile. His sperm donor missed it as he was busy trying to get his nearly empty lighter to work. As he bowed his head toward the lighter, and finally managed to produce a flame Squee sprayed a thick and heavy layer of flammable fluid directly on the cigarette, and consequently the flame and his “dear old dad's” face.

All three ignited in a mini burst of fiery doom. His father dropped both items before running around the room and screaming hysterically. He soon ran into a wall, fell down and continued screaming hysterically.

Squee casually dumped the cup of water he had been using to clean his brush on the still burning cigarette, and calmly resumed painting. “That's much better.”

As his father finally regained enough common sense to pat out the flames on his head and run from the room, probably to a nearby sink, Todd looked back to Shmee for more inspiration. A icy spike of terror ran through his veins. The bear looked even creepier than his painting. It was as if it was soaking itself in all the negative energy in the room, and becoming maddeningly drunk on it. He suddenly felt an instinctive impulse to put Shmee in a blender, and watch his fake coat be shredded until there was nothing left, but fluffy cotton bear guts. The thought made his stomach flop. Even if it was just a toy, Shmee had been the closest thing he had to a family for a long time.

“Tsk. Tsk. Tsk.”

The boy's head automatically turned to the door, expecting his father to commence with round two. Nothing. He looked to the window. Nothing. This was starting to get a little too familiar.

“Temper, temper little Todd. You don't want to end up like the scary neighbor man, now do you? Feel like trading in that paint for blood yet?”

He slowly looked back to the bear before forcing himself to scan the rest of the room. “Who's there?”

“You need me, Todd. You need me to soak up all the hate and fear so it won't stay in you.”

The fear was building, and this time it was a hot, fiery fear, the kind he used to feel late at night whenever he would imagine that there was a bogyman in his room. He would hide under the blankets and rationalize it away, slowly fighting back the fear. He would take several quick peeks out from under them to find nothing there. And then, when he finally worked up the courage to look under the bed he would find it there: crouching in the darkness, rocking back and forth with hunger or insanity. Then the heat would peak. It would set his brain on fire, freezing his reactions as solid as ice. He would be trapped there, and it would slowly turn to look at him, smiling ludicrously with too many sharp teeth.

The exact same feeling was upon him as he turned, once again, back to the bear. He stared at the unmoving form, building courage. The surreal heat coursed through his body in waves. He sallowed a hard lump in his throat before asking in a shaky voice. “Sh-Shmeee?”

The bear's smile seemed grow even wider as his face tilted slightly to look at his boy. “So you do remember. I was starting to think you had forgotten your old friend, Shmee.”

Squee said nothing, but he could feel his head slowly shaking back and forth. He was unsure if he was affirming that he hadn't forgotten, or denying what was before him. Maybe both. “You're n-not real.”

“I assure you, I am quite real my boy. Just as real as your need for me.”

The teen stared, wide eyed in horror. He was slowly, and involuntarily, backing up, but there was only a wall behind him. So consumed with fear was he, that he didn't notice himself stepping on the glass he had left on the floor until it was too late. There was a shattering sound as his foot came down too far and too fast behind him, and he slipped. He fell backwards, into the bookcase, knocking the paint and other random objects down upon himself. He hit the floor, cutting his leg on the glass, staining his clothes and banging his head on the corner of the shelf.

The next thing he knew, his father was back, having treated and wrapped his burnt head, screaming insults and threats, and asserting his authority. Apparently this was his “last final warning”, just like the last three times he had heard it that week. Somehow he managed to look somewhat appropriately affected, probably due to the glass stabbing him in the leg and the throb of his head, and his father left for work.

Squee raised his leg to pull out the glass shard before looking up at Shmee, who was still sitting on the edge of his bed, but looked less...possessed. Even so, it probably wasn't a good idea to look too long. He rose as carefully as possible, avoiding the glass, and stuffed the bear beneath his covers. He showered quickly, because by the looks of things he was already late.

Throwing open his closet, he chose a random pair of jeans. He felt like a shirt with a tag liner today. It was a toss up between “Stop the world, I wanna get off.” and “I was born—wait, it gets worse.” His father had actually given him the second one as an expression of his hate, but he had agreed with the statement so much that he kept it anyway.

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Notes:

-The heartagram is the symbol is HIM (His Infernal Majesty): A love metal band.
-Cancer Lite is a brand name from Xand of Terra's comic, which can be found on Deviantart.
-“Stop the word, I wanna get off” and “I was born—wait, it gets worse.” are both quotes.
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- 15
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Sublime Awakenings