it tears through my head, does it haunt you too? -- 5420 words

Rosemary had let the Changeling clock out a little early today.

This does not actually mean much, because Augustus is the one who actually drives it home after work, and her own shift will not end until she finishes shutting down the store after it closes in approximately 25 minutes.

So, in actuality, Changeling is just stuck sitting on the couch in the comic section instead of sitting in a chair in the back office. Augustus is the one left stuck on the front register, knowing that the only things standing between her and finally getting to go home are the two customers in the stacks who will not leave.

Really, given the circumstances, Augustus is the one being forced to endure inconvenient suffering this evening. She feels as though she has never been more aware of the passage of time as she is right now, when every individual moment seems to be passing with excruciating slowness. Changeling can do whatever it wants to over on its couch, but Augustus still has to go through the motions of doing her job and trying to look 'attentive' for whenever those customers decide they'll finally come up to her register.

Augustus really hopes it will be soon — she is notoriously bad at having to wait for things.

She squirms restlessly some more, hands clenching awkwardly at her sides in a poor attempt to be subtle as she casts her gaze around the store. She thinks she's looking to see where the customers are, but isn't very surprised when she finds herself looking at the Changeling again instead. Despite the agony of Augustus' own impatient understimulation, it has actually been rather nice to have the Changeling at the front like this. The two of them have been working together for a few weeks now, but Augustus does not often get to spend actual time with it while they are on the clock. She is usually working at the registers at the front of the store, where Changeling almost never leaves the office in the back, so they do not actually tend to overlap with one another.

So, it is kind of nice to get to see it at work for once, although the Changeling is not actually working, currently. It is still present here, where Augustus can see it from her register and watch it as it sits in the patch of sun where it is setting, rocking back and forth slightly with its legs tucked up underneath it. She keeps catching herself looking at it — little glances stolen out of the corners of her eyes, like she is checking to make sure it is still there. Every time she sees that it is, she feels a little steadier, like some nerves she didn't even know about are getting soothed. So at least that's nice.

But it's not the same as being at home, obviously. Augustus is still stuck listening to the obnoxious Top 40 list being played out over the store speakers, and squinting out under the too-white lights overhead, while she tries to look attentive for two customers who probably aren't even paying attention. She can tell Changeling isn't very happy about it either. It is better at being patient than Augustus is, but she can still see it scowling unhappily under its sunglasses, and it keeps reaching up to tug on its dog ears self-consciously, adjusting the headband in little, compulsive fits. If things were very bad for it, it would have come to get Augustus' keys so that it could wait in her car, but even if it can handle it for now, Augustus knows it never likes to sit in public — it can never get comfortable when other strangers can see it.

It'd be really nice if these customers could go ahead and hurry up then, so that she can Changeling could just leave already.

"God, I know, just look at him," one titters to the other as they finally begin to meander their way slowly to the front. They approach closely enough for Augustus to get her hopes up and stop swaying in order to look 'attentive' for when they get to her register, but her hopes are dashed when they appear to get distracted by one of the line displays, halting their progress. Augustus bites back the urge to groan in frustration.

"It's crazy!" the second customer squeals. Their voices are hushed, like they are trying not to be overheard. Augustus clasps her hands together tightly, for a moment attempting to readjust her attention as best as she can manage it  onto the overhead music, to be courteous, as eavesdropping is rude. She has never been very good at this, however, which is why she hears it when the customer continues, "The sunglasses and the dog ears? Like there's so much going on there."

The words take a moment to connect right in her head, but a very hot feeling spikes in Augustus' throat the second they do. She tangles her fingers together and yanks until they ache a little; she does not know if it is better to keep listening or try to stop. She casts an anxious glance toward the Changeling, and feels only the slightest bit relieved on its behalf to confirm that it has its headphones on. She does not know what she is supposed to do.

"Just when you think those kids who like, hiss and growl on the playground could grow up normal," the customers continue to laugh, heads bent together. "Do you think he'd bark if we said something to him?"

"Don't even joke — did you see the look on his face? He's probably crazy; I'm surprised they even let him in here."

Augustus cannot figure out what to do about this, and it is making it difficult for her to catch her breath. Her chest feels as though it is buzzing with nerves; her head does not feel much better. Something like a memory pulls on the back of her neck, and Augustus flinches from it before it can coalesce. Her hands feel numb and sweaty, but she is too nervous to even shake them out — frozen and uncertain.

One time, a customer on the phone had gotten mad and asked to talk to a different manager because they said Augustus' lisp was too hard to understand. When Augustus had transferred them to Rosemary, she had scolded the customer for being mean instead of yelling at Augustus. Today, though, Rosemary had left when she'd told the Changeling it could leave — she is not around for Augustus to ask for help this time, and Augustus cannot remember well enough what she had said to repeat it herself. The realization just makes her feel even worse — torn between the frustration of not being able to think clearly enough to come up with a solution, and something hot and shameful, that she can't figure out how to handle it without asking someone else for help.

Then one of the customers pulls out their phone, and Augustus startles so badly she thinks she almost throws up.

"I can ring you up if you are ready," she blurts loudly, hands tangled anxiously in the front of her flannel. This is not necessarily conducive to stopping the customers from insulting Changeling further, but maybe if Augustus can just get them rung up, they will get distracted and leave before they can keep laughing with each other, or try to do something worse like take a photograph of her friend without its permission just so they can keep making fun of it. Maybe Augustus can't stop them, but she can maybe just get rid of them instead.

"Oh, yeah, thanks," the first woman says, and Augustus lets out a little breath of relief when the customer puts her phone back in her pocket to bring her books up to the counter. Usually, Augustus has a script for customers when they do that, but she is too frazzled to remember what it is before she starts scanning things. She resolves to just go as quickly as she can when the customer asks, "Does that guy hang out here a lot?" into the empty space left behind instead.

Augustus stumbles, halting awkwardly in the middle of opening a bag for the books, remembering too late that she was supposed to ask about that right as she tugs it through the air to open it up the right way. "Do you need a bag?" she asks on that belated impulse, before she can even find words to think about the question she had been asked. She feels the back of her neck go hot with embarrassment, but cannot figure out why she even cares.

"Hm? Sure," the woman answers, right at the very same time her friend asks, "Does he always have those ears on?"

There is so much laugh in her voice that even Augustus can hear it, plain as day. The very hot feeling in her chest intensifies further, so big and overwhelming that it makes her throat ache, and Augustus almost feels like she can taste it on the back of her tongue — sharp and metallic. It is a very old feeling, a very familiar one.

Augustus does not like it.

"You are being mean," she chokes out before she can stop herself, shoulders hitching up uncomfortably as she clumsily clicks through the rest of the register screens. "Your total is 31.98," she adds stiffly, because she has to, even though she would really prefer it if they'd just leave without waiting for the books at all. Augustus feels shaky and sick; she digs her nails into the center of her palm and tries to remember how to breathe.

(This is not a new situation. It is one that Augustus is very familiar with, one that she should be used to, but she still never knows what to do with herself in the face of it. A lot of kids had left Augustus alone, because she had always been one of the biggest kids in her schools, but plenty of them knew that she was very easy to trick and tease and laugh at no matter how much bigger than them she was. Augustus should be used to it, but even all these years later she still feels very sick to think about it. She and Changeling do not talk about it, but Augustus knows that people have been very mean to it too, especially when it was younger. Changeling is not very big at all. Augustus does not like to think about it; she likes being confronted with it to her face even less.)

"It's not mean," the customer who does not actually appear to be buying anything says. Her tone is sharp, like Augustus is the one who had offended her somehow. Augustus feels her face twitch in a series of winces and tries not to recoil, putting the receipt in the bag and wanting very badly for this all to be over already. "Haven't you noticed how strangely he's behaving back there?"

Augustus swallows thickly, hands tense and shaking. "You are being mean," she reasserts, because they are. She cannot tell if they really think that they are not, but they are. "He is not hurting anyone," she adds, because they said 'strange' like they meant 'dangerous', and that is absurd.

(She very carefully does not call Changeling 'it' to these women, because they are strangers, and Changeling's pronouns are only for its friends to know and use — it had told her so. They said 'he', so Augustus does too. Even though it makes the sentence feel strange in her throat, the secret feels very big and important in Augustus' chest. She does not know what to say to get the customers to stop making fun of her friend, but at least she can protect it this much.)

"We were just concerned," the customer says, picking up the bag with her books in it.

Augustus wants to yell for them to just get out already; she does not think she is allowed to raise her voice at customers, even if it would be warranted. "Well, don't," she manages to say instead, her tongue trips clumsily in her mouth, but at least it did not come out shouting. "He is not doing anything wrong just because you don't like his clothes. It is not nice to laugh at people."

One of them makes a scoffing noise in her throat; Augustus' chest goes hot, like maybe she thinks she should not have said that. She isn't sure what is behind the feeling — the Changeling is very private, so maybe she should not say too much about it to these people, even in its defense; or maybe she is worried about upsetting these women, even though she does not actually care what they think, things could always get worse if Augustus pushes back too far. She remembers that well enough.

"Is there a manager we could speak to about these concerns? I would have thought you'd take customer safety more seriously than this," the customer's friend asks, saying the word concern very hard like that will somehow make it more true.

Augustus wants to cover her ears and hide behind the counter and not have to be a part in this interaction anymore. What are you accomplishing with this? she does not ask. "I am the only manager on shift right now," she says instead, adjusting her shoulders anxiously, "because the store closed two minutes ago. Can you leave?" she asks, before she can pause to take the time to think of the 'right' way to ask that question. She is very tired all of a sudden; she does not want to expend anymore effort than she already has on this conversation.

She fixes her stare on the flat surface of the counter, and thinks of old lunch tables, and does not move or say anything else.

"Well," one of them snips. "We won't be shopping here again, then."

Good, Augustus does not snap back. That would not accomplish anything either. "Have a nice day," she says instead, the words stumbling out of her mouth almost on automatic instinct as they finally back away from her register and start to walk towards the exit door.

Augustus watches them storm away out of the corners of her eyes, making sure that they do not come back or try to approach the Changeling or try to take their phones out again, and breathes out the anxious breath that has been caught in her lungs when the door finally closes behind them without incident.

Her hands are still shaking when she goes to lock the door. Augustus brushes the tears out of her eyes and tries not to think about it any further.

Changeling often wears headphones while it is out in public.

Rarely does it ever actually listen to anything with them.

So, when the two customers left in the store while Changeling waits for Augustus' shift to end begin to talk about it, laughing and exchanging insults with one another, Changeling hears it all.

Their words are nothing Changeling has not heard before. It has been wearing its ears in public since it was in middle school — it has heard almost every kind of insult there is to hear about them. The Changeling is not oblivious to the fact that people think the ears are weird, it just does not care. People made fun of it before it started wearing them, and they made fun of it after. If someone wants to laugh at it, they will find some reason to laugh; Changeling will not bother to play the game of attempting to preempt every possible avenue of insult to protect itself, it knows well enough that it could never succeed in hiding them all.

It has been a while since it has heard these things, of course, but that is only because before this job, Changeling had not really left its house in years. When it had decided to try employment, and Augustus had sworn that Rosemary was nice and would not protest Changeling's ears or sunglasses or anything else about it, Changeling had still known to be prepared to face the insults again. It would only be a matter of time before someone decided they had something to say.

Therefore, it is not a shock when that time finally comes. Changeling listens to them laugh at it, and sits very carefully in its spot on the couch, and feels the sun on its skin and smooths the fur on its ears between its fingers, and thinks to itself that they are not even very original about their insults at all.

(Changeling has faced bigger villains. Ones who grabbed at it in locker rooms and called it dyke and pervert and retard and stole its homework and yanked on its ears and tail and shouted over its shoulders and poured water on its clothes and shoved it in hallways and... Well, there was a reason why Changeling had never actually finished high school.)

It keeps listening as they walk around and past it, up to the registers. It is usually better to know than to be left wondering, and it is certainly for the best to keep track of where they are in the environment, so that it cannot be caught off-guard should they decide to try to approach it to escalate things directly. That is the purpose of wearing the headphones without listening to anything, after all — the Changeling does not like to be sneaked up on, or caught off-guard, it is always better to give oneself the upper hand.

It is all very typical. Almost boring. At least until it hears Augustus' voice, loud and clear: "You are being mean."

At that, Changeling finds itself taken aback, although it is careful to not react. Augustus had spoken too loud, because she often does, but her voice had a wavering edge to it that Changeling does not recall having heard from her before. It steals a glance at the registers out of the corner of its eyes — it can see her face, because she is taller than both the strangers, but it cannot see the rest of her body behind the register and the counter. It wishes it could see, it realizes; it can never tell very much by looking at people's faces, but it can read Augustus' stimming rather well by now.

Something strange feels caught inside of its rib-cage, though. It does not really understand what or why. Perhaps it is worried about Augustus? But it has felt that before, and that does not feel right. Or, at least not wholly right.

Then it thinks that it is not sure if it has ever heard anyone else speak in its defense before. Not really. The feeling in its throat intensifies at the thought, sharp and aching.

(Adults would interfere, occasionally, in the cases when things would get more physical or destructive than usual. Adults would also, much more often, look back at Changeling — left trembling and irate in the wake of a confrontation — and say, "You certainly don't make it easy for yourself, do you?". Changeling is awful at interpreting other people's intentions, it always has been, but even it could tell which response they had meant more.)

It sways uncertainly in its seat, and continues to listen as the women pivot from making fun of Changeling to talking as though they are afraid of it now. This is also old ground retread; Changeling had frequently found itself labeled as a threat for biting other children, or for shoving back when other people shoved it first, or for the times it would get so upset that it would hurt itself and break things, or even just because it had to use the same locker room as other people. These women do not know any of that, though — there is no well-established rumor pool in this store — so Changeling finds it difficult to believe them. It has seen enough horror movies to know that people do not often take the time to point and laugh when they are frightened, after all.

"You are being mean," Augustus reaffirms, unswayed, and shuttles the customers out of the store swiftly afterwards, and goes to lock the doors behind them.

The tension Changeling had stored in its legs, just in case it would have to stand up and run, fades. It watches surreptitiously as Augustus shakes out her arms and shifts her weight from foot to foot, and hears her hum out an anxious noise before whispering, "Okay, it's okay, they left," to herself, almost inaudible underneath the sound of the radio. 

Augustus returns to the register to finish closing out the store. The Changeling rocks back and forth where it sits, and tries to understand.

People do not stand up for it. Truthfully, Changeling supposes they have no reason to. Most of the things the Changeling has been mocked for are, of course, objectively true. It is a dyke, it is autistic, it is weird, and it knows these things about itself. Everyone else knows it, too.

"You certainly don't make it easy for yourself, do you?", "We can intervene with what we see, but maybe you need to have a serious talk with your daughter about not provoking the other students so much", "Why didn't you at least try to be normal?". Everyone says it, in one way or another. They do not stand up for the Changeling because there are no lies to defend it against; it is its own fault it always finds itself in this circumstance. 

Perhaps the Changeling could have earned their protection, if it was ever willing to subject itself to the requirements that protection seemed to demand. It never had, though, because it had never wanted to. Changeling has never been particularly smart, but it is not a fool — sitting still and taking off its ears and tail and carefully policing its voice and face and interests would not save it. Other people can see through its thin attempts at masking no matter how hard it could try. The goalpost is constantly moving, pulling back again and again every time Changeling could find itself near one. It will not play the game of trying and failing to preempt every possible avenue of insult to force itself into a different shape, not when it knows well enough that it could never succeed in the effort.

So, it did not bother. People would insult it no matter what it did, so it might as well do what it liked. If that meant it was left to fight its battles on its own, then it would be fine with that. Changeling had always been a lone wolf; it was used to this.

Augustus is something new. Something unexpected. But perhaps the Changeling should have anticipated that — Augustus is very unlike anyone Changeling has ever met before.

The thought is only reaffirmed when Augustus comes to the couch to get it after she has clocked out. She approaches from the front, even though the back of the store is set almost directly behind the couch Changeling sits on; she goes through this effort only because she knows Changeling does not like to be sneaked up on.

Something in the Changeling's chest is wound too tightly for Changeling to feel particular warmth at the thought, but it thinks it can feel a flicker of the sentiment anyway.

"Ughh, today was long," Augustus complains as they walk to her car, her footsteps very large and stomping. Her voice is not shaking like it had when Changeling had overheard her earlier, but her hands are still very restless as they swing at her sides. "Can I come over? I want to watch a show with you."

Changeling is very nearly confused, before it realizes abruptly that Augustus has no reason to know it does not listen to music when it wears headphones in public. She has no reason to think it had overheard those women laughing at it, so she has no reason to think to mention it, and is clearly not going to go out of her way to tell Changeling about it. It feels strangely like it has stumbled on a missed stair-step at this, like Augustus has disrupted an unspoken routine, but then cannot imagine a scenario in which it would like it if Augustus were to trot out a series of insults she had heard levied at it when it was not present. Even though the sentiments were not her own, they would still sting from her mouth.

It swallows the strange taste on the back of its tongue and redirects its gaze out the window, watching the streetlights as they begin to turn on.

(Tiffany used to tell it everything, it thinks, when she had begun coming to Changeling's house after it could no longer continue to force itself to endure the tribulation that was public school. Their friendship had only sprung into existence because she had wanted to apologize, for her hand in the torment that had driven it out, but she had continued to tell it the things other people said about it in its absence. She said she would have preferred to know, so Changeling had thought that it must be better to know than to be left wondering. Looking back, Changeling thinks maybe it would have preferred not to be told at all. Had that not been exactly why it had left?)

"Yes, come over," Changeling finally answers, and tries to find the thread of their usual back-and-forth regarding which shows are best and which among them they should watch. Instead, the tight feeling in its chest emerges all at once as a question: "Do you wish we knew each other in high school?"

Changeling looks very fixedly out of the passenger window. It had not known it was going to ask that.

"Yeah," Augustus answers promptly. "Well, I mean, we wouldn't have, just because I am older than you, obviously. You were in middle school when I was in high school, and then when you got to high school, I was graduated," she continues on, pedantic, but Changeling cannot hold it against her. "But I still think about it sometimes. Like, maybe if I had always lived here, we would have met after school one day or something, and we could have been friends even as kids. It would have been cool. I would have liked to be childhood friends with you."

"Do you think we would have been?" Changeling asks, insistent, feeling a little skeptical and not immediately knowing why.

("Why didn't you just try to be normal?" Tiffany had asked, too blunt, because she often is.)

("I did not want to," Changeling had answered, too incomplete, because it always has been.)

"Yes, totally," Augustus answers, quick, as though she does not even have to think about it. "'Cause I liked Yu-Gi-Oh way more when I was younger, so we would have played together. I was kind of scared of dogs, I guess, but you were just a puppy, so you wouldn't have scared me. Or, mm, maybe you would have, but I would have talked to you anyway because I like Yu-Gi-Oh that much, and then I wouldn't have been scared of you after."

She hums out a noise low in her throat, which means she is still thinking about saying something, so Changeling does not interrupt. "It would have been nice, to be your friend," she says eventually, quieter. Changeling glances at her out of the corner of its eyes — she is looking out at the road because she is a safe driver, but her hands are very tight on the wheel. Tighter than usual, it thinks, watching her fingernails pluck restlessly at the leather. "It would have been nice. I didn't have very many. I'm- People didn't bother me, too, too bad, because I was always like, the biggest kid in school," she says, the words coming so quickly they run into each other unsteadily, strange-paced and pressured in her throat. "But. I'm. It would have been nice to be your friend for my whole life. It would have been fun."

The Changeling looks back out of the passenger side window and lets out the breath caught in its lungs. Carefully, it lets itself imagine it. Even though they are not the same age, it would have been nice, to have a place to go after the school day had ended, to be able to forget the awful things that had happened and replace them with something better. Things would only have been better, if they could have been in the same grade as each other. Augustus always says she has always been exactly how she is now; it would have been nice, to know someone like her when it was younger. They really could have been friends for their whole lives.

("They said awful things, and they all laughed at you. And I laughed too, because it was easier, because it was what they did," Tiffany had confessed that first afternoon, teary, and Changeling had stood behind its mother in the doorway, and wondered if she was saying so only because they had been friends when they were much younger. Later, it wondered if she even remembered they had been friends once at all. "And then you stopped showing up, and I thought it was all my fault.")

("It was not," Changeling had told her, and that was something incomplete too.)

Maybe Changeling could have even finished high school, it thinks idly, staring up at the moon. If other kids had truly left Augustus alone, then maybe it would have been left alone too, if she was there next to it. Then again, Changeling reconsiders, Augustus cannot always tell when she is being messed with, and she is not very good at speaking up for herself. She is likely understating how bad things had been, for her. Maybe it is more likely that the Changeling would have had to defend her, then; if she had not had friends when she was younger, then perhaps they are the same, and no one had defended her either. She deserves someone who would stand up for her — Changeling could have been good at that. It has never been very good with words, but it has got a very mean bite.

Changeling had been something of a rabid dog when it was younger, but maybe if it had known Augustus it would not have had to be.

There is not much use thinking about it either way, though, it concludes, bringing itself back down to reality. Changeling and Augustus are not the same age, and Augustus' family did not move here until her younger sister was the one in high school, and so Changeling and Augustus did not meet until they were in their twenties, and that is the only way it has ever been, and therefore the only way it will ever be.

Maybe it is for the best they had not met until they were older. Changeling had been something of a rabid dog when it was younger, the kind of angry that no one else knew what to do with. Maybe it is for the best that they had not met until they were in their twenties, after Changeling had all those years to learn how to breathe out and shed the hurt like old fur instead of always locking its jaw tight around it. Maybe they had met at just exactly the right time.

Maybe it does not matter either way. Time travel does not exist in real life, no matter what you want from it.

Still. "It would have been fun," it agrees, and leans its head against the window so that it can glance at Augustus from the corner of its eye.

She does not look back, because she is still focused on driving, and Changeling cannot decipher the look on her face, but the sun shines behind her like it wants to prove a point, and Changeling feels itself want so intensely it almost feels sick with it.

And then it does not want to think about any of it anymore.

"We should watch Yu-Gi-Oh," it says eventually.

Her answering smile is, at least, easy to interpret.