Evil Walks
Chapter Four: Bad Reputation
“I don't give a damn 'bout my bad
reputation
You're living in the past, it's a
new generation
A girl can do what she wants to do
And that's what I'm gonna do
And I don't give a damn 'bout my bad
reputation
Oh no, not me.”
The smoke burning
her throat as Deanna inhaled on her cigarette felt so damn good.
Deanna Wesson knew well that nothing in life came without pain, and
hey, pain was a sign that she was still alive. Still alive and out of
Hell – for now. Then again, dealing with Johnny certainly made her
life a living Hell.
She used to idolize
Johnny. No shit, it's the truth. He was her big hero, the one she
swore would always protect her and her baby brother from the demons
coming after them. For years she looked up to him, tried to do
everything he said and live up to his expectations, and ignored the
way he fell apart after losing her mother. She also overlooked the
fact that he called her “son” and pretended that she wasn't a
girl, since anything feminine would remind him of him of his late
wife.
Then Deanna hit
puberty; and it became a lot harder for Johnny to ignore her growing
femininity (AKA boobs), and it was a hell of a lot harder for Deanna
to continue putting up with Johnny's bullshit as she grew
increasingly disillusioned with her hero.
At age twelve, she
got her period, and Johnny refused to buy her tampons. That was the
last fucking straw. Deanna finally realized that she could never be
Johnny's perfect little soldier and that she shouldn't have to be.
Blaring
the Mötley
Crüe cover of “Anarchy In The U.K.” so loudly that the neighbors
complained, twelve-year-old Deanna locked herself in the bathroom,
haphazardly chopped off her hair, and bleached the remains with
hydrogen peroxide. Then she went out and used all of her allowance to
buy a trenchcoat and to bribe an older kid to steal his dad's
cigarettes for her. Deanna had cast off one hero to become just like
her replacement hero from her Hellblazer
comic books, John Constantine. All the while disregarding that she
herself was just using another method of hiding her femininity, of
course. Johnny fucking hated it, and that was felt glorious and
exciting and rebellious and free.
Coming
to terms with her femininity and her sexual orientation was a whole
other set of obstacles to face.
Deanna
honestly felt that fighting ghosts and monsters and the undead was a
hell of a lot easier than coming out of the closet a few years later.
She and Johnny fell into a vicious screaming match when he refused to
acknowledge her as a lesbian, and once word got around town that
Deanna was sleeping around with girls, she had to put up with sexual
harassment galore from guys at her former high school and even creepy
middle-aged men at the cafe where she worked part time. It's not
uncommon for lesbians to face propositions from guys who “want in
on the action” or think she just needs to know “what a real man
is like,” and with Deanna's reputation as a slut, things got bad
fast. Deanna's already sour and prickly disposition hardened like a
shell, except around her younger brother.
Deanna
had always taken better care of Jared than Johnny had taken care of
them both, and though the siblings argued and bickered constantly,
they relied on each other a lot. Despite that, after Johnny's
less-than-warm reception of her announcement, Deanna hesitated to
come out to Jared. With a cherry pie she bought from the supermarket,
she took a tube of squeezable frosting and wrote out “D is for
Dyke. I like girls.” over the top crust, since D was Jared's
nickname for her (Well, D and Jerk.). Jared had taken one look at the
pie and shrugged. “So is this dinner or what?” he said, unfazed.
Deanna felt her heart swell with love for her brother, not that she'd
ever admit it out loud, and she poured them each a shot of Bombay
Sapphire.
Yeah,
Deanna was also Jared's enabler. That was yet another fucking series
of issues.
And
sure, Deanna was screwed up in all kinds of other ways too. Their
sibling bond didn't stop her from stealing three of Jared's
girlfriends – and then dumping them after she got what she wanted.
And giving Johnny the finger both figuratively and literally didn't
stop her from secretly craving his approval. And everything she did,
all the booze girls and cigarettes and even the escapism of comic
books and music, didn't serve as anything beyond a momentary
distraction from the looming promise that the Devil was coming for
her soul.
There
were times at church when she felt so uncomfortable in her own skin –
and not just because of all the glares she got for being an evil
lesbian with a nasty attitude and devil music. No, Deanna couldn't
help but wonder if the demon had put a mark on her soul as part of
claiming her for Hell. On two occasions, spirits she was hunting
remarked that she had been touched by Hell.
Between
that and the nightmares she suffered every night, it was no wonder
Deanna tried so damn hard to be John Constantine, to be someone else,
to be someone smooth and confident who could always get out of a bad
situation and away from demons, to be anyone but her, the girl who
nobody really loved except brother. And even he sometimes hated her.
Jared
certainly seemed to hate her that night at dinner from his scowling
expression, at least. His eyes were bloodshot, and his nose and lips
chapped. He grabbed the cigarette from her very hand and pulled a
drag.
“Hey!”
Deanna cried as she snatched it back. She gestured to the open pizza
box on the table. They'd been eating the leftovers for two days now.
Johnny's grocery runs only ever involved whiskey and gin, not food,
and none of them could cook. “Shut up and eat up, bitch,” she
ordered.
“Whatever,
D,” Jared sighed. He and Deanna ate the cold pizza sliced straight
out of the box so that they wouldn't have to wash any dishes. Johnny
had already grabbed his slice and a bottle of Crown Royal and was
eating in his office off the adjoining hallway.
Taking
a sip of gin straight from the blue bottle of Bombay Sapphire, Jared
wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Aren't you supposed to
be at work?” he slurred, referring to her part-time gig at the
cafe.
Deanna
peeled a thin strip of chipped black nail polish off her thumbnail
before casually responding, “I'm over that place.”
“No
shit. You got fired again?” It wasn't really a question, and Jared
didn't even blink an eye in surprise.
With
a self-righteous scoff and a volume much louder than necessary for
just the two of them, Deanna explained, “The manager grabbed my
ass. Obviously I had to break his wrist!” Her green eyes flickered
to the hallway, where she knew Johnny was in earshot. “He might
even press assault charges!”
There
was no response, not even a grunt, from Johnny's office/living room.
“Attention
whore,” Jared mumbled under his breath at her patheticness before
sipping more gin. Deanna scowled at him and seized the bottle out of
his hand in order to add more Bombay Sapphire to her gin and tonic.
While
capping the bottle, she gave her brother a cold look. “So what's
this I heard earlier about you cutting school again?” she asked
hypocritically disapprovingly.
“Piss
off, D.” Jared rolled his eyes. “You used to ditch class all the
freaking time.”
“Yeah,
for cigarettes, not for drugs.”
“Cigarettes
are drugs, stupid.”
Deanna
glanced toward Johnny's office again. No sound or sign that he'd
heard or even cared. “Just knock the fuck off with the drugs,”
she hissed.
Jared
gave her a contemptuous glare. “Why?” he said bluntly. “We're
just gonna die anyway in how many months now?”
Deanna
didn't have anything to say to that and just sipped her gin and
tonic.
Johnny
didn't have anything to say to that either. He didn't speak a single
word to them at all that night.