(Whoa oh) We're halfway there, (whoa oh) we're living on a prayer. Take my hand—we'll make it, I swear. (Whoa oh) Living on a prayer.

Bon Jovi, "Living on a Prayer"

--

…

Little Voices

jenniferxneedy

…

All her life, Jennifer Check has known two basic things. One—she is incredibly lucky for the cards she has been dealt. Two—she is incredibly lucky to have met Anita Lesnicki.

They say around Devil's Kettle, sandbox love never dies. Jennifer wonders why. People change—who you are at seven is not who you'll be at seventeen, fuck what the psychologists say. People grow up and they meet the world outside of the sandbox. They turn bitter, they turn twisted. They turn selfish and they turn wicked. So why would love hold out for people like that?

Why would Needy hold out for someone like her?

Jennifer wonders why. Jennifer hasn't been nice—she never has. She's been the pretty Barbie while Needy's been the ugly one. Figuratively, at least. Needy's beautiful in her own way; hers is the kind of beauty that's hard to find, the real, honest to God, beauty. The kind that shines beneath the skin and shows itself off without really meaning to. And it makes Jennifer's heart do a strange, flip floppy maneuver whenever she sees it. Because while Needy is beautiful for real, Jennifer is the fake one, the one with glitz and glam and fake tans.

Sometimes, the sight of herself in the mirror disgusts her.

Sometimes, the sight of her perfection disgusts her.

Because it's all fake.

Yes, maybe biologically speaking, the beauty was real, but she needed make up—a lot of make up--to make it flourish. Needy didn't need it. Maybe she would need do something with that beautiful mane of hair instead of a ponytail or keeping it flat-ironed straight. Maybe she would need just the lightest brush of blush, the gentlest dash of eyeshadow. Nothing too big.

God, what a picture she would make, Jennifer thinks one night, fingers smoothing over the surface of her silver pendant. Her tongue pushes against the back of her teeth as she lets her imagination wander. Her fingers move lower, over the skin of her heart. Closing her eyes, she feels it racing, feels a heat crawl under her skin. She shudders, a picture of Needy burned right behind her lids, taunting her retinas. The image cycles all through her brain, and Jennifer is helpless to resist.

So her hand moves down...

–

She can't bring herself to look Needy in the eyes the next morning.

–

What is sandbox love? Jennifer, in a rare moment of giving a shit, types the phrase in Google's searchbar and clicks the button, ready to see the definition.

She gets ads for actual sandboxes; a porn site (she could have sworn Safe Search was on there or something); and other shit that has no real revelation to the phrase. No one really knows what sandbox love is. Disgusted, Jennifer shuts the damn thing down and bites her knuckle, frustration coiling tension at her temples.

Last night, Jennifer Check had received a text message from Anita Lesnicki.

Last night, Needy agreed to go on a date with some fucktarded boy named Chip.

Last night, Needy had stopped holding out.

Last night, sandbox love died.

Last night...

Fuck it all, Jennifer thinks, and holds her pendant in her fist and tries not to cry.

–

In the morning, she's plans to meet up with this Chip and show him who's boss. She's top dog, not him, and Chippy-Pooh's just going to have to learn that. She stomps forward in hot pink pumps, hair an ebony banner flaring behind her. She's dressed for war; she's like motherfuckin' Achilles, and this is the battle of Troy. Helen wears glasses and has frizzy hair and big eyes and full lips and a silver pendant that has her name on it.

But then she sees Needy smiling at the loser. Smiling. It's a happy smile, a big one that shows off a row of pearly whites—jealously flares up, hot and sickening in her gut, but so does guilt, and then shame. Achillies' heel has been hit—Jennifer loses momentum and all the clever, biting remarks die on her tongue. Fuck all, she can't really do it. She can't chase him off. Why...

Because, shit, Needy looks so pretty when she's happy. And Chip makes her happy—so really, why should Jennifer butt in...

She almost slaps herself as her mind supplies the answer in a primal, almost barbaric sort of way: Mine.

A moment later, she reaches Needy's locker and slides into her place, right at Needy's side. "Where's it at, Monistat?"

And Needy turns to her, and the smile she was flashing Chip fades. A new one takes its place, a slow, curling, intimate flash of lips and softening of eyes that makes something in Jen's chest swell with pride and crow, Mine!

Needy doesn't greet her as she usually does, but that's okay because the smile is way fucking better. "Jen, this is Chip. He's the one I told you about last night!"

Jennifer looks up and catches Chip's eyes. He seems awed that sweet, innocent little Needy hung out with the big bad wolf. Jennifer presses her tongue against the back of her teeth again, eyes burning. He returns the staredown.

Who the fuck do you think you are, she asks with her eyes. And then she reaches over and leans against Needy, arm coming around the blond's shoulders and almost—almost—digging her nails into Needy's skin. Her eyes narrow and she grinds her teeth and she glares and she does feel like the big bad wolf right now. Who the fuck do you think you are?

And then his eyes flicker away and Jen doesn't hide the smirk at her victory. She clicks her tongue, and says to Needy, "More sweet than salty, Needs. You could do worse, I guess."

"Jen," Needy laughs lightly. Chip whines a little, asks Needy to defend him or something, but Needy—as always—takes her side and defends her instead. "She's just teasing," says Needy, soothing him. The little beast in her ribcage flexes its muscles, and when Jennifer locks her eyes with Chip's again--when she plays with the ends of Needy's hair and laughs, and sneers to him something about "Needing a fucking chill pill"--her eyes say, Mine.

Chip looks away again and he swallows the spit in his mouth. The bell rings and he gives Needy a hug, backs off when Jennifer clears her throat. As he tromps off to his class, with his tail between his goddamned legs, Jennifer can only think, Yeah, who's top bitch around here, Chippy-Pooh?

–

They weren't supposed to go steady. Hell, they weren't even supposed to go on for a week. It boils her blood when Needy mentions that their sixth month anniversary is coming up and she'll need to think of something to get him. Her tongue presses against her canine teeth, pressing up in the point to wring out a little pinprick of pain, and she scowls.

Needy asks, "Are you okay, Jen?" and there is such honest concern in her voice that Jennifer is relieved.

"Just cramps," Jen says, offhandedly, "Y'know, pill's great to keep the brats away, but fuck, it doesn't help with this shit."

Needy flushes and sighs, "You're always so crude about it."

Jennifer smiles with delight, because Chip and the relationship is forgotten, and she has Needy's undivided attention. Alpha bitch here, top dog.

Who the fuck do you think I am.

Needy says she'll bake Chip something, maybe a cake or a brownie, or—she giggles—a brownie cake just because. That ugly feeling bubbles under Jen's heart again and she almost wants to punch Needy in the mouth for talking about him when they're together. Almost. But not really, cause she loves--

--loves--

Her eyes widen, but Needy doesn't notice because she's reaching for her cell.

Who the fuck do you think I am.

Needy gets a text, suddenly, and now she has to go. Chip's calling. Chip. Stupid, fucking Chip. Needy leaves, and Jennifer is left to think.

I'm fucking lime green Jello.

–

Then everything changes. She goes to Low Shoulder's concert—gets killed. Comes back wrong.

But at the same time she comes back right.

When Jen's got Needy pinned up against the wall, blood all over her new clothes, in her mouth, in her stomach. A low voice is burring in her ear yours yours yours and she's thinking mine mine mine and it's wonderful. Her lips hit the thundering pulse at Needy's neck—she's not hungry, not like before, but fuck she feels like a god now, like a force of nature—maybe she is. Maybe she isn't. The heat in under her skin rolls over her in waves—steam should be rolling off of her skin but it's not and Needy's right there so why am I thinking?

"Are you scared?" she croaks into Needy's ear, feels the rush of power pumping in her veins and all through her body. Needy's scent is all in her head, fucking up her thought processes, reducing her to a mass of flesh ruled by something. Something primal, something dangerous. Something that's been apart of her for a long time, and yet, something altogether new (because she doesn't remember literally eating someone's face off before).

Needy lets out a small mewl. She's scared.

She's scared.

Scared of me.

--yours yours yours yours--

Not like this.

And she leaves.

–

--yours-- the voice hisses at her the next morning, when she sees Needy. The blonde has black gunk crusted all over her hands, like a stain, like a mark—Jennifer feels something sick in her gut and she swallows and the voice keeps chanting. --yours yours, take and keep, yours yours--

Shut up. Shut up, just shut up.

The rest of the day is full of sorrow—students are dead, teachers are dead, and there's a demon lurking in Jennifer's body. A demon that knows who she is, inside and out. A demon that knows her better than Needy, and Jennifer never thought that was possible.

Sandbox love, she thinks, desperately, unsure of why she needs to think of it. .

--dead dead dead--the demon whispers –dead dead dead--

And Jen prays. She prays hard and long.

–

At the end of it all, when Needy crosses her out, when the demon stops chanting –yours-- and is finally silent, Jennifer smiles to herself and doesn't mind that her heart ceases to beat. She doesn't mind. Nope, not at all.

Then she dies again. But it's the natural kind. Sort of. She dies like the hopes of Devil's Kettle, like the dreams of a little girl who played the pretty Barbie, like the fabled sandbox love.

The God who greets her is the God who made her.

And all the little voices are silent.

–

"Where's it at, Monistat?" says God with a smile, and Jennifer laughs.
--

–

R. I. P.

--

Disclaimer: Jenifer's Body is in no way, shape, or form my idea. I make no profit. This is a purely fanbased work of fiction.