I love Trent Reznor. Simple all there is to it. Kitty and Jubilee are into teeny bopper stuff. Backdoor-something and all that crap, well Kitty more than Jubes. Kitty is into the same techno as Bobby, which makes her stuff more tolerable than the other.

Me? I grew up in small town Mississippi. The only thing we have to do is rebel. Rebel against God, which explains my abandonment of Catholicism. Rebel against your parents. My momma wasn't someone who was easy to rebel against being she did all the things parents preach against anyways, but that just made the challenge more intriguing, I found ways and it landed me in the emergency room more than a few time. Makes me almost glad the woman's dead now. Then came Aunt Margot and Uncle Julien. My families French and that equates to Catholic which translate to perfect stomping ground for utter extravagance. The big shit they ignored. Attributed it to the fact I was still grieving for my mother. Ignored Trent's majestic voice scream that God was dead and no one cared, ignored the colour changes in my hair every other day. Ignored that my best friend was gay. Well almost ignored that any way.

But the smaller rebellions held the most impact. Keeping my eyes open during the blessing, not bothering to cover up the marijuana smoke as I walked in the house, not wearing a bra sometimes. Though I do believe I took it a step to far when after one of my uncle's gospel's on how prayer should be put in school, I believe that is a form of segregation of religion. Too many religions, too many who don't even believe in such a figure, also unconstitutional, I bit my tongue to keep from reminding my naval officer uncle of that. Separation of Church and State after all. As an act of revenge I made sure a copy of Anton Szander LeVay's satanic bible sat at the end of my bed one day. Tante Margot cried. Julien beat me, sent me to confession. I didn't go. Headed for Zakk's house and hid out in his VW bus for a night.

I came back and found out that Tante Margot miscarried during the night. I even went with my mother's brother- in -law to church that Sunday, though I feigned ill and hid in the bathroom to avoid looking at the crucifixion fixed above the alter. Though I could still hear the sermon over the speaker affixed in the powder room. To me there is nothing more morbid than the crucifixion. Especially after a particularly bad trip of LSD where I'd wondered into the house of the absentee god and had viewed a living man strung up on the wood. Zakk had found me and took me back to his house. That was the night I meet Cody.

A preacher's son. One of the most rebellious people on the Lord's Tara. Also someone I wanted to impress which lead me to the wearing of a skirt that day in my room. I'd been so proud at how I'd picked out an outfit that wasn't a pair of jeans with the knees missing and a Sublime shirt. I think back now and a realize how ugly it had been. I'd even done my hair, though it didn't look like it.

My guardians approved because of Cody's church association. Though the boy was less than Christian. Even allowed us up into my room alone. I was surprised. I was usually jumping off the low roof above the porch to go to Jakob's to play pool. I'm damn good at it too. I confided in Cody my desperation to get the hell out of Mississippi and figure out what I was. Alaska seemed an interesting pick. Few people. Snow. The complete and thorough opposite of Mississippi, that and that's where the dart I threw landed. Escape the memories of my mother's over drug use. My relative's religious oppression, and my boredom.

There was a family secret my Grand Mere told me before she died. Grand Poppy used to beat Evangeline and Margot. The results were very different though. Momma turned to chemicals and a never ending string of swamp trash bastards, Tante buried herself into her religion. I think she only took me in cause she thought she might atone for her wayward sister's actions. The same that got me here. The same that made Margot LeCroix believe I would burn in hell even if I stood for the pledge at school every morning, even if I didn't listen to Tori Amos or Nine Inch Nails or watch The Crow religiously and read Poppy Z. Brite.

Didn't stop them from sending me off to piano class for four hours a day, didn't stop them from buying me a new bible every time I let Zakk set the last one on fire, or a new crucifix for both my Christmas and Birthday. I pawned all those by the way. I needed money for the road and I couldn't access my mother's insurance money for another two years when I originally started out. Now I only have three month's til I can and the first thing I'm doing is buying Logan a new jacket, being his is all torn up on account of Sabretooth. Then I'm buying a guitar. Same as Jakob's: Driskell Diablo MQ-S, holographic midnight blue finish, silver and pooka shell rose vine design up the neck, sterling silver tuning pegs. It's the multiple orgasm of guitars and I already found a music store in Salem Center that has one.

Tante's religious belief's also didn't stop her from sending me to Catholic school when the state dropped me off with her, four hour's after Evangeline's funeral, my stuff had already been sent and was unpacked waiting for me. Catholic school does something to people. Most everyone I've ever spoken to that has attended one agrees on this one, those that don't are also the one's that believe that French kissing and murder will get you sent to the same place.

I don't know where I get my shyness from though. Momma was sure as hell not prude in any damn way, I slept through theology class at school. I think maybe it might be me not wanting to become Evangeline. Though physically I see it. Same greenish eyes, same auburn hair, she didn't have a white streak though- that's probably one of reasons I never dyed my hair after the whole thing with Magneto. It was a way to make sure I wouldn't be mistaken for her. Same scrunniness, though I definitely have some curves going on. I'm naive but not enough to let some rather appreciative glance go unnoticed as I walk.

Never will I ever turn my back on Trent Reznor. In fact last summer I went with Remy down to New Orleans and he showed me Trent's house in the Garden District. Black and white, Greek revival, short, black wrought iron fence surrounds it. I reached in between the metal ribs of the gate and snatched a handful of grass. It's in a gris gris Remy made me sitting on my vanity along with a small collection of Trent memorabilia , purple glitter and eyeliner. I'll love him for always. Trent is my God. But I still miss Kitty's bubbly tunes beating wheezily out of a half battered boom box, and Jubilee's rave music that I'd dance to. They're gone now. Kitty's in England with the Excalibur people, and Jubes is in Massachusetts attending our sister school.

Logan's currently seated on my bed, Grace Slick's voice is pouring from my stereo, full of gravel and drugs. He's playing around with my unfolded laundry, trying to figure out what the white cloth is in his hands. I wonder if I should tell him it's a bra. Nah let him figure it out.