Black tuxedo, White Corsage.

A phone ringing in the quiet of the atmosphere on a Friday night causes great impact on a house full of losers. My foster father, Maurice Dewey, local farmer and resident drunk liked to think he was a lady's man, but the single shrill of a telephone had him puzzled. Why would anyone be calling for us? It wasn't the first Friday night he had spent killing spare time getting himself good and loaded. We lived on the secluded outskirts of Springwood and sometimes, Dewey would chip in cash to pick up groceries.

The phone had commenced on its second ring by now.

Third.

Fourth.

Dewey ran a dirt stained hand through his greasy mounds of dark hair. "You gonna answer that Fred-dy." His gaze wavered. Flinching, I grasped the phone tightly and brought it to my ear.

Curtly, I greeted the caller.

"Hi, Fred?"

My heart stopped cold. I felt myself begin to perspire. I had engraved that voice deep inside my gray matter. Denise was calling...Me-Freddy-fucking-Krueger? My breathing instantaneously ran short.

"Hi." I repeated.

"Do you know who this is?"

Yes.

"Uh, I don't think so." I grunted.

"It's Denise, Denise Charlotte." I heard the heinous sounds of a girl's chortle, shuffling in the background and muffled conversation.

Brilliant. Called from the hellish depths of a teenage slumber party. "I'm uh, callin' about...the prom."

There was silence from my end. "Oh?" I had the mentality of a five year old and the wit of a man on his deathbed.

"And the answer is, yes."
It took several moments before her words registered. "Oh?" Then I reconsidered. "Oh."

"Yeah. So...I'll see you at school Monday?"

The prom was one doggone week away.

"Uh, yeah."

Yeah, oh. Had I uttered any other syllable? I had surpassed my opportune moment to wow Denise with my charm. But, charm I was greatly lacking.

"Who was that?" Dewey slurred. I glanced at the thirteenth beer of the night gripped in his bony hand and suppressed the urge to roll my eyes.

"Someone from school."

Denise said yes.

"Who'd be calling for you?" He struggled to pull himself off the dying sofa. That remark hadn't hit me where it hurt, I was use to a lot of shit from Howard Dewey.

He stumbled towards me. "I don't like when you fuck around with me."

Denise said yes.

This time I did roll my eyes. "Get over it...Dewey." I spat. I was too fervent right now to care for some belt lashes. And indeed, I saw him swipe for the leather belt looped around his thin waist and I made a beeline for my bedroom.

I was learning to repel the pain. Welcome the pain. Too many beatings in the past parents had prepared me for the worst, and the worst I had yet to see.

In the dim light of my enclosed bedroom, I flung my t-shirt to an abandoned corner and slipped my prime razor blade, its tip encrusted with dried serum, from my underwear drawer. I sank into the fading bed sheets. Ever so carefully, I allowed the blade to slowly graze my bare chest. Man, that just felt so good. If jacking off wasn't the way to cure the hardness, the knives would.

Denise said yes.

When I had invited Denise to prom, I hadn't really stopped to consider that I would have to purchase a tuxedo and corsage for Denise. I wasn't even sure if I'd have that sort of money to spend. I knew Denise wasn't wealthy herself, but I wanted to impress her and I had never felt the need to impress any girl before in my life. I mean, she was a girl. Just a girl.

That was making me start to wet myself. A girl...not just any girl, Denise Charlotte with her supple breasts and voluptuous curves. Why had she said yes to me? She was kidding not only herself if she had turned down every other ass who'd asked her before me. That just didn't happen. This was too fucked up.

I called Howard and told him he was coming out with me to pick something to wear for prom.

"She said yes?" He had howled into the phone, piercing my ear with a voice that sounded as if it still hadn't struck adolescent puberty.

"Fuck yeah." I had replied, acting calm and collected; as if I'd known she would have said yes all along.

"Aww Fredster, you are the man." Howard spoke in awe. In awe of me? Well, I hadn't exactly seen myself as a real stud. "You are going to the prom-with Denise Charlotte nonetheless!"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever."

She had said yes. Could a guy luck out anymore?

"You think prom night you'll lose your virginity to her?" Virginity. Virginity. What a curse on humanity, to be a male virgin at 17 years of age. But a female, something seemed even better when a girl was still intact. I wanted to be the man to deflower Denise Charlotte.

"What makes you think I'm still a virgin?"

Howard and I had decided on a nearby tuxedo rental shop. Why waste a hundred bucks on a suit I'd wear once? They had a vast variety of different styles of tuxedos and suits. I'd really only thought they sold one type and one type only. The standard black unit with the white collared shirt underneath. But no, there were ruffles and colors of oranges and blues...

"So what's the occasion?" The old salesclerk with the name tag reading Sam, asked us as we browsed through several racks of white tuxedos. I hated shopping and it was a chore I always despised. But this was one day I could care less. Because every fucking idiot that had made me their target was going to pick their jaw off the floor when they saw me strut arm and arm into the prom with Denise Charlotte.

"Prom." I murmured rigidly. You know, give the dick the subtle brush off and fuck off.

"Ooh." Sam's eyes twinkled. "Got some special date?" I could see the glimmer in Howard's eyes dim. I guess the guy felt a little out of the loop. Hadn't been laid, hadn't been kissed, hadn't even been spoken to by a girl other then his mother, the gold digger.

Had Howard ever liked a girl at all? Probably, after all-we all keep dirty laundry.

I grunted a sound that could either be deciphered as a yes or no.

"Need any help picking out a little something?"

I plucked a black tux from its rack. "No." I replied bluntly and turned my back to him.

"How's this one?" I held it up to my body.

"Handsome." Howard nodded. That dull glaze in the eyes had returned behind his horn rimmed glasses. "Fred?"

"What?"

"Do you…do you think maybe Cindy Prescott, would go to the prom with me?" He nervously rubbed his Adam's apple nonchalantly. Howard had the hots for Denise's best friend? The chances of Cindy ever accepting a prom invite from Howard was slim to none. Heck, Denise saying yes to me was a miracle in itself, with the exception I have no God.

At the first moment, I hadn't had the heart to let down Howard. But then I remembered.

I don't have a heart.

"She's going with John Malcolm the third." I mumbled. Howard cast a longing look to the tuxedo in my arms and his entire body sighed.

With a tuxedo rental and a bottle of cheap cologne in Howard's station wagon, we had driven to the nearest floral boutique and picked up a white (because white goes with everything, the owner had gushed) corsage for Denise that was now stored in Howard's refrigerator. I hadn't wanted to take any chances with Dewey in the house.

Tracing over the faded scars along my body that night, I still pondered. Why did I care about Dense Charlotte? Why did I care about cologne, and prom? Was it because I'd grown up being angry at the world, always looking out for myself and never acting like just a kid? Prom was my chance to maybe just forget the violent dreams, forget Dewey's hatred for me.

But there was one thing I wondered above all others; why the hell had Denise said yes?