TRIGGER WARNING- mention and careful discussion of suicide. (This takes place just under halfway through the chapter. It is done respectfully and shortly but as I courtesy I want to warn readers).
So, looks like I didn't write a will and testament, and looks like it won't matter.
Staring across a glass coffee table I meet the Piggy Eyed Demon stare of Flora Harkin, seated in a large leather chair.
Everything goes to Cuddles— Nibbles is just a baby and Barnabas doesn't like anyone. Cuddles at least likes my pillows... I think abstractly as a few more silent, sweating seconds skitter on by.
Nothing is happening. Why is nothing happening? Why am I not being crashed into the table? Smothered into the rose patterned cushions? Screamed at so loud my skin peels off? Picked up like a terrified towel and being squeezed and wrung out til the baby bitch blood drips into the carpet—
My grip on my most-likely-poisoned-cocoa is strained, so hard the liquid quivers and the X in the marshmallows she made us now disjointed— more like a T now.
T for trouble? For terror? For time to die?!
But a few more moments tick by and in that time I've debated getting up and sprinting for the door— but terror locks me in place. And eventually I just look flat out at Flora.
Fuck it— Mrs. O'Heimer said 'chat!'. So let's fucking chat... clear the air or something. Get it over with—
"Allergic to leaves?" She says to me, and I was so wrapped up in my own head I thought I misheard her.
"What?"
Her mauve skin tone darkens a shade and her nostrils flare with obvious irritation. The room seems to go dead, like I will be in like...hm, maybe five minutes? "Allergic to leaves. When I dropped off stuff at your house for your 'cats'. You pretended to be some crazy weirdo and be allergic to fucking leaves."
She hisses the last portion of her sentence and I'm frozen in my spot. Then, like the idiot I am, I let out a tiny hysterical giggle.
Oh. Oh shit. Oh holy balls. I had forgotten that incident, forever ago. She'd visited my house, I'd refused to open the door out of terror and in my stupidity had pretended to be allergic to leaves so she wouldn't come in and 'contaminate' my home. My face feels like it's flashing between redness and paleness— terror and embarrassment.
"Ah, y'know...I was...just...stupid." The words fall limply into our tense silence and I watch the trembling T of marshmallows in my still unsipped cocoa.
"No fucking shit." She hisses, and through her fury I notice how her eyes whip back toward the kitchen. Checking on Mrs. O'Heimer? Ah...this is probably a 'no swearing house'... and no swearing hopefully can mean no blood-spilling?
I don't know what to say to that, unable to focus on any one thing for awhile, glancing between her, my cup, the window, the carpet...my heart is thumping along wildly but my body feels stiff, stony and downright STUCK.
In all actuality, I could just get up and walk out. Really. I could just stand and walk away. Flora seems too petrified of offending her grandma to dare do anything to me, and honestly, if she did, there'd be a witness! A goddamn witness!
But...
Goddammit my moral compass has turned on again, no longer spinning or broken as it always has been, now shakily pointing across this floral sitting room to my enemy, my murderous, pee-inducing, Baby Bitch Blood want-to-be-spilling enemy.
Holy sweet damn Jeezus.
I suck in a breath and see her tense, glaring squintily at me with vividly displayed hatred. My hands are shaking, there's a frog at the back of my throat, but I speak anyways.
YOU ARE READING
I'm The Geek Who Slapped A Football Player.
Teen Fiction*ALL RIGHTS RESERVED* Clarisse Hornitt is a nerd. Or a geek. But, not your typical nerd/geek, as she won't put up with bullshit and will promptly tell you how it is regardless to how it makes you feel. She manages to get into a physical altercation...
