Itty Bitty Stories

Name-Calling

I don't like when people watch me when I'm sleeping. Scratch that; I don't like people watching me, period. It gets on my nerves twice as much when you're present in my room, knowing I'm asleep, and just chilling there. I'm not a goregous sleeper. I toss, and turn, and drool, and snort and pretty much anything else you can think of that's disgusting. My dark, almost black, hair gets frizzed and knotted, and I get that awful morning breath every morning.

There's nothing good about me falling asleep. When I wake up, and I find you in my room, watching me sleep like a psycho stalking it's prey, there's going to be consequences. I will not go easy on you and I most certainly will not be quiet.

So there's pretty much flames firing out of my eyes when I wake up and find Nicholas Yerring of all people in my room, walking around, looking at all the pictures I have hanging above my oak desk. I sit up, all sleep in my eyes gone, replaced with an angry look he knows all too well. "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING IN MY ROOM?!"

He jumps back, almost stumbling over the chair. His green eyes widen for a second, but they go back to normal when they see me sitting on my bed like the devil himself. "Oh, hey, Case."

"CASEY," I snap back at him. "GET OUT!"

"I'm not Casey," He replies, running a hand through his black hair. "I'm Nick."

"You're going to be dead in about five seconds if you do not get the hell out of this room," I snap back. "Five...four...three..."

He looks at his fake watch on his strong arm. "Two more seconds."

"Two...one..."

I jump out of my bed, flying over to him. He screams, half laughing, and scrambles out of the way. I grab the tennis racket that was behind my bed, from the four years in high school that I played. I swing it at his ass, but it barely scrapes him. He makes a dive again, barely missing my swing. I'm growling death threats at him but he's just dodging them with laughs.

Finally growing tired of chasing him around the room, I eventually just chuck the racket at him all together. It flies straight into his back, then drops to ground. He lets out a curse, falling rather dramatically onto my bed. "That hurt, you bitch."

I flip him off. "You've thrown worse things at me before."

He snorts. "Like what?"

"Hmm...I dunno...a knife?"

His green eyes narrow on me. "It slipped."

"Sure," I snort very sarcastically. "And that racket slipped too."

Nick is an annoying prick who lives next door. We're not friends; at all. We've never hung out, we didn't talk to each other in school, and our parents have had to call the cops on us three times. But I can explain with evidence why none of those calls were because of me. They were all him.

We're constantly trying to kill each other. That's probably why he came into my room. We're always in competition with each other, trying to out smart one another. It's just how it works with us. Ever since we were little kids. We never hit it off, more like we hit each other.