Twisted

Chapter 3: It Just Doesn't Add Up

I rolled over, my eyes content on finding something to keep my head busy. My room was bland. Dark blue paint was chipping off the walls. The only furniture it held was my dresser, an unused desk, a lamp, a bookshelf, and my bed I refused to make. Piles of dirty laundry were stacked in the far right corner, while trash dotted the floors. Saying I was lazy was underestimating it. I stared at my fan, watching one blade go around and around, my attempt at clearing my head.

I was usually great at keeping my emotions in check. After the incident first happened, I was a ghost, hiding away in the shadows, refusing any form of communication with any person. Once, people believed me to be a mute, walking behind my parents, looking down. Following that stage, came a range of emotional outbursts daily. I would randomly start crying or screaming constantly, at any point throughout the day. They would last anywhere from thirty seconds to entire days. During that stage was when I was considered 'mentally unstable' and was directed to multiple therapists, but none of them could help me. Eventually, I understood that no one initially cared about my emotional bombs, and realized that the only person who could help me was myself.

In short terms, I locked my feelings, emotions, and anything of the sort away in a safe and threw away the key. I would never let anyone see me as raw and bare as they had back then.

But today, someone found the key.

And unlocked the safe.

And that's what I didn't understand.

Who? What? Where? When? And how?

My outburst at Summer, my outburst at my parents, they just didn't add up. My general demeanor was usually calm and collected. I could ignore the gossip, drown the feelings that rose up out of the waves. I could actually have friends for once. My only explanation for this was...

Gran.

Of course.

A ring shook me out of my thoughts.

I groaned, doing that random action where you stick your legs up in the air and use your hands to keep them up. The phone rung again.

"Shut up," I muttered. I honestly didn't know who was calling me this late. Everyone I knew either despises me right now, or is imaginative. The phone rung for a third time.

"Oh. My. God." I finally decided to escape the comfortable mattress and go scream at whoever was interrupting my sulking. I made my way over to the phone, slowly, seeing if whoever it was would say 'oh, I hate her now, too" and hang up. The phone rung for a fourth time. Joy, I wouldn't gain another enemy today.

I closed a hand over my phone, an iPhone 20, one of the newest models, and pressed the 'accept' button. "Hello idiot who tried to call me during-."

"Hi, Alex."

Oh, it was Bryce.

Oops.

"Oh, hey babe," I stuttered, trying to cover up my slip-up. I heard him chuckle through the phone.

"Who got on your nerves this time?"

"Oh," I laughed nervously. "Nothing much. Gossip in the hallways, kid thought my grandma killed five children, the usual." I glanced around my room. I don't know what magical fairy sprinkled its magic over me, but I suddenly had the urge to clean that dumpster. I switched the phone to speaker, and contemplated over what mess I should dig into first. My eyes landed on a small pile of candy bar wrappers in the far left corner. Good, something easy.

"Obviously, that's normal behavior. Trust me, even if your experiences didn't add a stack of drama to the school's radar, the gossip would probably shoot through the hallways," Bryce explained, taking on a very duh tone at that moment. The wrappers shuffled as I gathered them into my hands.

Bryce must've picked up on the sound. "Whatcha doin'?"

A few stray Snickers bar ones flew from the shelter of my arms, like the towels you drop while taking the load out of the dryer. "I have been cursed with a horrendous disease."

Ten more dropped. I was currently adding to the proof of how bad I was at cleaning. Clearly, even candy wrappers shook their heads at me.

"Oooo, do tell."

I finally managed to at least grab two handfuls, loading them into the garbage bag that, surprise, was eagerly waiting for me by my bed. Jee, I wondered how that had gotten there.

"An evil queen from a far off land decreed a hatred against me and cursed me with the disease of cleaning. I now have been forced to tidy up, and the worst part is, I want to." I went back for another handful.

I heard a fake shocked gasp echo through my phone. "Alexandra Parker, cleaning? Are we sure this day hasn't been praised by good fortunes?"

I had to laugh at that, recalling what events today had planned for me.

Bryce heard it. "Seems to me like you have tea to spill."

I dropped the remaining wrappers into the black trash bag, taking a seat on my lavender beanbag chair, and laying my head back, relaxing. "Unless you count friend drama, detention, and gossip as tea, I'll have to inform you that you'll be disappointed."

He sighed dramatically. "Love, I'm pretty sure that is the definition of tea."

That forced another chuckle out of me, and he laughed along with me. "So spill, now. Or I will march over to your house, bang on the door, and make your parents think an axe murder came to hunt you down. Judging from your situation now, I don't think that'll sit well with them."

"Andddd, I'm pretty sure you've made your point," I interrupted.

"Well, you're still not talking."

"Okay, fine," I sighed, taking in a long deep breath. "It all started at school when another round of detention whipped around the corner and slapped me in the face."

"Uh oh, little Alex made another oopsie. What is this, the fourth time?" he questioned.

"Seventh," I replied.

"Detention's becoming your best friend."

"Tell me about it," I muttered, just as a knock echoed through my bedroom door. "Hang on." I got up, trudging to my door, and swung it open.

"If you're here expecting me to apologize, I'm afraid you're going to be disappointed-."

My scream could've probably been heard for miles.