❝Most of us aren't defeated in one decisive battle. We are defeated one tiny, seemingly insignificant surrender at a time that chips away at who we should really be.❞
—Jocko Willink
F I V E
I picked at my clothes, adjusting its fit in the mirror. Despite just taking a quick shower, I pulled back my flannel and took a whiff, checking for any signs of post-workout sweat.
Kicking my running shoes into the closet, I picked up my satchel bag, cursing as I smothered a yawn.
Restless and deflated from last night, I woke up earlier than usual and snuck out for a run. I knew if Jeremy found out he'd get on my case, so I'd been strategic about not raising any suspicion.
Everything was fine. It was all behind me.
My bare walls glared back at me accusingly. I squirmed in my sneakers.
In a fit of rage, I'd torn down all my sketches, push pins holding up ripped paper edges serving as the only remnants of what had been there before.
Taking in the extent of the destruction, something pulled in my chest.
A knock sounded at the door. My heart rate surged.
"Yo, you seen my shin guards? I forgot where I left them after practicing out back last night."
Panicking, I glanced around. Forget getting on my case about running, if Jeremy saw my walls, it'd definitely raise major alarms.
I saw the doorknob start to turn and without thinking I blurted out, "Jer, what the hell, I'm naked!"
The door promptly shut. "Does that mean your ears ain't working?"
"I don't know where your guards are! I keep telling you to stop throwing your shit around after practicing."
"Damn," he said. "No need to get testy."
Once his footsteps receded, I exhaled. Checking my hair once more in the mirror, I yanked open my bedroom door.
"Fuck!" I shrieked, jumping back.
Jeremy stood on the other side, fist poised to knock. His lips parted, then his eyes slid away from my face, his expression morphing into utter horror.
He shoved me aside. "What the hell happened in here? Was there a fire or something?"
I spun around. "No, I—"
"What happened to all your drawings?" He swung around to face me, eyes bulging. "Are you moving out? Did we get robbed? The feds after you?"
Closing the gap between us, I clamped my hands on his shoulders. "Jer, calm down. Nothing is happening. Everything's fine."
His brows furrowed, and he jerked a thumb behind him. "Whatchu mean 'everything is fine'? This looks like a cry for help."
"I'm just...redecorating," I threw out frivolously.
He squinted, clearly not buying it. Casting a critical look around like a detective sniffing for evidence, he paused, then glared at me. "You went running."
The accusation startled me, but I kept my cool. "What? No I didn't."
He took three long strides over to my desk chair and brandished my silk headband.
I resisted the urge to slap my forehead. How could I have been so careless?
I shrugged him off. "Okay, so what? I went on a little run. Exercise is good for you, you know."
YOU ARE READING
My Dearest Enemy
Teen Fiction***New chapter every Friday*** Cami has one wish. To get accepted to the arts program at her father's alma mater. But after facing constant rejections from magazines to publish her work and being told her drawings are "too detached" and "impersonal"...
