As Easy As Murder

4-Bad things come to those who hate

I try to fit just one more shirt into my over packed suitcase as Loretta stares at her phone. Some guy has once again fallen into her trap and is begging for reconciliation. She thinks it's the funniest thing ever. 

I, on the other hand, have better things to be thinking about. Like how I will be attending university with my newfangled mortal enemie. I invited Loretta over to help me pack, and I am regretting it. 

"So then he starts crying, and I'm like you've got to be kidding me, so then-" Loretta is retelling the events of her last dating disaster, in which she struck a nerve in this macho guys brain and he broke down. 

I raise my head to look at her, a pair of fishnets in hand. "Stay focused." I remind her, gesturing to the many items strewn across my floor that I am determined to fit into 2 duffle bags and a suitcase. 

"Ugh," She whines. Her curls are thrown up into a messy bun, and she's wearing her glasses, big chunky glasses that she only rocks when she runs out of contact lenses. 

I roll my eyes and look back down at my suitcase, which is bursting at the seams. Laying on top of the pile of overpacked paraphernalia is a photo of me and Dad at the top of a moutain on a hike. It brings back a memory of meeting the tour guide, a very gothic middle-aged women who could be comparable to Morticia Adams. I knew then who I wanted to be. 

Loretta leans back against my grey beanbag, pulling the hood of her NYU sweatshirt over her eyes to combat a headache. 

I finally put the overstuffed luggage to the side and focus on my toiletries. I walk into my bathroom, gathering my necessities, then do the same to my vanitie. 

"I can't believe you're taking this much. I'm pretty sure I left for uni with one drawstring bag and thing of box dye." She smirks, watching as I once again try to fit an unrealistic amount of objects into a tiny bag. 

"You're such a great role model." I mumble sarcastically, packing the last of my facial creams and various eye-blacking tools. 

She nods, taking the comment in stride. I feel a twinge of sleepiness in my eyes, and flop back onto my bed, pulling up my comforter and rolling myself in it like a tortilla. Loretta follows suit and jumps on top of me, causing me to almost die of suffocation. 

I come up and jump on top of her as a get back, and she laughs as she falls off the bed and looses a sock in the process. 

I snort as she stands up, bun now nowhere to be found, just a big puff of neon green. 

"You hungry?" I ask, getting up as well, slipping on a pair of old slippers I dug out while digging through my closet for clothes to pack. 

She nods, and does a big stretch. "Starving." 

We shuffle out to the kitchen, blankets wrapped around us, probably looking some odd species of creature. I open the refridgerator, and take out some salted caramel ice cream. We both serve ourself an amount of ice cream that way surpasses the serving size and flop down on my couch. 

Dad is at his bike shop, and Mom is in her sewing room, so no was there to witness us in our goblin-like state. 

I turn on the TV and and flip to a random channel, greeted by the Full House theme song. I go to change the channel, but Loretta stops me. "How dare you pass up the opportunity to admire Uncle Jesse?" 

"True, my bad." I throw my remote back down. 

"Sooo, about this guy." She turns to me, and I groan. I knew she'd keep bringing up the dorky, sweater-vest wearing bigot I'd unfortunately been subjected to meeting. The light of the TV illuminates her honey brown eyes as she smiles her 'I'm about to say something you're gonna kill me for' smile. 

"What about him?" I take a bite of my delicious caramel goodness. 

She leans in, wiggling her eyebrows. "You failed to mention if he's hot or not." 

I scoff, kicking her playfully, "Why does that matter?" 

She rolls her eyes, filling her mouth with her own frozen delight. "Why wouldn't it?" 

My lips curl into a sneer. I'm venting to her about the fact that I was viciously insulted by a damn Rugrat, and she has the audacity to ask if he's an eyesore or not? 

"Do you think when a serial killer goes in for questioning, their like, It's fine that you killed 9 people because you're a cutie patootie?" I say, obviously using an out there example, just trying to get her to shut up so I can wallow in self pity. She laughs for a minute, before taking another spoonful of ice cream, but a second bought of laughter causes some to drip down her chin. 

"This is nothing like that!" She insists as she wipes some away. "And wouldn't you rather be killed by someone hot?" 

"You're delusional." 

She shrugs, not denying the statement. She leans her head down on the arm of the couch and starts to drift off, leaving me to fall into the deep and dark pits of my thoughts. I start to think about what it will be like, possibly passing the nitwit in the halls, seeing him in the cafeteria, maybe even being in the same class, oh God. 

Oh, and there's the fact that this is a crucial part of my life and could determine my future. 

But that's on the back burner as long as this person is still interfering with my life. Even mother Teresa would dislike him. When he gets to hell, the devil will probably make him the heir to his throne. 

Okay, maybe that's a bit extreme, but he did comment on my fashion choices and tell me to grow up. 

Whoever my gaurdian angel is, they must be slacking on the job, because why else would this guy be aloud to enter my life? I mean seriously. 

I eventually lay down too, glancing at the ancient wall clock. Almost 4am. 

Tommorow's the day. I leave this sleepy down and my depressing job, the food court, Kandi, and break out into the world. Start a new chapter. I shouldn't be thinking about some lousy guy, but he's just set me off so much. 

I need to fix my attitude. Show I don't care. Ignore him. 

Or continue to get under his nerves. Option 2, please. I start to fall asleep to the gentle ticking of said ancient clock. The front door creaks open, revealing Dad, helmet in hand. His black jeans are dusted with dirt and soot, grey hair sticking out every which way. He gives me quick kiss on the head. "Last night at home. Feels weird, huh?" He ruffles my hair. 

I nod, and he senses my slight worry about what's to come. "Don't worry, you have this very responsible mentor." He gestures his arm to a now loudly snoring Loretta. I snicker, and he walks into Mom's sewing room, presumably to tell her to stop working because she needs to rest, and also to check her sugar. 

I let myself fall asleep, and tell myself I'm ready to take it all on. 

Heaven help a fool who dared to be different.