My Classified Life

Chapter Twenty-Seven: WWIII

I started to tap my foot as I waited for her to answer to my doorbell ring. On any other day I would pop on in, but this isn't any other day. Just as my hand reached out to ring the doorbell again, Christina opened the door for me and gestured for me to come in. She didn't bother leading me up to her room on the second floor, we could fight wherever we wanted to. I stepped inside and took off my moccasin shoes, careful not to step on the flawless carpet, and did a quick once-over of their living room/foyer.

The walls were colored a dark, chocolate brown and had accents of sky blue such as the pillows on the couch or vases. A painting hung above the couch of a scene in late autumn, leaves gently falling off the branches of tree. There were small hints of rust colored accents, also, mixed in with the blue in frames and decorations. The carpet under me was plush and it gave way to my feet. It was the kind of place a person could stand around and have a nice conversation with someone, but only stand. The owners would not invite them to sit, they didn't know them well enough. Or, as in my case, they were not on good terms.

I stood there awkwardly and waited for her to say something first, I tugged at a stray string on my sweats and pulled it off. Neither one of us seemed to want to make the first accusation.

Christina was the first to say anything. “How many?” her meek voice whispered to me.

“How many what?”

“How many times did you lie to me?” she pushed.

My eyes darted to the floor. “Too many to count.”

“That's what I thought.” her voice was hard, unyielding and it made me look back up to her in shock.

“Oh yeah? How many times did you lie to me?”

Her eyes darted around the room, searching for an answer to make her seem less guilty. “Only like, twelve!” she finally uttered.

“Twelve?” I exasperated.

“Yes.” her arms folded themselves and her head rose a little higher in the air.

“Well, might as well make it thirteen because that is total bull shit!” I spat out.

Her face curled up in anger and her hands into fists. “You're total bull shit!”

“Nice comeback! I haven't heard that one since Pre-K!” Ouch, that stung.

“You're just jealous that I have a boyfriend!” she countered.

“Jealous! You're so called boyfriend is a total jerk!” I screamed back.

“No he is not! He is sweet, and kind, and generous, and way hotter than your boy toy!”

I know I should have been more offended to the accusation that I had a quote 'boy toy' but somehow the comment that Cameron was hotter than Dylan, yeah, that bothered me.

“I do not have a 'boy toy'!” I made the air quotes.

She rolled her eyes at me. “You are in such denial! Do you even realize what's going on in your life or do you just walk around with a bag over your head? Dylan and you follow each other around like a puppy chasing it's tail! Get a clue!”

“That is so not true!” I yelled back at her.

“D-e-n-i-a-l!” she sing songed and my anger fumed.

“Oh, grow up!” I sneered.

“I'm trying to!” she yelled, some of her energy leaving her. “But you won't let me.” she paused and I saw her eyes glisten over with tears. “I got a boyfriend, you asked me to stay away from him. I started to go on more spy missions, you don't even say good job. You disconnect your walkie on missions and it's no big deal, but when I do? You and Sammy both freak on me!” her hand reached to wipe the tear that was threatening to escape from her eyes. “Why?”