Backwoods Backwards

Sixteen

I'm very pissed off when I walk into school Monday morning.

After my not-so-little blowout with Lindsey in the bathroom Friday night, she seemed to create a personal agenda against me, and that became clear when I ended up following her around for wedding preparations all weekend long.

Lindsey was as harsh and judgmental as ever. Whether is was about my font suggestions for the wedding invitations or the type of flower I liked at the florist, she made sure to shoot me down.

"That's not what I want for my wedding," she had sneered.

"I don't think that matches my wedding theme," she'd snapped.

For Mom's sake, I had been trying to keep things civilized between the two of us, but with every little jab she sent my way, my patience began to wear thin, and all I wanted to do was snap at her to put her in her place. Mom had enough on her plate as is, what with trying to keep up with my sister's demands and also trying to get ahold of Dad, who seemed to be intent on ignoring his phone.

A part of me wondered if he was just screening her calls because he didn't want to talk to Mom, but when I tried calling him myself, it went straight to voicemail.

As much as the curiosity burned away, I had other things in my mind.

Mainly Lindsey and her wrath, and how to fume about that quietly.

After too many long, grueling hours out with the she-devil herself purely for wedding purposes, I came home Sunday night thinking that would be the end of the torture for at least a little while, but apparently Lindsey hadn't gotten all her fury out yet.

She made a sly comment that I didn't appreciate.

"Are you always this uptight when you don't get laid?"

And that was it, the final straw to break the camel's back.

Like a whip, I lashed out at her with brutal words and passionate profanities, not even bothering to censor what I said in the current company, and Lindsey was quick to retaliate the same.

Mom tried to break it up, but I think she expected it a long time coming because soon she stepped out on the front porch to let us battle it out.

Even Ian, who had finally returned from a day out for his own part of the preparations, couldn't calm either of us down enough to get us to walk away and take a much-needed breather, and soon he, too, gave up trying and joined Mom out on the porch.

When we finally finished screaming at each other, my palms ached from where I sank my fingernails in the skin, and Lindsey was once again clutching her stomach protectively, angry tears streaming down her face.

And then we just walked away from each other without another word.

I thought that by finally saying everything I wanted to, I'd feel better than before, but if anything I felt worse, nothing but my fury coursing through my veins and making my blood boil.

I fell asleep pissed off, and I woke up this morning feeling just the same.

I think most people seem to sense that something's off with me because they keep their distance.

I mean, it's not like people generally hang around me often; I'm hardly popular, and now I've been singled out for what I do-- play with guys' hearts, then break them. But ever since I screwed over Wesley, one of the most well-liked people at this school, I've been labeled Public Enemy Number One, and people have been hovering for the latest bit of gossip involving me.

It's tiring, living a life like mine.

My first few classes of the day run smoothly, or as smoothly as they can considering I'm in this state of mind, but by the time lunch rolls around, I'm still seething.