A Recipe for Evil

Hypocrite

"HYPOCRITE, n. One who, profession virtues that he does not respect secures the advantage of seeming to be what he despises." Ambrose Bierce

Colorless days are going by and Amy still doesn't have any idea to how she is going to proceed for her Machiavellian plan. The more time she spends with Myriam, the more her hate for her grows deeper. Paradoxically, the raven beauty's affection seems to hold for Amy-or more exactly the image projected by the young actress- increases with time.

The oddest thing about the whole situation is that as much as Myriam acts cold and distant when she doesn't like someone, she seems to have a restless need for physical contact when she does. She latches desperately on any form of affection as though she has been deprived of it most of her life. She also seems to compensate physically for her incapacity to express herself verbally.

She hugs Amy from behind when she wants to pull her out of sorrowful thoughts. She kisses her cheek when she wants to be forgiven. She slides her fingers up and down her arms in a feather-like touch to express contentment. She braids Amy's hair or twirls one of her locks around her finger when she is bored. Everything seems like a pretext to touch her. It shouldn't come as a surprise considering the fact that Myriam's favourite activity seems to be to transfer all of her emotions into her highly active sexual life.

It's the only thing Amy can think of when those filthy hands touch her skin or when those lips linger on her cheek.

"Where have they been?"

"Did she wash her hands?"

"Did she brush her teeth?"

At first, she would flinch every time it happened or shudder with disgust. With time, she grew immune to it. It's simply one of those things she suffer through like high school. Sometimes, she can almost convince herself that she likes it. At some point, she will gain something out of it. It's the only thing that matters.

One night, they are working on a school project when Amy realizes that, even though it has to be the twelfth or the thirteenth time she is at Myriam's house, she still hasn't met her parents.

"Where are your parents?" Myriam doesn't even lift her head from the book she is reading. She continues on staring at it with a frown on her face."Myriam, your parents, where are they?"

"My father's working," She replies. "And my mother's on a business trip." She closes her book and walks towards the bed."I'm tired of this shit. We're never gonna finish this paper by tomorrow."

"Myriam, this is import-"Amy starts.

"I didn't say I didn't want to finish it,"Myriam interrupts her." Do you think you're the only one who wants good grades? I'm just fed up so I'm gonna take a break and we'll get back at it later."

The actress starts pacing back and forth. She stops abruptly in front of the mirror and chews on her bottom lip in a way that makes her seem as though she hasn't eaten for days. She is tired of this. She can't stand the other teenager' infuriating behaviour. She briefly closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. She has to calm down. She doesn't want to say something she might have regret saying later.

Her gaze falls on the top of Myriam's disorganized dresser. There are beauty products everywhere. They are carelessly piled on top one another. On one side, Amy notices an animal patterned bra hanging loosely around a straightening mousse. An old test is squished between various bottles of nail polish. On top of a school book, there is a half-eaten chocolate bar and the sight of it makes her want to scream in horror. How can someone live in such a repulsive environment?

She sighs.

She grasps the cleanest looking lip-gloss and starts applying it on her lips.

That's when she notices them, half-hidden behind a dark lock of hair, Myriam's sad dark eyes slowly, shyly, travelling up her legs. Even through the mirror, Amy can see how much shame they wear. The raven beauty's lashes are barely able to conceal the world of emotions that exists beyond their gates. How strange is it that the fierce brunette seems so vulnerable when she thinks no one is looking.

She almost looks like a defenceless child. She is clearly fearful to admit her own desires.

Amy blushes as she suddenly realizes that she is the person being scanned by that hooded stare. For a second or two, she stops breathing. She becomes deeply aware of her own body which seems to be paralyzed at the moment. It doesn't make sense to her that the girl she envies the most could be physically attracted to her.

Blinking her way back to reality, Amy licks her lips with nervosity.

Maybe she is wrong. Maybe she is imagining everything. Maybe Myriam isn't looking at her the way Amy thinks she is.

She has to verify her hypothesis. Stretching her arms lazily over her head and arching her back in a sensual manner, Amy waits for the other girl's reaction. As she did so, Myriam shifts her position, pulling her legs towards her chest as though she is trying to shield herself from some external danger. Her brown eyes darts anxiously from side to side before taking their usual undecipherable composure.

Amy laughs inwardly.

It stuns her suddenly how confident this situation is making her feel. It makes her proud to know how much power she holds over her enemy even if it is that kind of power or maybe because it is that kind of power.

The same power Myriam has over Louis.

Ironic.

Yes, truly ironic...

Amy smiles at her own reflection. She is beautiful. She has to be beautiful for a gorgeous woman like Myriam to look at her in such a way. The girl desired by Louis is attracted to her.

"You're right. We should take a break," Amy blurtsout after a moment.

Myriam shrugs. She unfolds her legs and changes position to lie on her back. All tension leaves her body as she did so. She closes her eyes. Amy climbs into the bed and lays down next to her. Her hand reaches for the brunette's forehead. She pushes the raven beauty's bangs to the side, slides her fingers down her cheek, and travels them along her jaw. It's the first time that she is touching her of her own will. Myriam smiles under her touch and reaches for her hand, topping it with her own. Amy squeezes the fingers interlocked with her own.

"It tickles." Her eyes fly open. They are brown and shiny.

Amy drops her head on Myriam's pillow and scoots close to her until there is not more than an inch distance between them.

Myriam is not strong. She is fragile, so incredibly fragile.