Like Rapunzel, but Not Really ✔

Chapter 2

(One year later)

I was seriously bored.

I realized this fact when I caught myself re-reading the last chapter of my Biology textbook the third time that evening. By that time, I already had the chapter embedded into my brain, nails, glue gun and all. Not that I needed to know what was in that particular chapter yet considering the fact that my class of one was only halfway through the syllabus but God, was I bored.

And I had finished reading on all the other subjects as well. At this rate, I should already be done with college.

I sighed for the umpteenth time that day. I decided it was best to put away the book before I accidentally re-read it for the fourth time.

‘Now what?’ I asked the ceiling fan telepathically.

Homework was done ages ago. I had already cleaned up my apartment twice. I even scrubbed the toilet bowl three times just so I could kill time. With the soup kitchen temporarily closed due to having been broken into two nights ago (stupid, inhumane jerks, by the way. Who robs a soup kitchen?), there was absolutely nothing I could do to get time to pass by quicker and allow the weekdays to come by faster just so my tutors could load me with some homework or project that could make time tick by faster.

Lately, I realized bemusedly, I was getting really sick of my life.

“Hunter, I’m bored!” I wailed at the phone. “I’m so bored I’m dying!” I was sprawling on the floor, counting the cobwebs dancing on the ceiling. I needed to clear that up before an infestation spread about.

“Get a life. I’m practicing my lines,” He said distractedly.

“Oh, didn’t you hear? I don’t have one anymore,” I said, semi-shouting the last bit.

“Please. You just choose to not have one,” I could just feel him rolling his eyes at me from across the hall.

I made a face. “Well, until I turn into a legal adult I can’t exactly choose to have one,” I snapped, referring to my parents’ overbearing paranoia from the past attacks. Despite the fact that the last one had happened more than a year ago, they’d rather if I were to just live my life in The Tower, withering of old age till I died. For two people whom had graduated from Harvard, they sure did make some very questionable decisions.

“They. Don’t. Have. To. Know,” he enunciated with annoyance laced in his tone, obviously peeved that he had been saying this one too many times.  He didn’t get it. He had been a rebel his whole life. My mom said he had been one ever since he was born. While normal people came out head first, he came to this world with his posterior greeting the doctor.

“Whatever,” I dismissed the subject. We would always have a row about this issue beginning with him wanting to throw a lamp in my general direction because he couldn’t go to his movie auditions or him having to skip ‘raves’ -whatever they were- with his fellow (failed) actors as he was not allowed to leave me at all and I was banned from going outside. Then I would stomp my foot and he would stomp his and he would stomp out of my loft and into his across the hall and slam the door followed by me slamming my own door. Basically a lot of stompings and slammings would ensue. Not that they ever stopped him from going out and leaving me to my own company.

But I did not feel like going through the whole cumbersome process that day.

“Quick. Give me some suggestions on what to do,” I persisted.

He sighed. “Just… I dunno. Bake?”

“Can’t. Fridge too full,” I responded. And it really was. There were three cakes in there, three dozen cupcakes and a bunch of leftovers from previous cooking fests that had been instigated by pure boredom. Usually I would pass them over to Hunter to pass over to the soup kitchen but then that robbery happened so yeah. Sickos.