Lovesick ??

  I love him and he loves me. He just hasn’t realized it yet. I watch him from behind the fence that separates our homes, Allen… he’s so strong, smart, and so beautiful. I remember when we first really met, it was during school. Our mom’s knew each other, so we knew of each other… but we didn’t really see each other until recently. We’re both seniors, but he and I couldn’t have been more different. Isn’t that how so many romance stories start? And yet… it’s my life. I watch as he sits out by his parent’s pool. Sun-kissed skin, dirty blonde hair like a movie star… his well toned body nearly gleaming in the sun, and if I could see his green eyes I just know they’d be sparkling…

  Oh, forgive me, I got distracted. How we met… I was in the art room, I am a bit of an artist, though I never could share my art. Art is a reflection of the soul, and baring my soul to just anyone? Impossible.

  He opened the door to the art room, I saw the surprise on his face when he saw me. Was he expecting someone else, or was he feeling as lucky as me? He apologized for intruding, how polite… I told him it was okay, though I must admit I was quite nervous. Not many boys pay attention to me, other girls prefer the limelight, but to me… well, the spotlight feels suffocating. My momma told me, “girls like us don’t get happy endings, we don’t live fantasies,” but when I met Allen… I knew she was wrong.

  He sat with me a while, asked about my art… I showed him, bared my soul to him and he told me it “was really good.” Can you believe that? Good. He thinks I’m good! I know what he really meant, of course. He was nervous and didn’t want to come on too strong, he’s a gentleman like that.

  Of course, that wasn’t it. We have our little flirts here and there, we’ll talk in the halls, I show him more of my art and he even smiles at me! The world stops when he smiles, or laughs at my jokes! Unfortunately for me he’s so studious, he can’t stay to talk with me long, but I understand. His responsibility is one of the reasons I love him, after all.

  My name on his lips is… orgasmic… “Mia”... He makes it sound like a song… I managed to get it on recording once, it is one of the most treasured things I own. I couldn’t let him know about it though, not that he’d mind! I just don’t want to come across as easy, boys like a girl who plays hard to get, right?

  I see him get up and head inside after a stretch. I bet he stretched like that for me, who shows off a body like that to no one? I pick up my journal, looking at my half finished drawing of him. Oh well, I can work more on it tomorrow after school.

  I head to the backdoor of my home, and head in, my eyes have to adjust to the light, momma likes to keep the lights low. The smell is a little overpowering after being outside for so long, my momma’s cigarettes, dishes I still have to wash, and my momma’s collections. They fill our home, but I suppose having things is what makes a house into a home, isn’t it? I hear momma snoring in the living room while Jeopardy! plays quietly over the television.

  I make my way to the kitchen, squeezing through the corridors between momma’s collections. I get to the sink and begin cleaning. I wonder what Allen is doing right now, is he doing his homework? Maybe he’s studying plays for the soccer tournament he has coming up soon? Maybe… maybe he’s in his room, in his bed, thinking of me as he-

  “MIA!” I jump, turn to the living room.

  “Yes, momma?”

  “Be a good girl and bring me a beer when you finish, hon?”

  “Yes momma!”

  I finish up and open the fridge, I grab momma’s beer… fridge is a little empty, I’ll have to stop by the grocery store this weekend I think. I bring momma her beer, she’s sitting in her recliner, long straight brown hair in a messy bun, I see the tiredness in her dull blue eyes, how skinny she’s gotten, skin taut. Poor momma… seeing her like this is torture, but I don’t know what to do, I’ve tried everything, that’s what you do for someone you love.

  I give her the beer and she looks up at me, I see the sadness in her eyes. Oh, momma…

  “Thanks, Mia.”

  “Anytime, momma.”

  I head upstairs to my room, I open the door to my space. It’s maybe a little cluttered, but it’s mine. Old toys lie on the ground, along with clothes. Drawings and paintings hang on walls, some of nature, abstract figures, or… Allen. I put my journal down on my desk, then opened up my whittling kit. I work on one of my new pieces, I call it… The Forlorn Girl. It’s a mask, gaunt and tired, like my momma. I work on it for a while before I decide to head to bed.

  I open my phone and find the recording of Allen speaking with me… perhaps, a bit of indulgence today. I’ve been productive, I deserve it…

  …

  “Allen~”

  …

  I dream of the life we’ll have someday. When we graduate, he’ll have time for me. We’ll have kids, and I can stay home and raise them while he is a professional soccer player, the best in the world.

  When I get up I pick through my clothes, I get some plain underwear, momma says any other kind is for whores, one of my skirts, it’s a nice cream color, down to my ankles. I search for a top, I end up settling on a grey long sleeve t-shirt, and throw a black hoodie on top. I give it a sniff, it should be good for another day. I should get to the laundromat soon… our laundry machines broke, but momma says she’ll fix them. It's just expensive. That’s okay though, I know she is doing her best to find a job.

  I look through my mirror at myself, hair long and dark brown and grey-blue eyes just like momma’s. My skin is mostly clear, though I have a smattering of freckles across my pale skin. I look over my body. Tall for a girl, no curves, and no chest. That’s okay though, Allen looks past all those superficial things… he sees me.

  I start getting ready to head to school, momma is still in the recliner as I pass. I wave to her but she doesn’t notice, it’s okay, she loves this show. We can talk later anyways!

  I stand outside my house, looking over at Allen’s. We walk to school sometimes, when he isn’t leaving early. I wait, and wait, and then he comes out. I walk down the sidewalk, he turns from his front door and spots me, pausing for a moment. Hehe~ I feel the same way when I see him… He walks over to me, giving me a smile. “Uh, hey Mia. Headed to school?”

  “Yes.”

  He pauses for a moment, “Okay, well, I guess we can walk together if you want.”

  I feel heat rush to my face, he’s so sweet!

  “Okay.”

  We stare into each other’s eyes~ I could do it all day, but unfortunately he breaks contact… I suppose we should start heading to school.

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  We walk in silence, we don’t need to talk, our feelings do that for us.

  After a couple minutes of comfortable silence he speaks up again, the leaves on the trees pause, the wind holds it’s breath.

  “So… you still doing those drawings?”

  “Do you want to see?”

  “Uh… sure.”

  I step in front of him, digging in my bag for my journal. Eventually I find the one of things he likes. I show him a picture of a bird, I heard him say he liked birds, once.

  I have been reading about birds, a girlfriend should show interest in her boyfriend’s interest, after all.

  “This is a lilac-breasted roller. They are of the roller family, coraciidae, native to Africa!”

  He looks over the drawing, “Wow, that’s really good Mia. You must really like birds…”

  “Of course, birds are wonderful. Which is your favorite, maybe I can draw it?”

  “Uh, I dunno, cardinals are cool, I guess?”

  “I’ll draw one for you.”

  He flashes me a smile and thumbs up, “Cool… looking forward to it.”

  After a pause he adds, “Okay, we should keep walking. Don’t want to be late.”

  We walk, when we’re nearly to school he asks me, “So… how’s your mom feeling?”

  The world jitters for a moment.

  “Good.”

  He’s just being kind. I think his mom and mine used to be friends?

  He nods and we finish the walk, approaching the doors he turns and waves to me, “Okay, guess I’ll see you around.”

  And like that, he’s gone.

  I head into the school. Day passes as usual. I go to class, take notes, leave to next class, repeat. Then I spot Allen with his friend, I don’t remember his name, but I don’t think he’s very nice. Always trying to get between us. I duck behind some lockers, hearing part of their conversation.

  “Still walking the creepy puppy to school?”

  “Come on, man…”

  “I’m just saying, Mira ‘Most Likely To Murder’ Langley is always on you dude, she’s obsessed!”

  I feel tears spring to my eyes. My face flushes and my stomach falls out from under me. I feel the eyes of everyone in the halls on me.

  “Quit being a dick, she’s harmless…”

  I don’t hear the rest of the conversation as they walk away. I force down the knot in my throat. He defended me, he does love me! I mean, I knew that… but it’s nice to hear it. I walk through the rest of the day on a cloud, he defended me! He’s so kind and loving… how lucky am I?

  Eventually school comes to an end, I wait outside the front door for a while, but I don’t see him come out. Weird, he doesn’t have soccer practice today, and he usually is one of the first to leave…

  He must still be inside, what could he be up to?

  I decide to look around, what if he’s hurt? He might need me.

  I search the school, checking his homeroom, weight room, bathrooms, then I get to the gym. I hear the squeaking of shoes and cheers from the cheerleaders. He wouldn’t be in there, but I decide to check anyways.

  I look in and see the cheerleaders practicing their routine, I scan the bleachers and-

  There, sat at the bottom, watching the cheerleaders. Well. He’s on the soccer team, maybe he’s just seeing what they’re gonna do for-

  One of them skips over to him, and they…

  …they

  …they kiss.

  whore, whore, Whore! Whore! WHORE! WHORE! WHORE! WHORE!

  I turn and run, I can’t- I can’t watch- my world spins, I lean up against the wall and empty my stomach over myself and the wall, sobs come unbidden, I- I- I can’t stop.

  I run home, sobbing the whole way there.

  I run up to my room, slamming the door. I hear my momma shout after me, but I don’t hear what she says. It’s not important. Nothing is important. If he didn’t love me, does she? Am I worthy of love? No. Of course not, how could I have believed that? I’m ugly, stupid, I’m ‘creepy’ and ‘weird’ why would someone want to associate with me?

  I scream until my throat is raw, I rip the paintings and drawings from my walls, I tear up the ones of Him. I smash sculptures, throw whittled art into the wall. I hear my momma banging on my door.

  “Mia Langley! Open this fucking door!”

  I scream wordlessly at the door. I find it on the floor. The Forlorn Girl.

  I don’t know why, but I put it on, clipping the leather straps closed behind my head. I feel… safer, hidden, not me.

  I feel my screams die down, the shaking in my body subsides, my mother keeps banging on the door, she sounds… scared.

  “Mia?! Mia, honey?! Open the door, please! Sweetie?! Speak to me, baby!”

  Now she cares.

  I don’t.

  Not anymore.

  Never again.

  I search the wreckage of my room for my whittling tools. I find the box upturned, the handle of the knife poking out. I grab it and hold it in my hand, I turn it over, looking at it in a new light.

  I hear my mother crying, pounding on my door, begging me to answer, to ‘not do anything rash.’ Like what, lie to myself? Pretend I am a person and not some husk that needs to fill itself with fantasy to feel something? No, I’m not pretending anymore. I am what I am.

  I was a puppy, begging for the scraps of affection of those who pitied me. I don’t need their approval, their affection, their pity. No more. Now, I will show them. I don’t need or want any of them. They hurt me.

  Now, I’ll hurt them.

  I walk to my door, and unlock it. Before I can make further moves my mom is on me, hugging me, crying into my shoulder. Telling me how scared she was. How sorry she is. I plunge the knife into her stomach, I feel a moment of resistance before it slides in, pushing meat out of the way, cutting through blood vessels and organs.

  She jerks back, she looks at me with new eyes.

  She was scared for me.

  Now she’s scared of me.

  I walk towards her as she walks back, one hand holding her stomach as blood seeps through her fingers, her other hand outstretched, trying to ward me off.

  She slips on a mix of blood and garbage on the floor, tilting too far back to catch herself. Right down the stairs. I hear the thumping, the grunts, then the crack as she lands at the bottom, head hitting the floor, legs and torso lying across the steps.

  I feel… lighter.

  I head down the stairs, careful not to slip in the blood. I go sit by my mother’s body. Watching her. I don’t know how long I do so, but when I look out the window it’s night. I know what I need to do.

  I need to get rid of those lies I tied to myself, and that means Allen.

  I sneak out of the house, no one has lights on in the neighborhood, they must be sleeping. I go next door to Allen’s, the front door is locked. I make my way to the back, hopping the fence. My skirt gets caught and tears, it doesn’t matter, not like I plan on anyone who sees me being able to tell anyone anyways.

  I make my way to the backyard’s sliding door, and it is unlocked. Fate, it is the only word that can describe this. I enter the house, it’s quiet, dark… clean. Like a house in a TV show, pictures of family on the wall, nice furniture, no dishes out.

  I make my way up the stairs. Walking quietly is easy for me, I’m used to treading quietly and carefully back home. I open the first door I come across, must be Allen’s parents, sharing their master bed together. Embracing one another. For a moment I feel a tightness in my throat, but I place my hand upon the mask on my face and feel those emotions fade away, back to clarity.

  I approach them, I should do the husband first, right? He’s the biggest threat. I walk over to his side of the bed, listening to his gentle breathing. In, hold, and out, repeat. I crouch until I’m eye level with him, and place my blade gently against his throat.

  His eyes flutter open just before I open his throat. I feel the warmth of blood run down my hand and arm, he sits up, grasping his throat, pulling away from me, fearing me… just like mom did.

  “Huh? What’re you doing, Mark?”

  I move to the mother before she can tell what’s happening, I go for the throat, it wouldn’t do for her to scream and wake Allen yet.

  I stand over their bodies, tangled in once-white sheets, faces frozen in horror. Their little fantasy lives ruined, brought to reality.

  I make my way back out to the halls, tracking the essences of their souls along the floor. I try one door, a bathroom, then a closet, then an office, and finally… Allen… He looks so peaceful, even though I know who he is and what we never were… he’s still so beautiful, I still love him, no matter what anyone may say someday.

  His room is what I imagined, and more. I see posters of soccer players, and cars. Huh, I didn’t know he liked cars? No pictures of birds. I suppose I didn’t know him, the real him… that’s okay, it’s better if this ends with me not learning. His room is mostly tidy but some of his clothes lie on the floor. I bend down and find a sock, I hold it to my mask, breathing in his scent, I’ll take this with me, for if I do make it out of this… I slip it into the waistband of my skirt.

  I make my way to him, kneeling by his face… he’s so close… I brush some of his beautiful hair from his face, leaving smears of blood tarnishing his flawless skin. He stirs, but doesn’t awake. I consider lifting the mask to leave a kiss but… the thought of taking it off feels like debating peeling off my face.

  “Goodbye, Allen… thank you for the memories, and the comfort.”

  He doesn’t wake up until after I cut open his throat, he tries to fight, but I stab him. Over, and over, and over, and over, even after his struggles stop, so many times my arm aches, and even more until my blade breaks off after hitting something hard one too many times.

  I stand, watching his body. Watching God become meat.

  …

  I am caught, eventually. It was bound to happen. A few days later someone reports “a girl in a weird masked covered in blood walking along the highway,” truthfully, I don’t even remember when or where I was when they took me. I remember them taking my face, I cried, and fought and begged, but I never got it back.

  I was given a lawyer, but I didn’t speak to them, or the judge, or jury. I have nothing left in me to say.

  The psych ward isn’t so bad, they even let me draw sometimes.

  And recently… well, there’s this girl in the same ward as me. Her name is… Violet… she asks about my art, tells me it’s “like, so good!” and that she thinks I’m so talented… and I think, well, it sounds so silly! But… I think she might have a crush on me!

  She just doesn’t know it yet.

  End