Chapter Text
I walked down to the bathroom while looking at my socked feet. I was still incredibly embarrassed about my little freak-out, but hopefully, Cindy just thought it was because I’m sleepy.
As my light footfall sounded throughout the quiet house, I realized that I haven’t heard anything from my other roommate, Jillie Bean. She was always loud, even when she was sleeping, so it seemed strange that she hadn’t yet woken up. I stopped in front of the bathroom door, staring down the hallway at Jillie’s door. It wouldn’t hurt to wake her up, would it?
I placed my hand on the wall and softly dragged it across as I walked. It was something I did often to comfort myself. It just felt nostalgic to me, for some reason. As I reached Jillie’s door, I paused. I should probably knock…
As my hand raised into a fist, preparing to knock, Jillie Bean slammed the door open and bumped into me, knocking us both down. I rolled on my side and hugged my knee, which had almost made a dent in the wall because of how hard of a collision Jillie had caused.
I groaned as I saw a pale hand reach across me to grab glasses that were abandoned on the floor. I sat up and looked over at Jillie.
She sat on her knees, roughly pushing her glasses back on her face. Her hair was a mess; partly because she just woke up and partly because she just ran into me at full speed. Her white bangs - which were bleached heavily - stood up in some places while the rest of her hair rested on her shoulders. Her eyes were round and small behind her white-framed glasses and she hurriedly combed through her hair with her fingers. Jillie Bean was a strange person, not just because of her name, but because of the way she acts. She’s very energetic, but also very sneaky. She can stand behind you for about five minutes and you won’t even notice. On numerous occasions, I’ll be getting ready in the morning and I almost jump out of my skin because I realize she’s standing right behind me, staring me down through the mirror. Scary.
“Oops,” She said. “Sorry Maraca!” She stood up, lending her hand to me. “I’ll try to be less… excited next time.” She laughed nervously.
“Oh, It’s fine!” I grabbed onto her hand, hoisting myself up. I brushed off my shorts and sighed. “My knee kinda hurts tho.”
We both looked down at the bruise that was forming just below my kneecap. Ouch.
“Oh… Uhm, sorry-” Jillie tried, an awkward smile plastered on her face.
“No, it’s fine.” I protested. There was an awkward silence where all we could hear was Cindy messing around in the kitchen. Jillie giggled, trying her best not to laugh too loud. I giggled too; only a little, and then broke the silence.
“I’m gonna take a shower now. See you in a bit, I guess.” I said, turning away before I could hear what Jillie had to say. I have to stop doing that. I’m sure someone is going to find it rude and then yell my ear off about it. It’s not like I don’t care for my friend’s input, it’s just that I don’t know how to end a conversation. Walking away is always the easiest solution.
I marched on over to my little pink room, grabbing my clothes and a towel. I walked into the bathroom, turned the shower and fan on, and waited for the water to heat up. In the meantime, I stared myself down in the mirror.
I still looked the same. I’m still the same person. But somehow, someway, it felt like there was a tectonic shift in my being. Like the name “Maraca Poor” was not my name, but someone else’s. I was a liar, a scam, a con artist. My almost green hair and tan skin were simply a costume, a suit, something I stole from a homeless person on the side of the street. There isn’t anything wrong with me, because I’m not me. My name can easily be replaced. Replaced with something like Millie Martin-
I snapped out of my haze, looking over to the shower. There was steam coming off of the water. I looked back at the steaming mirror, all parts of the glass obstructed by fog except for my face. I leaned in close, opened my mouth, and exhaled onto the mirror, successfully covering the only patch left.
The school isn’t very far from our house, so we walk there every day. It’s nice and humid outside this morning, just like it is every morning. The weather in Ahrtowyn isn’t very diverse. My favorite part of walking to school is when I get to look at our neighbor’s lawns. Some of them have birdbaths and statues of cupids, others have neat lawns with swings, and gardens under the porch, and some never tend to their lawn. I especially love it when it’s close to a holiday and everyone has their decorations set up.
Normally, I let Cindy and Jillie walk ahead of me and talk while I stay behind looking at people’s houses. Today, though, I was in front of them. Occasionally I can hear bits and pieces of their conversation, things like, “Are you sure?” or “I hope not” , and my personal favorite, “She’s fine, just tired.” I have this sneaky suspicion that they’re talking about me. It’s fine though, I don’t mind. I know my friends aren’t saying anything bad about me, they’re just concerned about my recent behavior.
When we made it to school, we lingered around in the front for a bit before the first bell rang. Once it does, we rush into the school and say our goodbyes. My first class is math, which sucks because I’m crap at math in the first place and now they make me do it while I’m barely conscious. My math teacher’s room is somewhat nice; Christmas lights are stapled around the whiteboard and the walls are painted yellow. It always smells like caramel, thanks to a candle that’s always lit, and I normally just fall asleep in math.
We have five minutes after the bell rings to get to class. I normally spend this time seeking out Cindy, because my next class is with her. It’s the only class I’m passing because Cindy helps me out with it.
Science isn’t fun. At all. I genuinely don’t care how my body works, or how a frog’s body works, because in order to live – and when I say live, I mean go to work and make money – I don’t need to know what a gallbladder is. Cindy, on the other hand, is the only person I’ve seen who willingly memorizes what DNA means. Sometimes she’ll casually slip big science-y words into a conversation, and I think it’s because she wants me to be impressed. And I am, but not for the reason she thinks; I’m impressed that she cares about science.
My third class of the day is pretty boring too. It’s art, something I’ve never really been good at. I look around the room at these kids who are grinding out these amazing drawings so fast and I wonder why I can’t be like them. Why couldn't I have been given the natural talent of drawing things that weren’t weird-looking flowers?
However, it doesn’t bother me for too long because I then realize I have the upper hand: Writing. In English and Reading, I’m passing with flying colors only because I read quickly and write quicker. I love researching historical events to write about and picturing myself in those situations. I’m glad that my fourth class is English because if I have to wait any longer to put my pencil on paper and write, I would go feral.
Fifth period is my free hour. I normally spend this time working on homework or missing assignments. Jillie has the same free period as me, so we go outside and sit on the benches. Sometimes we’ll talk, but other times we’ll work on things for class. She helps me out with art, and I help her out with English.
Sixth period is my lunch. Sadly, I got “Lunch B” which means my lunch period is the last one of the day. Cindy has Lunch A, and sometimes when I’m on my way outside with Jillie I see Cindy in the lunchroom chatting away with other friends. I feel a tiny pang of jealousy, but it goes away pretty quickly because I then realize that I have friends that are not Cindy and Jillie.
Seventh period is gym. There’s nothing special about gym, it’s just gym. The coach is annoying and he constantly yells at us from across the room. Things like, “Stand up! You’re in no shape to be sitting down yet, so get a move on!” It’s sometimes upsetting.
The bell rings and then we are released to go back home. Since me, Cindy and Jillie walk home, we have to walk out an entirely different exit than all the other kids. Car riders go to the front, buses to the back, and we go out the cafeteria doors.
The walk home is the same as the walk to school, except I’m even more exhausted. Sometimes Cindy has to practically drag me to our front door, and even then I come in and collapse on our soft, blue couch. I then proceed to take a nap for a few hours. On the rare occasion when I don’t pass out, I think about my life. Not in a sad way, just… think about it.
My mind wanders to my parents often. I can’t remember their faces, or their voices, or their touch… I can’t remember them at all. I feel like I should, though. I remember events that happened, like my fifth birthday party they threw at the park, and I remember how they would let me go over to Cindy’s place all the time. I can’t, however, remember where they went off to once Cindy and Jillie moved in. I feel like it’s important because three 15 year-old-girls all living together with no parental supervision is a bad idea. And sometimes I think about my friends. I thought that moving in with them would leave a strain on our relationship, but after two months of living together, nothing seems to have changed. We still laugh together, we stay up at ungodly hours of the night telling stories, and we all have a strict schedule we stick to when it comes to chores.
We all have to clean our rooms once a week to make sure that we’re not living in absolute filth. Each person is assigned a week where they have to do the chores. My week comes after Jillie’s, so technically it’s the second week. It’s a good system, which makes sense because Cindy came up with it.
And now… my mind wanders off to Millie Martin. I can’t stop thinking: What happened? I’m scared to look her name up on the computer, because what if it backfires on me and she turns out to be the complete opposite of what I imagined? And not to mention what the librarian told me about our first mayor. It’s weird to think that in such a patriotic town, everyone would agree that the first mayor – the one who started it all – was a terrible person.
Speaking of the librarian, I probably need to start reading the book I got. It has over one thousand pages, after all. The biggest book I’ve ever finished in a short amount of time was this one random book I got at the library a few months ago. It had about three hundred pages and I finished it in two hours.
I lazily rolled off the couch, catching myself with my arm. I could hear Cindy moving around in the kitchen and Jillie telling her random stories while sitting on the counter. I pushed myself up, groaned when I felt the bruise on my knee throb and waddled over to them.
“Goodmorning, starshine,” Cindy said, not looking up from the recipes on her phone screen. Jillie giggled, and for a moment I wondered if it was morning. I looked out the window, which was pitch black, and it didn’t give me much of an answer.
Jillie bean laughed and covered up her mouth with her hands. “Calm down! It’s not actually morning-” She said, containing her laughter. Cindy was smiling and slightly shaking her head, still looking down at her phone.
“Oh…” I said quietly, feeling a little embarrassed.
Jillie couldn’t keep in her laughter anymore and she started to giggle maniacally. This caused Cindy to start to laugh too, and soon I felt myself starting to laugh. Jillie Bean was very persuasive, even when she wasn’t trying.
We continued to laugh until our stomachs were hurting. At one point, Jillie almost fell off the counter and that only made us laugh more. The only thing that made us stop was when Cindy realized that our food was burning.
“OH-” She yelled, sliding over to the oven with a mitt in her hand. She opened the oven, whispering “crap” over and over again, handling the pan with one hand. The lasagna she had made was a little too crispy at the top but other than that it was probably fine. There was a lot of smoke coming off of the lasagna and out of the oven.
Cindy placed the blistering hot pan on the counter, taking the oven mitt off and resting her hands on her knees.
“Whoops,” She said quietly. Me and Jillie looked at each other for a second, before we started laughing again. Cindy looked up at us, semi-smiling and panting.
After dinner – which wasn’t that bad, just a little burnt – we all went our separate ways back to our rooms.
I sat in bed and read my book until it was past midnight. Sherlock Holmes was an interesting guy, I guess. He was weird, but that was the point. I sighed, putting my bookmark in and laying on my back.
I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding for the entire day. My eyes felt dry, and I had to close them or else I would start crying. I felt myself being pulled away, and I decided to let go. Sleep never came easy for me.
I was in front of my house. It was chilly outside, and I didn’t have a jacket on which only made it worse. I looked around my street, and I couldn’t see anyone. It was empty. The only thing I did see, however, was a little cat in the middle of the road. It was a black and white tuxedo cat with an orange collar around its neck. I slowly walked over, hand stretched out in an offering. Right as I was about to reach the cat, it looked at me, and I reached down to grab it.
A truck flew by before I could react, running over the cat. I screamed, watching as blood oozed from beneath the limp creature. It was as flat as a pancake. I whipped my head over to the truck, looking through the back window to try to decipher the driver’s face. Whoever it was turned to look around at me, and I watched in horror as I realized who it was.
It was me.
I saw myself smile, a wide, gut-wrenching smile that almost reached up to my eyes, and drove off. I was left alone with a dead cat by my feet.
My breathing got heavier and I fell to my knees.
“Oh… oh, god,” I sobbed, grabbing at my hair and pulling. I could feel hot tears run down my cheeks and I wanted nothing more than to disappear. The smell of the dead cat enveloped my senses and I gagged, preparing to throw up. When I opened my eyes, however, nothing was there. It was pitch-black.
And yet again, I was left alone, wondering:
What is going to happen next?