Adolescent

16.

Pissed did not even begin to describe how angry I was. No words existed to describe the massive conflagration that set up shop in my veins and spread faster than Jeff Gordon speeding down the track to win his nth NASCAR Daytona 500. All I wanted to do was march right over there and drag Meredith out of the place by her hair and promptly beat the living hell out of her in the alley out back. Little Miss I-Can-Throw-A-Somewhat-Decent-Punch-Now wouldn't stand a second against my black belts in karate, taekwondo and jiu-jitsu and my wicked fist-fighting skills.

But I knew it wasn't worth it. I would not lose the control my grip was already slipping on. I would not lose my - yet again - dangerously slipping temper. I would not give in to her sadistic mind games again. I would not stoop to her level. And, no matter how goddamn much I wanted to, I would not beat the shit out of her.

Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. Inhale. Exhale. Don't sprint over there and drag her out of the building kicking and screaming, I thought to myself, eyes closed. Control. It's all about control. Concentration.

Fuck it.

I stomped over there and growled to Meredith, "Get the hell off my boyfriend."

She smirked at me. Fucking smirked. Then she turned to face me on Aaron's lap. "And if I don't?"

Losing control. "Well, either you get the fuck up in the next ten seconds and we go have a nice chat, or I drag you out of here by those pretty blonde waves and it can get nice and violent. Your choice," And there's that infamous temper that all Chevalier women have. My mom had had it, all my maternal aunts had it. Meredith had it. And she still hesitated. As I stood there, nearly vibrating with anger and everyone staring at me, all my previous oaths to myself shredded. "Tick-tock, baby doll."

She shot off of Aaron's lap. My turn to smirk as I turned on my heel and began walking toward the front of the building with her in tow. That's what I fucking thought. Once we were both out on the deserted sidewalk, I whirled to face her.

"You know, I don't get it. I just don't fucking get it." I said to her.

"What?" Meredith asked incredulously.

"What makes you hate me, or want to ruin my life or any of the other bullshit that you do," I elaborated. "Y'know, because it kinda makes a girl wonder what the reason for things like that are when she's done nothing at all to hurt the other person."

"You hurt me by existing. You're the baby of the family. Little Miss Perfect. Little Amazing Annie Who Can Do No Wrong. You think you're so damn special. You think you can do whatever the hell you want because your parents are dead and your dad liked to smack you around and you had to spend a summer in a mental facility and that qualifies you as 'troubled' or something. Newsflash princess, other people have problems too."

She might as well have smacked me from the way that hit me. "I'm no more special than anyone, and you damn well know it. If I wanted attention for anything that's happened to me, I would have gotten it by now. And if you're having problems that you need to talk about, then do it. Stop trying to get recognition by being a raging bitch and a whore, because that isn't the way to get it. What's happening or has happened to you isn't my fault. And honestly, I don't like having the family's attention. I like being alone and left that way."

"You don't like attention? Say that to your wrist scars while you're crying about your dead parents to your little boyfriend." Meredith turned and went back into the building.

My brain proceeded to have a fucking meltdown.

Because your parents are dead.

Because your dad liked to smack you around.