Trying to live #Wattys2024

Chapter 16 (Edited)

My door opened, but I barely registered that someone had stepped into my room. I was too immersed in my thoughts about Henry and labeling myself as a crazy girl until someone yanked the blanket off my head.

"Now, that's not how you welcome your best friend," Rose said, hands on her hips. I stared at her.

"Get that look off your face. You look like I've interrupted something important."

"You did."

Her expression shifted to one of surprise. "Really? What?"

"My dream."

"Was I in it? What was it about?" she asked eagerly.

"No. It was about the path to Hell," I told her. "And now, I'd like to go back there."

I snatched my blanket and pulled it over my face.

Rose yanked it away again. I gave her my deadliest glare, but she just shrugged. I took my blanket back from her. "I'm warning you, Rose—let me sleep, or I..."

I trailed off, knowing I didn't have a real threat to offer. Better to let her think I had something against her, even though I didn't. Let her believe there would be consequences if she continued to annoy me. But apparently, she saw right through my empty threat.

I didn't even know she knew me this well when she snatched the blanket so fast away that I felt exposed. I threw a pillow at her, not sure if it actually hit her. It might have grazed her, but I didn't dwell on it as I organized my pillows to lie back down.

I could survive without a blanket. Blankets are overrated, but God, I felt cold. And then something hit me. Literally—something hit the left side of my face, causing me to fall back onto my pillows.

Speak of being mega-dramatic. I was stunned for a second before I moved to search for the weapon. It was the same pillow I had thrown at Rose.

I glanced at her. "Seriously?"

She shrugged. "What? You hit me too."

I threw my hands in the air. "But not that hard!"

"Well, your lame throw didn't even touch me," Rose said, amused.

These were the occasions when I could turn to a murderer, not that I would ever choose to murder someone or actually do it because seriously, I'd be dead myself before I'd harm someone else. Plus, I hated seeing too much blood, especially other people's blood.

Rose sat down on the edge of the bed, oblivious to the murderous vibes I was radiating. "I just want you to be awake and not mope around in bed. Plus, you look like a mess."

I hugged a pillow to my chest. "What if I like being a mess?"

Rose laughed, but I was serious. "When I was new in town, everyone talked about the famous popular girl, Emerson Vermont. They called you the perfect girl. Like, actually, people were enthralled with you—your name was synonymous with perfection."

"I was far from perfect," I murmured.

"Right now, you really are," Rose said. "Let's get you ready and fresh."

After a few failed attempts to tell Rose that I didn't want to brush my teeth, I gave in. She reminded me of how much I hate the feeling of unbrushed teeth.

But that was the only thing I did.

Sometimes, I felt like it wasn't just my hand that was hurt, but my head. My brain must be dysfunctional—that's why I was probably a weird girl.