The Strange Tale Of Ayla Jae

Chapter Six - "The Art Of...Misdirection"

"It's done."

I can't really hear the rest of the conversation, but then again, it's just some random crime show I found to fill the dead air of the house with. Between the explosions, car chases, and cliché dialogue, I'm barely paying attention, especially since I can only watch on my crummy phone.

Normally, I wouldn't bother using the phone for watching anything, but the TV isn't connecting right now, and it's not like Chloe is saying anything to me that would require me actually using the phone as intended.

I feel a bit clingy, but I can't help it. The part of me that is usually so determined to be solo is hibernating, ever since that shit did what he did. Truthfully, I think I just miss her. It happens from time to time. It's normal, I'm told, to feel that way if you want to keep boundaries. The silence is just brutal at times.

"Kyle! What have you done?" A shrill fem fatale voice yells, the end of her words repeating as the phone buffers playback.

"What you refused to do! That's what." Kyle's voice sounds forced, like an actor more focused on his career than an honest performance.

"Jamie, we belong together! You know that! He was just screwing with our plans. And that young girl of his? Ugh, it's like...Do you even love me?"

Ugh. This is so predictable.

"Of course, Kevin!" Jamie stops and gets in close. "Of course, I do."

They embrace and kiss in a sickening show of shameless daytime TV, and I can't help but chuckle to myself. I can call out whatever I want about this mediocre show: poor acting, plot clichés, and easily solvable crimes with gratuitous violence and vigor, but I know underneath that maybe I'm just jealous. Over what exactly? I'm not sure.

My stomach mumurs at me, suddenly. I guess it's been a while since I bothered to eat anything. I'm not eating right now, I'm not even really watching this cheesy show...Crap, what am I doing?

"Ugh." The vacant groan reaches no one, but I get up and wander into the dilapidated kitchen. I don't have much in the way of medication, but I took my small dose of pain relievers hours ago, so the achy pains are dulled as I wander in.

This guardian house is sparsely cluttered with the occasional edible substance, so my options are usually limited. I can't complain though, really. Sure, this janky place is small, but I could and have been homeless before.

The dingy door of the once white refrigerator in front of me holds a new small paper note. Why didn't I notice that before?

I read the slightly crumbled note in my hand.

"Sorry there isn't much left. We're off to get more. Phone service is overdue, but it'll be on in a few days. Be back, tomorrow, hopefully."

Hopefully? Why hopefully? Damn, that's probably why I haven't heard from Chloe.

I slam the thin paper on to the counter.

Suffice it to say, my host parents are barely even hosts. I mean, they care, but it's always been weird. For example, I don't know what they even do for a living. They disappear for days at a time and comeback to limited conversation. I need my independence, so it's a fact I try not to complain about.

Since they're not hosts in the traditional foster home way, it's okay. They're more akin to a strange couple connected to Sam and Dave who offered a spare room to me, something they as small apartment roommates couldn't really offer.

Thud. Thud. THUD.

My head snaps around in reaction to the sudden loud thumps on the front door. The aches from my chest hurt and trigger something. My eyes start blurring. Thud! "I'm no queer! You hear? I ain't no sinner!" The way his voice lost all sanity. The way the hits felt deeper just because they came from a hateful person. The forcefully slammed door.