Totally Not My Problem | Chase Davenport

Chapter Two

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Totally Not My Problem | Chapter Two | "Shades of Discontent"

   My room, the sanctuary I longed for, lies at the end of the corridor, concealed behind an unassuming white door. I push it open, bracing for the unknown, and the world explodes into a vibrant purple spectacle. Everywhere I look, hues of purple engulf me.
   It's painfully apparent that Aunt Tasha is the brains behind this aesthetic assault. My eyes scan the room, taking in the queen-sized bed wrapped in suffocating Victorian purple covers. The walls, an oppressive shade of violet, seem to close in on me, while the carpet beneath my feet mocks me in amethyst tones. Even the nightstands are a shade of indigo, and the window blackout curtains embrace a sickly mauve. And then there's the decorative sun monstrosity above the bed, rendered in a shade of orchid that screams Tasha Davenport.  
    I should be grateful. After all, I'm living under the same roof as a woman with an affluent spouse, which allows her to indulge in whatever fantastical decor she desires. Or rather, what she thinks a hormonal-charged, emotional fifteen-year-old girl would desire. Reality check, Auntie: I'm not your average teenager. My dreams are more significant, my ambitions greater, and my tolerance for monochrome palettes higher. I prefer white, emerald, burgundy, anything but the blinding crayon box explosion in my bedroom. It's supposed to be my room, sanctuary, and solitude, meant to see me through until college.
    "I told Mom you'd hate it," a voice remarks, drawing my attention. It's Leo, still hanging around with my bags, and his words pull me from my purple-induced trance. Leo, the miniature version of his obnoxious stepfather, has always been an unwelcome presence. I eye him; my irritation masked behind a veil of stoicism. "She wanted your transition to go smoothly," he explains, defending his mother's questionable choices. "She means well, even if she gets carried away sometimes." He gestures to the room, resembling a chaotic coloring book page.
   "Smooth transition, huh?" I mutter, my gaze flickering back to the room that resembles a coloring book gone wrong. "You'd think she'd go for something less... vibrant."His eyes meet mine, and I see something there, a spark of understanding, perhaps. Or maybe it's just the flicker of empathy in his otherwise irritating existence. Either way, it's comforting to know I'm not alone in my disdain for this purple nightmare. Not every former member of the Super Society has the luxury of living with family in a crime-free zone. I'm safe here, but at what cost? The price seems to be my personal space, invaded by a color I detest.
    Still, I nod at Leo, acknowledging his unspoken camaraderie. Another hour passes, and I'm finally alone in my peculiarly purple realm. I unpacked my belongings, arranging clothes, hygiene products, and other necessities. A door catches my eye, one I hadn't noticed earlier, leading to an en-suite bathroom. Unlike the purple plague that has consumed the rest of my living space, the bathroom is blissfully average: white walls, gray-accented marble floor tiles, and a bathtub that beckons to me like an oasis in this sea of purple madness. My stomach growls, interrupting my thoughts of relaxation. I remember my meager airplane meal and the distant memory of a blueberry nutrient grain bar. Chili fries dance tantalizingly in my mind, a hunger-driven fantasy that demands fulfillment. Who am I kidding? I'm not a superhero anymore; I can eat whatever I want. It's a freedom I didn't realize I craved until now.
   Aunt Tasha might be the queen of excess, but even she can't ruin the prospect of a delightful meal. I order takeout, my cravings leading me toward a feast of indulgence. But as I make my way down the hall to call for delivery, I spot something out of the corner of my eye. A small, sinister creature crawls along the wall, its presence sending shivers down my spine. 
  I recognized it instantly: a cockroach. I freeze, my body locked in fear. It's a reaction I can't control, a visceral response to something that has always made my skin crawl. In this moment, my intolerance triumphs over any sense of empathy. I grab my shoe, aim, and throw with precision, squashing the intruder with a satisfying crunch. I know what nature lovers would say, but I can't help it. My fear of bugs outweighs any obligation to coexist peacefully. With a sense of relief, I resume my journey toward the phone. As I reach for the elevator button, I pause, my eyes drawn to the bright light from within. It's unusual, out of place in this ostentatious mansion. 
  My curiosity was piqued, and I stepped inside without a second thought. The doors slammed shut, leaving me in the dim glow of the elevator. A symbol catches my eye: three rings etched in neon orange linings. The descent begins, steep and ominous, and I'm left with questions. As the elevator continues its descent, my mind races. What secrets could this mansion hold? And why was I drawn to this unexpected discovery? With every floor that passes, I brace myself for whatever truth lies below, knowing that my journey is far from over.