The Revenge of the Geek Betrayal.

Chapter five; blergh

With every care going along with it, I threw my burgundy backpack onto to the floor. My body instantly wanted to crawl upstairs and reunite with my bed. But my bladder had other plans. Oh god, what did I eat for lunch today?

Spicy lasagne, cries the stink of my number two, reminding me.

"Avery? Is at you?" screams my step mum all the way from the second floor, just as I was about to whip out my phone from my pocket.

I gave her a response and followed her upstairs after washing my hands with the sweet soap which advertised a lavender scent enriched with jasmine.

"Look, I'm going to have to leave you alone for today," she says.

What else is new?

"Sure," I reply.

"I have to go to a meeting right now," she says.

Tell me something I don't know.

"That's fine," I reply.

"I'm counting on you to have a nice meal prepared for us when I get back," she says.

Even though you never come back and I have to throw your portion into the bin.

"Alright," I reply.

And with that final response, my step mum heads for the door without even bothering to enlighten me with a peck on my cheek or a warm hug. Not like my real mother, who wouldn't let me escape from her embrace sometimes. Nothing has been the same since my father married that sorry excuse of a wife, and a mother.

My desire to take a nap vastly increased when I saw the awful sight of the kitchen, and the living room. I wanted to not take notice of the dirty pans in the sink, or the milk which had spilled onto the floor. I wanted to push the image of the dirty carpet into the back of my mind.

But ever since Carmen had moved in, I created a new instinct in me: an instinct to clean. Well, she never did so I would always be the one left to do everything around the house. Hence, now I feel as though Cinderella has got it easy.

Cinderella still got her prince. And I'm pretty aware of the fact that nobody can tell what will occur in my future, not even me. But I'm always frightened by this feeling that I will never find my prince. I've got various excuses, I'm not smart enough, I'm not confident, I'm not sexy and my favorite, I'm not worth anything.

'It'll be alright. You're still a princess' whispers my inner wolf, reassuring me a lie.

She thinks that I'm going to cry. Whenever I get like that, my wolf soothens me because she thinks that I will end up in tears. Sometimes, I thank her for it because I know that she's looking out for me. But on other days, I think that she's foolish for repeating the same thing even after witnessing the same result: me not crying.

I mean, once you adjust yourself to the habit of something, it's hard to cry every time. I've pretty much got used to my lifestyle; home at four, clean house, prepare meals.

And with that final thought, away I went to do what had to be done.

***

With satisfaction playing on my lips, I looked at the crisp cottage pie posing like a model in front of me. It's steam floating in the air, I imagined it to illustriate a heart. I tucked into my one, enjoying every single bite of the pie. My eyes were transfixed on it, but they couldn't help looking at the abandoned pie at the other end of the table, waiting for somebody to enjoy its deliciousness just as I was doing with mine. It was waiting for my step mum, and so was I.

I sprung up from my chair, frustration being the main cause of it. Actually. No, that would be Carmen. I ran upstairs, not knowing what else to do. I had cleaned the house, I had cooked a perfect, five star worthy meal. My curiosity wandered upstairs, to my fathers room.

On a small table situated at the side of his bed lay his phone, the latest model of Apple. It was a sly object, inviting me into the room. It begged for me to touch it's screen, to swipe and unlock and to explore. I felt as though I was being taken advantage of by the devil. In the end, my curiously still won the short battle between good and bad in my head.

I unlocked, I stared. In clear, HD letters, I read Jackson Samuel on the screen.

My father had received, 2:45pm this afternoon, a message from Jackson himself. Something in the back of my conscience shrieked "READ THE MESSAGE, QUICKLY!"

I couldn't. My eyes remained glued on his name. How in the heavens above did my father know Jackson? How did Jackson know my father? When did they start exchanging phone numbers?

I returned to reality from my previous stiff formation. My body relaxed and I allowed my eyes permission to just quickly check the message. Maybe it was nothing. But then, another rhetorical question wondered the hallow walls of my brain...

Why had Jackson sent my father a message saying "Avery knows."