Life At Its Finest (Brother's Bestfriend)

Fights, Blunts, Kids, And A Mystery Question

Maybe he isn't home. Maybe, he went out... Maybe... 

"Are you just gonna stand out there or come inside like a normal person would," Dangit. Conrad's voice had startled me and I didn't dare look at him. 

I had spent at least ten minutes thinking and arguing with myself to prevent seeing the man who stood before me while standing in front the door to my home which had suddenly become a prison. 

I stared up at him. He hadn't changed from that same morning. Does this guy work at all? My heel dug deep in the mat and I was about to turn around to leave but Conrad spoke again. "Come on, Macy." He widened the door open and smirked at me invitingly. 

Why I went in? I haven't a fucking clue. He went straight to the fridge and took out a pizza box from Grimaldi's. "Hey," He waved a pizza in my face. "I doubt you've eaten yet, so here." Just as I was about to speak he shoved the crust in my mouth. Is this freak insane? I could have choked.

"I'm okay, thanks..." I said meaning it the slightest bit. 

"Macy, please, just eat the goddamn pizza." He said using a boring tone. I wondered of he was acting as if nothing had happened. Either that or he just too high to remember his firey hatred for me the previous night.

"What's wrong with you?" I said, putting the pizza back in the box. My stomach grumbled, but I wasn't even hungry anymore. I usually didn't go about picking fights with people, but Conrad easily set me off. I didn't do anything to him, so he had no reason whatsoever to be such an asshole.

"Me? What's wrong with you?" He shot back, taking a huge bite out of the pizza I had just set down. "You're the brat who throws a tantrum each time you don't get your way. And you come in here questioning me." 

Loads of anger pierced through ever part of my body and I wanted to strangle him. "Me? You don't know what the hell you're talking about because I am not a brat. I actually work for what I want, and I don't waste my time hating innocent people who didn't do anything to me." I poked his chest violently, not caring about what he would do to me for invading his space, not at the time anyway.

"You're not a brat," He mocked. "You act like a child just cause I sat in your fucking chair." He grabbed my wrists and held them still, as if I would continue to jab at him, and maybe even take a swing. I probably would have. I flinched away, fearful he might hurt me. "Macy, you're a baby. Face it. You get whatever the fuck you want and act like you need to work so damn hard. Quit pretending." His voice played through my ears, his lips touching my earlobe as he spoke.  

"And you. Quit pretending like you know me." I struggled away from him but he held me still. The position he had me in was awkward as can be. I felt like he had made such a major transition from sending me glares all the time, to screaming in my face. 

That's when I noticed the white lines of cocaine on my living room coffee table, lined up in perfect rows next to a blade and a curled dollar bill.  

His eyes found mine. "Oh, princess. I know you better than you think." With that I shoved him away and slipped up in my room for the rest of the night. 

... 

It wasn't me to hold grudges. I'd always been known as 'too forgiving.' But Conrad was a selfish, annoying, accusing, druggie who thought he knew everything about me. And I didn't like him. I wasn't too sure if I could hate him; I wasn't too sure if I could hate anybody. I felt disgusted by just using that word. 

In the morning I did my usual routine, only an hour earlier to avoid a certain someone. It was my last week teaching the little ones art. I was gloomy about that.