The Bad Boy in my Room

Ok, this is the prologue.

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I drove home, after a long day at with my best friend Hannah. My mother’s car wasn’t in the drive way as always. I unlocked the door, to hear something thumping upstairs. I rushed into the kitchen to grab a frying pan. Yes, a frying pan of all the things. I proceeded slowly up the stairs. I heard another thump, coming in the direction of my room, followed by a curse, “Shit.” It was muttered, and barely understandable.

I was at the top of the stairs, and in front of my door. I lifted the pan, ready to attack. I counted to three, then swiftly busted my door open, hitting the person on their back, but they hit their head on my bed post. Their body slumped to the ground. I gasped as I saw an unknown boy now unconscious in the middle of the floor. I poked him with the pan, to check if he would move, and maybe attack me or something. He groaned slightly, then went silent again.

I turned him over, and noticed that he looked young. Quite young, and around my age, 17. I admit, he was good looking, but who knows who this is? He could be a rapist, or burglar… or a rapist. Probably a rapist. Yeah, that’s what I’m going with. I called my mom on speed dial. She answered on the third ring, “Is something wrong? You never call me.”

“Yes! There’s a rapist in the house!”

“WHAT!? Where’s Jace!?”

“Who?” Jace? Who is that?

“17 Year old boy. Black hair, olive skin, easy on the eyes. He was wearing a grey hoodie, with black pants, and vans,”

I looked down at the boy with a grey hoodie, black pants, and vans on.

“What color are his vans?” I questioned.

“A maroon looking color.”

I saw a pair of maroon looking color vans.

“What color is his shirt, and what does it have on it?” I challenged.

“His shirt, is plain white, and it has nothing on it.”

I looked down. Oops.

“How soon, can you get home?”

“I’m already on my way. It will be a couple of minutes.”

I hung up the phone. Now what to do, with the body? I managed to get his body on my bed. Jeez, he smells good! Now focus! I took some rope I found in a closet, and tied his feet together, then tied his hand to the post. I sat on my dresser across from him, and held out the pan towards him, just in case.

He began to move. I held the pan more securely now. He groggily, sat up all the way, the opened his eyes slowly. “Watch out for the… pan.” He began to lose it, but shook himself conscious. “A pan?” He managed to say before, he slipped back into unconsciousness.

My mother came into my room, and froze with her eyes wide. “What did you do?!” She shrieked.

“I thought he was a rapist! Who is he anyway?”

She walked over to him, and held him, “A frying pan, really? That’s the best you had?” She looked at me skeptically. Hey!

“It works wonders apparently.” I pointed to the boy.

“Yeah, a little too much in this case.”

“Back to my question, who is he, and why was he in my room?”

She looked at me, “You know how your aunt Lisa works with kids without families…”

“You adopted didn’t you? If you didn’t want me anymore, you could have just said so.” I lifted my hands up in defeat.

“No! She saw potential in him. She said, he needed to be around love, and he just needed to be loved by the right person, and the person she thought of was me.”

“ Sooo, you adopted him?”

“Kinda. I have ownership of him though. I went to get dinner, than a certain bag of crazy decided to knock people up with frying pans.”

“Actually, I was playing grit-ball if you must know.” I quoted a game from one of the Madea movie.

“Yeah, minus the grits. I ‘m going to the doctor, stay here, and make the room across the hall comfortable for him please?”

“He has to be across the hall from me?!” I whined.

“And I expect you to take care of him, seeing as all of this is your fault indeed. No help me carry the body to the car.”

I grabbed his legs, but I’m not the most coordinated person, so it looked like I was playing twister. The funny thing is, we were still in the same spot.

“NOW, are you ready to actually move from this location?” She asked.

“Wait!” I adjusted his leg on my shoulder, “Now, I’m good.”

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