Harrison Woods is a 17-year-old girl attending Arbor Coast High, a boarding school in Ann Arbor, Michigan. Her dark past including her rocky relationship with her parents and her esteemed older brother's suicide are the reasons she landed herself at...
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Ugh.
I was going to need to wash my mouth with more than just regular mouthwash in order to cleanse myself of that kiss. (Maybe a few pumps of hand sanitizer and some soap). But what else could I have done in that scenario? Kissing her was what Otto would have done, and I was sure I had proven to her that I was him by doing so. I would say my performance was rather convincing. I'd even thrown in that dreadful little L-word.
And the Oscar goes to...
As Harrison and I were walking up the mountain trail (hand in hand, just shoot me already), I felt Otto trying to pry himself out of me, trying to wake up. God, why couldn't he just be quiet and let me take care of his mistake? It was at this time that Otto began to talk to me inside his unbearable head.
You have to stop, he said.
I don't have anything to say. If you haven't noticed, I am the one in control of this body right now. It's not the other way around this time.
Why are you doing this? God, his tone was pathetic. He was so hung up on Harrison, he couldn't even see the big picture. The same thing had happened with Jolene. Not again. Why do you always ruin everything good I have?
Oh boohoo, poor Otto. Always the victim in the situation. Cry me a river you deplorable son of a bitch. And get the hell out of my head! I can't have you distracting me after what happened last time.
I can't let you do this! Please don't do this again!
He was pleading. God, sharing a body with him was such a drag. He was so goddamn boring, and not to mention an idiot. Go to sleep poor Otto. I silenced his voice. No more distractions.
I kept my hand clasped onto hers, although I so badly wanted to let it go. Hand holding was truly abominable. It was a romantic gesture, a symbol of love, the four-letter word that repulsed me. But I needed to keep up my act for the next hour until we reached the top of the mountain. That's where it would all end: with one bullet to the chest, the head, really wherever I felt like it. I hadn't quite decided yet. It was as much of a game to me as chess was to a normal person. It all depended on if I could successfully checkmate my opponent: or in this case, my victim.
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