Inner Demons

Ready for Some Change?

Chapter Four

I put my hands on his chest and push him away from me as hard as I can. He almost falls off the bench.

"What the actual heck was that!" I shout. He only puts on a confused and almost hurt face.

I jump up from the bench and angrily walk away.

"Wait!" I hear Ryan behind me and start walking faster.

"Why don't you just leave me alone?" I call over my shoulder, bitterness streaming into the sentence.

"Don't you need a ride?"

"I'll walk home!" What the heck does he want from me?

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that. I've learned from my mistake, okay?" he says, coming up beside me.

"Damn right you shouldn't have done that! What the hell made you think you had the permission?" I stop walking and turn on him. "I met you yesterday. That doesn't mean that you can make out with me the next day!" I jab a finger at his chest. "What made you think I even liked you as a friend?!"

"Well, there's the fact that you agreed to go to the park with me," he responds, shrugging.

I let out a huff of breath. "Leave me alone." I pivot and start walking again, not being able to think of a better comeback.

"Hailey, wait." Ryan starts jogging after me again.

"Didn't I just tell you to leave me alone? What the hell does that mean to you?" I ask, bitterly.

"Um-"

"It was a rhetorical question. I wasn't looking for an answer."

"Please. I'll just give you a ride home," he says, innocently.

I keep walking, thinking about whether I want to sit in a car with him for a good half hour or walk home. It takes a long time to think of an answer.

"Fine. But you're still a jerk," I respond.

"So stubborn," he mumbles to himself, but I could still hear him. I flip him off over my shoulder.

Seconds later, I step onto the gravel of the parking lot and quickly walk to his car. I open the door, resisting the urge to hop over it instead, climb into the passenger seat, and slam the door behind me. I buckle up as Ryan reaches the car.

"I'm sorry," Ryan says, opening the driver's side door and sitting in the seat. I cross my arms and look away from him, focusing on the cars passing by on the road.

He sighs and buckles up. The engine turns over and Aerosmith comes through the speakers.

We drive to my house without a word said, only the music keeping the ride from being completely silent.

****** ***** ***** ***** *****

I slam the front door behind me and stomp up the stairs. When I get into my room, I steal a glance out the window. Ryan is still sitting in the driveway with his head pressed against the steering wheel, his dark hair covering his face.

"Jerk," I mumble, closing the curtains and walking to my desk. I plop down in the old wooden chair and sit there for a few moments.

I sigh and close my eyes. When I open them again, they find the picture of Greer that I keep on my desk. I put it in a frame after she died, knowing that that was the only way I could see her again. I thought I'd make it nice, for her. But in reality, the picture is worn and crumpled, folded in on the corners and then unfolded again and again. The frame hides most of the impurities.

My hand slowly moves to the picture and I run my fingers along the edge of the wooden frame. I pick it up and think about her. How happy she was, or maybe how she seemed to be. How beautiful she was with her long blond hair and hazel eyes that were always full of kindness and understanding. How I could have done so much to help her.

I get up, the picture still in hand, and start pacing my room, a habit I've picked up when I get stressed or start over thinking which are the things that take up most of my time.

I keep pacing until my phone buzzes in my pocket. I let out a screech and my hand loosens on the picture. I reach my hand out, thinking that it wouldn't do anything to help. But, instead of crashing to the floor, it hesitates, the air rippling around it.

I pull my hand back and the frame crashes to the floor, landing on a corner and causing the glass to shatter.

"Holy—" I breathe. I bring a hand up to cover my face, trembling in the middle of my room on the verge of tears.

I've officially gone insane.

****** ***** ***** ***** *****

I pull into my respective parking space and get out of my car, slamming the door closed.

I walk up to the front porch and try to open the door.

"Great. Locked," I say to myself, throwing my hands up and turning away. That means that my mom has come home. She doesn't know that I left.

I take a deep breath and dig in my pocket for my keys. I retrieve them, find the right key, and quietly put the key into the hole. I turn the knob and push the door open.

When I step inside, I hear my mom in the kitchen, unpacking groceries. I let out a breath of relief.

I silently close the door behind me and bound up the steps, taking them two at a time.

When I make it into my room, I accidentally close the door too loud. Great...

"Ryan, can you come down here really quick?" my mom calls up to me.

"One second," I call, ruffling my hair and taking off my faded t-shirt, making it look like I've been home all day. I had unpacking to do that I forgot all about; I don't need her finding out.

I catch a glimpse of my wings tattooed on my back as I walk out of the room. I begin to slump down the stairs, making the act more believable.

When I reach the bottom of the steps, I prepare myself for the onslaught of questions I might receive. I take the last few strides into the kitchen where I find my mom with her wavy blond hair pulled into a loose ponytail that's placed slightly off to one side of the back of her head. Her blue eyes meet my violet ones when she hears me enter the kitchen.

"Oh, good. You're up," she says, directing her attention back to her chore. "Did you unpack at all?"

"Uh, yeah," I lie, massaging the back off my neck. She whips her head back up and inspects my face.

"No, you didn't. I can always tell. You rub your neck when you lie." She smiles and turns her body toward me. "What did you do today? Anything?"

"Yeah..." but I don't want to tell you. I shift my weight from one foot to the other.

"Spill. What did you do?" she insists. I sigh and respond.

"I went to the walking park with a friend," I mumble, opening the fridge and looking inside.

"Oh, good. It is better for you. Just make sure you get your room in order before your grandparents come Friday, she says, turning back to the bags of groceries in front of her. I close the fridge and mumble an okay.

Or maybe get your crap together before you mess up your last chance.