The Leader's Girl

4. Regrets

Waking up with a head heavier than a bowling ball had become my unwelcome morning routine, akin to navigating a hangover without the previous night's revelry. The events of yesterday paraded through my mind like a chaotic circus, each act inducing a stomach-churning somersault. From the official breakup with Zach to the fisticuffs with Mason, not to mention the surreal encounter by the lake – it felt like the longest day in the history of my existence. I still harbored doubts about the sanity of that last episode.

Slumping back into my bed, I confronted the ceiling adorned with stubborn old photos that clung tenaciously, defying my attempts to take them down. A mental kick to myself for not achieving that feat yet; however, reaching them proved as elusive as explaining to anyone, especially Mason, the urgent need for their removal. Well, that concern seemed inconsequential now.

With a disgruntled grunt, I flipped onto my side, curling up beneath the blanket. Sunbeams peeked through the curtain's crack, conspiring to create a spotlight on my carpet. It bothered me, but the mere thought of leaving my bed prevented any decisive action.

Why bother? I lacked friends, plans, and even the prospect of a summer holiday. My foreseeable future painted a gloomy picture: melancholic days at home, marked by Netflix binges, Sims marathons, and potential writing sessions if my creative block ever decided to lift. Three months in Michigan City promised an exhilarating experience, or so I hoped.

Contemplating befriending the elusive Marianne – who seemed to have mastered the art of monosyllabic responses – or pursuing romantic ventures with the cute pizza delivery guy crossed my mind. Thanks to my mother's generous compensation after the accident, I could potentially afford a daily pizza extravaganza. A silver lining, or perhaps a cheesy one.

Dealing with loss, a family affair: my brother sought solace in a bottle, my mother immersed herself in work, and I opted for the solo route – shutting everyone and everything out. Ignoring problems became my coping mechanism, a silent pact to talk to nobody about the abyss within. The darkest period endured for six months, characterized by silence, minimal eating, and school intervention due to alarming attendance.

Interrupted by a soft knock on my door – so soft that it would have been imperceptible in the quiet emptiness of the house – I confronted the reality that no longer felt like home since he left.

"Alice," a soft voice, not Mason's but Ricky's, called from the other side. I groaned, clutching the blanket, pulling it over my head, constructing a fortress against the world.

The door creaked open, accompanied by light footsteps brushing the carpet. The bed dipped as Ricky settled beside me, tugging at the duvet.

"Go away," I croaked, fortifying my position.

"Aw, come on. Don't be like that," he mused, "You can't stay in here forever."

"Watch me," I muttered through the sheets, shielding myself from the unresolved problems of yesterday.

"I have cookies."

"You're lying," I stated suspiciously, resisting the urge to rip off the blankets just to confirm the cookie claim. Mason's introduction of chocolate chip cookies at the tender age of four had instilled a legitimate addiction, a weakness exploited in every dispute. Ricky knew this and enjoyed pulling my strings.

"If you don't take off those covers, you'll never know." His teasing voice chipped away at my reserve, tempting me to cave.

Eventually, I surrendered, releasing my grip on the blanket, peeking out over it. My gaze fixated on the bag of heavenly delights in Ricky's hand. He had brought out the big guns. The familiar wrapping from my favorite bakery already had me salivating, the smell of those freshly baked circles of joy wafting through the air. Desperation to reach them amplified as my stomach grumbled, but Ricky pulled his hand back, keeping my coveted cookies just out of reach.