The Vituperator (NaNoWriMo 2015)

eight \\ awakening

SOMETHING HITS MY WINDOW, the sudden noise jolts me awake. I pull myself up, glancing at the clock on my bedside table. It's well into the afternoon, but it's a Sunday, sue me. My window's hit again, whatever it is, it's small and sounds kind of like hail. That confuses me, if there were some random hailstorm, I would hear a lot more pitters and patters on my window than just one every few seconds.

I roll out of bed with a sleepy grunt and trudge over to my window, pulling the curtains aside. At that very second, a rock hits my window, thrown harder than the former maybe, because my window immediately snowflakes with cracks. I double take, stunned, and now very awake.

I hear a surprised sound outside, muffled by my now-broken window.

"What the hell?" I mutter, pulling the window up slowly, not wanting to crack the glass further. I poke my head out to see Bryson standing in my yard, looking a bit embarrassed.

"What the shit is this?" I yell at him. "Are you actually throwing rocks at my window?"

"I didn't feel like knocking! Your moms kind of freak me out!" He calls back, slightly shaky and unsure.

"They aren't home, though you should be scared of me too, you dick. You broke my window!"

"I can pay -"

"Honestly, what do you think this is? Some fucking John Hughes movie? We gonna go to detention and get high in the library?"

"Okay, you're being a little grumpy now," he frowns, dropping a bunch of rocks he was holding in his other hand.

"Well, I'm sorry. I just woke up to someone throwing shit at my window like it's the fucking 80s!"

I'm kind of grumpy, he's right, but I just woke up. It was an unpleasant awakening. He might as well suffer, it's his fault anyway.

"Well if I knew you were sleeping, I wouldn't have come here!" He shoots back, an exasperated look on his face. "You didn't answer your phone!"

"Because I wasn't conscious."

"God - Olive - can you just come down here? Or let me in?"

I roll my eyes and shut the window, grabbing my robe as I head out of my room, wrapping it around me and tying it. I'll put on a bra if it's important, but for now, I'll hang onto whatever freedom I have left today. I shut my door and scratch my head, feeling pretty much disgusting. My hair isn't combed and my face is probably as oily as a fast food joint, but I'm too annoyed to wash up.

"Fucker," I mutter, descending the staircase. My mothers definitely weren't home, they're probably brunching somewhere. I unlock the front door and swing it open, revealing a sheepish Bryson.

"Shut the door behind you," I say, turning around to go to the kitchen. I hear the door close as my bare feet meet the cold tiles of the kitchen floor.

"I can pay for the window," I hear Bryson say. I hear a creak as he takes a seat at the table.

"Yeah, yeah, what are you doing here?" I yawn, opening the fridge.

"I just wanted to see if you wanted to hang out."

"Well, you're here, I guess."

"I was hoping maybe we could drive out somewhere."

I shoot him a questioning look as I pull a pitcher of cold water from the fridge. Setting it on the table, I pull out two glasses from the cabinet behind me.

"I feel like I need to clear my head, you know?" He says, thanking me quietly when I slide a glass of water over to him.

I finish my glass in a few seconds and my stomach rumbles.