That Stupid Little L-Word:

Chapter Two:

Thoughts race around inside my head-each inside their own little multicolored race car. Brain cells have completely packed the large, circular stands that surround the squishy, pink brain-track and cheer excitedly in anticipation, waving banners and throwing streamers. The biggest, most jacked up ride reeves its engine dangerously. A single word is printed across the side in large, extravagant letters.

It reads: ‘Jake’.

I feel sick to my stomach.

Crouched down in front of the large porcelain throne fixated in my bathroom, I try really, really hard not to pay attention to my bumbling thoughts. My skin feels like lava, beads of sweat dotting across my cheeks and forehead, yet my core is ice cold. I rest my cheek against the toilet seat, basking in the cool porcelain.

A light knock sounds from the door.

“Alice?” The she-devil calls through the white wood, hinges squeaking slightly as she presses her ear against it. “You okay in there?”

“Go away.” I mumble into the toilet.

The doorknob twists slightly, catching against the lock which is turned into place. If I could, I’d smirk victoriously. My mom had no idea how to pick locks and I was in no shape to stand and unlock it for her. And so now we have a door between us.

I wish it was a galaxy but, you know, we can’t have everything we want.

“Please open up.” Mom groans.

The skin between my eyebrows crinkles. I press my lips together into a tight, firm line and squeeze my eyes shut, focusing on the icy coldness against my cheek. It’s so much better, compared to my mom’s continuous whines and my racing thoughts. Especially my thoughts.

A dark shudder tears through my body. My stomach lurches, tightening swiftly and pulling back. Hands flying to scrape my hair away from my face, I hurl into the toilet. My stomach clenches tightly, painfully, because I’ve already spewed all the contents inside of it out. I cough and hawk out the horrid taste. Somehow, I weakly manage to scramble to my feet. My fingers find the toilet flusher and push it, tainted water disappearing faster than it’d appeared.

Leaning heavily against the counter, I dip my head down and turn on the faucet to rinse out my mouth.

“Alice, seriously, stop this instant!” I can almost hear her scowl darkly at the door, “You’re over reacting. We’re going to Florida! The sunshine state! You should be happy and excited! Not puking your guts up.”

I ignore her and turn off the water before returning to my seat in front of Mr. Flush. I don’t want to go to Florida; I’ve never even fathomed the idea of moving. I don’t want to be in the sun; I want the rain. I want the gloom and doom, not sunshine and cheesy smiles.

I want to be near Jake.

My cheek finds its spot on the toilet seat again. I stare hollowly at the tan-colored drywall across from me, now completely numb.

Jake was my best friend. He was a tall fellow, lanky with hardly any muscle, and donned curly blonde hair and big, round green eyes. We met in preschool, when I decided that he would be my partner in crime, whether he wanted to be or not.

And it worked splendidly.

I was Batgirl and he was my Robin. I was the pimp, he was my bitch. Our relationship just worked like that-almost completely through high school. We did everything together-no matter how girly or boyish. It didn’t matter to us, just so long as we were able to do it together. We shared everything; our first kisses, our first boyfriends/girlfriends, our first heartbreaks.