Roses are Red

Rose's Thorns - Story 1

Chapter 1

I turned up the volume on my radio, enveloping myself in my favorite heavy metal. I had hoped that the drums and electric guitars would wash away the pain yanking at my heart, but all it did was amplify the throbbing in my chest. How could she? After everything I had gone through for her? I grabbed the radio and flung it across the room. I didn't want anything from her anymore. She could take him, for all that I cared. He was just another boy. Well, a super cute, intelligent, and kind-hearted boy, but that didn't matter. She, on the other hand, was a foul witch, using magic to trick everyone, including myself, into believing she was a great friend. Now that I had broken free of her confusing trick, I had to warn everyone else. But they wouldn't believe me. Groggily, I lifted my face from the pillow I had buried it in. It was now streaked with mascara. This reminded me that I was still wearing uncomfortable, itchy, tight party clothes. I ripped myself from the unspeakably beautiful dress that SHE bought for me and jumped into black sweats and a t-shirt. I mulled over the events of the night. Why, of all people, did SHE, my best friend, my companion for life, break my heart? She knew that I liked him! She encouraged me to talk to him! She must have given me bad advice on purpose. And then she swooped in like an eagle and snatched him up. She gave him her cute little smile and entrancing giggle and then snogged him like a monkey on a banana! Just like Annika with nutella! Just like Kacey with pie! (Comment from Author: Sorry about this part! We were fooling around a bit.) She must have known how vulnerable I was. How desperate I was for friends after moving here from England. I had to, just had to, get her back. But not now, not yet. I was exhausted. I closed my eyes to rest, and my vision was filled with what it was every other time. Brent Harlem. Utter perfection. Sweeping chestnut hair down to his chin. Piercing blue eyes. Head bent over a maths worksheet, pencil flying across the page. He looks up and sees me, and smiles a dazzling, white toothed, heart melting smile. The smile that drew me in with its innocence, its beautiful, untouched perfection. No. Not untouched, but now smeared with her dark red Dior lipstick. The lipstick that covered the evil in that horrible sneer. The lipstick that formed the lies. "Annabel, I love you like a sister." Now I can see that she loved herself more.

* * *

I peeked out my window. Everything was a blur. I saw my "friends" coming back from Lorrietta's mansion; the site of my heartbreak. Then, a flash of red hair and I ducked down. Had she seen me? I didn't think so. I edged around the wall until I was by the door, and pushed outward. I ran, tripped, and tumbled down the stairs. Rubbing my now-bruised scalp, I walked like a zombie coming from the grave. In a way, I was exactly that. My bedroom was my grave, me the ghost coming out to get revenge.

Chapter 2

I glanced at the clock on my nightstand. 2:00. I had planned to get up early, but not this early! Scowling, I shoved my head deeper into my pillow. After what felt like hours, I looked back up at the clock. 2:01. Groaning, I lifted myself from the bed and set my plan into action. I had known the night prior that revenge was inevitable, but I had worn myself out so much from crying that the second I blinked I was out like a light. Now, rested and ready, I had a plan. The first thing I did was grab the dress. She had picked out a dress just right for me. Knee length and black that didn't cover my shoulders. Long sleeves of lace. Probably a hundred dollars. I flushed it down the loo. That was just phase one. I wanted to-no, needed  to-outshine her. How hard would it be? If the popular girls just noticed me, I could fill them up with details they definitely didn't know. She had made me swear to secrecy, but now all bets were off. This was war. The second I told even one of the popular girls the news would spread like wildfire. But how would I get them to notice? They always approached people wearing clothes that they fancied. I would start there. I opened up my closet and examined my options, scrutinizing the smallest details. There was one detail, however, that wasn't small at all. All of the clothes were black. Previously I would not have minded, having been the one that picked them out, but I now considered it a major handicap. How would I fix this? Quietly, I made my way down to the garage and pull out my dad's spray paint. Red, orange, yellow, green and pink. This wasn't the best idea, but it was all I could think of.