Twisted Fate

Chapter One: Day

Here we go again.

It was a Tuesday, and it was 5 AM, and I knew exactly what that meant.  The monsterous place called high school where, although it was fun some days, teachers and fake cheese nachos made for a fairly disgusting day.  Well, with the exception of chem during 7th period.  Tommy Hilger sat right next to me, and since the teacher was quite literally falling asleep from all the little devils he had had to deal with during the day, we could do anything we wanted to.  Last class, Meriah and Foster made for a fairly interesting new couple.  I'm not even sure if they realized that the entire class was looking at them as if they were an exhibit at the zoo.  

Should I get up? Maybe for once I could just go with a little mascara and comfy cozy style... I quickly snapped out of that little fantasy.  Never would I be able to go easy on myself.  I'm in this life.  I can't change who I am.  And I am Kelly Frett, the girl who must be perfect. No, who already is perfect, I tell myself.  I've told myself this so many times, times of insecurity, that I actually am starting to believe it.

Life is hard.  It's full of bumps and turns, and there are moments when you doubt yourself.  But when you're me, you have to scale these mountains, skid to a stop where there's a ledge, all by yourself, inside yourself, never cracking your shell.  Trust is unknown.  Stability is crazy.  Competition? That's what we live for.  

Do I sometimes wish that I had a different life? A different character in this twisted tale of the world? Of course.  Doesn't everybody?  But I know that I have it good.  No pain, no gain, as people are always telling me.  Although that's usually my eyebrow waxer, trying to stop me from burning up in the pain of having your hair ripped out.

Why am I wasting my time on this?  The clock very kindly reminds me that I am now running 20 minutes late.  There goes my breakfast and second teeth brushing.  

Rushing to the bathroom like I was trying to escape a fire scalding my skin, I rumage through the drawers tofind my makeup. Brushes drawer, eyeshadow and eyeliner drawer, masacra in the little jar that I made out of tissue paper sitting atop the pink counter, foundation and concealer drawer.  I decide on a simple neutural clolr palette with tans and browns to compliment my jade eyes, and a tiny bit of black eyeliner and mascara to complete the look.  Onto my hair and clothing.

By the time this process of running between the bathroom with it's mirror and lights and the closet, with it's jungle of reds and purples and blacks and sparkles, time had somehow sped up and was now 6:47 AM.  Exactly 23 minutes left to complete my busy and bustling about morning routine.

Why do I feel as if I'm alone?  It's not as if anything was happening to give me this odd sensation; it was more like in my gut, I didn't detect any scurrying about, no mom trying to get my dad's tie tied, no salad being prepped for me.

You're fine.  It's just your imagination.  You're fine.  Maybe a little crazy.  Nothing big.  But my other side, which was often hidden, decided to come and battle it out.  It made my heart start to pound, comanded my steps up the stairs to become shaky and unsure, possibly even scared.  It demanded that my mind jump every time I saw a shadow, every time I heard a creak, even though it was most of the time coming from my own tread, my own body.  Was it my body? Because it didn't feel like mine at all.  I wanted to escape, to be brave, fearless, but I couldn't.  It wasn't like in books, when the describe it as being stuck, literally not being able to move, but books are realistic.  They always have a happy ending, with kissing and kids.  It doesn't reflect us, the rel people in the world.  This feeling was more like I knew that I had to keep going, and that if I really truly had believed that everything was fine, it would go away.  Supposedly, if m thery was true, then that would mean that I did think something was off.  Although I didn't want to admit this, it may actually be true.  

When I reached the kitchen I let out a breath of relief.  Yes, I was alone, but my home wasn't pilaged and there wasn't any signs of kidnap or murder.  I value my family too much to be able to lose them.  There was still our granite island in the middle, our starfish shaped candle holder from one of our annual trips to Cape Cod, our light catcher in the window, streaking colors across the polished hardwood floor.

However, it was what I saw outside that made me gulp for air, now sucking in that breath I had, just a moment ago, released.  A boy, clad in long, grey pants made out of an odd material that seemed to shimmer yet also have a dull quality about it and a maroon sweatshirt with a logo that looked something like a fork, but with a tendril of black wrapping around it.  It captured my attention.  He was certainly not dressed like a spy or a murder, but maybe that's because I've only seen movies about them.  

Fear drummed in my chest, and every single horrifying thought came to my mind.  Oh god.  He's here to kill me.  He's going to burn the house down.  He's going to gag me and stuff me into a closet.  He's already killed Mom and Dad.  He's going to drag me into his car and drive me to his secret lair.

As if my thoughts were sending a signal saying "Freak is here, run away", he leapt up from his crouched position, and darted away, stealthy like a cat but quick like he was never there, never peeping through the window into my life.  

I hadn't gotten a glimpse at his face, but I was fairly certain that this was not your every day Gentil Day High School boy.  He was from somewhere else, maybe somewhere in Europe.  All I saw were... nothing.  Strangely enough, I could barely remember what he looked like.  The harder I tried, the harder it was to picture him, acting like one of those finger traps where when you pull harder and harder, it gets more and more difficult to become free.  

It was strange; even though I couldn't remember what he had looked like, I had something up in the whirling chaos resting upon my neck. An outline, a shadow.  I felt a surge of pride take over me, and I think I knew why.  He obviously hadn't wanted to be seen, but I had seen him.  I also still had a trace of him, the opposite of his intentions.  It was this that pushed me through my breakfast and my long, dreary car ride to school.