So, after a few hours alone in my room, lying face down in a pillow and internally screaming, I forced myself out of bed. That beautiful bastard. Didn't he know my emotions were a cocktail? They were both shaken, and stirred. They also happened to be the special kind of cocktail, the kind you throw at the side of a house to burn it down, or at whatever approaching monster there is. What were those? Ah, Molotov Cocktails. Very effective, I much say.
I did promise Jackson I'd help him pick out clothes, though. So I coaxed myself into some more...fitting clothing. Last time Jackson stopped by, I had still been in my pajamas; a Darth Vader t-shirt and some skull pattered sweatpants. I had very, very vague memories of watching Star Wars on a phone some kids snuck in to my old school. There was at least twenty of us crowded around to see, since electronics weren't exactly allowed, per say.
Sighing, I walked over to my dresser. Painted all black with little ivory-colored skulls for handles, just like the rest of the furniture. I wasn't trying to come across as threatening or scary, really. I just happen to appreciate the aesthetics. The room looked spectacular, from a...traumatized point of view.
I pulled out a pair of black boxer briefs, some faded gray slim jeans, and a pure black t-shirt. Didn't take me long to change, never has-
But I refuse to wear those gods-awful bright orange t-shirts that you get when you come to this preppy camp. I hate them...so, so much. They're a neon colored assault on the eyes is what they are.
Ah, next, I headed to my bathroom, and promptly shrieked a little when I saw my own appearance. My hair looked like it could house harpies. I had eyeboogers and drool crusted on the side of my lips. Great way to appear in front of the one guy who makes me feel something, truly. So, so, impressive. I frantically grabbed a brush, pulling it through the rat's nest atop my head with small "ow"s and "fuck"s every three seconds, sometimes in rapid succession. People tell me I need a haircut, I tell them to back up before I chop off their balls and hand them to them. Don't dish what you can't handle, bud.
After /that/ monstrosity was out of the way, I grabbed a washcloth. Which was in stark contrast to the rest of the dimly lit room, as it was white. The bathroom was just like the other rooms; black, even down to the shower curtain and the porcelain throne. A couple small, magic candles set to never burn out sat in skull-shaped candle holder on either side of an ebony sink. It was nice to have connections from Hades. Got you cool shit. Hell, even the soap matched the rest of the room after a few drops of food coloring went in it. I squeezed out a few drops of soap on the cloth before wetting and lathering it, washing my face quickly before tossing the cloth in the sink and hastily drying my face with a towel. Then came brushing my teeth, applying deodorant and body spray, brushing my teeth again. Hey, the one thing I didn't want to be black, was my pearly whites. It just...wouldn't look good.
And then, I decided I was ready.
Oh shit, I was ready. That meant I had to go. No more time to internally scream, no more time to mentally prepare. 'Come on Nico, I can do this!' I cried inside, only to have anxiety, who happened to be a little bitch, reply 'no, you can't.'
'I'LL SHOW YOU' I thought, as I donned my bomber jacket and pushed open the front door.
A/N: I'm feeling inspired so chapter 3 should be out soon too <3
