Pulled

Feelings dont change

"Wednesday! It's time for dinner!"

"I'm coming!" I shout. I got off my bed and slowly walked downstairs. His voice was ringing in my head. His image was blinding my eyes. God, I couldn't handle it any longer. I prayed just to get through dinner.

I sat down and slammed my head on the table in front of me. I still had a headache because I kept slamming my head on my wall to see if I could forget him. Turns out I didn't forget him, I just gave myself another problem.

While I was still daydreaming about why I had to meet him, my mother tapped me on the head telling me to sit up. I sat up and looked at her in annoyance. "What."

"I can't serve you dinner if your head is on the table," my mother said. She placed the plate in front of me. I noticed I had part of the pigeon I shot, and that it wasn't cooked. Just the way I liked it. But, tonight, I couldn't eat it.

"What's wrong Paloma? You love uncooked pigeon," my father's thick Spanish accent boomed across the table. I looked up at him still in a daze.

"I'm not hungry," I said. I was hungry. But I felt if I ate I would just throw it back up.

"Are you alright Wednesday? You haven't been sick in years. I don't know why something would change now," my mother said looking at my father.

Then my father jumped in his seat and looked at me with scared eyes. I've never seen him like that before. Except for once when he tried to blowup his toy train and none of the explosives worked. "Paloma..."

"What father."

"Your not," he stoped mid-sentence and started off with a new sentence.

"Do you have a secret boyfriend?" He asked. I looked up and slammed my fork on my plate.

"Dad, you've got to be kidding me. No. I don't have a secret boyfriend. And if your thinking that because you also think that I feel sick, because I'm pregnant than your definitely wrong."

I got up and left the room. I heard my mother yell as I walked up the stairs.

"Where are you going Wednesday? Don't you want to play full disclosure?"

Full disclosure. The game where you tell everyone your deepest darkest secret. My father usually says something romantic about mother. Fester usually says something about a new lover. Grandma usually says something about beauty tips, or how she's going to live a more interesting and fulfilling life, if you know what I mean.

"No. And I just want to be alone," I continued to walk to my room and slammed the door behind me. In case your wondering, I slam my door on a daily basis.

I walk over to my dresser and looked in one of the drawers. I was going to make myself feel better. I pulled out a bunch of black, silver, and brown colored pencils. I then pulled out a piece of paper and began to draw.

I don't draw a lot. Only when I'm making a homemade guillotine, or writing down different ways to torchere my brother. But I don't know why I chose to draw.

I've never drawn like a colorful picture before. Not that I am a colorful person. As you probably can already tell.

I looked down at my drawing and I was finished. I hated myself when it looked like him. I drew Lucas Beineke. I stuck the picture on my wall and took a step back to look at the picture. I hated it. But, not for much longer.

I looked back into my drawers and pulled out a knife. I held the knife to my left arm and made a cut. My dark blood was running across my pale skin. I walked over to the picture and put my arm against the picture.

With my blood I made an 'x' over his face. It made me feel I little bit better. I started to feel like my normal self. But I wasn't done.

I got out a box from under my bed and pulled off the top. Inside was around 100 darts. I stepped back with the box in my hand and a dart in the other. I soon started throwing them at the picture of Lucas.

After an hour or maybe even two I stopped throwing darts and noticed that there were new holes in my wall. I felt pleased with myself. It made me feel better that I threw darts at his face. The same goes for my brother.

My arm had already healed. Being an Addams, our wounds heal faster than others. The scar across my arm was almost gone. Hopefully it will be long gone before my parents notice and start to ask questions.

I pulled the piece of paper off my wall and ripped it into tiny pieces. I didn't want my parents seeing this image. Then I would be in real trouble. The darts in the wall were normal. So I didn't have to worry about those.

After I ripped the paper I threw them all out the window. There was a heavy breeze so they wouldn't even land near the house. And it's not like my family ever goes anywhere. So they'll never find them.

I saved one piece though. Just so I could remember what part of him looked like. It was the part of his eye. When we met it felt like he understood me. My weird quirks and all. But, not through vocal communication. Through, his eyes.

When I looked in his eyes I could see pain. Like something was bothering him. About his past. Did we maybe meet because I was the resolution to that? Or did we just meet so when I come home I could feel like crap.

I think it was so I could feel like crap.

Did I feel this way because I had feelings for him? I don't know what love feels like. But, I swear if this is it. I hate it.

I put the piece of paper in my bag with all my pencils. Then I stuffed that bag to the farthest corner of the bottom drawer of my dresser. My brother likes to snoop around a lot.

I changed into my pajamas and turned my light off. I unmade my bed and got under the thick black covers. I put my head on my pillow and closed my  eyes.

As I drifted off to sleep, I remembered Lucas Beineke, I remembered how I felt about him. And why I actually drew a picture of him. And why I kept the piece of paper that was a part of him. As I drifted off to sleep I remembered  his voice. And after all this time trying to figure out what this feeling was. I knew that part of me hated him. But, part of me, loved  him.