Corrupt

Chapter Four

 

Chapter Four

 

   Harriet was searching through lists of well-known charities, clicking on their websites and seeing the potential they had. She had a prison wish, I swear. Nothing stopped her avidness, though. She just wanted this done with and out of the way, out of her way. The sooner it was done; she could relax and watch as everything crept into place. I’m going to do this, Harriet thought. Whether it works or not.

Clicking on a large charity website about helping children with anger issues, she scrolled down and found the closest place to visit them. Clenching her hand around her can of Orange Fanta, she groaned. This was probably going to go wrong, like everything else. When did she ever get anything right? Well, in no way was this right. To Harriet, though, this was the only way. She wanted to win. She wanted to be happy. She knows if she gets caught by anyone like Carris or Charlie she is doomed. They’d tell everyone how conniving her ‘plan’ is. She’d be stopped and carry on being miserable. Being alone and miserable is never a good combination for anyone, believe it or not. Neither is being miserable in a prison cell. Alone and miserable, alone and miserable. . . .

Tomorrow her plan would be well under way, tomorrow she was going to be one step further to success. But what if tomorrow never came?

Nothing in Harriet felt one bit of remorse; she simply did not care. Why should she? No one ever cared for her and she was about to show the world – well, hopefully no one would really notice – her other side. The side that really couldn’t care less, the side that wanted something and wouldn’t stop until it got it. She was being selfish – there was absolutely no doubt about it – but for once, she didn’t care. She was fed up of being the charity case. She was fed up of everybody feeling sorry for her. (“Oh, Harriet, I feel so sorry for you . . . smile! Be happy.” If only it was that easy, aunt Felicity.)

Instead of listening to Sleeping with Sirens’ album, she switched it off. It started to give her a headache and she couldn’t take it anymore. She usually listened to music so she would get a headache and be able to go to sleep. When she didn’t get a headache, she would lay awake worrying about anyone but herself. She always put everyone first and no one ever acknowledges that. Sleepless nights meant she couldn’t think straight. No one around her – no matter how broken they were themselves – noticed that she, too, was broken. She was like a fragile ornament made of glass; when you let it drop to the floor, it broke.

Her phone rang and rang, its annoying ringtone causing Harriet to get an even worse headache. Her phone was a pile of garbage and she would much rather use her oh-so treasured iPod that was also a piece of useless (not quite) rubbish. Harriet was different. It was clear.

Bring.

 “Hello?” She answered, forgetting to check to see who the caller was. A rather stupid move, but one she did quite often. She just wanted the stupid ringtone to end and, hopefully, the conversation too.

Harriet was clumsy and forgetful, so when someone phoned her (which they hardly did) she always forgot to check the caller I.D. She vowed to stop her habit but she never quite could. “Sorry. . .” she would whisper into the phone. “Who is this?” she’d ask, feeling stupid and dumb and stereotypically blonde although she was clearly a brunette.

“It’s Emily,” the chirpy girl at the other side of the phone nearly sang. Thank God, Harriet thought. Emily’s my friend. I think.

“Oh. . . ” Harriet raised an eyebrow in confusion. “Emily.” Nobody ever called her, what could Emily possibly want? Harriet felt rude – she hadn’t even said “hi” or anything nice and welcoming like that. She didn’t have time to because Emily was already speaking.