HELL IN YOUR HEAD

ONE

1: DON'T GO OUTSIDE AT NIGHT

My shoulders curl up from my mattress slightly to reach for the OFF button on my alarm clock. I lay my whole hand on the selection of buttons in hope to hit the right one, and relief washes over me when the blaring noise ceases.

Why did that shit go off at 8 pm?

Seconds later, I hear a knock at my door. "Miss Mae," Dante, our butler, speaks. "Your father wants you down for supper within 15 minutes. Nicolas is coming over soon."

I groan and lunge forward in bed, my muscles longing for another nap. "Kay, I'm up."

Nicolas is this rich boy that my dad continuously invites over, in attempt to make me fall for him. He hasn't said anything like this, but he's always hinting around. For example, "Mae, why don't you take Nick into the theater. You two could watch a movie together." It disgusts me for three reasons. One: He can't force me to date this guy. Two: I'm a closeted lesbian. Three: I hate this guy. Yeah, he's sort of a womanizing asshole who loves to talk about his political opinion even though he doesn't have a damn clue what he's actually talking about.

Still, I force myself out of my bed and into the heavily air-conditioned air. My sweaty feet hit the cold, hardwood floor, sending chills up my legs from the abrupt change of temperature.

I quickly make my bed and slip on a Nirvana tee and a denim skirt. I prefer leggings, but I don't want to hear everyone's bickering about how I'm not feminine enough.

I trudge downstairs, full-blown angst radiating from my head to my toes. Dad looks at me lovingly, but at the same time, disgusted at my choice of apparel.

A soft, familiar hand touches my shoulder and I jump. I turn around to see Alice, the makeup artist my dad hires every once in a while. She guides me to the bathroom, where we have an entire station dedicated to the pasty, pore-clogging substances. And I, with no desire whatsoever to be painted, am seated at this station.

"Please, not so much," I say in my posh, donotmesswithme voice.

Alice smiles and nods. She does my eyeliner, mascara, rosy lipstick, and covers up a zit. I'm almost satisfied when I see the turnout.

I fake a smile and step back into the kitchen, where Dad was typing on his computer and eating a plate of cheese and broccoli casserole.

"Mija, you look beautiful," he says after he finishes chewing. Honesty shows in his voice, but he's still eyeing the Nirvana shirt in slight disappointment. "Have some food, Nicolas will be here any minute."

"Thanks." I take a plate he had prepared ahead of time and take a seat at the table next to him. "Can't he come over tomorrow?"

"Why not now?"

"I was- oh I don't know... sleeping. I was with Jessica all night yesterday and I'm tired."

His stare to my chartreuse eyes only hardens as he continues with, "You know, Mae, you can't always get what you prefer." He stresses the word prefer, making me wince.

"I know," I reply, perhaps in an unreasonably impudent manner. "But could-"

"Enough." His tone of voice scares me even more so than before. "Eat your dinner."

I irritably stab the casserole with my fork and engulf the forkful hungrily. I wait for Dad to comment on my lack of manners, but he just rolls his eyes.

"Like I've said many times before, this is a lovely home. I could not imagine having the privilege of living in a house like this one," an familiar voice chirps.