Journal Of A Teenage Psychopath

22

"Are those your parents?" was the first thing she asked me next time I saw her.

I sneered right back at Anastasia - "Are those yours?" I wasn't about to let her insult my family. At the very least they were mine. If I had to be associated with them, nobody was allowed to make fun of it.

"No," she said. "I'm adopted."

I hadn't noticed.

We were out in the parking lot of 'therapy,' and I couldn't hear why the pair of adults started talking, but Anastasia pulled focus right then.

At that point I looked between the two people talking to my parents, back to Anastasia. I tilted my head, "What are you talking about? You and your mom have that same crooked unattractive nose. Or did you both just get punched at the same time?"

Anastasia shrugged. "Punched."

I frowned back at her. Her dry sarcasm was played so straight, I had to double check it was a joke. Not a very good one though. She was terrible at humor. Then I remembered my parents -

"What's wrong with my parents?" I demanded.

"They look really normal," she said.

"Normal?"

Anastasia pulled her gaze from my mom and dad to side-eye me up and down. She didn't respond. I gave her an expectant look, waiting for an answer. She still didn't give any, and I glared.

I slapped her.

The adults froze. The same as Anastasia, trapped in place, half turned away from me, holding her face. The same as my hand, the pressure seconds from building to a sort of peak - everything suspended in midair.

That broke. My hand blasted into daggers of heat exploding across my palm. I gripped it hard, but that didn't help, so I tried shaking it out. It hurt. Gah! Why did people ever slap each other when it hurts you just as much as anyone else? There are easier ways to hurt people - a gun for instance.

When I looked to Anastasia again, two bodies engulfed my view. The adults had raced over and swarmed us. Her parents pulling her away from me, kneeling in front of her, trying to look at the face she kept hiding beneath her hands. I looked to my own parents, herding me back as well, but they didn't seem to know WHAT to do. I helped them and held out my hand, very red and still tender.

They stared at it - expressions growing more bewildered than before.

I wanted to clap my hands, tell them to chop chop - but that was a bad idea for obvious reasons. Instead I offered, "It hurts."

"What were you THINKING?"

"Why would you do that?"

They started in with questions and hysteric rants. They didn't want answers - they wanted an apology. I was so fed up with them. And then they turned to the other parents.

"I'm so sorry about this."

"We apologize."

I glared at them, then turned around. "Well I don't," I declared. I glowered over at Anastasia, trying to prove my parents didn't speak for me. And then she finally looked up. Everyone stopped. Even I paused, not knowing what to think.

Anastasia ... was smiling.

"Sweetie?" her mom asked.

I scrunched my nose, not a clue what to say, so looked to the rest of her face. It was no wonder my hand felt like fire for a second there. Her face was RED. On that one side - I could already see individual finger marks starting to form.

Her parents noticed too. The spell broke, their anger overriding confusion.

"We're leaving," her dad said, strong and sure, and he gripped her arm tight to move.

"No," Anastasia responded, and she pulled herself free.

Everyone was confused.

"Wh ... what?" her mom asked.

Anastasia looked to her parents, expression relaxing to neutral. "I told you. I want to hang out with her."

"You do?" I asked, eyes narrowing in confusion. I wasn't so sure I felt the same. She was weird.

Apparently no one expected my response - they all glanced to me - but Anastasia was still the oddity. They looked back to her.

"Why ... ?" her mom almost whispered.

Anastasia swallowed, glancing down, and I saw her fist tense in slight frustration. Then she pulled her gaze back up to her mother and shrugged with a half smile. "She's interesting," she responded, then bounced and it set her off, almost as if setting the atmosphere back to some 'normal.' "Please? Pretty, pretty, pretty please? You're always saying I should make friends."

Anastasia's parents looked tortured.

Her dad held out two desperate hands, "Anastasia, please ... ," he begged.

"I wanna hang out. Please. Please. Please. Please. Hang -out. Hang -out. Sleep -over. Sleep -over," she started to sing and chant.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," I said. "I never agreed to any of this."

My parents put a hand on my shoulder and shushed me. I shook it off, irritated.

They stepped up to Anastasia's parents and started talking with them again, but I tuned that out. My attention was triply on Anastasia. She was still bouncing on the soles of her feet, making her demands. It was all very childish, but she was resilient. In the middle of the adults' new conversation, she halted, no one paying attention to her anymore either. She slowed to her stop and stood there, behind the four bodies, leaning over a bit to peer out at me. The two of us stared at the other.

Slowly her expression broke into a grin.

I frowned back at her.

Finally the parents came to their conclusion.

We could have a sleepover. At Anastasia's place. In three days. And I hadn't agreed to any of it. They separated to make for each car. I opened my mouth to protest, but Anastasia came up to me first.

"What do you want?" she asked.

"What?"

"What do you want?" she repeated. "If you could have anything. Anything in the entire world - what would it be?"

I stared at her, not knowing what to say. I was stumped.

Anastasia only waited another second before she nodded. "If you come over. It can be a quid pro quo." She swayed her head from side to side. "You'll get something out of it, in return for coming over. Quid. Pro quo. Or however that - whatever. Yeah?" She waited expectant.

I didn't want to agree. And I definitely didn't want to lock myself into something I didn't want. Make a promise I couldn't keep - but then again, what'd it matter if I lied?

"Sure," I agreed.

Anastasia grinned.

She glanced back to her parents just about ready in the car, then mine still waiting for me to head over to ours. Then ... back to me. With that smile back, centered and full.

Anastasia slapped me.

My head jerked to the side and I gasped. The shock of it had me paralyzed.

I snapped back up.

Anastasia was gone, running for her car. I burst into a sprint. Half way there, arms suddenly caught me up, holding me back. I fought them. Anastasia jumped into her car and slammed the door shut, but it stalled in the parking lot. Fury rolled itself out of me.

"I'LL KILL YOU!" I screamed. "I'LL KILL YOU! YOU'RE SO DEAD! I'M GONNA MURDER YOU IN YOUR SLEEP! HACK YOUR BODY INTO PIECES! CHOKE YOU TILL YOU SCREAM! I'LL - ! I'LL - !"

I couldn't escape in time for her car to finally roll out of the lot. The arms let go and I burst free, racing after it in a rage.

Anastasia's grin watched me from the rear window, disappearing further and further out, the whole time her hand set in a soft little wave.