alters

14

I WAKE with stinging tears resting in the corners of my eyes. Dreamsーno, nightmares attacked my fragile being last night like my very own mental civil war, even though what Harry had committed that night was anything but civil. A plea of desperation fell repeatedly from my chapped, dry lips during the night hours, cries for anyone who dared to listen, but, like always, I was alone.

I think that Jack might be making camp at one of his gambling buddyʼs homes. He has failed to answer any of my calls and texts.

With a monumental groan, I roll like an alligator in my sheets, violently twisted and torquing. My body demands more moments of relaxation before I have to wander back out into the storm that is my life. Though, even with my protests of the utmost commitment, my brainʼs authority and make believe maturity overrides my selfish desires. So, with that conclusion, I kick the few blankets from my feet and climb from my bed.

I sleepily lumber to the table, hand flopping against my cellphone and scooping it up into my palm. I flick my wrist upwards and gaze at the illuminated screen, blinking to dull the electric burst of light. I squint my eyelids together to lessen the whiteness while reading over the brief message:

Now I can annoy you whenever I want through message, Lissy-bear.
<3 Har-Bear

Oh great. Now he has my phone number and assigned us both childish nicknames.

I thread my small fingers through my thick, tousled hair, tugging softly at the roots. And from that moment on, I knew that my life would never circle back around to my once usual, satisfying lifestyle. Thanks a lot, Har-Bear.

I remember that I should retrieve todayʼs mail and softly pad over in my bare feet to the front door, unlocking and opening it. I gaze down at the floor where a small box is stationed peacefully. What? I force my stale, sore knees to bend as I fold my petite body into a crouch, running a finger across the packageʼs surface. I dig a fingernail into the rubbery tape, splitting open itʼs transparent consistency and giving way to the contents inside the mystery box.

I stare at it. I tumble backwards exhausted, laying helpless in the doorway, my ebony hair fanning about my face. Iʼve lost all hope in the theory of normality being mine once again.

Inside the package lays a jagged knife with a note reading: youʼll need this from now on.
-H

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Emma is beaming when I trudge into the classroom, a tired, grumpy mess. Her intensely blonde hair flows in elegant, stealthy ringlets down her slender back and rivulets over the edge of her small shoulder, absolutely captivating anyone and everyone who even so much as traces a whisper of a glance at her immaculate silhouette. My black hair is thrown up into a bun that makes me appear as if I murder children for a hobby.

Still, nonetheless, Emma wraps her two frail limbs about my shoulders and offers me a reassuring squeeze. ʻʻI am so sorry about the loss, Alice.ʼʼ Icy breath gracefully slips into my earlobes and imbues me with an inescapable rush of chills. My lips tug down. Sheʼs heard the news.

This morning while I was busying myself packing up the supplies I needed for school, a certain face popped up in the news channel on my television set. Lukeʼs cheery, peppy expression washed the entire screen out, and itʼs ironic taste. He is not that peppy anymore; he is dead.

First period commences with the blaring pound of the school alarm that only intensifies my splitting headache. I stumble through the packed hallways, forcefully dismissing the congregation of despondent students huddled around Lukeʼs old locker. I think that they are praying.

I push myself through the small frame of the door, entering my English class. Iʼm not in the advanced with Alex or Harry. Iʼm average.

Unfortunately, though, a bushy head of dark curls sits casually at the desk beside my assigned seat. I automatically frown.

ʻʻHey, Lissy-Bear,ʼʼ Harry practically glows. I fall exasperated into the wooden torture chair, my head rolling back on my loose neck.

I meet his vibrant green eyes and bluntly remark, ʻʻAre you aware of the fact that everyone is talking about Lukeʼs death?ʼʼ

ʻʻIʼve noticed,ʼʼ He comments, lacing his pale fingers together on the desk, a fresh coat of ebony paint slicked against his nails. I scoff.

ʻʻI have no idea why you wear nail polish if youʼre a boy.ʼʼ I admit sourly.

ʻʻBecause none of the other boys wear it.ʼʼ He shrugs. ʻʻI strive to be different, Alice.ʼʼ

ʻʻWell, I think you made it even without the makeup.ʼʼ I lower my tone, but my caution only makes him chuckle.

ʻʻOh, just you wait. Next week: eyeliner.ʼʼ He flares his hands at the last word, and I laugh.

ʻʻAnyways, I though you were in advanced with Alex?ʼʼ I remind him questionably, running the tips of my fingers down the length of my long sleeve. He shakes his head, smiling against his knuckles.

ʻʻI dropped out.ʼʼ

ʻʻWhy?ʼʼ

ʻʻBecause youʼre here and not there.ʼʼ

I scrunch my nose in mock disgust which extracts a melodious half-laugh from behind his peach lips.

Our teacher, Mr. Axel, thumbs his way into the room. The whole school seems to shake when this man travels anywhere. Maybe if he worked out less heʼd be less of a balloon animal of muscle. I heard that he is going to be fired soon. I hope thatʼs true. I hate him.

His son is in my class too, Chase Axel, a handsome, rich, in tone kind of guy, with dirty blonde hair and an ego the size of Russia. He sits beside me, and I steal a glance.

His eyes are the perfect shade of ʻʻasshole,ʼʼ his smile just radiating ʻʻdipshit,ʼʼ and his overwhelming aura of ʻʻdoucheface,ʼʼ is nauseating. He notices me staring and gives a half smirk. Yeah, yeah, just go buy some more ten thousand dollar pants. I bid him to do inside my head.

I travel my vision back to Harry and remember the package he left me. I lower my head, inviting him to follow. He does, his hair tickling my forehead.

ʻʻHarry we need to talk about this morning,ʼʼ I candidly whisper against his ear, I notice his stature shifting slightly.

ʻʻDid you tell anybody?ʼʼ He breathes back almost...seductively. I feel a race of chills battling within me, my pale cheeks flushing.

I shake my head. ʻʻNobody knows but us,ʼʼ I mutter against where his ear meets his cheek. He visibly shutters and I wonder what on earth is happening.

ʻʻGood...But, I really like the nicknames.ʼʼ

ʻʻUgh, Harry. This isnʼt about the text message. Itʼs about the box you sent me.ʼʼ I pull back frustrated. He arches his brows.

ʻʻWhat?ʼʼ

ʻʻDonʼt play dumb. You know, the package with the...knife...in it.ʼʼ I practically canʼt hear my own soft tone, I hope he can hear me.

His face shows genuine concern and this time I ask him, ʻʻWhat?ʼʼ

ʻʻAlice...ʼʼ He says. ʻʻI didnʼt give you that package.ʼʼ

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I love cliffhangers:3

Oh and happy thanksgiving!

ali fact #4: I can draw pretty good:/ everybody I show my drawings too(like the three good friends I trust and the nosy people who keep pestering me like BACK OFFFFF) say I have a gift of whatevs. *shrugs*

peace out.
gobble gobble.
ali.