alters

17

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I LAY in my bed and stare at the ceiling for a considerable amount of time, pondering. My eyes disobey my head, slowly glancing over to take in the ink scribbled across my skin, showcasing toxic numbers. They beg and plead for me to dial them into my phone, but I know better. Harry was already mad yesterday, and I already know that his rage could be taken out in certain ways. I decide definitively that I donʼt wish for Seth to be corralled into our mad little world.

I kick the sheets off of my legs, mumbling frustrated curses to myself. I guide my body to sit up, my numb fingers lazily weaving into my black hair, tugging lightly at the roots. I shift myself, my feet landing against the floor. I rock myself up to stand before sleepily stalking to my bathroom.

While I am in the shower, it takes several scrubs and the rest of my bar of soap to completely eliminate Sethʼs phone number from my skin. I feel a tight grip of guilt holding me, latching onto my heart. I shake my head, convincing myself otherwise.

I cease the waterʼs plummet from the shower nozzle, and climb out of the tub. I reach for a white towel to wrap around my damp body, and grab another, smaller one to tangle my hair into.

I squeeze a teardrop of toothpaste onto my toothbrush and send it against teeth in rapid, aggressive back-and-fourth strokes. My phone buzzes beside me, indicating a phone call. I quickly spit out the remainder of paste into the sink and wipe my lips with the back of my hand.

Harryʼs name pops up on the screen, and I internally whine. I press my thumb against the answer button and crush my cell against my ear.

ʻʻYo?ʼʼ I balance my phone between my shoulder and ear while I plug my blow dryer in, and begin warming up my straightener.

ʻʻAlice, your presence is furiously needed.ʼʼ He breathes into the speaker, and I roll my eyes.

ʻʻWhat did you do this time?ʼʼ I unwrap the towel from my tangled hair and take a brush through itʼs knots.

ʻʻIt involves a knife, a stream, and a future scolding.ʼʼ Then he hangs up.

Shit, Harry, shit.

My phone vibrates again. The text message reads: oh btw Iʼm outside your building.

I sigh, ultimately yanking the cords from the wall and just throwing my hair into a wet ponytail. I dash into my room and fumble with the clothes inside my drawer. I extract a white t-shirt, bra, black jeans, panties, and a jacket with a hood. I hurriedly get dressed and grab my cell before practically running down the stairs.

Harryʼs white car is waiting outside the lobby doors, a shabby hunk of metal; the piece of crap can be compared to a cockroach when beside a palace like my apartment building. I quickly scurry through the misty drizzle of rain and climb into his passenger seat. ʻʻI canʼt believe you.ʼʼ I inform him, but he only laughs.

ʻʻYeah, Iʼm unbelievable.ʼʼ We zoom away in his car, his windows completely rolled down, so rain mists in through the entrance.

ʻʻDammit, Harry!ʼʼ I shriek, lamely attempting to block the now severe rain plummeting in with hands.

ʻʻSorry, windows broke yesterday. Plus, now that your T-shirtʼs wet I can see your bra.ʼʼ He grins and accelerates the carʼs speed. I groan, throwing my chin down and folding my arms across my chest, an embarrassed heat flushing my cheeks.