When Perfect Meets Crazy

03 - Drive me psych-ward-and-straitjacket kind of crazy

This whole day had to be a product of one of two things. One was that I had hit my head, given myself the mother of all concussions and was sedated somewhere dreaming all this up.

If I was, then I was really glad a device that could tell what comatose patients were thinking hadn't been invented yet because if I ever woke up, I definitely wasn't looking forward to explaining to my mom -or dad for that matter- why my subconscious chose to go -and take Olly- to an illegal fighting arena or to have a boy break into my room.

I already knew what she'd say, that dreams are based off subconscious thoughts so that meant I was thinking of doing those things. Then I'd be in big trouble. For something that didn't even truly happen.

The other, much scarier, option was that the universe was out to get me, to drive me psych-ward-and-straitjacket kind of crazy.

I really wanted to believe I was in a coma somewhere, fighting for my life. At least I'd get get-well-soon flowers -and chocolate hopefully- but more than, none of this would be real. I really really wanted to believe that but I knew if I had dreamt everything up, then I wouldn't have actually cried.

I had a pretty active imagination but it was still my imagination. It couldn't actually make me cry. Not to mention the things happening around me didn't have that surreal dreamlike quality. It felt very real, especially the part where I was yelled at. That was more than real which could only mean one thing. The universe was out to get me. Karma had finally decided to show up. It was raining bad luck on me.

I sighed wearily. Today really isn't my day.

After five long seconds of watching Masked Idiot repeatedly open and close his mouth like the complete idiot that he was, I decided to put us both out of our misery because if I left it to him, we'd never get past this. He'd probably keep it up till morning.

"Why are you in my house? My room to be specific." I frowned, waving my index finger in a circular motion directed at the ceiling. Why did it really have to be my room? "In case you didn't know, you're trespassing and invading my privacy. Not to mention, committing a felony."

Technically breaking and entering on it's own wasn't a felony but with my mom as the opposing counsel's attorney, it could very well be. He didn't look all that bright so I felt the obligated to inform him, just in case he didn't know that everything about what he was doing in my house was illegal.

I mean the first time I saw him, he had a mask on. A mask in the middle of June. It was nowhere close to Halloween.

"You're one to talk," he scoffed, finally getting a hold of himself. His tone, the upward curl of his lips, the condescending air that surrounded him had me stiffening, readying for a fight.

"The fuck do you mean by that?" I snapped, cringing a split second later at my volume.

Shit!

I didn't mean to be that loud. My eyes, wide with terror, shot to the door as I prayed that my voice hadn't reached my mom's room.

After a few seconds of silence, I sighed in relief.

She didn't hear, thank God.

Relief instantly turned to anger at the idiot lounging on my bed.

My eyes hardened to stone as I glared at him. "Get out," I gritted. "Before I kill you, get out."

"Oh please," he chuckled, rolling his eyes.

"Do I look," I spat icily, venom coating my tone, "like I'm joking?"

I wanted him out and I wanted him out right that second.