A Bit Too CRAZY (Josh Hutchereson FanFic)

Chapter Four

Chapter Four

I stare at the door for several hours. Then I come to my senses, and look at the card Josh gave me. Josh gave me his number and his address. I never thought he’s ever give me his number, let alone his address. I place it on the coffee table, and look at the clock. It’s already after midnight. I walk to the wall where I threw my phone. I pick it up, and find the screen cracked. It works alright, but I should get it looked at just in case.

            The whole scene of Josh kissing me replays in my head. How he gently leaned in. How he kissed me ever so lovingly. I don’t remember a time Danny ever kissed me like that. Then again, no kiss is the same. Josh’s kiss was warm, and soft. It was so gentle. It was as if he were a chemist, I was the chemical, and he had been making sure I didn’t blow anything up. It’s like Danny was a chemical that was poured into me, causing some kind of explosive reaction. I was nearly going to explode, I was shaking the test tube, and then Josh, the chemist, added another chemical, and stopped me. He calmed the reaction, and made sure I didn’t explode.

            My crazy mind. I’m a lunatic. I hate myself, and I can’t stand how I never think. I just do and say things without ever knowing it until I finish. I can’t explain things. What’s wrong with me? My parents never told me if I had any condition. If I don’t, then why am I not in a mental hospital, concealed in a tight room of white walls, alone, laying on the floor with multiple cameras watching me 24/7? Has it not been noticed in the public? Have the people around me here in this city not give a care what I do, and just want to make sure they make it to another day? No. No one really considers the fact they could die in the next five seconds do they? I do. But what makes everyone else not think that? It’s not impossible that someone could approach you with a gun, demanding money, and then shooting you. In fact, with America’s crime rate, that’s likely.

            I put my phone on the kitchen counter, and go to my room. I sit in the window again. I loosely wrap my arms around my legs. The first droplet of rain lands on the window. Then the second. Third. Fifth. Tenth. Twentieth. Fortieth. Until it’s pouring. I love the rain. Who can hate the rain? It’s so peacefully, most of the time, and cooling. It’s beautiful. And it will give you that romantic moment in the rain if you want it to. “It’s the perfect weather to cool off,” I hear Mom’s voice say in my head. It was one day when I was around thirteen. It was raining, and I was crying, and I was depressed. “Once you find the right guy, you can have your moment out there,” Mom said. “He can kiss you, you guys will be in the perfect weather, and it will the perfect moment. You just have to find it. Find him. Don’t wait. Find.”

            Her voice in my mind brings a smile to my face. Then I think of Danny, of how much I loved him, and how he made me choose if I wanted him after he said he met someone else. I think of how horrible that was. I think of how he broke his vow. I bet he had his fingers crossed. I bet he never meant the vow. I bet he never loved me. I remember this quote I read somewhere. If you love someone, and then start to love another one, choose the second, because if you really loved the first, you wouldn’t have fallen in love with the second. It was something like that. Danny never loved me, according to the quote.

            For two years he had fooled me, and probably himself into thinking that he loved me. Was it two years? Twelfth grade, the year after. I try to think of something to make me feel better, but come up with this:

            If Danny found someone else he loved, and left me, then he lost someone who loved him. But since he never really loved me, then I didn’t lose anyone who loved me. I may have loved him, but he didn’t love me. So it’s not my loss. It’s his. He’s the one who lost someone who loved him. Not me.

            I get into some pajamas and crawl into bed. After a couple minutes of watching the rain fall against the window and the fire escape, I close my eyes, and drift into sleep. I wake up with a start. There’s a knocking on my apartment door. I get out of bed, and shuffle to the door, rubbing my eyes. I look through the peephole and find Danny. Damn him. How can he think about breaking my heart through text messages, and then showing up the next morning at eight o’ clock? I walk away from the door in disgust, not acknowledging him in any way.

            “I know you’re home, Scarlett,” I hear Danny say. “Saturdays are your project days.” I immediately remember that I wanted to finish recording a Taylor Swift song. I was also going to finish painting this one painting of Paris; it’s of the Eiffel Tower, and it’s really an image from Google I’m copying.

            “Let me in, I need to talk to you,” Danny says as I hear him lean against the door.

            “We don’t need to talk!” I almost scream. “Just leave. Go to whoever that other girl is. I bet she’s dying to see you.”

            “Scar…”

            “No. Don’t call me that anymore. Just leave.” Tear start dancing their way down my face, but I’m being cautious not to make any sort of sound indicating I’m crying. I need to act like I don’t care, kind of like how Danny did as we were texting those few minutes.

            “Scar, open up,” Danny begs.

            “Go away, Danny. I don’t need you anymore.”

            “Scar-,”

            “STOP! JUST LEAVE!”

            I hear a sigh, and a couple footsteps. There’s a little mumble, but I can’t hear. I soundlessly press my ear to the door.

            “Can we go…?” I hear in a female voice, kind of like a begging and tired voice.

            “Just give me a few minutes, Naomi.”

            Naomi. That’s her name… The one he left me for. That bitch has no idea what he did does she? I think. I seriously never curse though. Out loud, in my head. Doesn’t matter. But this is worth it. I hear a kissing sound, like Danny gave Naomi a peck on the lips. He’s got a lot a nerve. Especially considering he knows how I am.