Blinded by Color

Chapter 1 Kayla

I woke up to a message alert, causing my phone to beep repeatedly until I checked it. The noise alone can drive you insane. It was my best friend, Nivea. Niv, as I like to call her, is always sending me things from Facebook. She thinks that if she finds it interesting, well, then everyone else must agree. Niv and I have been best friends for as long as I can remember. She is not your average girl. Niv is bold and has no fear. She does not redeem the name ladylike when people describe her. In fact, Niv is like one of the guys. She stands at a whopping five feet on her best day, but her attitude is about seven feet tall. She is loud and never avoids confrontation. The girl is a beast. She probably weighs around 125, but every inch of her is muscle. Niv loves sports. She is a fighter and never backs down from a dare. She is the kind of friend people spend a lifetime looking to claim. I got lucky; we met in grade school. Growing up here in Lutz, just outside of Tampa, things are slow-paced, and it's a beach town lifestyle. We take bike rides and spend evenings having barbeques and laughing around a bonfire on the beach. We like to swim or surf and rollerblade around our neighborhood. With all that being said, we are not rich. Tampa is not the richest of areas. Small houses made of concrete for the hot weather and lots of windows. It is humid, and that means as little clothes as possible. My house is in a cul-de-sac on the corner of Tin Smith Circle. Niv lives two streets over and always has. My mom is also friends with Niv's mom. They like to hang out and talk crap out back or at the bar. The locals always go to the same bar, The Basement! My mom is well known around town and not in a good way. She is your local drunk, loud, and obnoxious. The town sheriff brings her home most nights. I guess I should add the local sheriff is my mom's brother, my uncle Rodney.

Sometimes I wonder how different my life would have been if my dad had not died. He passed when I was just ten years old. I would give anything to remember him more and see him one last time. The thing is, my dad was murdered, and his murder has never been solved. This was the turning point for my mom. This was when she became a drunk, drinking away her feelings. Joanna, or Slim as they like to call her for her small frame and tiny features, is not a Betty Crocker, to say the least. She has never remarried or dated another man after my father's death. I do believe a lot of one-night stands have taken place, but I will never know for sure.

I hear the alert again! BLOOP! I am going to have to change that one day. The message reads, "New Testing Reveals False DNA Results." The article is long and uninteresting to me, but to be fair, I click on the link to amuse myself while lying in my bed. I know it will be hot outside, and I am too tired to jump up and get ready. I just want to remain in my bed and self-loath. I roll over on my stomach and begin scrolling down through the article, trying to catch enough of the facts that I can pretend I read it when I see Niv and she excitedly asks what I thought. The article is about those DNA kits you can purchase where you spit in a tube and find out your history. I have zero interest in this, but if it made the news and there could be a conspiracy, you could bet Niv was interested. I skim it over and decide I gathered enough information to make it seem real that I cared. I back out of the messages and click on my feed. I am surprised to see a picture of my ex pop up with a new girl next to him. The cold hard facts hit me like a ton of bricks. Under the picture, it reads, "Why would I jump out the car for a penny when I am riding with a dime," and I thought, wow, he never even posted a pic of me! What makes her so special? I am not at all jealous, but I am offended. I also do not recognize this girl, so she must be from out of town. Now my curiosity has peaked, and I am dying to know where she is from. She looks like trailer trash to me. My first guess – she is from the wrong side of the tracks. Her teeth look brown, and I assume she smokes. Her lips are cracked like she's in need of Chapstick, and her roots are black with blonde ends. I can only guess she colors her own hair, and she clearly does not do it well since I see several orange spots all over her head. This photo could not look any worse. She is covered in tattoos. Lots of skulls and a full sleeve. I am baffled by what he could possibly see in her. She has terrible acne on her face, especially on her chin and forehead. Her hair looks greasy like she never washes it, and she is wearing what used to be a white tank top, I presume, but it has now faded to gray. She is a thicker girl and has a huge chest with bigger arms and a pudgy stomach. They are sitting down together in the picture, and her jeans are dirty, and she has rolls hanging out of her shirt. I am so confused why he would post this photo and think it was a perfect shot. If this is the best she looks, then I feel sorry for him and her. However, my curiosity told me to click on her name since he tagged her in the photo so I could get the 411. I read the name and repeated it out loud and decided not to do it. That name, though – Jessica The Realist. Why did she feel the need to use a name like that over her real name? I hated when people decided to name themselves with a title like they were a headline. Ugh! I threw my phone to the end of the bed and grabbed my pillow and shoved my face in it while I screamed at the top of my lungs. I felt the burning in my eyes like tears were about to fall, and then I caved. The tears came pouring out, and I felt sick.