Close As Enemies

Six.

Now Playing... Enemies 

    Another lovely, joyous day in prison.

More messages from the school's anonymous text message board popped up on my phone, and I really didn't feel like repeating it, because all the posts were along the same line of wanting me to die, wanting me to go away, etcetera.

After a long, grueling day, I was finally able to go home, where I couldn't be judged and where I could freely be myself without the opinion of the school-- besides Wes. But then again, I had known Wes for so long that it was natural to be myself around him. Even though we were enemies, unlike the best friends we used to be, I never found it difficult to be myself when he was around, which made living with him less than bearable. Thankfully, Wes didn't bother me on the ride home because he was too busy talking to GiGi on the phone (disgusting, cliche conversation, by the way), and I could focus on the road.

When I pulled into the driveway, I hopped out of the truck and walked straight towards my bedroom, and Wes walked to his. The front door creaked open, followed by GiGi's annoyingly obnoxious voice, and I quickly found out my headphones to drain out both him and her. The front door opened again, and I let out a sigh of relief when I realized they had left. Once they were gone, I walked down to the basement, where my step dad had built me a dance studio. When he found out mom had a daughter, he was so excited, seeing as his previous wife couldn't have children, and he always gave me whatever I wanted. I, of course, attempted to persuade him that he didn't need to buy me anything, that moving me to California and away from everything bad in Montana was enough, but he wouldn't have it. So, when he found out I was a dancer, he took it upon himself to create my very own home dance studio.

An hour after I had run through techniques and the dances, I walked back upstairs to grab my books from my truck. When I opened the front door, my jaw dropped, and I nearly collapsed on the porch. My truck was covered in blue spray paint, reading a message; "Molly is a whore". In the bed of the truck was a surplus of condoms, and the more I saw it, the more my body filled with rage.

"Oh, Wesley. You just declared war." I growled before running into the house and grabbing my wallet and phone.

Walking down the road, I made my way toward the town right outside of my neighborhood, where a little convenience store sat on the corner adjacent to the entrance of my street. In the back, there was a whole shelf full of medicines, thermometers, blood pressure cups, and most importantly-- the main part of my revenge-- boxes of pregnancy tests. Grabbing a box, I went to the registers, and as I walked through the stores, people shot me suspicious looks as if they had never seen a girl carrying a box of pregnancy tests. Little did they know, they weren't for me (obviously!), but for revenge, because revenge was key to success.

At least I thought so. But only when it came to Wesley Grayson.

The lady at the register shot me a look of disappointment as if she had known me my whole life and was wondering what sinful acts I had committed to be put in the position of buying that kind of box, and I shifted uncomfortably, even though I was guilty of nothing-- nothing besides the sweet satisfaction of karma.

Once they were bought, and the lady at the register quit sending me looks of disappointment (she wasn't my mother, so why did it matter to her? People these days...), I made my way back home, walked upstairs to Wes' room, and placed the box on the sink in his bathroom. I even opened it slightly, just to add that special effect.

After about ten minutes of sitting in silence in my room, waiting for my victims, Wes and GiGi walked through the front door, their laughs echoing through the house.

"I wonder what she'll do when she sees it," said Gigi, her annoying, high-pitched voice becoming louder as she and Wes began their walk up the stairs.