Messed Up Vita

Chapter Twenty-Nine

I stare into Joey's eyes, wondering how much of an idiot I could possibly be. I don't deserve Joey. I ditched him for Mason, when he warned me clearly of the future which would happen with us. That didn't seem like the right thing to do. I owed Joey, and this isn't the correct way to repay it. I just got out of a relationship, but I'm in one in less than an hour later.

   Joey takes his thumb and wipes under my eye, brushing away a tear. I manage a smile, but he beams at me. "I'm happy I got what I wanted."

   "But why?" I croak. "Why me?"

   "Do I have to list?" he says, looking up as if mentally checking. He continues before I can say anything. "You have a beautiful voice, you yourself are beautiful, you take awesome photos, you have this adorable high-pitched laugh that doesn't match your beautiful fiery personality, and-"

   "No," I say, smiling for real. "Those aren't true."

   "Yes they are!" he insists. "I also love your hair."

   I then laugh. "You sound like a girl." I suddenly stop mid-laugh. I hear somebody shifting around in the living room. I dart my gaze to his. "You need to go. My dad's going to find you in here. Please."

   "Of course," he says, eyes kind of sad. "Sucks, I just got to hug you. Now I'm leaving. Leaving. . ." He draws out the word, shuffling his feet, sighing. "Just leaving, like that. . . " 

   "Go!" I whisper, gently pushing him towards the window. "I'll see you tomorrow after my prison time, okay?" I quickly pull him into another kiss-- his breath smells like lemon drops--, then quickly break away. "Now shoo!" He smiles and finally obeys, ducking out of the window skillfully. I whisper a goodbye as I shut the window. I turn back to my desk and pretend to sort through my homework, right as somebody knocks on the door. 

  "Eliot?" Linda calls. "Is there somebody in there with you?"

  "No, just talking to myself," I call back. She walks away without a pause, and I let out a breath. 

   What the heck just happened?

   Okay, one moment I was crying from a stupid heartbreak from Mason. The next moment I find Joey hugging me and telling that he loves me. That's not possible, is it? Not two human beings could've possibly liked me in any way. One stupid human being I get, but two?! 

   I stand to my feet and look from a distance in my mirror. I had slipped on some shorts and a tee-shirt-- nothing to important there. I don't have a nice anything-- it was all miniature and skinny. I've seen what all those cheerleaders look like, and they don't have milky legs that could pass for arms. I look at my face, putting my hands on my cheeks. And what the hell did he mean I was beautiful? I was clearly not. I had plain brown eyes and hair, chubby cheeks, and a bit crooked eyebrows. Freckles hinted a little along my nose, which I absolutely hated. 

   I stop myself. What was I doing? I never fretted about my appearance. I never really thought about it, to be honest. But now as I stare at myself in the mirror, I wonder who would fall for a girl that looked the way I did.

   Especially not Joey.

    I find myself wondering what I mean as I think that.  I pinch my lips and try to keep from smiling at his name. God. I was becoming such a girl. I was kind of annoying myself.

   Shaking my head, I quickly tie my hair in a quick, messy bun on top of my head. I walk through my bedroom door into the hallway, peeking my head out like a bird out of a nest. I look around, realize that both my parents are in the living room, and take a deep breath. I step out and hold my head up high, to show him that he didn't break me with his words. I'm strong. I think.  

    I walk out to the counter and start making toast like I didn't even notice them. Their talking dies, and I have the feeling they're staring at me. I make it slowly and ordinarily, which is almost painful when I know they're watching my every move. I wait by the side of the toaster, reading one of the newspaper articles about somebody's father saving them in a fire, and he died doing it a year ago. This was the anniversary of his death. Is that what you called it? Anniversary?

  The toaster pops, distracting me from reading the article further. I take my toast and quickly spread some peanut butter on it. I take a bite and try to casually stroll out of the kitchen, but I am stopped before I can exit.

   "Eliot."

   I pause, then bite back with an annoyed, "What?"

   There's a pause, and I turn around. They're both staring at me silently like they were frozen in time. Only when Linda pursed her lips is when I know they're not.

   "What?" I repeat. "I need to go finish my homework."

   "You have plenty of time for that," my dad assures mockingly. "With you being in-school suspended for three days, huh?"

   His words made it sound like I killed somebody. 

   "Don't think you won't be punished at home for what you did," he continues. "A month. No computer except for homework, no TV, no friends over, nothing. You will sit in your room and get those grades up as high as they will go. You are to come straight over after school, and if somebody drops you off, they cannot stay and you cannot go over to their house. Got it?"

   I narrow my eyes, remembering his words from yesterday. My anger boils until I can't keep the words from pouring out. "I thought you didn't care what the hell I did, right? You said yesterday that you wouldn't mind that I lived the rest of my freaking life at Mom's, because I know I love her more than I love you!" The last words turned into a yell, and I realize that I broke my toast in my fist into two pieces. I throw it in the garbage a few feet from me, too angry to aim right. It lands on the floor, where I don't bother to pick it up.

   When I glance at my Dad's face, it's horrified. He's stood now, staring at my awful words. I realize I've gone too far right then, and I want to take the last part back. But I can't. An apology can't make it's way out, so I just stare at him, eyes narrowed.

   "Eliot Lynn Peterson," he finally whispers. "Go to your room. Now." 

   I slowly turn around, hating the whispering thing he does. It freaks me out ever since I was little. But, oddly, tears do not come. Instead is the feeling of relief that my words were finally out, after a day of steaming and growing inside of me. Except for the last part. Kinda.

   But that doesn't give me any excuse to say it.

   I take out some scissors from my drawer, test their sharpness, and look in front of my mirror. I take a piece of my hair between my fingers, trying to get it even, and squeeze the scissors carefully over the brown hair. I keep it together, putting it on the desk. There's a huge chunk of hair missing, right above my shoulder blade. I take another piece of hair, which is harder, since it's right on the edge of my shoulder and my back. But I manage to get it equal enough, and I start to cut fairly easy once I know how. Cutting my hair seems a bit horrifying, like it's been part of my life forever and I don't want to let it go. But I put it all in a "stack" on my desk. I tie a rubber band around the copped end, like the barbers do in Locks of Love, and make sure it stays together. Hopefully they'll take donations this way.

   I look at myself in the mirror fully this time. My hair was around my shoulders, mainly straight. There were some ragged edges that I didn't really care about, though. I turn around, looking at the back, then back to the front.

   There. I have no idea what possessed me to cut my hair there and then, but I did. And I liked it just as if a real stylist cut it. It kind of made my cheeks seem a bit thinner, but was that my imagination?

   I quickly comb it through my fingers once before sliding into bed. I take off my glasses and set them on my side table, and turn off the lamp. I flip the covers over my head and try to get this whole night out of my head. Except for when Joey came. That can stay.