North & West

Sixteen

Everything seemed to be irritating me.

My mother had come in in the morning, grabbing the covers and dragging them off my body, leaving me to curl up into a ball and wish – only for a short moment, of course – that she'd lose her voice or forget that she had a daughter. At least long enough for me to get some goddamn quality sleep.

My father even seemed to find something off about me, pointing his fork at me from across the table and asking, “Who do I have to shoot?”

His tone was joking, of course, but I certainly wasn't.

It was proving to be one of those days, the days where I hated everything and everyone. I hated the bright yellow of the sun – yellow was just too happy of a color – and above all that, I hated myself. I hated the way I spoke, the way I walked, the way I treated those around me. More than that, I hated the thoughts that never seemed to stop, the way my brain never shut down long enough for me to take a breather.

And god, did I wanted to submerge myself in all the alcohol money could buy.

It was just proving to be one of those days – and I knew there was no stopping it.

Not wanting to snap at my father, I shoved my plate into the sink and headed into the living room, plopping myself down on the sofa and flicking through the channels on the television.

It was fairly normal, to wake up angry and have a shitty day. Everyone had bad days, it wasn't really avoidable unless you were exceptionally great at the skill of being constantly optimistic.

So I was particularly happy when West showed up at my house, a bag of cotton candy in his hand and a smile on his face when he said, “You didn't answer your phone, so I figured you were either sleeping or just pissed off at me. But why would you get mad at me? You like me too much.” He said cheekily.

I let him in the house, stepping aside so he could walk by. I took the bag of cotton candy from him – assuming it was an, “I'm sorry” for forcing me to go to the carnival a few days before – and dropped back down onto the sofa, ignoring his, “you like me too much,” comment because I was irritated enough without having to deal with a decision I'd still yet to make.

“Oh, yeah, you're totally welcome,” He said drily, setting himself down onto the sofa beside me. “What are we watching?”

I ripped the bag of cotton candy open, taking out a big wad of the pink sugary substance. I was fairly certain there was nothing healthy about eating it – considering it was early in the morning, thanks to my mom, and it was also more or less pure sugar – but it was just what I wanted.

After filling my mouth with the cotton candy, I shrugged and handed him the remote. “Whatever you want.”

“Don't you want to go out?”

I let the bit of cotton candy in my mouth dissolve before wiping my hands off on my pants and focusing my gaze on the television, which was playing some childish cartoon because I'd yet to choose something to watch when West had shown up. “No one told you to come, West. It isn't my fault if I'm not exciting enough for you.”

I heard him shifting on the sofa beside me, before he grabbed my hand and tugged a little. “North.”

I turned halfway to look at him, raising my eyebrows and reaching down into the bag of cotton candy in my lap and pulling out another piece. “What?”

“You're plenty of fun. I just didn't think you'd want to sit in the house all day.” He told me, still holding my hand.

My father walked into the living room then, his eyes finding mine before immediately spotting West's hand holding mine. Instead of letting go like I would have figured, West simply tightened his grip for a moment before turning to face my father.