The Awkward Stage

NINE - Death By Drama

I may be stupid, but I wasn't an idiot. And I wasn't blind. I could see the message behind the strokes of the paintbrush. I knew this wasn't a blue bird.

It was me.

At that moment of realization, the door few open and a raging Black bounded in.

"What the Hell are you doing in my room?" He boomed.

I wasn't ready.

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He scared the living crap out of me.

I let out a little screech, covering my mouth with my hand.

"What the hell, Black!" I yelled. "Are you trying to give me a heart attack?" My hand had found its way to my chest and held my heart in place. I would never say this out loud, but I was trying my darnedest to use 'The Force' to slow the beat, lest Black think I'm a bigger idiot than is commonly known.

With the force that Black pushed his door in, the piece of wood had hit the wall and come back into place, closing behind his again.

I peered around his lanky frame and saw the bluebird.

Uncontrollably, a wave of anger washed over me and knocked me into a rage. I don't know why this made me so angry, but I felt like this was another way for Black to make fun of me, only this was worse, because he was laughing behind my back, and I couldn't stop it. I didn't even know about it.

God, sometimes he was such a girl.

He had found a new way to take the piss out of me and that was painting me as a fat bird on his door, so the first thing he saw when we woke up in the morning was a reminder of how much power he had over my emotions.

I felt red take over my body and stormed past him, pulling the door so hard that I'm sure their carpenter would have pulled his hair out.

Black reached out to stop me, wrapping his hand around my wrist, giving a gentle yank. My skin puckered and danced and fizzed and burned where he touched me, and I heard a sound like lightning.

I hissed with more venom then Murphy had in his whole body and ripped my arm away.

How dare he. How fucking dare he.

I stomped down the hallway, going as fast as I could in these platformed wedges. After a moment, I heard footsteps behind me.

"What the crap was that, Blue?"

I wheeled to face him, and he was standing about six feet from me, hands on his hips, demanding answers.

Well, so was I.

"What the crap was that, Black?" I motioned to his bedroom that had disappeared three corridors ago. "What is wrong with you?"

"What are you talking about?What the hell were you doing in my room?" He growled at me.

"None of your business." I snapped.

He looked incredulous. "Wha- It's 100%, all of my business!"

"I don't care. Never mind that, anyway." Since walking out of his room, I'd been stewing, and now I was boiling, ready to overflow.

I took a step forward. Five feet. "Who the hell do you think you are? Who paints a portrait of someone like that? I bet you just get off on making fun of me, don't you?" Another step. Four feet.

He took toward me. Three feet. "You never should have seen that." Black said, not so angry anymore.

Two feet. "So you were just going to keep laughing about me without my knowledge? Do you do this often?" I was so clearly offended.