Crybaby Boy

Chapter Nine - Pinch Me, Punch Me, Flick Me, Just Wake Me Up

Chapter Nine - Pinch Me, Punch Me, Flick Me, Just Wake Me Up

“Dreaming or awake, you never know which you are until you’re either pinched, flicked or punched.  You won’t know whether you’re really awake until you are awake.  I can’t help with much in life, son, but I can help with the punch.  Then, at least you’ll know you’re awake.”

- Jon Mason

I began wishing somebody would wake me up and prove that these past few hellish hours were just a nightmare.

            Guess what!  Nothing of the sort happened.

            Nope, not at all.  Instead I was dragged through a mall, forced into new clothing and then made to throw perfectly useable clothes out.  I hated letting such a nice suit go to waste (that’s what coming from a family that’s tight on cash will do to you), but somebody--cough--Peyton--cough--threw another rule at me.

            “Hitmen rule number five, don’t reuse clothes.  They only make you easier to track,” Peyton grumbled something of the sort.  Her “rules” were beginning to piss me off.  Especially the rule about the stairs.

            At least Peyton paid while I waited outside.  When she joined me again, she looked more like her old self (with the added cleavage).  She had discarded her contacts, leaving her eyes their natural green color.  The kind of clothing she was wearing also made her look like she did back in the day.

            To sum it up, she didn’t look like Kristin anymore.  Now she just looked like the crazy, deranged person she was (with boobs).  I still couldn’t get over the fact that my little Peyton finally ate her veggies and drank her milk and had finally filled in.  I’d tease her about it more if I was sure she wouldn’t kill me on the spot, so I held my tongue.

            “You suck,” I told her for at least the hundredth time since we had gotten to the mall.

            “I know,” Peyton tossed back her dark curls, letting out a light hearted laugh as she reached for my head.  That’s right Peyton, let’s pretend to be all sugar and butterflies while we’re on the way to KILL PEOPLE.  THAT’S PERFECTLY NORMAL.

            I pushed her hand away.  “What the hell?”

            “It’s less suspicious if we act like we’re a couple,” she said through gritted teeth, smiling like nothing was going on.  Bitch.  Framing me, stalking me, using me.  There’s only so much of her shit even I would take, and Peyton Winscha was crossing the line.

            “I’m not doing any more than I absolutely have to, Blackbird,” I looked her in the eye, putting every ounce of resentment into the words as I could.  If you asked me, I’d say I did a pretty good job of it, too.  I think I even saw her cringe.

            “Oh yeah, and the polite thing to do would be to ask someone before giving them your title.”

            “Oh, you’ll change your mind about that soon enough.”

#

It was raining by the time we reached Gatesville Avenue.  It wasn’t coming down very hard yet, but it sure looked like it might soon.

            Peyton made me quicken my pace.

            “This is it,” she said, exhaling as if she had been holding her breath in for a very long time.  I realized I had been holding my breath, too.