Believing Lies From Broken Relationships

The first night in a new house is always hard, but particularly so when you’re freezing your ass off. Most of my stuff was still in the boxes as I was way to lazy to unpack within my first week of being here, even if it meant digging things out every morning and smelling like a cardboard box. Anything out had already been worn. So I ended up with smelly sheets, one cover, and a tank top paired with short-shorts to sleep in which left me shivering violently.

Not to mention the fact that, by around four am, when I was finally able to drift off, nightmares stormed my mind and shook me awake. It was hard; At that time, I could barely keep my eyes open anymore, but after a few times waking up with the same cold sweat covering me, I was hesitant to sleep. The residue from the dream still hung around me. The hands I felt were on my arms even after I awoke, the breath in my face to hot and drunken.

A six am decision allowed me to beat my mom to the coffee maker, cheering me up at least a little, because in my opinion, the first cup is always better. One mug was out from the boxes from my mom’s tea last night, which I quickly washed so I could feel the burn of the hot liquid against my dry throat. I craved the way the warmth would spread through my limbs, driving the numb, frost bite-Esq. feeling off. I don’t think tea could ever do that for me.

It was interesting, though, how different I was from my mother. Polar opposites, all the way around. She liked tea, I liked coffee; She liked drama, I liked comedy; she liked me doing homework, I sure as hell didn’t. I’m not sure how Sofia turned out the way she did either. Even if my mom and me were different, we were twins compared to her and either of us. She was a player, self-absorbed, appearance-obsessed. Neither of us ever went after boys, couldn’t care less about ourselves, and I’m pretty sure she was the only one in the house that looked in her closet for clothes instead of just pulling something out (or in my case, off the floor).

I wiggled my toes against the hardwood floor as they regained feeling and decided that, however much I loved the caffeinated affect coffee had on me, real substance food was necessary. Which required me to go out and, in turn, get dressed. I briefly considered getting out more clothes, but I realized I’d probably wake Sofia or mom, so wearing yesterday’s clothes and showering later would be easiest. It didn’t quiet matter to me that they had wrinkles in them from being crumpled on the floor, nor, I was fairly sure, would it matter to the clerk at what ever convenience store I found first.

Stuffing shoes on my feet, I snuck down to steal a couple bucks out of my mom’s purse for Poptarts. Maybe it was the fact that I was wearing the same pants, or maybe it was the feel of the paper material against the denim, but I froze, hand half sticking out of my pocket where I had been putting the money, and remembered the note Curtis had left me the night before. I ripped it out, undying curiosity burning in my veins like always, and read the phone number aloud, followed by the words, which was written in a true boy’s messy handwriting, saying ‘text me anytime.’

This pried a smile from my lips; At least now I knew I had someone to talk to while my sister molested Oli. I yanked my cell phone, which I never ever left anywhere further than five feet away from me, out of my other pocket and added the number to my contacts before I lost the tiny strip of paper. The clock on my phone informed me that it was way to early to thank him at the same time my stomach let out a loud growl, letting me know it was time to go. Toaster pastries were demanded.

On the way to Oli’s yesterday, aside from trees, I was sure we passed a small shopping plaza, which, in my mind, would lead to the rest of the town’s public buildings, like churches, malls, banks, and schools. If I followed the trees, I could get there again, probably, without getting lost.

As soon as I opened the door, the cold air hit me in the face and I hurriedly pulled the cuffs on my long sleeve shirt around my fists to make gloves so at least some part of me could stay warm. I walked quickly, reminding myself every few minutes to count the trees as I had a bad habit of starring at my shoes when I walked.

Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen.

My mind began to wonder to Oli and the boys. About the Matt’s and Sofia. About Sofia and Oli. About jealousy. I had a hard time believing that was it, but it sure as hell felt true. Instead of confronting this feeling though, I texted Curtis as a distraction, even though it had only been about ten minutes since I decided it was early.

Its Matt. Thanks.

Surprisingly enough, he response was almost instantaneous.

Don’t fall for Oli.

Was I really that obvious? I mean, sure, I had never been the best secret keeper and sure, maybe I did look at him a few more times than anyone else, but my baby sister was on his lap. Speaking of, shouldn’t he be telling Sofia that, not me? I wasn’t the one kissing him. I only wish-wow, now I’m scaring myself. I am not under any circumstances falling for Oliver Sykes.

Ew. I wouldn’t. What makes you say, though?

Come to think of it, Oli shouldn’t even going after her. By the looks of it, he had to be at least a year older than me and Sofia was a mere fourteen. Honestly, has he know dignity? Has he no discrepancy? Has he no values? Or morals?

Everyone does.

Could he really be that big of a player? He most definitely had the looks for it, chocolate brown eyes, black hair, tattoos; The works. But was that really his style? He seemed like a nice enough guy, but in my past experiences, players were nothing but trouble. Sure, hot trouble, but trouble none the less.

What do you mean?

I was kind of unsure whether I actually did want to investigate any further than I already had. Maybe Oli was a bad guy, but I was perfectly content not knowing. In fact, Oli could be a drug dealing, gang shooting, rapist and I wouldn’t want to know. Well, maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration, but still, I would rather be friends with his good qualities than be afraid of his bad ones.

I just mean that most girls go for Oli’s type in a sec.

This would be the breaking point. My curiosity was filling my lungs with a need I’d never felt before but I would be getting to know him dangerously well. What if it did turn out his type was a drive by shooting druggy? Where would I go from there? Every time I hung out with Curtis, Lee, and the Matt’s, because let’s face it, they were already growing on me, I would have to awkwardly avoid Oli and pretend I wasn’t terrified of him. Not to mention watch him steal my sister’s innocence. Of course though, curiosity won.

Oli’s type?

And immediately after my thumb applied slight pressure to the ‘send’ button on my phone, I felt anxiety eat me alive. Crawling through my flesh, biting at it rabidly, making me regret ever doing it. Ever agreeing to go back to Oli’s. Ever going on that walk. Ever going to that bar. At the memory, I shivered, frozen in my tracks, and glanced around my quickly with paranoia creeping along my skin. My phone vibrating in my pocket didn’t help, but instead, make me jump like an idiot.

Its kind of hard to explain. He’s just…a bit different. I don’t know, girls just seem to go for him. And a few boys, which I must say, is a lot funnier.

I guess the idea of Oli being chased by boys was fairly funny as, knowing him as well as I did from a few hours, he would be incredibly awkward about turning them down. Unfortunately, it wasn’t funny enough to keep the memories away. Hands. Lips. Tongues. I shivered again. And made sure I looked up every few words I typed on my phone.

Well, I’m not his type.

Oh yea, sure you're not.

It was around that time that I realized I had forgotten about the trees and had once again gotten myself lost. Great job, Matt. Of course, now I had the option of swallowing my pride and asking Curtis for directions as apposed to just wandering around until I either found the town or someone I didn’t know to ask for help. But my pride and I are very close so I wasn’t exactly thrilled to make a bigger fool out of myself.

If you’re a girl, you’re his type.

Fine. He’s not my type.

Besides, did Curtis really think that I would, upon seeing him once, fall head over heels in love with Oli? What is this? A thirteen year old girl’s online fan fiction? No. Then he’d be gay.

Whatever you say.

Maybe it was my lack of sleep last night combined with the left over jet lag, maybe it was my current status with my family, or maybe it was just way to early in the morning for me, but I had to practically chain myself up to keep from hunting down Curtis and murdering him. I generally have a better temper, but as I said, a number of things were adding to my stress level, and right now, you couldn’t judge anything about me accurately. I was unpredictable.

There were actually few occasions where I got like this, but when I did, it was terrible. I was worse than a four year old throwing a temper tantrum in a Toys R Us. I didn’t exactly kick my feet or scream, but I had the worlds sharpest tongue, according to all that had suffered from it, and I went right for my target, not stopping to think of the consequences. I was quick to pick up on people, to generalize them into one of my many categories, from which I could usually deduct their weaknesses, and, in a state like this, quick to attack them.

Of course, as I got older, I learned to control it and use it at the right times. I came to hate the feeling of guilt and regret, which I was able to familiarize myself with a lot more than I had ever wanted every year for the first few months of school, in which my sleep cycle always got messed up and various other times in the year, like finals. They quickly ate me over and I learned a worse sting; Apologizing. As I mentioned, I’m fairly protective of my pride and apologizing knocked me right on my ass. So I taught myself to calm down and think before I spoke, which I was mostly able to do now, mostly.

Shut up, Curtis. I like normal people. Really. Ones without a million tattoos and piercings.

That was a bit of a lie. Even though I had always fallen for the normal boys that just wore regular jeans and plain tee shirts as apposed to black jeans which were smaller than mine and shirts that had weird designs scripted in bright, neon colors, Oli was suspiciously alluring. The tattoos he had actually had me looking twice, maybe wondering a bit what they stood for, where they came from; The rings and studs that decorated his face had me yearning to touch them, just to see what they feel like. Not that I was falling for him, I had just explained that to Curtis.

That’s a first.

I guess most girls kind of went for that type of boy; Like my sister. And if she did, why wouldn’t I? We were, after all, kin. But it was easy to see how different we were. Her: flirty, bold, hot, quick; Me: shy, quiet, slow, normal. I would expect Curtis, if anyone, to understand that, especially after last nights display.

If I had to move all the way from America, couldn’t I just come here and resume normal life? Normal boy. Normal school. Normal clothes. Was that really to much to ask for?