Don't Touch...

With each day that passed, Audrey grew more and more vexed with her Mother for getting married. To a man with a son, of all people out there. Nothing was right in that household. Trash littered tables and floors, and when you were able to see the actual floor, you wished you hadn’t. Usually, Audrey tried to see the… better, in people. But it was hard to see anything good in the way these men lived.

Her Father’s home was always immaculate, nothing was ever out of place. Audrey had been naïve enough to believe all men were like that. She never thought she would be so wrong.

Garret, that was Rick’s son, was the worst of the two. Oh, Rick was bad, but Garret was disgusting; to the point that she could barely stand to sit next to him at the dinner table. The only thing that kept her from completely losing it, was the happiness she saw in her Mother’s face every time she looked at Rick. But that wasn’t always going to be enough.

She’d thought about running away to her Father’s house, back home in Seattle. Then she would think about what would happen when he got deployed, though, and she knew she would be stuck here either way.

“Drey-Drey!” Garret sang as he knocked on Audrey’s door.

He had given her a nickname. She didn’t understand why he couldn’t just call her Audrey. It was her name. But he insisted on calling her that asinine nickname. Audrey really hated it. It made her sound like some odd rapper or something of the sorts.

“Come in Garret,” Audrey murmured.

Audrey still wasn’t used to this ‘family’ thing. She was actually expected to eat and converse with these people. Didn’t her Mom care about her anymore? She’d thrown Audrey into this whole situation without much more than a few weeks’ notice. Did she think it would somehow change Audrey? If so, it wasn’t working.

“Kelly told me to ask you if you wanted to go to the mall with me and my friends.” Garret said.

“No thank you.”

Audrey would have rather finished cleaning her room. The same thing she had been doing for the past few weeks she’d been here. It used to be the spare bedroom, more like a storage room actually, and filth covered every square inch of it. She was still finding old sports shirts in places.

“Oh come on Drey-Drey, you aren’t fettered here. Yes I did get take that from your Word of The Day calendar.” Said Garret.

Fetter; a chain or shackle. She was surprised he had even cared enough to read her Word of The Day calendar. He didn’t seem the type. Audrey wished she knew his type. Every time she had thought she had him figured out and placed in the correct personality, he would do something so out of character that she’d have to find the right place again.

It was what she did. Everyone had one of several personalities, or as she called them: types. So far, Garret had been through almost every type she had, which was driving her up a wall. She couldn’t stand that his type just kept floating around from envelope to envelope. That was how she categorized them; she placed each name in an envelope, all the envelopes conveniently placed in a box beneath her bed.

“I’m not… ‘fettered’ here.” Said Audrey before she thought about her words.

“Yes you are. You don’t leave the house unless you absolutely have to, your group of friends consists on a 3 fish living in a tank you don’t have to clean, and I don’t think I’ve seen you stop cleaning since you got here.”

Why did Garret have to be so… so… daunting!? Audrey couldn’t stand him. She wished she could go back in time and tell her Mother that she didn’t want her to get married. This was too much, way too much, she couldn’t deal with it. It hurt her head.
Audrey swayed on her feet. She wasn’t feeling well. Garret needed to leave before something bad happened. Why wasn’t he leaving? She was beginning to feel lightheaded. Why was Garret looking at her like that? Was he thinking she was crazy? What if he told the school he was crazy? She would be criticized for the rest of the year. And longer…

Her complexion was becoming florid. She couldn’t breathe, her heart was beating rapidly. Where were her anti-anxiety pills? Hadn’t she just put them on her bedside table?

“Are you okay Audrey?” Garret placed a hand on Audrey’s shoulder.

Audrey blinked, hard. “Don’t touch me.”

1, 2, 3 paintings. 1, 2, 3 drawers. 1, 2, 3 pillows. It wasn’t working. Counting always worked. 1, 2, 3 goldfish. 1, 2, 3 mirrors. Why was he still touching her? She needed her pills.

“Audrey?”

She fled the room, going to the bathroom and putting three squirts of soap into her hands. She then proceeded to wash them. Three times. She had thought she had gotten over this at least a little bit. Apparently, counting wasn’t as mutable as she had once thought.

Audrey’s mind was still reeling, her heart still speeding. Where were her anti-anxiety pills? They were always on her bedside table. Always. She pulled a tissue from her pocket and opened the bathroom door. The hallway outside was empty but Audrey could hear her mother speaking downstairs.

Her Mother was speaking in anagrams. It was an odd thing she liked to do; rearranging the letters in words, until she couldn’t form anymore. Where some Mothers would sing while they did chores, Audrey’s spoke in anagrams. She said it kept her brain active.

“Where are my pills?” Asked Audrey once she found her Mother.

“I went to get them refilled.” Said her Mother dismissively.

“I need them.” Insisted Audrey.

Her Mother was the only person she would speak to this way. Mother understood her… somewhat. Not as much as her Dad did.

Sighing, her Mother asked, “Why?”

“You know why.”

“Well your prescription should be ready by now, why don’t you go to the mall with Garret and you can pick them up on the way?”

“I don’t like the mall.”

“Why?” Asked her Mother again.

“Everyone there lacks decorum.”

“Then I guess you’ll have to wait for your pills.”

Audrey glared at her Mother. She didn’t understand anything. Folding her arms across her chest, Audrey went off to find Garret. She was only doing this because she needed her medication. Hopefully her mother realized that. This Martha Stewart dream of hers would never be real.