Sick

“So, how do you feel about all this?” The way she questioned me was like she was questioning an unstoppable , despicable serial killer, when really I’m just a teenager with a few fucking issues.

I just grunted in response, it kind of reminded me of an ogre, an angry ugly ogre. I wondered if the sound was from a pleasantly nice ogre, or an insubordinate one.

Mrs. Bongo knitted her eyebrows subtly in response to my ogre grunt, “I see, hmm.”

My hands tightened their grip on each other, as I fought a mind-consuming urge, what the hell was ‘hmm’ suppose to mean?

But, I guess I was going to find out because she soon shook her head and let a sigh escape, “ I must say, my dear,”
she looked me in the eye in a way that didn’t allow me to break the eye contact.
“You are quite sick.”

As soon as the words left the tip of her tongue, my own lips curved, I was smiling, “No fucking duh.”