Second Guessing and Tears Stressing
Chocolate
“ZAAACCCKKKYYYY!!” I screamed from the base of the steps. I just barely heard him groan, and pull himself up off the couch.
“WHAAATTT!” He mocked. I glared at him, my mood swings kicking in.
“Chocolate. And if you don’t shut up, then I’m making you go the whole way to Sweden, to get the Swedish chocolate I like.”
“Can’t you just go to Wal-Mart and get it?” He asked, stupidly.
“No, cause then it isn’t from Sweden.”
“But…it says made in Sweden,” He thought about it. “I don’t get it.”
“Zacky, go get me chocolate, and stop thinking about where the fuck Swedish chocolate is made!” I snapped, stomping back up the steps.
“Please god, make this nine months go by faster than chickens crossing the road.”
“SINCE WHEN THE HELL DO CHICKENS CROSS THE ROAD?!” I screamed, throwing a shoe at his head.
“Since my parents moved to goddamn Tennessee!” He screamed back.
“For fuck’s sake, you live in New Jersey!” I rolled my eyes. “Just because your parents wanted to retire and become full-on rednecks, doesn’t mean you have to be part of the redneck agenda.”
“Green Day Quota!” He glared.
“You wanna be an American Idiot,” I sang, still at the top of the steps. Then I stopped. “Do you want to live to see tomorrow?”
“Do I still have to get the chocolate?”
“Yes.”
“Then no.”
“Go!”
“Yes your Majesty,” He sighed. I threw the phone book on the table in the hall at him. “Quit throwing things!” He said, exasperatingly.
“Zacky!” I whined. He grabbed his car keys, snarled something about shooting himself before May came, and slammed the door behind him. I sighed, going into the bedroom, and finishing the last of my redecorating. I had decided on doing something a little different in the baby’s room. Not so much that it’s like mine ((Which happens to be a purple color, and bands and pictures everywhere)) To influence her to be a bad-ass like her mother and father, but more…homey, and comfortable. I had gotten a few things from storage that my grandmother had given me. Pictures from the early 1900’s that were illustrated beautifully.
I decided on a color that makes a room beautiful regardless of boy or girl. Blue. Sort of a dark blue, and then a picture of me and Zacky, a picture of me, Vyra, and Bobbi Jo, a picture of a7x, and My Chem, Gerard and Frankie, a picture of Zacky and Syn, and a few others.
I had done shopping. Oh, a ton of shopping. An old, refurbished bureau sat against one wall. A crib, a black one, ha, I had to add my own touch, sat against the other. I had opened up the room by adding a childproofed sliding glass door. Everything look gorgeous.
The door slammed. “Zacky? That you?” I asked.
“Uh, are you expecting him?” Vyra’s voice carried though the house. Loudmouth. Even though I love her.
“He’s supposed to bring chocolate,” I grumbled. She scrunched her nose.
“Why can’t you crave normal things? Pop-Tarts, Skittles, ya know, that stuff.”
“You know, most normal people crave chocolate.”
“I meant normal for us.”
“That’s what God’s trying to do, throw me off balance,” I groaned. “So once I have baby, I’ll get sick when I try to eat a huge bag of Skittles, or a whole box of pop-tarts.” The door slammed again.
“Anyone here?” Frankie’s voice asked. Loudmouth. I should really start locking the door.
“Up here.” I went into my room, noticing the fact that my shirt was paint splattered. I searched through my drawers and, not finding a shirt that looked comfortable enough, I went to Zacky’s, grabbing a Wise Ass one. I changed into it, and skipped steps down to the first floor, where I found Frankie in th kitchen, helping himself to Grape Soda. Another weird craving.
“I thought you held a grudge against grape soda?” Vyra asked. I grunted in reply. Once, when we were out, someone was trying this ‘wise’ experiment, and it was with grape soda, shaken up. The result ended in me, who had on a white shirt, in a purple shirt. “Aww, is Kor having cravings she can’t stand, or control?” She teased. I glared.
“It’s actually—“
“I HAVE YOUR DAMN CHOCOLATE! Now, do you need anything else?” Zacky asked, coming into the kitchen.
“Nope,” I said happily. “Gimme.”
“She said Wal-Mart’s Swedish Chocolate isn’t from Sweden,” He said, sitting at the island, glumly.
“It’s not?” Vyra asked, confused. I rolled my eyes.
“Forget it. At least I didn’t say chicken’s crossed the road.”
“They don’t?” Frankie asked, giving a thoughtful look. And so I ask, What did I do, to deserve a friend who thinks Chickens cross the road? Or a boyfriend for that matter? It’s hopeless. And so are these hormones, I decide, as I suddenly get sick from the Hershey’s chocolate bar. Zacky looked about ready to kill when I gave it to Frankie. Oops.
“WHAAATTT!” He mocked. I glared at him, my mood swings kicking in.
“Chocolate. And if you don’t shut up, then I’m making you go the whole way to Sweden, to get the Swedish chocolate I like.”
“Can’t you just go to Wal-Mart and get it?” He asked, stupidly.
“No, cause then it isn’t from Sweden.”
“But…it says made in Sweden,” He thought about it. “I don’t get it.”
“Zacky, go get me chocolate, and stop thinking about where the fuck Swedish chocolate is made!” I snapped, stomping back up the steps.
“Please god, make this nine months go by faster than chickens crossing the road.”
“SINCE WHEN THE HELL DO CHICKENS CROSS THE ROAD?!” I screamed, throwing a shoe at his head.
“Since my parents moved to goddamn Tennessee!” He screamed back.
“For fuck’s sake, you live in New Jersey!” I rolled my eyes. “Just because your parents wanted to retire and become full-on rednecks, doesn’t mean you have to be part of the redneck agenda.”
“Green Day Quota!” He glared.
“You wanna be an American Idiot,” I sang, still at the top of the steps. Then I stopped. “Do you want to live to see tomorrow?”
“Do I still have to get the chocolate?”
“Yes.”
“Then no.”
“Go!”
“Yes your Majesty,” He sighed. I threw the phone book on the table in the hall at him. “Quit throwing things!” He said, exasperatingly.
“Zacky!” I whined. He grabbed his car keys, snarled something about shooting himself before May came, and slammed the door behind him. I sighed, going into the bedroom, and finishing the last of my redecorating. I had decided on doing something a little different in the baby’s room. Not so much that it’s like mine ((Which happens to be a purple color, and bands and pictures everywhere)) To influence her to be a bad-ass like her mother and father, but more…homey, and comfortable. I had gotten a few things from storage that my grandmother had given me. Pictures from the early 1900’s that were illustrated beautifully.
I decided on a color that makes a room beautiful regardless of boy or girl. Blue. Sort of a dark blue, and then a picture of me and Zacky, a picture of me, Vyra, and Bobbi Jo, a picture of a7x, and My Chem, Gerard and Frankie, a picture of Zacky and Syn, and a few others.
I had done shopping. Oh, a ton of shopping. An old, refurbished bureau sat against one wall. A crib, a black one, ha, I had to add my own touch, sat against the other. I had opened up the room by adding a childproofed sliding glass door. Everything look gorgeous.
The door slammed. “Zacky? That you?” I asked.
“Uh, are you expecting him?” Vyra’s voice carried though the house. Loudmouth. Even though I love her.
“He’s supposed to bring chocolate,” I grumbled. She scrunched her nose.
“Why can’t you crave normal things? Pop-Tarts, Skittles, ya know, that stuff.”
“You know, most normal people crave chocolate.”
“I meant normal for us.”
“That’s what God’s trying to do, throw me off balance,” I groaned. “So once I have baby, I’ll get sick when I try to eat a huge bag of Skittles, or a whole box of pop-tarts.” The door slammed again.
“Anyone here?” Frankie’s voice asked. Loudmouth. I should really start locking the door.
“Up here.” I went into my room, noticing the fact that my shirt was paint splattered. I searched through my drawers and, not finding a shirt that looked comfortable enough, I went to Zacky’s, grabbing a Wise Ass one. I changed into it, and skipped steps down to the first floor, where I found Frankie in th kitchen, helping himself to Grape Soda. Another weird craving.
“I thought you held a grudge against grape soda?” Vyra asked. I grunted in reply. Once, when we were out, someone was trying this ‘wise’ experiment, and it was with grape soda, shaken up. The result ended in me, who had on a white shirt, in a purple shirt. “Aww, is Kor having cravings she can’t stand, or control?” She teased. I glared.
“It’s actually—“
“I HAVE YOUR DAMN CHOCOLATE! Now, do you need anything else?” Zacky asked, coming into the kitchen.
“Nope,” I said happily. “Gimme.”
“She said Wal-Mart’s Swedish Chocolate isn’t from Sweden,” He said, sitting at the island, glumly.
“It’s not?” Vyra asked, confused. I rolled my eyes.
“Forget it. At least I didn’t say chicken’s crossed the road.”
“They don’t?” Frankie asked, giving a thoughtful look. And so I ask, What did I do, to deserve a friend who thinks Chickens cross the road? Or a boyfriend for that matter? It’s hopeless. And so are these hormones, I decide, as I suddenly get sick from the Hershey’s chocolate bar. Zacky looked about ready to kill when I gave it to Frankie. Oops.