"Shit! I'm going to be late," I curse as I slip on my pink heels and grab my clutch. And like that, I'm out the door. I jog to my car and get in, the radio was on full blast and when I start my car,Misery Business by Paramore is blaring. I hastily turn it down and back out of my drive way (thing). I glance at my apartment briefly and drive off. I'm heading to some tacky Italian restaurant to meet my boyfriend. I appreciate the effort on his part, but I would be just as satisfied with staying home and watching horror movies in my sweats for a date. I'm about halfway there when a car cuts me off; needless to say, I didn't like that. "Learn to drive you fucking cunt!" I shout at the man who cut me off. He glares at me and flips me off. I just roll my eyes and continue driving.
Finally, I pull up to the restaurant. I park and step out, surprised to see my boyfriend, Parker, leaning against a pillar, waiting for me. I smile and close my car door as he makes his way to me. Even with heels, I'm shorter than him, so he leans down to peck my lips. I smile once more and grab his hand as he leads me into the restaurant.
"You look amazing, Mir," he says to me.
"Thank you, you too," I say, leaning my head on his shoulder. His shirt is remarkably soft and it smells of cologne which I love. We meet a young man who leads us to our table and I smile at Parker as we sit down, he doesn't smile back. We sit in silence for a moment when he breaks it.
"So, we haven't talked in a few days. Anything new?" he asks.
"Hardly, pain-in-the-ass teachers, dissecting shit, the usual," I tell him, he nods and I find myself staring into his incredible green eyes, marveling at his jawline, my eyes finding his short brown hair. He is really quite handsome, and nice, and smart, and brave, and-
"Miriam? Miriam D'Amico?!" shouted an unpleasant familiar voice. I turned my head to see the one and only, Terry Orchard. She was the 'queen b' in high school, she knew EVERYBODY, incredibly popular, pretty, and glitzy, but a backstabbing bitch. She would get close to you, and then fuck you over. She was wearing a short silver dress, sunglasses indoors like your common scumbag, and a pair of knee-high boots, just like I remember her.
"Oh hello," I say, coldly.
"I haven't seen you in forever! We were SO close in high school—she noticed Parker smirking at he situation and waved at him, he smiled—and who's this? I don't suppose you got a boyfriend." She extended her hand to him and he took it and shook it slowly, not breaking eye contact with her, they both exchanged names. She let go of his hand and smiled nervously. She began digging in her bag, producing two small pieces of paper.
"Well, I won't interrupt your date any further, but here—she handed each of us her number—my number, call, we should catch up some time," she said and walked off with an obnoxious click of her boots. As if I would want her number, I discard it by throwing it under the table and once more it falls silent around us.
"She seems nice," says Parker, once more breaking the silence. I looked up and him and gave him a skeptical look.
"Yeah, 'seems' and 'is' are a little different though," I explain and he nods. The waiter shows up with 'on the house' breadsticks. We ordered and talked a bit, but it was uncomfortable. The eye contact they shared, it made me uneasy. He doesn't look at me like that. I'm probably just being jealous, he didn't mean anything by it…I'm sure.
When we finished dinner, we shared a long kiss and bid one another good-bye. He tried to get me to go back to his place and "hang out", but I told him it was late and we'll hang "another time". But we won't, I've already set my mind on losing 'it' to someone I trust, and love, deeply. And I just don't feel that with Parker, yet. He said he understands and I'm grateful for that, he's a good guy. And it's not like we haven't got intimate, there has been kissing and touching, and groping, but nothing more. I sigh and continue to drive home in silence; I finally turn on the radio and listen to my favorite band, Pantera. I sing softly to the music and nod my head;
I turn the song off as I pull into my driveway; I take my keys out and get out and walk over to my door, unlock it, and step in. I have this nagging feeling of being watched but I shrug it off. I pull my heels off and leave them at the door.
I take off my collar necklace, and undo the straps on the back of my pink crop top and pull off my skirt, I'm left in my bra and panties so I undo the clasps on my bra and toss it onto the floor with my clothes. Next, I grab a tee shirt and shorts and slip them on my slender frame. I walk over to my bathroom and pull my hair back to take my make-up off and wash my face. When I'm done I release my hair from the head band and take out my contacts and put on my glasses. Before I leave I glance at the mirror and see my reflection. "Yikes, so that's what natural Miriam looks like," I say to myself, laughing. I turn off the bathroom light and grab a pair of socks because my feet are cold—and because I want to slide around on my tile floor—yep! I never grew up. I walk—slide—to my kitchen and hook my phone to my speaker and begin blaring rock music. Normally, I would be courteous because of my roommate, Matt, but he's out on vacation with his boyfriend, so I can blare music ALL I want. I begin singing along and sliding around. But I have to bake some cheesecakes for my little 'business'. Okay, it's just a couple families that drop by once a week for homemade cheesecake, but I need the money. It's easy money, and something to do while I'm not working part-time. I grab the cream cheese and graham crackers and other ingredients and get to work.
I wonder to myself, how the fuck do I have time to juggle a relationship, school, a part time job, and a small business? I shake my head.
"I'm kind of amazing," I say as I put the pans into the oven and begin to clean up, and yes, occasionally sliding around.
Every time I move to put a dish in the drying tray, I see the scars on my wrist and I frown. I was really depressed a few years ago and resorted to self-harm…I don't think there's a day when I don't regret it, but I own up to it. It was my fault and I have the scars to prove it. But you know what? I'm a survivor. As-a-matter-of-fact, I'm considering a 'LLAP' tattoo on my wrist in cursive over the scars. Because I'm not just a survivor, I'm a hardcore Trekkie. A wide grin spreads across my face at the thought and I dry my hands and grab an iced tea and cigarette and sit down on my couch as I wait for my cheesecake to be done. I text my friends and watch TV as I smoke the cigarette and down my tea.
I still have that feeling of being watched but I assume it's just me thinking too much, I shrug it off once more and put out my cigarette. I'm watching a documentary on serial killers because I find it so intriguing. Okay, I'm girly on the outside, but on the inside I love listening to heavy metal and watching stomachs being split open. Only a few people know thati and I like it that way, otherwise people will call me "psycho" or "goth" or just plain weird. So that's probably why I'm so introverted. A 'ding' brings me back from dreamland and I find myself jogging to my oven.
Wow, nice, smooth, pristine cheesecake. It's almost…orgasmic. I laugh out loud at my mental joke. I take the cheesecake out and smell the baked goodness that is this cheesecake. I smile and leave my cheesecake out to cool down. I walk back over to my couch and lay down for about 30 minutes, just watching my documentary.
I take a deep breath and walk over to the kitchen and put my cheesecakes in the refrigerator, turn off the lights, and go to my room to sleep, but not before brushing my teeth. I brush out my short, wavy, platinum blonde and light purple hair and climb into bed. I charge my phone and pull the blanket over my body. And sleep takes over not too long after.
I wake up around 3:00 AM, I feel odd. Okay, now that feeling of being watched is so intense I can't ignore it. I pull the blanket up to my body, suddenly feeling very insecure. I take my phone and launch my flashlight app and scan the room with it, and my pulse races when I see it.
I immediately back up until my back hits the wall behind my bed, the blanket sinks down to my hips."Holy fuck, man," I say. I reach for a tube of mace, but it probably won't do me any good considering the mask. "Get out of my house!" I yell at the masked intruder. He just stands there, unmoving, that's when I notice the glimmer of a knife, and he charges towards me and gets on top of me and tries to stab me. This only makes me angry and I find myself shouting at him. "Oh FUCK no, asshole. I didn't get this close to being able to legally buy alcohol to die now," I say I raise my feet and kick him off of me. This situation is really odd, some man is in my house, and I only have a fucking tube of mace. He stands up and charges at me once more, I move away as he attempts to hit and he runs into the wall.
"You suck," I laugh. Probably not the best idea right now, but this whole situation is just ridiculous. He tilts his head, clearly confused. I take the opportunity to run out of my bedroom and he follows behind. Being the strategist I am, I formulate a plan and hide near my front door. He runs toward it and stops, looking around, once he's facing the other way, I come out of my hiding place and kick him between the legs with all the force I can muster. He cups the area and I take this distraction as an opportunity to unlock the door and push him out, he tries to stab me quite a few times, but I manage to dodge most of his hits. One gets me straight across the arm before I manage to kick him out. I press my back against the door, my chest heaving up and down violently.
I know he's still there so I try to scare him off. "If I were you, I'd take off. Because I'm calling the cops if you don't," I threaten. He responds with a very audible sigh and I smile. I watch him storm off through the peephole. I doubt he's used to failure. I'm not the smartest, or the most cautious woman, so I open my door and call out to him. "Hey Masked Man," his head whips around I can he's incredibly confused at this point. I stick up my middle finger and tongue out at him he simply stares. I was so caught up in my success I got arrogant and I remember one more time that he's incredibly dangerous, so I slam the door and bolt it like there's no tomorrow. I push my couch in front of it; don't ask me how I managed to with my tiny frame. I bolt my windows closed and feel an intense satisfaction from escaping a killer's clutches. Still, I call a friend to stay with me and he agrees, while I patch up my arm.
See that masked asshole fuck with me now.