His Beautiful Mind - Chapter Three
By: The Butterfly Net
- - -
I pick up a Styrofoam plate covered with saran wrap, and begin meticulously inspecting the steak held with in. I hate grocery shopping. I should hire some one to do this for me. Deciding against purchasing the crimson meat, I move towards the side of the store where they sell milk, eggs, cheese. I eye the milk's expiration date. I rarely drink milk. I place the gallon in my cart along with the two bottles of wine, loaf of bread, Oreos, and bottles of Diet Coke. I have a few more hours until I'm suppose to be at Madame Frown's. Why do I always get the screw balls? It's gotten to the point as to where I think I'll be destined to scrub the toilet of lunatics until the day I die. God I need a social life. I'm fucking twenty-eight years old, boyfriend less, and living alone in an apartment with a cat. I should get a cat. Wine. Diet Coke. Bread. Cookies. Chips. Real Food. Tampons. Swiffer wipes. Cat.
I begin to place a variety of Hostess Pies into my cart. I hate that feeling you get
when someone is watching you. They're probably thinking: look at that pathetic girl put
all of the Hostess Pies in her cart; she's going to get fat off of those. No, I will not be
getting fat because one of these happen to be the only thing I tend to eat all day. One
Hostess Pie, preferably blueberry. I need to learn to cook. Maybe it'd be cheaper if I
made my own Hostess Pies. As I turn around to leave the aisle I learn that there wasn't a
soul in sight.
- - -
I stare at the large colonial in front of me. I really am not in the mood to be
cleaning, nor am I in the mood to be berated by that ass hole with troll hair. I ring the
bell. It's one of those God awfully long ass bells. I hate them. He, of course, comes to the
door while the bell has another minute of obnoxious 'ringing.' What happened to the old
fashion ding dong?
Well? Are you going to say something Mr. Frowny face? No? Well then maybe I
should just fucking walk away you. Go back home to my Hostess Pies, they don't judge. I subconsciously smile to myself. "Hi Mr. Ouiji," why am I polite?
He steps aside allowing me to enter. As I step through I realize, in a matter of
twenty four hours, the entire house is a complete mess; a strange mess at that. It looks
like he stood at the top of his steps and threw papers and books off, just to piss me off.
No, I'm being conceded, why would he do that for me?
"I'll walk you through the rest of the rooms you'll be cleaning," he grunted after
this and eyed me accusingly as I continued to stare in awe at the mess created so quickly.
"I'll skip the rooms you ventured into yesterday, unless, that is, you've already forgotten
where they were?" He smirked at what he thought was amusing. Mockery is something that should be done sparcely, and backhandedly. The way he acts I believe has acquired this long ago.
"That's fine." I mutter as I follow him up the stairs. What happened to me being a self proclaimed independent genius? Now I'm a lowly moron? Hmm, figures.
"These two rooms," he gestures to the first two rooms parallel, "they're empty, no need to be cleaned or entered." He then continued to lead me down the crowded, disorganized hallway. Where does he get all of these books? I feel as if I'm in a filthy, cramp, used book store. The walls are replaced by book cases and piles of books, clothes, boxes, and stuff. Piles that look as if they'll avalanche at any given moment. Piles of weird stuff. Yes, stuff, nothing in particular, just random crap that should be at a salvation army or in the trash. I believe I saw a series of clear Tupperware containers filled with children blocks. You know, the colorful wooden ones?
"This is my study," he then begins to close the door of a very, very cluttered room. Possibly the room that would need extra cleaning attention. I have found it! The lost treasure of Atlantis! To think it's been in Madame Frown's chambers, right under our noses, this whole time! "You will not enter this room." He states firmly, making curiosity rise, and I have premonition that it will get the best of me, and I will be entering this forbidden lair. Curiosity killed the cat. Again, I really think I am fit for a cat.
"Okay," I say, only to confirm to him that I am paying some what attention to his asinine attitude. Hardly knows me, yet seems to hold this grudge that I could never be trusted. Shall I suggest anti-depressants? Dark circles under the eyes? Take some Lunesta buddy.
"The double doors lead to the master bedroom, yet another location you will not enter."
Who calls a room in their home a 'location?'
He stops and turns to me. "You are to clean the rest of my home," he keeps his frown. "I send checks in the mail. I do not set an exact payment per hour. You will be paid somewhere between twelve and fifteen an hour, pending on how well you clean, follow my commands, and your attitude." He smirked at the last of his short list. "I'll clue you in: your attitude, at the moment, is low. I don't like how you've been scanning my home, and your short responses, irritate me. If you are going to speak, speak more than a single word. I will dismiss you for such mistakes." I frowned at him. Hello? What do you want me to say? Yes Sir Mr. Ouiji sir. How is your day sir? Why won't you let me clean your study and room sir? Why are you so rude sir? Why do you use so much gel in your hair sir? Shall I continue sir?
"Sorry," again, why aren't I being my normal bitchy self? First impressions are everything of course. Yet, this is actually my second impression, correct? Correct. "I'll be sure to speak more than only one word in your presence," I decide on diluted sarcasm.
He quirked an eyebrow at me, then parted his lips as if he were about to speak. But I cut him off. "Well then, I think I better get started. Where do you keep the supplies?"
"Downstairs in the closet I showed you yesterday." He smirked at my slip.
Damn, he thinks he has an upperhand now that I forgot exactly where he kept the supplies. "Kay, thanks." Two words. Not one, but two. I turn and head back down stairs.
- - -
I've broken one of the 'words of advice' Chi Chi had given me. I had not just touched, but organized his dusty old books. I've alphabetized them. I love to alphabetize, almost everything in my home is: including my refrigerator. He had a wide variety of books, well the ones I found on his foyer floor and steps. From books on conspiracy theories, to classics like Canterbury Tales, to books written in several languages, to ones I'm not sure how to classify. I guess language. I found a few books that looked like artifacts they were so old. I put those at the end of my alphabetized book case. I smiled with pride at my finished work. Well I've finished the foyer, living room, and kitchen. Now I must travel upstairs, where I believe Mr. Anal resides.
As I reach the top of the steps I hear a strange noise, sounded animalistic. As I started down the hallway he had led me down prior, I casually bent down to organize a pile, when I stopped. Well my heart stopped. It was a very low pitch growl. I turned to look into the eyes of the ravage beast that lusted my blood. The beast's eyes glew a hazy green down the shadowed hallway, and I could hear it gnash it's teeth at me, the same teeth that would presently tear open my throat. I heard it bound after me, cowardice taking sight away from my last moment in this Earthly realm. When it's claws dug into my bear arm, and it's low bark filled my perked ears, I opened my cowardly eyes, to reveal a-
"Cozmo!" He growled this with authority, and the beast complied.
The stout Jack Russell Terrier lolled it's pink tongue happily at his master, then trotted to his side. I quirked my eyebrow at this then looked into the onyx of Ouiji.
"I see you've acquainted yourself with Cozmo," he smirked amusedly, glancing down on the short, fat, now happy, pup. "He's an intimidating little mongrel, isn't he?" His mockery didn't go unnoted.
"He just startled me is all, you never mention you had dog, and I didn't see any dog toys."
His face slacked back into it's frown and I watched his cold orbs roll. "You just haven't reached his room yet." I simply nodded and he studied me for a moment. "Have you already finished the first floor?"
"Most of it, I finished the foyer, living room, and kitchen. I haven't gone down that hallway yet."
He nodded. "The last door that'd be on your right, is the basement, you don't need to clean that."
I nodded, "Kay." Opps, one word.
He stared at me for one more moment and his eyes seemed as if they were trying to find something. Like when you think you recognize someone. He shrugged to himself then him and his dog walked into the room he had titled his study.
I sighed and began to organized an avalanche.
- - -
Staring at the black chalk board, my bulbous teacher pointed a sausage finger at the fraction written in white chalk. Her whole ensemble was dusted with chalk. She wore a black top and a pair of black slacks. Black is supposedly a sliming color, says my mothers magazine, yet it fails this poor woman. The humorous part were the chalky handprints on either side of her colossal ass. An ass that vast should never have been abused into a pant that tight. A real retina burner. The child infront of me turned around with an amused grin.
"Hey Vegeta, I heard you," he paused but continued to smile.
I stared back at him with a stoic expression. I knew what was coming next. It always came next. Those next two words always completed that sentence spoken by many. I am ten years old and I am four foot seven. The child before me is likely five foot four, held back a year or three, and has chubby arms lying on my desk, my space. His facial features are contorted into a fat smile. His cheeks protrude, and are beginning to break the line of obesity. One of his many bodily resemblance with the teacher that will soon side with him after he trys to speak those next two words. Say it fat fuck. Come one. Say it.
"I heard you hear-"
A gasp, a yell, a warm liquid on my knuckles, a cry of pain, and a silent hiss of laughter.
Good job, Vegeta.
His watery blue eyes stare into my onyx with fear. The veneration in the look he holds insures not another word will be uttered at my expense. One less person will taunt. How many will fall until they quit? I've lost count of the fallen.
The large pudgy hand grips my collar and drags me down the stairs for me to wait in that cramp room with that snaky man that sits behind the squalor mess, called work. He clears his throat and phones my mother. She will sob for my forgiveness. He will show pity, take in consideration my condition, and let me free. Free to do it again, and again: they are only proving they can not stop me.
You're unstoppable.
- - -
That's it. I decided to post this before I leave on a boring "vacation." Not like you people'd notice, I rarely update. This is because I never seem to prioritize this hobby. I try, but I type for a few moments, save. Word count. Spell Check. Save. Word Count. Sigh. Turn off the computer. ahaha. Thank you readers and reviewers, I hold each stat dear. Please send me my love: critizism. Especially since I hate that last flashback thing with Vegeta, tell me what you thought. I have a few ideas to add to the plot, so when I return from my "vacation," I plan to hopefully sit and write a complete chapter, rather one to three paragraphs at a time.. ahaha.