The ceiling fan goes around one more time. 387. Again, 388, and again. Around and around it travels. I wonder how many miles its blades have flown.
I lay on my bed watching it while some girl lays asleep on my chest. I don't care for her much. I don't even know her name; all I know is that her face is pretty.
I don't even remember coming home from the party last night. I must have been hammered. The last thing I know is the sting of some liquor down my throat as strangers cheered me on. Freshmen to Seniors chanted my name. I'm sure there was the occasional highschool pupil among the crowd.
The majority know my name. They know my face. They know the rumors by heart and spread them around like it's the only thing they live on. Pathetic.
Why should humans obsess over a mere male? Of course, those of great influence should be obsessed over. Not I, however. I haven't made an effort to create a better society. Instead, I follow the tragic cliche of most bad boys found in a girl's silly novel. I don't know why though.
I remember my mother's dying words, "You have a meaning for greatness. Don't deny it. I won't spend my last breath arguing!" Her gentle laugh brings a smile to my face. "Whether this greatness be good or bad is up to you." She said as she poked my chest. "Nevertheless it's greatness. Don't waste it my son."
She put a metal encased gem in my hand just before the monitor went blank.
My drunken father says it's diamond. I could sell it for a few thousand due to the fact the gem is the size of a quarter. Instead, it stays on a chain around my neck. Besides father would throw a fit.
Her passing was six months ago. Neither he nor I have remained the same. He kept his highly prised job, and I kept my grades as high as I could manage. Anything to keep others from noticing.
A few minutes passed and the clock struck 10. I wiggled my way out from underneath the girl and dressed. I turn around to see her move before sitting up and stretching. I quickly avert my eyes when the blanket falls.
I quickly turn to the closet to grab a t-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts for her. I put my forearm over my face and turn around.
"I'm a bit blind, so could you come get these? I need to go back to my troll cave until you're done changing." It takes her a few seconds before I hear her steps along the hardwood floor. She slowly takes the clothes out of my hand, and I make my retreat.
A few moments later, there's a gentle knock at the door. "I'm dressed."
"Ah, cool," I say once I'm in my room once again. "If you go down the hall there should be a staircase. Go down it and hang a left. The second door is the kitchen. Help yourself. I have to pack a few suitcases, I'll be staying with a relative for a few weeks." That was a lie. I would be packing, but where I was going I had no idea.
An impulsive idea, but I couldn't watch the fan spin around another night.
"How about I cook breakfast? That party was wild last night and I need something heavier on my stomach." I give her a nod before she turns away.
I get down a suitcase and a backpack. I stuff them full of clothing and other valuables. A gun, a baseball bat, a knife, and a multitool along with three rolls of duct tape. You never know what you need. I figured I pack half my closet and room if possible.
My father wouldn't be home for another month due to a business trip, and he'd just text me to see if I was alive.
I figured I'd go to Walmart to buy a week's worth of junk food because why not?
I brought the bags down and put them in the backseat of my jeep before going into the kitchen.
I looked at the girl at the stove with the bowl of batter on her left and a stack of pancakes on her right.
"I know you're there. What's your name?" She asks without turning about.
"Ryan." I give her my father's name.
"Don't lie. Here, I'll go first." She turns around with an annoyed look on her face. Her dark brows are furrowed and her brown eyes with a glare in them. She takes her light brown ponytail down as she begins to speak. "Miss. Ingrid Ethel Abbot, but you may call me Ethel. It's your turn."
"Briar S. Taylor," I say.
"The S stands for Scout." She says so confidently and rudely.
With a puzzled expression, I look at her, "How drunk was I?" Usually I get these sweet girls who want to be arm candy.
"You didn't drink." She replies as she turns back around. "I'll pack these all in a Ziploc bag for you. How about you go to Walmart to get your unhealthy crap you call 'food'."
I turn about and head out while shaking my head. I must still be drunk, or I have found a psychopath.
I found my way to my jeep wrangler. The green paint was scratched from when my mother had taken out the right mirror. The mirror had been replaced.
I jump in and drive off to the local wally-world. I fill my trunk with bags and boxes of empty calories. When I arrive back Ethel is walking towards me with two bags full of pancakes. She climbs in on the passenger side.
"I say, you drive." She says, "You may want to take the amulet out from underneath your shirt."
"Amulet?" I ask, she looks forward and does not answer. I pull out my mother's broach.
Ethal directs us towards an older neighborhood. She asks me to pull over so she can drive to the final destination. I'm beginning to wonder where my last ounce of sanity was.
She drives past houses until we arrive at a half-burnt down, brick house. She drives towards the house mumbling something.
"What are you doing!" I exclaim. The broach around my neck begins to glow as she drives directly into the house.
We don't crash though. And her appearance begins to change.
"I'm sorry, my prince." That's the last thing I hear before everything gets cut off.