Like any normal man, I hate surprises and scenarios that are not in my control or catch me off guard and although my ability to bounce back is quite immaculate...I still detest them in the moment. And God help if someone is building up for a surprise — I really want to use a skull face emoji in that scenario because that would be me. All me. Ditto. Same same.
My trauma for surprises roots all the way back to my fourth birthday when all of my siblings decided that it would be spectacular to consider me invisible for the day and not acknowledge my presence until the party — which I did not know would happen — starts. Well, me being the peace loving person I am, I was hurt to the bone being ignored like that all day on my own birthday.
So, I brazenly strolled inside my elder brothers' room and smashed their favourite toys to pieces. Pretty peaceful, right? But they took offence to it and beat me up. ON MY BIRTHDAY. THE AUDACITY.
Later that evening, they held my hand over the cheap plastic green birthday knife and helped me cut the cake as if nothing happened. Is it just me? Am I the only begrudged and offended and done dirty soul in this household? Or is it a normal for everyone as well?
Well, I wouldn't know that until I grew up but that was span enough for my fear of surprises to brew the golden cauldron of my brain and blossom in the dried garden of my heart.
Even in death, I remain the same, with my fears intact. Even when I am someone else, possessing or a temporary habitant or a permanent dweller, I still remain the same.
Though, it is quite a loose to call this situation a surprise...for it feels more of a shock to me. A shocking surprise, yes, continuing to water my ever increasing detest for surprises and that man.
"Stop thinking, you keep doing it," Blaire scolds, pushing her face in the desk in front of me. My hollow eyes zone in on her left cheek squished against the desk and pretty baby blue eyes searching mine. I look into hers, sighing because she is even gorgeous with her face squished and brows furrowed together.
"What do you want her to do? Jump off the rails and be a zombie?" Stephanie scoffs from somewhere behind us.
We're back in our dormitory because Stephanie held my mouth shut and pulled Blaire's blouse down a little, clarifying the cops about the shoe conflict and my many a jobs. She had convinced the cops that, "Oh she's been wanting to audition for the drama club! That's why she keeps going over dialogues. She's shy and doesn't want people to know that her childhood dream was to be an actress — because of her ugliness, of course. So don't you dare judge her because of that! Once a girl is rich and skilled enough, beauty is never far away."
Stephanie, darling, you're a real one.
With each progressing utterance of lies, Blaire's cleavage would dip and inch and Stephanie's skirt would ride an inch. I was defended by my 'friends,' very fiercely, yet very pathetically.
The cop had then, very eloquently called the diner owners and after a hush hush chat, left me on disciplinary basis with a warning — SO THAT THE SCHOOL COULD REDEEM ME.
And even though I did not have the energy the defend myself, all I wanted was to run on free reigns so I could avenge myself from that godforsaken male protagonist.
That toxic, cheapass, loser Evander Blackwell.
Bleurgh.
"No Steph, I just want her to focus on the present. Look at me, Winnie, you'll be fine okay?" Blaire raises a hand and cups my cheek. Her touch is warm and I lean into it, brushing my face against her hand as a small smile makes its way to my face.
"You cannot always escape your thoughts. They'll catch up sooner or later. Face them now and you'll be braver later rather than being a wannabe brave now and crumbling later," Stephanie grunts. I turn to look behind and she's busy folding her laundry, casually stashing it on her desk.
"Ohh whose getting all preachy now?" Blaire teases softly and I smile. They're good people, both of them.
"I'll be better!" I bang my fist against my desk and stand up, "I'll be better as soon as I get my revenge on the man who has been ruining my life since day one!"
"Your dad?" Stephanie snorts.
I roll my eyes at her, "No, Evander Blackwell. That arsehole," I scowl bitterly, turning back to sit on my desk again. I pick up one of the many diaries stacked in one corner of the desk and open it. I will list everything I know about that loathsome villain— only to find something strange.
It was my, that is, Winona Beckett's weekly grade report. The crisp piece of paper that read:
History - A
English - A+
Spanish - A
Biology - A
Physics - A+
Calculus - A
Chemistry - A+
Geography - A+
Mathematics - A
Computer Science - A+
"What the hell—?!" I check the name again, in the left corner of the page, under the school's name and it is still mine. I turn the page over to see if it was a prank or if it is fake or anything — but no, this seems very much real. I scratch the ink and nothing happens.
Stephanie leans over my shoulders and Blaire leans in to sneak a glance.
"Ah! You never showed it to us!" Blaire chirps.
"Wow, suddenly I'm glad you never showed it to us. Why were you so sneaky about this shit, nerd?" Stephanie flicks the back of my neck.
"Ouch!" I scowl, pressing a hand over where she flicked, too distracted to retaliate, "Why was I the Plaything...when I have seemingly excellent grades?"
"Beats me," Stephanie shrugs and pulls away, going back to her laundry. "Though, you were acting pretty suspicious last weekend...and you got super drunk as well," she reminisces, "Now that was a scene!"
"Oh! Yes yes! I remember!" Blaire giggles, "And you went to the church with me. That was very odd but I had fun with you!"
Oh—? So this girl got good grades yet she got drunk, called her childhood best friend to pick her up but came back home with someone else, seemingly went to the church before this timespan and then exited her body?!
What the heck?! Did this woman leave me to solve her murder mystery?! Can a side character be murdered even?! I don't think there was any sub plot like t— Ah! The gambling addict father?? No- it cannot be, but he did have some underground mafia debt on him— but what would an irrelevant side character do in that main plot?!
Ugh! I pull at my hair. This will get me nowhere. I need answers. I need clarity. I need a vision. I need food.
"Do you wanna go to the church with me, tomorrow? After school hours or before?" Blaire offers with her baby blue eyes sparkling in my perspective. I gulp because she is absolutely irresistible and now I understand how the cop might have felt, being on the receiving end of anything Blaire's. Gaze or glare.
"A-after would be good," I croak out, "I'll need to prepare myself for a talk with the dean first." I'm sure there is no colour in my face or any part of me but my dark, glitter infested, hair right now. I feel squeamish — or is it this girl's body making me feel all the nerves? I would never know.
But I need to talk to the dean. I need answers as to why I am the chosen Plaything. And cowardice wouldn't get me anywhere but to my deathbed.
"Ahh! Great! You'll come with me tomorrow! Do you wanna sleep with me today? I know its been a hectic day...and we can cuddle!" Blaire offers with a bright smile pushing her lips. I swoon at her excitement and a little at her bust as well, gulping with anticipation.
"Oh? I want in as well. I'll sleep along, cuddle me too," Stephanie brings her head between us, frowning. I press my palm on her forehead and push her away.
"No, it's only gonna be me and Blaire," I smile, as what I think would be cute, but comes out like a grimace.
"I have food though," Stephanie pouts, raising two packets of noodles in our faces, "But ostracise me, okay, more for me I guess," she shrugs, about to walk away when Blaire and I instinctively grab her by her arms and seat her in between us.
"Come, let's party."