"Morticia!" I could hear my name screamed, the sound piercing through the eerie silence of the house. It echoed in my ears like a dying screech, sending me mourning mentally.

This was a house totally incompatible with silence, yet today, strangely, I found myself almost rooting for beautiful tranquility. I had barricaded myself in my room all day, desperate to attain the Guinness World Record for the longest duration without being shouted at. It had become mundane that if it isn't Morticia, it is Morticia. I even contemplated visiting the ENT doctor to check if there was something wrong with my ears, for it seemed that every time someone spoke or screamed, it was always my name that carried through the air. I could be a celebrity if the world treats me this way, but this? This one is called punishment because; why would I be treated this way if not for being a cruel person in my previous life? I don't even believe in previous lives, but if I had one, I was probably a kidnapper, a bully or a thief. Something far far away from being good.

Lost in my own world, I was busied with reading a webcomic on my small phone, paying no regard to the thunderous footsteps approaching my arena. The thuds struck the floor like the heavy footfalls of Bigfoot, reverberating through the core of my bed.

But, suddenly, I changed my mind — I don't want anyone in my room today. Jumping out of bed like a saturated monkey, I raced towards the door, swiftly turning the key from behind. No one ruins my day today, because I've made it this far and it's already evening!

Feeling a momentary sense of security, I returned to my phone. Honestly, webcomics bring me joy than food. It feels like I'm in the world I wish for, whenever I read through my favorite — Recipe for sweet sour love [RSSL].

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Expectedly, deafening knocks shook my poor door, rattling the very foundation of the house. It was a force that could have possibly brought the entire "unnecessarily luxurious" structure crashing down, yet I remained unfazed. She could be an earthquake or landslide for all I care. I had grown accustomed to such disturbances, and the mere act of banging have no influence over my indifference. 

Ignoring the chaos around me, I still paid attention to the 89th episode of RSSL.

However, my harum-scarum spirit was abruptly shattered when the door knob began to twist. Nothing could faze me yet, but I couldn't understand why someone would try to bypass the lock.

Rolling my eyes in exasperation, I knew exactly who it was — Hawk. She has this peculiar habit of calling herself my mom, but she has no right to claim the title. After all, she wasn't the one who birthed me, raised me, listens to me..., plus her age makes her more suited to be my older sister rather than a maternal figure. Though, I honestly wouldn't want a huge hawk for a sibling. If I ever had a sibling, he'd have this kind of face that makes girls at school drooling. And if it's a she, she'd be cute like me—but I wish she'd be pretty like a goddess, girly, gentle, tall, and cool.

Still refusing to acknowledge the imminent drama at my doorstep, I remained steadfast, laying on my bed and intent faze still on my webcomic, though I could have finished episode 89 long ago, if not for the 89 year old hawk.

Without warning, I felt a sudden disruption in the air, accompanied with a sharp impact on the back of my head. It was as though a rock had struck me, forcing my attention away from the digital realm.

"Ugh!" I groaned, wishing I was a lion for a second. I would have scared the hell out of the silly Ice cream cone hairstyle Hawk was everlastingly carrying on her head. How does she even sleep with that?

Adorned in nothing but delicate satin nightgown that clung to my body like a second skin, I flipped over, shooting a glare at the human version of chaos before me. I have no idea what I did, but I assumed she's probably bored out of her simple mind, and I actually love how irked she looked. If only I could take pictures, I'd sell them to ward off mosquitoes because they'd surely die of cardiac arrest.

"MORRRTICIA!" Hawk screamed again, and I swear, my ears were already weeping blood. I'm right in front of her now, but she's still having to scream. I doubt she'd ever be a normal person.

I blinked, my eyes only just fixating on the item she had hurl at me. It was a box, a simple brown box taped with something white, innocuous in appearance, but what if it was a bomb?

Before I could react, she lunged towards the nearly fallen box like a person suffering from chronic mood swings. Why would she hurl something at me and still want it back again?

I watched, sitting with my arms folded, as she tore the cardboard with an unruly fervor, unveiling the secret it held within. My eyes widened as dozens of lingerie pieces spilled out from another compartment box there in, flimsy fabrics cascading onto the ground like a waterfall. Those are what I ordered to be shipped from Dercephui! Netizens testified that fabrics from that country was durable and soothes the skin like no other—and it took me good two hours to get my hands successfully ordering twenty limited edition lingeries from the best underwear company in that country!

Without a second thought, I rose, desperate to salvage my personal items. But my "stepmother", a frenzied lioness in human form, snatched a small pencil knife from my cluttered table. I felt a surge of fear replace the initial shock as she rapidly began to slash through delicate lace and silk.

"No!" I protested, knowing I've got to act fast before my lingeries become confetti. I lunged forward, my body propelled by a mix of anger and desperation. But my attempt to stop her was in vain. The jagged blade suddenly met my flesh, slicing deeply into my skin, and as crimson blood trickled down and plopped to the floor, the pain washed over me like a tidal wave. I recoiled.

I could've sworn I heard a nut loosening from somewhere inside my own head. The pain? It intensified as I continued to bleed, and I couldn't help but clench my teeth to suppress a scream. But with the weight of my frustration, it was unbearable. It built up, simmering beneath my throat until it erupted into a terrifying howl that escaped my lungs, tearing through the air like a siren of anguish.

To my surprise, she halted her vandalization, her eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that felt both predatory and slightly tamed. It wasn't my fault! The realization just hit me like a lightning bolt; she had finally pushed me too far. In that moment, standing there with her, oppressed in many ways and wounded, suffused with anti-tolerance hormones, I mustered the courage I had never dreamt of before.

With an abrupt motion, I spun away from her, instinctively kicking out my leg after the swirl, pretending to strike a kick that I knew would never come in contact with her cruel face. That mere act of defiance sent her sprawling to the floor, her face resembling someone struck by a sudden stroke. Her face drained of color and I could see it so vividly, even behind her makeup!

"Good." I thought, triumph washing over me, and the victory of standing up to the predator who had always plagued my life.

I had no idea I could successfully pull that stunt, after only learning from action genre webcomics, so I'm really such a fast learner like some people say.

Amused, I clapped my hands together, a mocking tribute to her downfall. Laughter bubbled up from depths within me, threatening to suffocate the pain that still pulsed through my wound. Who knew I'd be seeing something so satisfying today? Who knew I'd scare the hell out of her hair? If only I had set up a camera—

"What the hell going on here?!"

My head snapped the direction of the sudden intense voice that could break my onion vase, shocked to the bone. Maybe karma really do exist, because he's not supposed to be home today. He's supposed to be back home just the day after!

"Honey boo!" I could see how Hawk started to mould her face into distress, tears that trickled down her face, a signature to her artwork. Was she crying?! Sniffling too?!

"Morticia, what's this mess all about? What did you do you do to your mom?"

I swear, I felt the need to puke, but if I speed away just this moment, I might seem like the guilty one, and a coward running away from her own actions. I'll take responsibility for what I did. Besides, I didn't do anything wrong. Once you're pushed to the wall, it's only right you fight back. My patience only just exhausted today, so it isn't my fault dad has to see his wife on the floor, faking tears like a damaged Chucky.

"I made sure to stay out of—" I began, attempting to explain everything that had happened, but Hawk's voice rose against mine, shaky as she spoke. Did anyone not teach her common courtesy?

"Honey, Morticia here kicked me to the ground…"

My brows automatically went to tight mode. My foot didn't even touch her! Did my toe touch her?!

"I found out she had ordered a lot of lingerie, and as a worried mom, I came here to question it. It only seems like she's getting promiscuous and I mentioned my intention to make her acquainted with sex education whenever she's free... Sniffles... Like she's got a grudge on me, she yelled, saying... Sniffles... saying she can take care of herself and when I questioned why she ordered for that many lingerie, she went rampage, shredding everything with her hands. Sniffles... She kicked me when I tried to stop her."

Not tight brows mode anymore, but shockwave mode. The shockwave that hit me was one I doubt I'd recover from. My limbs went stiff, and everything strangely went quiet, making me only see moving lips. I couldn't comprehend whatever was being said, not even after I caught Hawk smirking amidst her tears.

"It's a lie!" I finally shouted after recovering. "Dad—" My words were automatically sealed shut when I felt a sharp slap across the face. It resounded in my ears, and I could feel my cheek sweltering and my jaw seemingly displaced by a millimeter.

More shocked to the marrow, I had no time to hope one of my molars or premolars had gone loose. I only held my sweltering cheek, holding the fluid that threatened to escape my itchy eyes. I could use my bleeding wound against her, but she'd probably just tell a fatter lie. Dad sees me bleeding! Isn't he going to ask why?

"You have the right to call your mom a liar?! Did you ever consider you're getting married soon and you at least have to start learning to fix all of your horrible attitudes! Do you ever learn from Maverick?! His dad never says anything negative about him and every staff at your school knows him to be a good kid! Maybe I should reconsider your marriage. If not for business, I should marry you off to a gangster! Are you telling me your mom has no right to play her role?! Uh?! Answer me, you idiot!"

My whole body began trembling against my will. I could feel my lips trembling too, and even if there's already a lot brimming through my chest, I surely would not be able to speak a single word without bursting into tears. No, not even a tear must escape because I'm not a weakling like my dad's wife.

My dad just had to make my despair suffocating, mentioning the marriage, again this month. I'm only sixteen, standing on the precipice of my final year in high school, the weight of the sudden marriage proposal pressed upon me like a boulder threatening to crush my spirit. Would anyone go easy on me? Why should I get married at this age, just for business? Why should I be the one with life turning its back against?!

Scarred by the pain of being cut and being accused by my stepmother, who jollified in her wicked fabrications, I yearned for solace, for a refuge beyond the reaches of this twisted reality I'm forced to endure. But solace was the last thing on my dad's mind, for he had chosen her path strewn with blind love, harshness and devoid of affection to spare. How could he, the man who should have protected and cherished me, become the purveyor of my agony? And worst of all, how could he subject me to such humiliation, reminding me of my impending nuptials as if it were a burden I had brought upon myself?

"Dress up, you fool!" I could hear him bark after helping his wife up, and she was busy acting like a kindergartner whose toy had been snatched away. I'm not the fool here.

With that, I knew the time neared for my usual punishment. The gym, a place where others sought strength and improvement, had become my personal chamber of suffering ever since I was ten. Unbeknownst to my father, who believed he was forging a path towards discipline, his choice of punishment was sculpting not only my physique but also bloody-mindedness within me. I just hated the fact that whenever I look in the mirror, I'm faced with unwanted abs and toned shoulders. I only wish to be a fragile lady with soft shoulders, soft hands, and smooth, flat stomach—it's never going to happen anymore.

"One minute!" He yelled, snapping me out of the moment of bestowing vindictive gaze at their nauseating couple sight. If only I could charge at them and push them apart—but right then, I knew if he counted to sixty and I still haven't dressed and stepped out of my room, it was two hours more of the dance of pain.

With a heavy heart, I immediately donned my tracksuit, barely noting if my pant was inside-out or not. The physical pain I would endure in the coming hour danced at my face, and I headed out, not slouching. That would surely hurt dad's wife ego. Does she think I'd cry? Or go on my knees to beg dad? She's sourly mistaken.

As I entered the gym, the air bristled with tension, his top guard, with a daunting physique and eyes devoid of any semblance of kindness or warmth, stood as a sentinel of my torment.

Without a word, my father gestured to the pull-up bar, and I knew my fate; for the next one hour, I would have to cling to that unforgiving pull-up bar, my jaw resting above it, my legs forbidden from finding solace on the solid ground.

"Dumbbells, three hours." Dad said, my eyes going round. My punishment was always an hour of pull-up bar and an hour of holding dumbbells up in a T form—! "Keep your eyes on her." He ordered, giving Mr Bone face a finger to the eyes gesture. "Count how long she does it wrong and keep me posted."

In short, four hours of agony lay ahead, and it could even be more depending on my endurance. If I do it wrong, I could have two more hours. Now, I regret having spent my whole day on webcomics when I could have thought of something to write in my will. I should have been better to myself. I should have bade goodbye to my besties. I should have given Maverick a punch on his stupid face last Friday…

As the realization sunk in, my heart sank further. If I happen to survive this, tomorrow, the sun would rise on a new week, and I would be expected to don the façade of a student, and go to school like nothing ever happened. There would be no respite, no opportunity to escape into the arms of clandestine freedom and the world of ever so happy tranquility. I could never even play truancy because teachers at my school are extensions of my father's iron fist, always willing to report me right away.

⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸

 My leg jolted forward from a sudden kick beneath my chair, forcibly pulling me out of my state of slumber. I groaned, my frustration bubbling over at the intrusion. Why couldn't I have just a few moments of solace? Why does it seem like the universe was conspiring against me, eager to prey upon my fleeting peace?

I may have survived yesterday's punishment, but I'd still prepare for the worst, and write my will. And, just maybe, it wouldn't be such a terrible idea to consider annihilating the fool responsible for interrupting my precious sleep. No, maybe I'm only too edgy—I'll let it go this once.

A second kick ruthlessly struck my other leg, forcing me to flinch in response. I immediately raised my head from the desk and turned my gaze toward the source of the disturbance, ready to confront the perpetrator head-on.

To nobody's surprise, it was none other than the chesty Maverick; my lifelong foe, the bane of my existence since childhood. He embodied everything that was vile and pesky, hiding behind a façade of coolness and supposed perfection. Every hardship I faced seemed inextricably linked to his existence. If he is a minus, I am a plus, and if he is lime, I am milk.

As my eyes bored into him, I found myself captivated, fixated on formulating the perfect plan for retribution like a boxer would plan how to grab his opponent by his knees and give him a deadly smackdown. I relished the prospect of making him suffer in a way that matched the pain he had inflicted upon me ever since a minute ago. But just as my imagination churned with ideas of revenge, his lips, an annoying shade of deep Pink, moved in an oddly synchronized motion, repeatedly shifting his gaze from my face to something beyond.

Refusing to try and comprehend his nonverbal language, I remained still, like a plant. Instead, I maintained my hostile gaze, my neck remaining nimble despite the strain to look continuously over my shoulder. Should I punch is face first or poke his stupid eyes first—?

Too soon, the husky voice of our Chemistry teacher pierced through the classroom walls. I still couldn't recall his name, but he is Mr Chemistry.

"Class president, have you picked Morticia?" He inquired with a hint of impatience in his tone. My eyes still lingered on Maverick, my neck far from stiffening under the tension. If only my eyes housed bullets, he'd have been shot down.

And then, it came, the sentence that ignited my fury. "Morticia loves Chemistry. She's willing to solve the questions, considering she appears to be on the verge of sleeping, sir."

In my mind, I murdered Maverick twenty times over, each death more gruesome and satisfying than the last. The fantasies danced dangerously across the boundaries of my imagination, offering respite from the reality that surrounded me.

I sighed inwardly, feeling the weight of frustration settle upon my shoulders. It was unfair, it truly was. Maverick, with his polished charm and effortless popularity, seemed to wield a power I could never comprehend. What gave him the audacity to single me out amidst a classroom filled with thirty something other students? Does he have a tunnel vision?

Sensing the unsettling quietude that was solely because my body refused to obey, I finally gave in. Not because of anyone—just to preserve my image. I knew I might start to seem like a lunatic with the way I found it difficult to avert my hostile gaze from Maverick. Not everyone probably saw how he kicked me, but everyone surely sees me now.

Like a sinking load fighting to stay afloat, I struggled to part from my seat and finally stood on my feet.

"Tuck your shirt in, Morticia," Maverick's voice pierced through the haze of my vexation, echoing with a firmness that grated against my rebellious spirit. I still don't understand if it is so hard for him to get it into his gigantic brain, how I find it disdainful and hated being ordered around like a puppet.

My body froze, as if trapped in a time freeze and I desperately tried to douse the flames of anger raging within me, but they surged higher with every passing moment.

Summoning whatever remnant of composure I had left, I reluctantly made my way towards the front of the classroom. I reached for the marker resting on the board, and as my fingers tried to uncap it, Mr Chemistry's voice sliced through the air, sharp and commanding.

"Will you tuck in your shirt or prefer to stand at the back in all of my classes till the end of the semester?" Mr Chemistry's words hung heavy in the air. I instantly shot a venomous glare in Maverick's direction, silently cursing him for thrusting me into this unwanted spotlight.

My reluctance finally turned to resignation as I begrudgingly complied, tucking my shirt into the confines of my trousers. Our school had instituted trousers for girls as well, claiming it was modest. Boys wear ties while girls wear bowties. Although unusual, I love the freedom wearing trousers provided, especially because of the ease it confers on me to give anyone a spinning kick like they do in movies, without having to worry about my underpant getting exposed.

Impatience tinged Mr Chemistry's voice as he suddenly snapped, "Will you be fast with it, Miss Katz? It would be break time soon—unless you want to detain everyone here throughout the entire break."

Immediately, the collective groan of my classmates filled the room, their displeasure palpable. I wouldn't want that for them too, so with a determined focus, I finally uncapped the marker, placing its tip against the board without even reading the questions that awaited me there.

Acetamide, Aniline, Methylformate, Diethylether… My eyes glanced through the questions glaring at me and asking me for answers.

I easily drew the organic structure of aniline, remembering it as the last thing I saw before I gave in to slumber. The rest? They felt like Chinese and despite how long I spent glaring back at them, nothing came to my head. Not that I'm unintelligent, but I don't see why kids like us should be dealing with organic structures like these—we're not chemists, every students here are to pursue their career as doctors, nurses, pharmacists…all medical fields. Why do we have to be forced to know so much about their structures? We won't be using them to treat patients or educate the public about it, are we?

"Seems like Morticia is finding it hard at this point." Mr Chemistry admitted and I gave in, capping the marker—it would have likely dried up like my throat. "Class president, would you like to help your assistant out?"

I felt a pang of mortification as Mr Chemistry sidelined me, knowing that Maverick would relish the opportunity to show off his knowledge. The class president, always the golden boy, always the one with the answers. Was there anything about education he never had the correct answers to? Maverick could even compete with a college student and I'm sure he knows the basics of performing surgery too. That's how high he is away from me.

As Maverick sauntered towards the stage, his confidence radiating from every pore, I resisted the urge to roll my eyes when he adjusted his tie. Once he reached me, he took the board marker with an air of superiority, as if he were about to demonstrate some great artistry. And indeed, his lines flowed effortlessly across the blank surface, organic structures forming under his precise strokes. It was almost breathtaking, if it wasn't for the fact that it was Maverick who was doing it.

I couldn't help but huff in annoyance as I watched him, my arms folded tightly across my chest. He was everything I despised in a person — arrogant, self-assured, narcissistic, bossy, and always a million steps ahead.

When he finished, he gave a small bow to Mr Chemistry, as if it was the performance of a lifetime. I couldn't resist muttering "hypocrite" under my breath, my annoyance getting the better of me. My eyes met his as he turned towards me, and I could see the narcissism dancing Gangnam style in his gaze.

"Do you understand now?" he asked, his voice dripping with condescension. I clenched my teeth, fighting the urge to keep my mouth sealed. Instead, I forced a smile and nodded, my inner turmoil hidden behind a façade of compliance.

"Good," Mr Chemistry declared. "Morticia, Maverick will teach you the basics of drawing organic structures and give you some practice questions. You'll be solving more in the next class."

I couldn't help but feel a sense of dread wash over me. Not only will I have to rely on Maverick's guidance now, but his very presence was a constant reminder of my inadequacy. Everyone always compared me to him ever since I was in heaven. I never once stood out of his shadows, but I still am going to—maybe when he dies first or when I die first. It's just scary if we're destined to die together.

The bell indicating break time rang, and Maverick made a signal for the whole class to stand in respect for the Chemistry teacher taking his leave after the class. I could sense the feeling of freedom my classmates felt, their eagerness palpable as chitchats filled the air, and some sprinted outside as if their lives depended on how fast they could have their stomachs filled. The bustling energy surrounded me, but I couldn't relate with them.

With rushed steps, I followed Maverick's trail, struggling to catch up as his longer legs carried him effortlessly. Finally, I reached him just before he got to his seat, grabbing his sleeve firmly. As expected, he turned to face me, his eyebrows raised innocently. Anger bubbled within me, and I muttered under my breath, "Hypocrite."

"I have to go eat now. Talk to me later." Maverick stated, his voice monotonous and disinterested, attempting to free his sleeve from my grip. But I tightened my hand around his wrist, refusing to let him slip away so easily. Does he think he is some sort of celebrity? Was he just trying to fix an appointment for me?

"Try that again, and I'll snap your legs," I snarled, fully aware that he understood what I meant. At that moment, I had forgotten about the grudge I had against him for singling me out to solve those Chinese questions. What still annoyed me was how he dared to interrupt my sleep. Was he going to jeopardize my health too?

Did he just smile?! He smiled! And he subtly moved his face closer toward mine, his breath ghosting against my skin.

"Then, you'd be marrying a disabled man," he admitted, his words hitting me square in the chest. I balled my other fist, my breath heavy and hot, causing him to back away.

"I'm not getting married to you," I whispered fiercely, glancing around to ensure nobody overheard our crazy predicament. I had no intention of sharing this information with anyone, because it simply wasn't going to happen—especially not while I was still alive. Let Maverick marry my lifeless body for all I cared; while I breathe, we are never going to be united. Our 1+1 is never going to be 1.

"Besides," I added spitefully, "you are not a man. So don't get ahead of yourself, little baby."

Releasing my grip, I turned away from him, grabbing my purse from my widely open bag, before storming out of the classroom.