Royal Havoc

31. Thoughts Not Thoughting

thirty-one

Thoughts Not Thoughting

Onyx: 2024

W atching him sleep last night, felt like I threw myself in a blender. Memories, emotions, hate… all became choppy, incoherent bits swirling inside me, fusing themselves together until all that was left was a mosaic mess. The image is too chaotic for even professionals to see its artistry.

I have to assume that’s how the banger of an idea evolved into my touch of crazy child’s play with scissors.

Nothing about the psycho sitting in the driver’s seat next to me is recognizable. He used to be calm. Mostly quiet, but always listening. He was caring and so attuned to my moods. It was like he knew them better than me when we were kids.

So when did the outspoken, demanding narcissist take over my best friend's body? Creating the baby demon, I’ve so pleasantly been introduced to. The same one that’s refusing to let my tired ass take an educational break for sanity purposes.

“I could totally be sleeping right now,” I pout loudly, staring out the passenger window.

“You had six hours to sleep. Learn to time manage better,” he retorts sarcastically.

Someone’s a little grouchy.

Probably because you threatened to turn his dick into confetti.

Pressing back into the headrest. “My head hurt, and you’re a heavy breather. I couldn’t sleep with all that raspy air wheezing from your icy lungs,” I grumble, squinting at the sun breaking through the trees. “I need Tylenol and caffeine.”

“You should’ve drank the cup I made you,” he throws out grumpily.

I snort, shaking my head, which only makes it pound harder. “Why? So you could poison me? I’d rather drink my own piss,” I huff angrily, rubbing my temples.

“I can get you a cup if you’re thirsty,” he assures me. I flip him off without looking, wishing my brain wasn’t thumping so I could punch him. “Bad choices, little spade, equal shitty days. Deal with it.”

I should’ve cut his dick off.

You didn’t cause you’d rather take it for a ride first.

Annoyed with the snarky voice spewing its opinions inside my aching head, I barely let him finish parking before I slide from the passenger seat of his Shelby GT. Because, of course, he has a backup car…

“Don’t get any ideas. One speck of paint touches that car, and I’m chaining your ass to the bed,” he warns evilly, catching up to me quickly.

Raising an eyebrow. “Promise?”

His eyes burn my face. “It won’t be pleasurable, promise ,” he growls seriously.

Rolling eyes is seriously painful. Check.

Drinking half a bottle of tequila will do that .

“Wowza, need some gloss to go with those circles?” Zoey jokes, offering me her lip gloss.

“Seriously?” I scowl at her smiling face.

She leans against her locker, watching me open mine. “You look like shit.”

Shoving books in my bag. “Guess you’re not blind after all.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she questions.

Slamming my locker, turning to meet her angry stare. “Deal with your lap catcher before you try to fix me.” Her eyes flair, watching me saunter away.

Truth hurts sometimes.

Who’s truth?

The morning consisted of a lot of useless knowledge, diverted by lots of yawning. I told him I’d be worthless today. After twenty-four hours without sleep, thoughts quit thoughting, and you’re basically left with a rock for a brain.

I shuffle into English, wondering if anyone would be opposed to me dragging this damn heavy bag. At least my head stopped hurting since Vex, so kindly met me after first period with Tylenol and a bottle of water.

I notice Mr. Brickman watching everyone take their seats, and he begins as soon as the bell rings. “Today, I’m going to give you time to split into your groups and work on your creative writing project. Miss Sterling, since groups were established a few weeks ago, I’ll be your partner,” he announces, releasing everyone to gather into their groups.

I’ve barely processed what he’s said before he motions me to the front of the room. Of course, Carney’s eyes are glued to my ass.

“Rough night?” he asks once I’m sitting beside him.

“Seems to be the question of the day,” I answer exhaustedly. “So, what are we doing?” I ask, resting my chin on my fist.

His stormy eyes rake over my face slowly, causing chills to erupt on my skin. Getting caught in his manly-woodsy smell as I watch him lick his plump lips.

“Does that make sense?” he asks, brows dipped, watching me.

“Huh?” I grunt stupidly, straightening in my chair.

“Right. Let’s start over. They’ve been working on this project for a couple of weeks now. The assignment is to interview two people and make them into characters for a short story.”

“Following,” I throw out as I start to take notes.

“I’ll give you a break because of time and your late arrival. You’ll be allowed to use yourself as one of the characters,” he explains.

“And you.” I deduce.

“And me,” he confirms.

Laying down my pen. “What’s the story’s topic?” I ask nervously.

He smiles. “Anything you want. It’s your short story. But, the characters must have clear personalities. Thirty thousand words and a clear storyline,” he finishes, waiting while I make a few more notes.

“Mr. B,” Carney’s nasally voice slices at my ears. “We need some help.”

“I’ll be right back,” he apologizes.

I flip the page in my notebook, starting to jot down some ideas. Writing yourself as a character is a task I’ve never been given. I’m mostly private, so writing thousands of words about me is going to be a challenge.

Before he can return, the bell rings, surprising me. “Onyx, a second,” he calls when I stand. After grabbing my stuff, I meet him at his desk. “Do you have any free time after school?”

“Um…not today,” I answer, too tired to think that far ahead.

“What about tomorrow?” he asks, glancing at his calendar.

“Tomorrow should be —”

“Actually, sorry, I have a meeting. Would the evening work?”

His words barely register. “Yeah, sure,” I agree.

“We’ll talk more tomorrow,” he tells me, and I wonder if he notices my tired eyes glazing over.

“Cool,” I call over my shoulder on my way out.

Today’s been a clusterfuck from hell. I dozed off in the rest of my classes after lunch. I can seriously feel the drool turning crusty on my arm from my last class as I stop at my locker. Thank goodness Zoey sits beside me and woke me up. Immediately, offering to take me home.

“Where are you going?” Vex asks, grabbing my arm as I pass his locker.

“Nowhere with you,” I answer, slapping his hand away. I’m too tired to deal with his bullshit right now.

He moves in front of me, blocking the hall. “I asked you a question.”

“Pretty sure I didn’t stutter when I answered.”

He moves, erasing every bit of space between us. “You’re going with me,” he orders.

Manic laughter erupts from me. “Fuck you, I’m going where I want. Which isn’t with you.”

“I’m taking her home,” Zoey rushes, interjecting herself into our conversation.

His eyes snap to her. “Don’t fuck around, Zoe.”

“Screw you, you don’t get —”

She slaps a hand over my mouth. “Straight home,” she assures him before dragging me down the hall.