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“End what what way?”
“Lia. Door. Now.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re bossy, you know that?” It’s kind of hot. “I’ll open the door when I feel good and…” I didn’t stand a chance. The Jedi-style force that’s in control apparently has less patience than I do. Motherfucker should learn a thing or two about consent, forcing my hand to move, not of its own volition, to open the door, making me and Rennix tumble into my worst nightmare.
Kill me now.
9
NATALIA
MySpace statuses =
a millennial’s emo digital diary
“This is so cool.”
This is the exact opposite of cool.
This is mortifying.
I storm in front of Rennix, stomping my feet. “Hush your beautiful, lying mouth.” I try blocking him from walking farther into this room of nightmares but that doesn’t eliminate the problem. He still has eyes…with damn glasses to boot, and he’s using the ability I wish he temporarily didn’t have to the fullest. Gawking at the posters on the walls, scanning the DVDs on the tower rack, trying to be discreet when he makes his way over to the hoard of diaries I abandoned after a few entries each.
“What are you talking about, this is your childhood bedroom, is it not?”
Yes, yes, it is my bedroom that looks like Hot Topic and cheetah print exploded all over it.
Rennix would know since he was the only guy allowed in it as both my parents felt that they had nothing to worry about because, and I quote, “He’s too much of a nerd. The only thing he’d get to second base with is his Nintendo controller.” Even in memory the secondhand embarrassment is real.
Through the corner of my eye, something pink catches my attention. I assume it’s the pink leopard-print bedding set that had a chokehold on me for my entire adolescence. Considering the whirlwind of a day it’s been, I decide to plop myself down on my bed, just to chill for a second.
I realize I assumed incorrectly as I’m bouncing off the pink inflatable chair I mistook for my bed.
I get my wits about me—barely—and seat myself on the inflatable chair with success. Though I’m realizing this probably wasn’t the best option. I’ve always had difficulty sitting still. Fidgeting, whether it be constantly switching which leg I’m crossing or have bent to sit on, or taking in breaths so deep my entire back moves with each breath, is the norm for when I’m attempting to stay put. Normally it doesn’t make a difference with whatever I’m sitting on. But on this? This squeaky, ear-grating menace pretending to be a reliable piece of furnishing to park my ass on? This is taking every squirm I make and amplifying it to such an extreme that I’d gladly welcome the sound of fifty sets of hands running their nails down a chalkboard.
Rennix doesn’t seem bothered by it. He’s too busy appraising my room in awe. “I didn’t think it was capable of this.”
Out of habit I shift in my seat and the cacophony of noises is my sign to rise to my feet and abandon the damn inflatable armchair. I do my best to ignore it. “What are you talking about?” I can see the wheels in his mind churning. I already know what he’s going to say, so I beat him to it. “I don’t care if I didn’t get a chance to beat you at Daytona USA 2.”
His lips part, likely to defend himself.
I wag my finger, standing upright. “Ah-uh. I would have and you know it.”
He says nothing to argue otherwise. He simply stares at me, gnawing ever so slightly at his bottom lip. It’s such a subtle gesture, but it’s doing things to me.
“As I was saying, I would’ve won our match. Therefore, fair is fair, you have to tell me something about this place.”
He sucks in his teeth. “That’s broken logic, but I guess I’m not in a position to argue with you, am I?”
“Nope. Spill.”
He motions to the chair I was just fighting for my life on, suggesting I sit.
I cement myself in place. “I rather not compete with the farting sounds it makes so I can hear you better.”
“Suit yourself. I’m going to sit.” He makes himself comfortable, half leaning on my desk. “I don’t know the best way to go about this.”
“With your mouth moving, producing words that are straightforward and not riddles. That’d be a solid start.”
