I [x]heart[x] me rated [T] for teen

[swilz]

ladies and gentlemen i am please to show you the first instalment of the novel: I HEART ME....
reader beware the following chapter contains swearing and scary dreams. Read if you dare. i am currently working on chapter 2...this is my first time writing in 1st person, so sorry if my tenses get mixed up.

Chapter 1
The stupidity of Adalia

She has been dead for a year now and yet I can still remember how it came about. I still fear that she won’t be there when I wake up…but I already know all to well that she won’t be there. No longer would I see Minnie Blacke’s squinty blue eyes. No longer would I feel her warm touch when she hugged me. Her laugh. Oh, how I would miss that ensemble of snorts and cackling. But what else would I expect from her? To just die and leave me alone. I knew long before her time came, she would leave in some way, shape or form. She wanted out and she got what she wanted. But I couldn’t blame her for getting what she wanted; I had to blame License Plate # X56 TW45. It was he who gave her what she wanted. A regular Santa Claus.

It was now when my eyes rested on the interior of the Gray Hound Bus. The leather, obviously not leather, smelled like booze, sweat, and urine. I crinkled my nose; I knew I should have brought my Fabreze©. I gagged silently. The leather was mud brown and was quite holey. I was off to meet my maker, which in the literal sense was true. I was going to meet my father, the one out of the two makers who managed to survive to take care of me. The only problem was that I hadn’t seen my father since I was six. I was now 16. And the last visit wasn’t what you’d expect. It wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows, go-lucky, and “daddy-daughter time”; it was all “Where the f**k is my child support money you bastard”. It was that kind of visit. With warming tones mixed with icy souls. Lovely, I assure you. Tornado season all over again. But you learn from the mistakes of your parents and I learned the following:

1) Never cheat on my significant other
2) Don’t get a divorce
3) Make sure to pay child support if other 2 promises were broken.
4) Drive safely, don’t drink excessively, and never drive after midnight, unless complete emergency

And my ultimate favorite:
5) Don’t die and leave your child alone to writhe in the agony in living with their other parent.

Hey, I think it’s a pretty d**n good plan, if I do say so myself.
So that was why I was making the big trek from sweet home Oregon, to Big Sky Country. That’s Montana incase you didn’t know. I had imagined a place where everything was perfect; where everything was in deep content. Yet all what Big Sky Country seemed to offer was a big sky with lots of rain clouds. And they said America was the “Land of Opportunity.” Opportunity I disagree. The American Dream was overrated too.
You might be thinking that I am an angry child. Well, I am. Of course I am, my mother is dead, and I am being forced to leave my home to live with someone I haven’t seen in 10 years. Let’s play therapist: How do your feel about your mother’s death Adalia? Sad? Angry? Happy? How about all of the above? The truth was that in a way I was happy at first that she was gone. But as it all sank in, I began to tear myself apart with the withheld sadness that doused my soul. And of course I felt anger, someone killed her; she didn’t kill herself . Besides, I’m a teenager, and teenagers are bratty, moody and sometimes very angry with the world.

Outside, the rain fell like iron bullets and pounded against my window. Lightning flashed; I held my purse closer to me, as if the thunder would come and steal it. Lightning and thunder were partners in crime. The lightning was the “distracter” dazzling the prey by flashing the artful streaks of light. The thunder scared the prey by trouncing them with the hateful booms that would make any little kid pee in their pants. They succeeded a few times, but that didn’t work on me… this time anyway.
Oldies rang through the silence of the bus. It was now when I could picture the Village People dealing out their massive pelvic thrusts. I fought to push that picture out of my mind. No matter how hard I pushed the image, I still had the urge to dance the YMCA.

There were miles of rode ahead, and I knew that no matter what, nothing was going to stop sympathy from rushing out of my father. And nothing was going to stop me from yelling at him that I was fine, and that I didn’t need sympathy.


I had been going to Portland High School when I lived in Oregon, but now times have changed. I finished up my sophomore year and started the series of long good-byes that lasted a whole summer. No one needed to remind me that my mother was gone. I didn’t need the “Sorry for your loss” crap. How could they be sorry? Were they part of the ploy that killed Minnie? Was it their fault that she lay six feet under in a mahogany casket? I didn’t think so, unless their license plate number was X56 TW45, which I doubt it is.

Another hour on the bus had come and gone, and my butt began to ache with immobility. I always hated that when it happened, so I sat in quiet agony, shifting when necessary. The storm had ceased, and the skies had cleared. About time, I thought to myself.

Exhaustion set in, and I felt my eyes droop. I felt like a slow computer that took awhile to set itself for sleep mode. For 10 minutes I waited for sleep demons to take me into dreamland; a place that I had not visited in a long time. Though my mind was frequently visited by nightmares, they never did replace the quiet solace of my dreams.

Before I knew it, I was asleep. Tantalizing thoughts danced in my mind, but I did not wake. Nothing could wake me from the everlasting slumber. And no, I was not dead, but I wished I were.


I was ninety-nine point nine percent sure that I was having some sort of dream. But then again, it seemed more real than all the others I have ever had. I could smell my sweat, and feel my heart beating beneath my chest. I felt my breath catch with each wavering inhale, and I knew at once this had to be real. It couldn’t though…where was the driver, the Oldies? I was confused. I slowly became aware that I was alone, and that I was cold. It was like the ninety-degree bus went through an ice age. I sighed; my breath could be seen clearly. My glasses fogged up with the chill. I stood up, knowing all to well that if I stayed put, I would freeze to death.

Shivers crawled up my spine as I heard a quiet giggle reverberate throughout the entire bus. Strange …but that giggle wasn’t all I heard, I heard a shuffle of papers up by the driver’s chair. Maybe I wasn’t alone after all

“Wh-wh-who’s there?” I called, but there was no answer. I rubbed hard at the lenses of my glasses to clear the fog. When I put them back on, I saw the world with new clarity. The bus remained empty.

It seemed like I had stood still forever, the world wasn’t moving with me, so all time stood frozen. It was like a coin just tossed, and I was still waiting for it to drop on heads or tails. The anticipation was high, and I growing anxious.

Step by uneasy step, I gradually tip-toed up the bus toward the driver’s seat. All was silent, and I thought I was just being paranoid. I thought so until I heard the voice.

“Adalia? Why don’t you come out and play?” The voice was like honey, but was trimmed with venom. I was tempted to walk forward, but something about the voice reminded me of something. Something of my past. I searched my mind, going through all my memories. It was then when my mind rested on a memory.

I was three when I awoke from a nightmare. What I remembered about the nightmare was that I was alone in my room when I awoke. Blood poured everywhere, and I was scared out my mind. But then I saw her. She looked like me and talked like me, but they ways we acted were different. She was, well pure evil, and I was the innocent three year old.

Her presence stayed with me from then on. Her nighttime visits haunting me. I even saw her in my reflection every so often. Then, suddenly, it all stopped. She stopped visiting me and I was at last able to catch some Z’s.

I soon flashed to another recollection. When I was 11, I remember in class we were learning about Greek myths. It was then we started the myth of Pandora’s Box; how, Pandora was given a box and that she was forbidden open. It contained all the evil in the world: death, lies, and deceit. The box and Pandora reminded me of myself, I was the box, and I opened myself. And with the opening of it came out my evil. So, I thought it made sense to call my evil Pandora.

“Adalia, what’s wrong?” the voice called, and the name I feared echoed within my soul. Pandora. She has returned at last. After 5 years of silence, she came back, with a stronger lust for my suffering.

I looked over the blue leather driver seat, there was nothing there. It was void of any being. I sighed heavily; perhaps this was just a dream. My gray Converse High-tops® were dappled with yellow lightning bolts, and they gripped the floor. They squeaked as I moved closer to the mirror. I looked up at myself, distraught in the glass, my eyes wide and chest heaving. But I was not the only one in the mirror.

Off my left shoulder I saw her. Her indigo eyes narrowed, but were dancing with mirth; nor did she wear glasses. She was up to something. Her jet black hair looked as if it hadn’t seen bath water in years. Her skin was gray, but firm. A grim smirk planted itself upon her face. She still looked like me, only her haggard features told the difference between us.

“Long time, no see, Adalia. I’d thought it be awhile before I’d get to torture you again,” I’d thought it’d be never again she would torture me. 11 years of my life were taken by her, no more needed to be taken. I slowly turned around until I was face to face with me. But it wasn’t me, it was Pandora.

“Why are you here?” I asked my voice faltering.

“To make up for lost time,” She bit her lip, trying to look innocent, but nothing was innocent about her. I felt fear well up in me, as I heard her words. Time wasn’t lost; all lost time had been found when she disappeared. Never did a day go by when I didn’t think about her. You never forget your fears.

“I-I- thought that y-y—

“Thought what?” She stared at me incredulously, “That I had left forever?” She snorted. “Of course I didn’t leave. Even tormenters have to take vacations.” A wicked smile planted itself across her face. And with that I found new strength at last reverberate through me.

“And what were you dong then on your ‘time off’” I scoffed; I took a step back from Pandora, the door lever now jabbing me in my back. I grimaced with the unwanted pain.

“Now do you really want me to tell you how I coursed through the shadows of the d**ned—

“Oh, so you were with family then?” I felt a cold glare cut close to my dignity.

“Adalia, Adalia, look at what’s happened to you since our last talk. You went and got yourself some courage; I do hope the wizard will be able to take that back.” She took once step closer to me, “If he doesn’t, then I will just have to do it myself,” She whispered the last words with a hint of venom. Her head slowly got closer to mine until we were a breadth apart. “Boo...” she said softly and pfft , she disappeared.

A sigh of relief escaped my lips. I slowly turned around, every inch of me shaking uncontrollably. My eyes widened as fear flooded my mind. The bus was moving. Fast. Trees and billboards streaked passed the windows. My breathing quickened. Everything happened so quickly. The bus crashed and I went headlong through the windshield. I should have stayed put; freezing to death would have been better than this.

[swilz]

Chapter 2
Welcome home

I was shaken awake by strong arms. My eyes shot open; I was back on the same smelly, old bus again.

“Are…you okay?” a low voice asked. I looked into the deep, mud brown eyes that captured mine. The man’s bulk was more muscle than fat. His soul patch was the same color as his eyes, though his head hair was salt-and-pepper.

“Imalrigh’” I said quickly throwing all my words together. The man smiled faintly and sauntered back to his seat. I sat-up, wiping the drool from the window and my face. I sighed, it was only a dream, I thought to myself, it was only a dream. I looked into the driver’s overhead mirror; all I could see were his shifty eyes. I noticed that I had attracted a lot of attention, but when I stared at them in the face, they turned away.

I spent one more trying hour on the bus; the smell of booze drowning in my nostrils. I saw the pale lights of bus station ahead. My heart leapt with joy; at last I wouldn’t have to smell the booze and sweat anymore. I gathered up my bags, and made my way to the aisle. I made the slow trek to the front of the bus, my heart beating slower and slower. When I reached the front, I stared at the driver. He was a scrawny old man with white hair tucked under a baseball hat that proclaimed the Orioles. I saw glint in his eyes, an inhuman glint. A glint I recognized, I recoiled inconspicuously and gave him a weak smile.
“Evenin’ ma’am,” his soft voice said. He tilted his hat, and turned back to the steering wheel. I shakily walked down the stairs, “Hope ya had a nice rest!” he called after me, and I could hear the laughter in his voice.

I stood in the station lot, no one was waving signs proclaiming my name; no one was screaming my name. I thought I was alone, but then again I was pretty sure I wasn’t. Someone touched my shoulder.

“’Dalia?” a voice asked. A voice I would know anywhere. I whirled around, and then I saw him. His sideburns had grown some, and were flecked with gray. The rest of his hair was a rich, jet black. His eyes were a creamy ocher. They stared at mine with complete puzzlement. I knew what his puzzlement was for. This man, Henry Blacke, wasn’t expecting some tight-jean-wearing-heavy-eyeliner-converse-smitten-razor-bobbed-hair-girl. He was probably expecting some pretty-in-pink-Birkenstock™-short-skirt-goody-two-shoes-“will-you-give-me-some-money-for-the-mall”-girl. I obviously didn’t fit his criteria. So, it felt as though I was exiled live with a man who didn’t approve of the daughter he had.

“Dad?” I asked; I squinted at the depths of his eyes. Before I knew it, I was being encircled with arms, and crushed into oblivion. “Dad…dad? I-I sort’ve can’t breath.” I wheezed.

“Sorry. It’s just been so long. How long has it been? Eight? Seven years?”

“Ten.” I said curtly, “One whole friggin’ decade without seeing my old man,” bitter still.

“Don’t be like that, Adalia. Not my fault is it?” yes it is, I thought darkly to myself. “So, are you okay? You don’t need anything?” I groaned. I knew this would happen. “Listen, I’m really sorry—

“Sorry? You didn’t kill her. You weren’t the driver. Were you?” I shouted ardently.

“No…I-I g-guess not.” He sputtered out.

“Then please, just drop it; I don’t want to have to listen to all this ‘sorry for your loss crap’. Please.” I said hotly.

“I promise not to talk about Mi—her again,” he avowed shortly. He grabbed my bags and we began our journey to the car.

I hadn’t seen him in ten years, but he still had the same car. A restored, 1969, army green Corvette stuck out like a sore thumb in the parking lot. We walked silently side-by-side, our hands brushing with each stride. He didn’t talk, I didn’t talk.

When the car door slammed shut, all the tension seemed to melt away. Henry heaved a sigh of relief and I just slouched in my chair. It was a happy moment for the first time since we were reunited. The keys were turned in the ignition, and the car revved to life. The express way glittered with traffic and honks of the cars wailed like banshees.

“So…how was the trip up?” he asked trying to make small talk.
“Fine.”
“Did you sleep at all?”
“A bit.”
“Did you sleep well?”
“Yeah, I guess.” And so it continued. Twenty more minutes of small talk. It was only minutes to midnight when we at last arrived into the parking lot of the apartment complex. Henry was the proud landlord of Harion Meadows. The bricks of each structure were a crumbling, mustard yellow. The windows were small; not built for any quick escape. d**n. It was the same as it was a decade ago. Everything was the same until I saw her.

She had rich auburn hair that sparkled in the moonlight. Her eyes were the color of sea foam, and her slim, slender body walked lithely toward me. I didn’t know who she was. I have never seen this woman in my entire life. But, as he walked toward her and kissed her passionately, Henry seemed to know her pretty well.

“Adalia, I would like for you to meet your new step-mom.” Everything seemed to shut down on me as she cast a gleaming smile.

Her name was Melanie. She grew up in New York, but moved to Montana when she first became an action news castor. She immediately “fell in love with Montana” and well, it goes on from there. They got married five years ago, in a church, something Henry refused to do with Minnie.

Melanie came over to hug me, I was frozen with shock. Her slender arms squeezed me gently.

“You poor baby....I’m so sor—

“Uh, hon? You might not want to do that,” Henry said softly. I wriggled out of her grip, grabbed my bags and stormed toward the apartment. I had walked about fifty feet when I whirled around.

“Married? You decided to get married? I guess you didn’t care enough about your first-born to let her know. Dad, I haven’t seen or talked to you in ten years, and you didn’t even let me know you got married. I guess mom was right: you just didn’t give a d**n about what happened to us. Here you are starting your own life over...while mom’s life is over” I felt my face grow hot, as I breathed with anger. I turned back around and continued toward the front door.

With a soft click the door opened, the hallway was empty. The walls had remakes of famous portraits; dogs were carefully folding and putting on poker faces; starry nights glimmered in haste; sunflowers glowed in the non-existent sunlight. It was gloomy, but then again this was the still life. Nothing made a sound. I crept up the hallway. The scent of wet dog that was here years ago was replaced with lavender. Lavender. A scent I wouldn’t have chosen. A scent that only brought more misery to my senses. I walked passed the peeling, mildew-covered wallpaper. My frown deepened.

The door that now lay in front of me had been refinished recently, but I would have noticed the dented, brass knob anywhere. It was there that I crack my head when I was 6. The last time I had seen my father. It gave off a polished gleam. The door swung open, and I strode in. I did not like what I saw; I saw remnants of toys strewn across the floor. Don’t tell me they had a—

“Who are you?” I froze and looked down. A little boy of about five or four looked up at me. His auburn hair was tousled, and his ocher eyes had a puzzled look. I heard footsteps behind me. I slowly turned around and saw both Melanie and Henry staring at me with smirks that said, “What can we say?” what could they say indeed. Not only had they gotten married, but they had a kid in the process. I can’t believe I’m saying that this has to be the worst nightmare I have ever had. This was worse then all the dreams with Pandora.

“You had a kid.” I said bluntly.

“His name is Maxwell…or you could just say ‘Max’ for short.” Melanie stated fondly. She walked over to him and picked him up. He dug his head affectionately into the nape of her neck. There was great resemblance between Melanie and Max, but the eyes were none other than Henry’s. I stood in silence, so many thoughts running through my mind. I felt hands place themselves atop my shoulders.

“Welcome,” Henry started, “To your new family,” I shrugged off his hands and turned to face him eye-to-eye. I felt tears well up in my eyes.

“Do you just want me to forget? Do you just want me to except the fact that she isn’t ever coming back? Did you think that if you showed me Melanie and Max that I would just sink into all this? Dad, you cannot change what happened, nor do I want it changed. What happened is this: you tried taking two steps forward, but took one step back. You tried reeling me in. You tried to forget her .” My breathing slowed, and the tears began to trickle down my face. “In this screwed-up world, you just ended up screwing us all over.” I brushed passed Melanie and Max, my face contorted with irritation. I felt that my life had ended. I felt that the old Adalia Blacke would never survive in this world. I felt that Big Sky Country was too big for someone as little and solitary like me. I just wanted it to end, but I knew it couldn’t. I just couldn’t end it.