Pencils & Polaroids

29: green teddy 2.0

Remember when people said destruction only has a beginning and no end? Yeah, I truly second that saying. Now that I'm experiencing it in the flesh, I can vouch that once the destruction has begun, there's no stopping it. 

My mind entered this raging fit of outburst that made me put at least one crack on every accessible thing in every room of this smash house. So much that when I entered the supposed bedroom and met Sam and Grayson merely breaking everything amidst adorable laughter, my slams turned them into statues. They waited for five minutes, just gawping at me while I broke the room to crumbs. 

By the time I did a 'you're welcome' bow to them before exiting the room, they were still digesting the visual of my doings. 

After making sure there wasn't any other corner left unturned, I came back to the main hall, the one where the entry/exit door is still locked shut. The first thing I do is remove my helmet. I never imagined I'd admit that a room full of broken wood and glass smells better than my own suffocated breath.

I rest the helmet on the table in front of me but the table just breaks into two halves, one half taking my helmet down with it. "Shit," I mutter before retrieving my helmet from the dusty floor. Beating all sides of the helmet, I manage to wipe away the powdered dress. But when I dust my gloved hands over my black jumpsuit, I dirty my own romper. "Fuck my life," I stress with each word and start cleaning my suit. 

When I'm decently clean, I take long and deep breaths mixed with dust and exertion amidst my continued attempt at shaping my tangled hair back to its original style. 

I loosen the top buttons of the black body suit and fan myself with my hands. Surprisingly, I feel lighter. My mind is back at forming inappropriate and sarcastic thoughts that might come out mean and cold. My heart still feels numb but it also feels like a solid rock so there's no discomfort whatsoever. Everything inside my body feels . . . normal. I feel like myself again. 

"I've never seen spite motivate someone so young to cause this kind of slaughter." 

Jumping again, I steady myself by taking the support of a table that's half broken. Glancing behind my shoulders, I find Rainer leaning against a crack in a wall with his helmet tucked under his arm. 

"For how long have you been standing there?" 

He shrugs. "Long enough to agree that your life surely needs some action--" he points to the patch of white powder on my thigh that I hadn't dusted. "--that not being the kind of smacking I'm referring to." 

Dusting my pants, I frostily respond. "I would appreciate your concern about my sex life but neither do I express gratitude nor does your suggestion matter to me, so gloat away." 

"Yeah, not with that attitude. No one's going to fuck an egocentric fool." 

The audacity-- "I disagree. You've been fucked." 

A red shade of offense surpasses his face. "Exactly. I'm not a fool." 

"So you agree you're egocentric?" 

He shrugs. "Partly." 

"While you're partly accepting your defects, do you also want to embrace partly being a dick? A jerk? A bully? Oh, oh, a manipulator, how did I forget that?" 

With a firm jaw, he kicks himself off the wall and advances towards me. "Sure, only if you admit being a bitch to me all the time for no fucking reason." 

"Admitted," I say without missing a beat. Scrunching my nose, I add. "With good reason, actually." 

He clicks his tongue looking away from me, terminating my excuse to be pathetic and baseless. His reaction and the newfound but tucked-away bracelet on my hand make sense in the most nonsensical way. The entire night of Thanksgiving, Sam and I both tried to come up with plausible theories of how my discarded bracelet swam all the way back to my bag. All possible outcomes made Rainer Barcross look good (or less evil) so we stopped pondering about it.