Yin & Yang

"Transformed into the American Psycho"

Adam P.O.V.

          Thump. Thump. Thump.

The kicks to the leg of our desk are incessant and rhythmic. I try not to let the shaking desk and irritating noise get to me, considering the way Annette looks right now.

Her eyes are sallow and darting about as if on watch for something and her hands keep fidgeting in time with the kicking. Her appearance is ruffled; as if she had just rolled out of bed and it doesn’t even look like she bothered to comb her hair. I assume it’s aftershock from the accident and I don’t want to upset her further, so I keep quiet. But, with each thump I feel my patience growing thinner…

          Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thu-

“Stop!” I whisper-shout when the kicking finally gets to me. At the sound of my voice slicing through the silence, Annette jumps so high in her chair that I think she’s going to hit her head on the ceiling.

She clutches her hand to her chest and sneaks peeks at all the prying eyes in the classroom before breathlessly turning to me in agitation, “Stop what?!”

She could seriously not realize that she has been banging the table for the last five minutes? Annette continues to stare at me, completely confused and I shoot her a worried glance.

She’s been acting strange ever since she came back from the hospital. She’s dodged all my calls, looks as paranoid as a stoner driving by a police station, and has totally withdrawn from her friends. Jenna even told me that Annette snapped at her yesterday for going to her house unannounced. She made her leave immediately and shut the door on her face.

 I guess the accident affected her more than she let on. She told Jenna that she doesn’t blame her for the accident, but after having a door slammed into her face, Jenna is feeling guiltier than ever. I reach my hand up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, only to recoil when I notice her flinch slightly at my touch.

“Are you doing alright?” Annette looks shocked at my question and in a split second the paranoid look in her eyes vanishes, she stops fidgeting, and a slow smile creeps up her face.

“Of course! Sorry, this documentary is freaking me out.” She laughs breezily and squeezes my hand. Which, should be reassuring, but only makes my stomach clench. I can’t help the nagging feeling that her words sound like cheap lies and her smile looks forced.

Regardless, I push those thoughts to the back of my mind and continue to watch the film about lobotomy. I can’t help my eyes from wandering over to Annette every few minutes, but it seems as if my earlier worry was unneeded. She watches the rest of the documentary with a stoic face; no fidgeting hands or kicking feet. Yet, I still can’t seem to shake the feeling that something is wrong.

When the bell finally rings, the students run out of the classroom like a stampede, leaving Annette and I to gather our things alone.

“Can I speak with you a minute, Annette?” Mr. Roth’s gruff voice reminds me that we are not entirely alone. Before I get the chance to tell Annette I will wait outside for her, she opens her mouth to speak.

“Maybe another time, teach. I don’t have the patience today.” Her tone is like ice and it serves in freezing a shocked expression on Mr. Roth’s face. I gape at her in shock –not that Annette isn’t sarcastic- but, I have never seen her act so brazenly rude towards someone. And a teacher no less.

Annette begins to weave her way through the rows of desks without bothering to glance back towards me and I rush to keep up with her.

“What the hell was that?” I ask, grabbing her palm to make sure she doesn’t flee again as we walk towards her locker. I can’t help but notice how tight her grip is and how it squeezes my palm every time a locker slams shut. Annette’s only answer to my question is a shrug and when I see her wince slightly from the action, I decide not to press the matter.