I hop out of bed the next morning to the glare of the morning sun gleaming through the window pane. I begin my ordinary routine, singling out the perfect holiday panties to uplift my weekend mood and disentangling tacky clutters of brown hair sprawling down my scalp. Yet something doesn’t feel right and I can’t tell what it is. It was only when I’d hopped into the shower that I begin to get a better sense of it. It is strange how from where I stand, I can sniff the freshness of open-air and the distinct fragrant of the field of Dianthus my dad has grown in our garden outside. I peer through the frosted glass to discern the source of the smell, only to have reality slap me hard across the face. The bathroom window in front of me is broken and beneath it are bits of earth and fallen leaves that has stockpiled into one rowdy clutter. That’s when remembrance of what happened the preceding night hits me.
            I instantly glance over to the clock on the counter beside the shower stand. It reads 7.30 a.m. I scold myself internally. Dad must have already gotten home an hour ago and the boy from yesterday must still be loitering somewhere inside the house. I swiftly throw on dowdy attire and jog downstairs, only to come across a familiar sight. Judith is sitting formally by the dining table across dad, who is staring dead into my eyes. Judith, or Dee-Dee—how I prefer to refer to her—is dad’s soon to be wife. The story began when mummy died of a cardiac arrest. Ever since then, he’s been evidently fond of this other woman and constantly brags about her; going out and about gushing about her to a mass of people and praising her constantly like she’s royalty. He worships her, and that peeves me out incredibly much. To me, she’s just another young pretty airhead with a clever mouth—a mouth with its own brain and history of tasting a variety of saliva from a thousand different men.
            Certainly, that fact makes me want to graze her face with a razor and smack it with burning metal, even when she technically haven’t done anything directly wrong toward me. Their marriage is going to take place very soon, in fact a couple months from now I believe, and they’re both extremely ecstatic about it. They have readied a fabulous villa and prepared everything else essential for that fancy upper class ceremony they envision. She’s also purchased a stunning white gown from a renowned designer. I saw her get fitted in it once and I must confess of how the gown hugs her curves so attractively, which only makes matters worse.
            Believe me, I never liked Dee and I don’t understand how dad could allow himself to fall in love with someone like her. He is way older in his late forties and Dee is barely ten years older than I am. Despite our insignificant eight year age gap, Dee persistently bosses me around whenever Dad is not attentive. Can’t he see there’s nothing attractive in a spoilt and whiny five-year-old soul engraved in a woman’s body? Usually, Dad and I would share the same mindset; hence Dee’s case is a rare yet unfortunate one. When the day comes, the two are going to be legally bound together and the only thing I’m going to be bound with is distress. Dad clears his throat as I awkwardly stand before them; biting my lower lip upon the tension.
            ‘Don’t you have anything to say, Astrid?’ dad asks. I shake my head in response with a convincing grin stuck on my face. I discreetly reach one hand to the back of the kitchen drawer in search of the garage keys which I had slid in there the previous night. Howard—the boy who broke in my window—is still barred inside our garage. My poor hand is flopping around, hopelessly trying to locate the keys inside the drawer yet I can’t find seem to find them. It’s impossible for the object to have gone elsewhere unless someone else had gotten ahold of it.
            ‘They’re not there, Astrid’ Dad states with a sigh.
            ‘Well then, assuming you have them on hand, may I please borrow them for a while? I’m just going to check the garage.’ I say with bated breath.
            ‘In the means of what?’
            ‘Not anything important. Just going to rummage through things, as usual. You know me, dad’ I state, placing an emphasis on my last sentence.
            He sighs, ‘Do I? In case you’re looking for that boyfriend of yours I’ve barely heard about, he is in the bathroom upstairs.’ Dad states, with apparent disappointment in his voice. Who am I kidding? Of course, he had discovered.
            ‘No, Daddy you don’t understand. I did not—’, I tried to reason yet he cuts me off,
            ‘Yes I do understand Astrid. Friends are great, I know. But you do understand how I feel about sleepovers, right? It’s like securing a leash on your friend and keeping him as a household pet. What’s worse is that apparently it’s a male! God knows what’s between the two of you!’ He reprimands. ‘But you’re not going to tell me anything about your failed backstreet relationship, are you.’
            I stare at him, flabbergasted for some time. I had expected him to suspect that I had committed a crime or something, considering the shards of glass and muck on the floors upstairs. ‘Not really, because a relationship never particularly transpired’ I murmur. I do not bother say anything afterwards, causing daddy to gawk at me in hurt and disbelief.
            ‘I can’t believe my daughter slept with a moron that can’t even handle his own fecal products.’ Dad says aloud; a little remorseful.
            ‘What are you talking about?’ I stutter, baffled. Dad returns me a poker face. Never had I slept with that boy before and never will I plan to, even if I’m forced to. Yet I would rather have daddy assume that, as the truth is beyond complicated to imply. Seeing that dad has no interest in responding to my question, I opt to leave. ‘I should go check on my friend, then’ I state finally, before proceeding to scamper away.
            ‘Yeah, go check on him!’ Dee hollers in a superficial concerned manner. I utterly hate that witch. She’d been giving me a frosty stare the entire conversation with dad and it’s hard to believe how he didn’t acknowledge.
            On my way upstairs, I smell a lick of foul. The nasty odor keeps on getting increasingly pungent the closer I get to the bathroom. He must be taking an extremely massive dump, I believe. Hence, I assume my role would be cleaning up colossal piles of feces. On my way toward the bathroom, a sharp smell zaps up my nostrils. I tilt my head towards the ground and notice thick yellow stains on my perfect white untarnished carpets. I gasp in shock and inch my face forward toward the stain to have a better view of what is actually on the carpet. It took a while for the odor to register, but when it did; the idea appalled me. He wouldn’t, would he?
            I trudge hastily towards the bathroom and pound on the door. ‘Did you urinate on my pretty white carpet!?’ I yell in fury, hammering the door with my fist.
            ‘You promised to release me at dawn, yet you didn’t! I really had to or else I was going to explode!!’ We yelled back and forth. I’m obviously enraged upon his idiocy whereas he persists to condemn me that I didn’t let him out soon enough.
            ‘Why didn’t you do it somewhere else in the garage instead?! Why sacrifice my pretty carpets!?’
            ‘I’d love to urinate on the BMW! It’d be my first time! But getting sued for property violations would negative my bank account status.’ He yells from behind the walls, in the midst of chronic constipation.
            ‘Have you heard of bottles?!’ I whine.
            I pace back and forth while on the wait for him to exit the bathroom so that I can physically assault him. But, it has been half an hour and he still hasn’t finished his business yet.
‘Are you defecating elephants? You’re taking an eternity in there!’ I holler.
            ‘I’ve been told that I have severe issues, feces may count as one too; thanks for the addition!’ he responds.
            Suddenly, the urge to urinate emerges out of nowhere in me. ‘Get out now! I need to use the toilet!’ I thump on the door harshly—incredibly harsh, in fact that the wood creaks a little. I hear the toilet flush, and out comes the boy, looking rather drained. I shove him aside and immediately go for the thunder box that I very badly need at the moment.
            Imagine a moment when you really had to use the toilet having waited for so long, and when you finally could, you let it all stream out, and your lids automatically jam shut due to relief. That’s exactly what happened to me! When my lids eventually flutter open, I can’t even imagine what I’m seeing in front of me. Four large round eyes are ogling me through the butt-sized hole in the window. When they finally realize how I’d noticed them rubbernecking me from behind the scrubs, they promptly bolt away! Even so, my swift eyesight still enables me to discern their identities despite their immediate escape. The two boys, I believe, are Stephan Burley and a boy who dubs himself Burger. They’re both very notorious around the neighborhood and earn themselves the title of mini trolls. I really don’t mind them at all, except for the fact that that just occurred and that Burley is a close relative of one of the superior jocks at school. Need I remind myself that my life is officially terminated?
            Otto Burley is the relative I was referring to. He’s in other words; the manifestation of modern Satan. He’s the jock who’d constantly pick on me and make me a laughingstock in front of all my peers throughout grade school. Once in the seventh grade, he even pantsed me in front of all the attractive senior hunks and our poor janitor. I was terribly humiliated to the extent that I debated on hanging myself with guitar strings.           Fortunately, I was quick enough to realize how insignificant the problem actually was that I scrapped the plan. In fact, the news never really outstretched anywhere at school; only several people heard of it and the majority of them that did, didn’t care. Everyone I know has this one particular Lord in middle school that would harass them and strip them off of their lunch money. Otto’s the guy in my case.
            I shortly finish and barge out of the bathroom doors to find Howard standing stiff as a poker; seemingly longing for me. He’s staring blankly into space, looking submerged within his own tranquil realm. I trudge towards him and immediately clutch his arm out of fury; enough to startle him out of his little reverie. I then drag him downstairs along with me; shuffling down the cascading staircase. I shall return this stranded boy home before he further strips the joy off of my day. ‘Calm down! This bossing-me-around type of pride doesn’t look cute on you’ He says as he pats my back; evidently struggling to keep up with my pace. I disregard his little remark, proceeding down the stairs.
            As I’m nearing the front door, dad abruptly emerges from behind us. ‘Where do you think you’re going young lady?!’ he pipes up as soon as he spots the both of us in attempt to leave the house without his consent. I straightaway free Howard’s arm from my agonizing grip and turn to face dad, who’s scowling at Howard.
            ‘Not anywhere you’ve never ventured. I was just about to walk Howard home. But, there’s no need to fret; it’s a short errand, I promise.’ I flash a convincing grin. Dad looks at me with a baffled expression. I’m not usually very affable with boys, and he knows that very well of me.
            ‘I’ll send Jerquis out to search for you if you aren’t home by noon—in case you can’t recall your way back or opt to run away like those stereotypical churlish teenagers nowadays.’ He clears his throat. Jerquis is dad’s private chauffeur. He often drops by the house to drop off some delivery boxes and he’d also frequently fetched me from school when I was younger. To give a brief description of him; he’s a tall and slender man in his early thirties. He’s been working for dad for four years, or in other words; ever since dad got lazy.
            ‘I know my directions!’ I exclaim self-assuredly. The possibility of me getting lost may be 90%; but that’s no biggie at all! I’m one lucky skunk. I will get home one way or another. I can detect home from mere smell—this is a sixth sense of mine. Believe me, I can smell home. There’s a fraternity house occupied with horny rascals not distant from where I live. Like every other fraternity house, partying all night and setting up ruthless pranks on innocent pedestrians and senior residents are their religion. Because of those rascals, the entire neighborhood would smell like fresh decay at certain days. I don’t blame them though; it’s undeniable how they’re on that particular stage of life.
            ‘Let’s hope so. It’s just that you girls don’t read maps.’ Dad mumbles to himself. ‘But for now, you’re free to go with that friend of yours, Astrid. I’ll be consulting a client all throughout today so just phone if you ever need anything’ He permits. I squeal, pretending to be elated. I peck dad on the cheek before exiting the house, linking my arm with Howard’s in an unromantic, more towards sadistic way.
           
            ‘Now, where exactly do you live?!’ I brutally ask as we walk down my front porch.
            ‘Somewhere you won’t want to go’ He sighs and jogs off. I, too, follow behind. Eventually realizing that I’m trailing behind him, he pipes up, ‘You’re coming too, aren’t you?’
            ‘Sure. Do you expect me to own up for your mistakes?’ I ask intimidatingly, glowering at him while still trying to keep up with his relatively swift pace. He shakes his head, staring sheepishly at the ground. ‘Your legal guardian or whoever the hell is responsible for you needs to know of the chaos you’d caused’ I scoff. He looks into my eyes with remorse and misery as if communicating his apology through a stare. After fifteen minutes of jogging, I’m left completely out of breath with my muscles sore and thighs aching. But eventually, we reach our destination. He halts in front of a restricted alley. The alley, in short, is horrendous. It is quite narrow; in fact, only certain cars can pass through. The dimness of it also reminds me of mother’s grave; which is not a pleasant reminder.
            I avert my gaze forward towards the path and instantly felt nauseated to my stomach. Cat litter and all sorts of rubbish are scattered about. How can any human even live in this place? ‘We’re here.’ He declares nonchalantly; pointing his index toward one particular building among others within the row. I assume he lives there. I tilt my head sideways to look at the narrow lane; his house in particular stands out the most. Not for its outstanding beauty, but for the fact that it’s painted in obnoxious green vivid paint. Not to mention; the walls had been hosed down in multiple cans of graffiti. The situation of this place is an accurate reflection of my state of mind—confused.
            ‘Can we give him some time at least?’ he queries.
            I raise an eyebrow. ‘Why are you so fretful of returning home anyway?’
            He exhales a long thoughtful sigh, ‘Father would hate for me to re-appear on his doorstep looking like a stray baboon.’ He speaks up as he looks down at me with beseeching eyes.
            I scoff, ‘What makes you think I’d care?’ I flash him a devilish smirk, proceeding to slam on the doorbell without further thought. I hear the sound of the bell resonate inside the building and footsteps gradually approaching the door. Out of the blue, Howard grasps my arm and drags me away from his doorstep towards the side of the house. He then forces me inside the slender areas of land between the walls that separate his house and another man’s house. He places his palm over my mouth as if disallowing me to speak. What does he think he’s doing? It seems to me that we’re hiding—but why and what from?
            After some while, a drunk and frantic gaffer in his late fifties bursts through the door, expecting somebody from the bell I had rung. Yet of course, he sees that there’s nobody there. The man must have thought he's fallen victim to the notorious ding dong ditching because he’s started to cuss his mouth off artistically. He surely isn’t one to hold back.
            But there’s more from his temper. He then flings away the garden gnomes by his front porch; tossing them all over the place aimlessly and crippling them into shards in just one blow against the ground. God bless those poor gnomes, what had they ever done to deserve that kind of treatment?
            Luckily, the man’s vex eventually subdues. Three seconds later, he slogs his way back inside the building as if nothing’s happened; leaving his rusty front door hanging open behind him. I feel fingertips clutch around my waist and my limbs being swept off of the ground. I notice that Howard is carrying me away from the alley. I promptly react by jerking and shouting like a dying seal. ‘Put me down!’ I order as I hammer his chest with my fists.
            He’s carrying me suitcase-style with an arm holding me up. My body’s hovering in a horizontal plank position in mid-air with my head face-fronting the ground. Doesn’t he know that it takes a lot of core muscle to remain in this position? I can already feel the blood streaming through the veins in my neck and the color of red airbrushing my entire face. I’m speechless about this kid; did his head get stuck the moment he was birthed? Or did his chromosomes forget to deliver his brain? I’ve never come across anyone with lower intelligence than him. I can feel my stomach throb in distress from this brutal torture. He still refuses to set me down despite how hard I’m punching on him. As a result, I feel the need to ring him a substantial reminder. I opt to punctually kick hard on his sensitive spot where the sun doesn’t shine.
            He immediately flinches and drops to his knees upon that and frees his grip on me. Yet as soon as he sets me free, I face plant on the cement. I felt the static as my face kisses the cold surface—is this what they call love? He mustn’t have noticed how my face faced directly to the ground when he’d let go of his grip. He recoils into a ball; clutching on the junction in his pants and grunting away in agony while I massage the gigantic bump on my forehead. We both recovered soon after, though I did assault him once again because I wasn’t quite satisfied yet. Howard confirms that the man earlier was indeed his ludicrous father-in-law. The entire time, he’s been begging for me to keep quiet to his father about what he’d done; stating that he’s going to find a solution for all the damages he’d caused.  I ultimately end up giving in to his sorry-ass. Not because I cared, but because he’s promised to grant me any kind of wish I have for the day if I knot my tongue. I mean, how can anyone decline such a generous offer to a personal genie in a bottle?