(not finished yet)
I wasn't in the mood for any shit. So that's what I told him.
"I'm not in the mood for any shit, alright."
He recoiled slightly.
"Jeez Amber, I was just asking if you wanted to lean on me."
I sighed. It wasn't his fault. It rarely was. I was just in one of my moods; the kind where things got a little bit… fiery.
"John," I said, looking him in the eye to get the point across, "I'm just in one of those moods, you know?"
A small flicker of horror crossed his face. I could almost see the tiny cogs clicking over in his mind. 'Oh… it's that time of the month again.' In reality, my mood was nothing that simple, but it was better he thought it was. Saved me from more annoying questions.
The conversation over, I turned back to the TV. We were lazing on the well worn couch in my dad's flat, the same spot we'd been in for the past couple of hours. Dad was on Duty, so we'd had the house to ourselves. Usually this meant a little bit of action for John, my current boyfriend, but as I'd just made clear, I wasn't in the mood.
And yet I was restless. After two hours on the couch I couldn't sit still, the TV unable to hold my attention. I kept glancing around the room, giving in to a terrible habit of mine. There was the bean bag in the corner. That would burn quickly, no matter how fire retardant the label said it was, and it would spew forth large amounts of black, toxic smoke. The coffee table; the shabby pine would be slower to burn, but would generate much more heat, giving other objects the chance to catch alight. And there was my cheerleader's suit. The bright blue synthetic material would go up in a flash.
I sighed again, thinking about the irony of the situation, Dad was out there fighting fires and here I was thinking about lighting them.
Annoyed and frustrated, I fished for the remote which had lodged itself down the side of the cushion. I couldn't grasp it. Cursing loudly, I stood and stormed into the kitchen, where I slammed my fist into the fake marble bench top. Being composed largely of chip-wood and plastic, that'd burn well too.
"Amber, are you ok?"
He'd turned the TV off and was now standing in the doorway looking concerned.
"No, I mean yes… I don't know." I flicked the hair out of my eyes, "I'm just so frustrated all of the sudden."
That was the safe answer, as opposed to I want to burn the house down and I'm pissed off because I can't.
"Do you want me to go?" he asked hesitantly, unsure of what to do.
I wanted to feel sorry for him. I genuinely liked John. A hell of a lot more that I'd liked any of the other boys I'd been with. He actually cared about me, not my tits. But my fury had pushed any sympathy out the door and beaten it to a bloody pulp right there on the door step.
"Yeah," I managed at last, "please."
"Ok," he sighed, "I guess I'll see you tomorrow then."
"Tomorrow?"
"At school. Tomorrow's Monday remember. You sure you're going to be alright? You look… pale."
"I'll see you tomorrow John." I said with just enough force to get him moving. Thankfully he didn't want a goodbye kiss.
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