The Flames In Mind

Do you ever question why random things ever happen to you? Whether it'd be karma, a consequence or an unforeseen circumstance? Alternatively, even a statistical matter based upon facts on when a specific occurrence is guaranteeing to happen. Or what other people like to say "destiny."

I wouldn't say I believe in destiny, just the way the world works; it's a funny concept despite the horrendous things that are concocted for the purpose to satisfy other people's benefits. Such as this crazy fact I've read up on one time that every – and I mean every – three seconds a girl is currently getting raped on this hilariously, polluting planet that contains at least seven point four billion Neanderthals. It's a hardcore piece of knowledge that people can either recoil of the thought, be sorry or move on. However, I guess you could say I instead think of the consequences that lead after.

However, if you put away that little – okay maybe it's not small – fact and think of goodies such as pizza. Pizza, every five seconds or so, Americans consume at least 1,750 slices. Let that sink in under your fingernails for a bit there. It's juicy. Or greasy if that's what you prefer to use; whatever keeps your napkin in the laundry at night.

However, if you wanted to think of reality – take mine for example; I've pretty much just put myself in a situation might as well be "karma's a bitch" or "destiny" or whatever people prefer to call it from what their perspective deems it to be nameworthy. I should probably say that no one was around to judge the situation besides myself and the other party. However, it did sting – quite a lot.

Probably will have to go through an ice pack for an hour to quell the stinging feeling. I've had my fair share of it before, but it fucking hurt, okay.

I will say it's where the start of a new relationship happened.

Without any introductions present or words of greetings exchanged. Just actions with – and I dare say it – lips.

Typically, I often worry about first impressions when I'm meeting someone new, but I didn't worry about it then apparently. Then again, my resting bitch face says the opposite to others, and personally, I don't care for others unless it's close friends or family, which explains for my lack of social abilities when it comes to anyone.

It's also why I believe to be more intellectual on paper considering my primary language is swearing in every sentence.

Now let me say here before you all jump to congratulating me on making a new friendship since it's rare, I believe shedding some light onto how I got the position in the first place might be better.

~*~

"FUCKING in a CAR, shooting HEROIN! Saying controversia-"

My reflex put itself in gear and quickly grabbed the music alarm clock before it could blare anymore and with reason, threw it at the wall to shut it up in the most post-modern way. I groan loudly, slowing rolling around mashing my face into the pillows. My jelly arms drag the duvet over my head to avoid any oncoming sunlight peeking through the window curtains.

Feeling lethargic still, I try to go back to sleep not bothering with the fact my mother could walk in any second and make this morning even worse than the last.

However, before my body could get its hibernation back on track, heels are clacking against the wooden floors. My eyelids slowly open in sync with the creaking of my door and finally, with a cherry on top, the incredulous shouts of my birth name – I cringe under the covers knowing I'm fucking dead.

"Zivali Adalia Trueheart! What did I say about breaking your alarm clocks!?"

Hesitantly, I pull the covers down, still taking a few moments to gather my current pancaked brain – dreams weren't friendly for they left me to feel dizzy and perplex in the mornings.

I sit up on my bed using one arm as support with the covers still eloping me in its warmth. With my free hand, I rub my dried up, crusty eyes. After feeling confident enough to look through them, I take a quick glance at the door and see my mother in the type of position with feet apart, hands on hips, and a scowl transforming something that could've been nice, to the worse thing a child could run from.

Before answering, I turn my head to the other side of my room and see part of my blue horizon colored wall destroyed in black scrapped marks. My eyes dart down to the floor only to see my alarm clock messed up with bits of pieces of plastic scattered around.

I groaned loudly wondering when this habit of mine will be fixed.

Yep, I'm dead. Goodbye, beautiful planet. I hope you all have sucked my motherfucking dick.

"Before I repent you for the music choice..." I whip my head around as my mother speaks in the lowest of the low sporting a bone-chilling growl, "Must I ask why you broke the fifth in two weeks? I swear to god if you keep this up, this will result in you not going to see Coldplay with Beverly after the school year!" Her light blue eyes are bulging past her massive organ while her finger pointing at me.

Not the fucking finger.

My scoffs sound like half a laugh showing my irritation, my throat still feels a bit scratchy having to wake up.

"Mom let me say this as nice and calmly as possible." I swallowed. "You – okay – do not have the fucking authority to take something that Bee and I worked and bought with our own money. So, you do not have the right to make that option for her or for me." I drawled on the last word for as long as possible.

"You think I give a flying fuck about her ticket?" Her face is plastered in bewilderment, clearly ignoring my curses; which is good. "You're my daughter, she isn't, which means I can tell you want you can or can't do regardless of it being your money. Besides whether you worked for it or not, you can sell it and use that money to pay for all the alarms you've broken in the past few months. I refuse to keep paying for this ridiculousness."

My jaw dropped. In all honesty, her intimidating posture uses to scare the living daylights out of me as a kid, but now it just makes me frustrated with her idea of common sense.

Closing my mouth quickly, I blink a few times and take a deep breath to prevent from myself screaming as I would typically do. Not to say childishly but just in general – I am the type of person who short-fuses, got it from him. I would not say I like this trait of mine, but genes are genes.

"I already have a few fucking extra alarm clocks in my closet just in case. I am way ahead of you; I don't need to waste my ticket that I saved up for a month, with Bee. So, fuck. Off." My face is in a sneer as I pause on each of the last three words; I love my mom, but she can be such a fucking bitch.

Arguing was not how I planned my morning to go. Well, except anticipate it. I thoughtlessly shoved away the fact if I didn't break my alarm none of this would've happened. But I have no clue for it's been something I've had since I was a kid. Just never bothered to do anything about it.

She sighs deeply, and I can tell she's holding it in; pinching her nose and closing her eyes, she replies.

"Fine," I could tell the amount of willpower she's keeping at bay because of my mouth with just that single word. My mother never liked it when I cursed, but it's a daily habit I don't want to fix, nor do I care.

"Hurry up and get ready for school. We leave in 30minutes. Breakfast is already on the table." She walks out of my room, closes the door behind her as the clacking of the heals fade on each step.

As soon as she's out of earshot, I groan and flop back on my bed. My ears felt like they were ringing, and my eyes are heavy. Since my bed is still warm and comfy, I might as well sleep for an extra ten minutes. But she knows my daily routine,

"Zivali, don't you dare try to fall asleep again!" Mom shouted from the bottom of the stars.

Fuck, mornings.

~*~

She chuckles, "You know from the apparent grumpiness in your face – you broke your alarm clock. Careful Liv, people might think you need to get off." It is clear as day that wasn't a question.

Knowing Beverly, she takes it straight to the point almost as if she shares my brain. I turn my head to glare in her coffee brown eyes with the pseudo shocked attitude, clearly showing I couldn't give a fuck. In return, she smirks knowing she hit the nail on the head.

Now, we're currently walking to our lockers. We don't get to see each other after homeroom since we're both in different classes, besides that the rest of the lessons we take are pretty much the same.

I grumble with my voice lace in sarcasm, "She was adorable enough to threaten our Coldplay tickets." I end it all with a big plastic smile on her last comment.

Beverly blinked a few times before answering, "Really? She didn't take your car like she normally does?" I shake my head. "But didn't you curse at her?" I made a face as she shakes her head as well, "Weird."

I shrug. "Are you done, Bee?" She shrugs in return matching up our thoughts.

Long story short, whenever I curse or break my alarm clock, the first thing my mom does is not let me use my car – so the fact she didn't this morning is weird. Think of it as a morning routine you take daily – one thing wrong makes everything feel out of place. That's how it feels right now.

I continue talking. "Either way, from her standpoint, selling the tickets deem to be more reasonable than her paying for new ones. I mean I get it, but to fucking use, something we worked for by ourselves as an excuse from buying new ones, is a low blow. Especially since someone here likes her chocolate. Covered. Dicks." I nearly shouted on the last word causing Bee to slap her hand over my mouth.

I just made out with it exploiting it with my saliva. Bee shrieks 'gross' over and over while roughly wiping her hand all over my clothes.

With me laughing at Bee and her shrieking, everyone was looking at what the commotion was. Realizing we were drawing some attention, I just shut up and gave them the middle finger making Bee cackle. It worked as usual when those looking went back to doing their own thing; I don't like attention.

"The shop has all my favorite chocolate cock-sicles, I can't help it." Bee nearly shrills. I giggle, almost out of breath.

We finally got to my metal tin canned closet. After opening it to retrieve my AP biology notebook, realization dawned me sobering me from the current laughing fits.

"Fuck," I curse under my breath. "I fucking forget to do the homework. Ugh!" I slam my locker to release all the pent-up frustration, but apparently, it wasn't enough. The sound of metal hitting on metal boomed across the entire hall shocking those around me, including myself and Bee.

Bee jumps, "Jeez, Liv what the hell? That was not because of your homework." Her hand is on her chest as if her heart skipped a beat.

I clench my fists, not wanting to talk about it. Instead, I throw it all on Bee knowing I'll have to apologize later for it.

"Shut the fuck up okay and go get your goddamn notebook. You aren't copying my notes, and I'm not your personal fucking tutor." I spat in her face.

Bee face turned hard removing her hand from her chest, but I did know she wasn't affected as much. It sucks, but I often blow up and put it on her. I am not too fond of it one bit, but it's difficult.

"I'll be right back, Liv." Her words were soft, not matching to the look on her face. However, her eyes held sympathy knowing the real reason. She quickly gives my arm a sure squeeze before turning away to go to her locker.

"Fuck," I whisper under my breath. Why did I do that again; I sigh deeply noticing I drew attention again with the sound of whispers increasing by the second. "Will you all fuck off!" I shout. Most of them jump out of their skin and runs away to head off to class or lunch before the bell rang.

Despite already shouting, swearing, and destroying my locker, I still feel the need to take out some of my anger. I think kicking a soccer ball in someone's balls might be enough; seeing them crouch in pain and swear in my colorful language would be delightful.

However, I didn't want to think stupid thoughts and recollect myself – easier said than done – and meet Bee at her locker.

I mean I talk to Bee about my problems – same said for her. Considering we've known each other before pre-k, we've gone through a lot together. Some of my memories are shot of the first year few years in elementary, but strangely enough, I remember most things after the age of eight. But I think that's the same for most people?

I do believe everyone's mind works differently; I wouldn't go against that thought. I have punched a couple walls – accidentally. Video games is another outlet for my frustration, but lately, I haven't bothered with them much. Probably a good idea, too much toxicity from it.

I could flip off on a teacher, which helps me wonders just seeing their shock face of pure disbelief. I might do that if I don't calm down; Mrs. Lesbehonest will get that if she's subbing again.

The most common would be getting drunk, to loss all inhabitations of yourself and let loose. It's a spin on everything and the most straightforward way out to avoid the onslaught of derision towards your thoughts or actions.

Ask Bee about getting drunk, she'll make it a contest and honest to god, it's not the safest route. It is quite a show to watch, she makes it difficult for anyone and everyone.

Seeing the dark chocolate haired girl made me feel guilty on how I blew up in her face earlier but before I could apologize, Bee cut to the chase.

"I know you're sorry, you didn't mean it," she shrugs while closing her locker, but it's evident she still wishes to hear the apology. Her eyes do that thing where they look in yours for a few seconds before avoiding all contact. But she has this habit of pursuing her lips then biting the corner of her bottom one to make it seem as she doesn't care.

I raise my eyebrows for a second before softening my demeanor; I pull her into a quick hug before replying. I am a couple inches taller than her; were both one of the tallest girls in our classes. I'm 5'8 and a half. Bee is around 5'6.

"I am sorry Bee..." It takes a moment for me to continue; she tightens the hug for a second before letting go.

"You acting like a bitch per usual is the least of my worries, Liv." She lightly chuckles before pausing and scrunching up her eyebrows cocking her head to the side, "Are they getting worse?" She asks worriedly.

I am hesitant. That's currently the last thing I want to talk about. I hear a deep sigh come out of Beverly's lips.

"It's fine, we can talk about it later, let's get to lunch already. I'm starving," Bee groans as she throws her head back in desperation. "OH, remind me to copy your notes," a smug smile takes form on her face.

"Ha, ha, no." My face is stoic killing the smugness radiating off Bee's attitude.

"You're not helpful," she huffs.

"Yet I've done that throughout all our years, got to learn how not to be so dependent on me, babe." Now it's my turn to be self-satisfied.

"Oh, like you haven't?" She replies sardonically. I think I feel my eye twitching.

"Shut up." Bee's bubbling laughter drowns out our little bickering. She is quite right though if I'm to be honest. We're both dependent on each other. But I won't admit that for myself – kind of like scratching off a small surface of my pride.

Bee does have a childish demeanor from time to time, but it shows for a short second. However, she's a smart girl just as myself. Bee has the annoying tendency of not writing down her notes for her own – she copies mine and has been since day one.

I mean it's nice to be of some help but learning to do it on her own for the future purpose is what she needs to know how to do. But that's Beverly for you so no matter how annoyed I am, I get over it eventually.

One of the best qualities about her is that she's patient, yes, she has her moments where being patient is a façade. Yet when I naturally decline to answer any of her questions, rather than pushing me – which can make things worse, she waits until I decide to say something.

Unlike my mother who seems to love the word Pressure personally. I can't handle stress very well, it's why most of the time I just let things go or prefer not to talk about it. Often, I still hold onto it but act as if I don't. Beverly says that is not how my stubborn-ass-ape-brain should work. Well, too fucking bad.

Albeit, that is why in some circumstances I get snappy or sarcastic regardless of the situation.

I chew on the inside of my cheek and draw out a long breath, "You already know, besides shrinking my problems won't make it all unicorn and rainbows."

"For you obviously." I blink. Did she insult me?

"Well thanks," I stretch out.

"Oh, don't take that to heart, the last thing we both want is you exploding like a firecracker." She responds while patting my arm. "Bottling things up just isn't good for your mental health in general."

I grunt; I know she wishes the best for me.

"Besides," she taps her chin like she's in deep thought. "I think of you like a chicken nugget."

I snicker, here we go. "A chicken nugget?"

"Yeah, you know, a crusty exterior. Something that you can not chew through often and the interior, you're all soft and moist."

"How do I know you again?" I am a bit flabbergast by how she describes me.

"Food Fight," She beams with closed eyes.

"No homo."

"Pfft," she replies jokily, "are you sure?"

"Fuck off," I laugh. "I don't swing that way, you on the other hand..." I stare into her eyes thoughtfully.

She shoves me, chuckling. "Bi. Not lesbian. There's a difference, Liv."

"Okay, oka-"

Before I could shove a sarcastic remark, the intercom booms all around the school, leaving a loud echo in its wake.

"Zivali Trueheart to the Principal Office, Zivali Trueheart to the Principal Office, thank you."

I look at my best friend in puzzlement, both of us trying to figure out what I did wrong because so far, my only sin is my brain. Bee shrugs while everyone in the hallways decides to stare at my unholy being.

Not trying to get effects by the creepy stares, we both head off to the office having nothing better to do since it is only lunch period.

"There goes my pizza," Bee grumbles. "I'll wait out here." Beverly goes to sit on one of the waiting chairs, slouching while looking depressed.

"Go get your damn pizza and come back, will you. Better than being a sad Sally, jeez." Bee scrambles out of the chair as quickly as possible, making a run for it. Without a much needed 'thanks.'

I shake my head and go to knock on the dark wooden door sporting an italic cursive writing "Principal Office."