Ruth - Part 1

Riiiiing! The alarm on my device goes off, cutting through my sleep, forcing my motionless body to move. My eyes are next; they flutter open, widening like saucers. My head jerks up, shocked from the sudden disturbance. I slam my hand on the damned phone to turn the tocsin off.

I was unable to sleep all night yesterday. The full blame solely goes to my brain and the thoughts that swarmed around and inside it.

When the sheep finally got their job done, it was already early morning. A couple of hours later, I am awakened.

A wonderful way to start a new day, isn't it?

When my heart finally stops beating like crazy, I stretch and get up from the comfy bed, forcing my legs to move step by step towards the washroom.

After I wipe the gunk off the corners of my eyes, I crash the dresser, putting on whatever my eyes grow fond of.

Once I am satisfied with how I look, I fall unto the bed to get a couple more minutes of sleep. I nearly fall asleep but am interrupted by a sudden growl.

What? Where? My head bobs up, looking around as it tries to find the source, though finds itself unable to do so. It searches some more before deciding it is best to give up.

It nearly surrenders when the sound recurs. What *is* this? My eyes finally locate it, sending impulses to my spinal cord that go directly to my brain, making it function and understand what the heck produced a growl not only once but two times. My brain decides upon accusing my tummy.

Oh well, looks like it's starving. I step into the kitchen to eat something, anything. I decide upon two boiled eggs; grabbing a snack won't help much with the quenching. Once the eggs are boiled, I crack them, throwing away the shells then placing the eggs on a plate. All that is done before I sprinkle a pinch of salt and squirt mayonnaise on top; it feels tasteless without the two.

I mix until the plate is spotless of any white sauce or spice.

Using a knife to cut through the side of a loaf of bread, I stuff the now squashed eggs in, closing the loaf as I clench both ends. Hurriedly, I cut a cucumber in half before setting on the side of the plate.

Once I am seated, I hear familiar footsteps coming towards the kitchen. Oh no, this must be May. A blonde head appears as I bite into my sandwich.

She beams warmly as she grabs a banana and occupies the empty seat next to me on the couch.

"Good morning!" She says in a cheerful tone; she's always in a pleasant mood in the morning. Looks like nothing's up. She probably stayed quiet yesterday because of my lie. She just assumed I was still feeling grief, so she let me be. The best decision is to play along as if nothing happened.

"Good morning," I reply, forcing my mouth into an echo of her smile.

We eat in silence, and when we are done, May asks, "Ready?" I nod before we walk out of the house to the car.

Sleep leaves my eyes as we arrive at our destination.

***

When the bell that ends school rings, I gather my books, shoving them into my bag. As I walk by Mrs. Halls' desk, I can witness from the corner of my eyes as she empties the desk from her belongings, making it neat and tidy, spotless even.

I can sense she wants to talk to me. All teachers have been trying to. It's always the same topic; my grades, my sociality with my peers, my self-containment; the usual stuff.

I rush out the door, swimming my way through the sea of students filing out the class, giving her no chance to approach me, or make me approach her, for that matter.

Before leaving for home, I want to swap some books according to the ones we have homework in. I did not say I don't *do* it, I said I don't like it. I scribble down anything anyways.

I see the same blonde head I saw today already at her locker. As I close the gap between us, she slams her locker shut, turning around before flinching slightly from the surprise, I almost miss it if I didn't know better.

"Home," I say hastily, preventing her from starting any new conversation.

I also want to get home so I avoid facing the bitch. I have enough things going on in my life; I don't need more. Thanks, but no thanks.

I do not want to be reminded of her, but I know in the back of my head that it's possible to cross paths.

We make our way outside to the student parking lot, to where our car is. As we pass students either gossiping or kissing, we end up in an empty hallway.

I swear, I can see a Tumbleweed pass by. Unfortunately, the hall was not as deserted as I thought.

It wasn't just anyone in there, but the very person I didn't want to come to school just to stave off; the most person I detest in this school. Yes her; Ruth O'Brien.

She's the foul scoundrel I wasn't in the mood to encounter.

Speak of the devil.

Calling her rude would be an understatement.

Nooo. Why? Why? Why? No, why me? I give my forehead a slap. Turning around, I pull at May's arm indicating for her to leave with me. I don't *care* what she did, not now. I just want to leave.

Taking the back door, even if it means more walking, is honestly way better than dealing with that piece of . . .

"Look who we have here," she says in a disgusting, manipulative voice to her 'friends', "Flat Thorne, isn't it?" She smirks. Nice; It looks anything but.

"Mom's probably flatter." She lets out her usual nauseating laugh, her tagalongs joining in immediately. Calling them her puppets would be more fitting. Their laughs are so fake, 'Fake laugher' is literally written on each of their foreheads. I freeze. What did he just say about--

May tugs at my sleeve, nodding towards the door. I'd gotten used to her and her repulsive manners over the years, but her talking about mom like that? I'm not letting him--wait, why do I care? That's the problem; I do. I shouldn't. I follow May to leave this confounded place that is so due to Ruth's presence.

"I'm sure you'll change your mind about leaving when you see this." She waves something in the air.

I can see the motion from the side of my eye, though it's blurry. I manage to steal a glance, but I'm still not able to make the thing out. Her hand stops mid-air, making my eyes widen at the item that her filthy fingers are wrapped around.

Where did she get that from? It takes every ounce of effort not to lash out and attack. But I can't help but wonder how she'd gotten her repellent hands on my...book?

--

Read on to find out more about what Ruth managed to get her hands on, and how Sorra will handle it.