Page 58 of Royal Havoc

Watching him sleep last night, felt like I threw myself in a blender. Memories, emotions, hate… all became choppy, incoherent bits swirling inside me, fusing themselves together until all that was left was a mosaic mess. The image is too chaotic for even professionals to see its artistry.

I have to assume that’s how the banger of an idea evolved into my touch of crazy child’s play with scissors.

Nothing about the psycho sitting in the driver’s seat next to me is recognizable. He used to be calm. Mostly quiet, but always listening. He was caring and so attuned to my moods. It was like he knew them better than me when we were kids.

So when did the outspoken, demanding narcissist take over my best friend's body? Creating the baby demon, I’ve so pleasantly been introduced to. The same one that’s refusing to let my tired ass take an educational break for sanity purposes.

“I could totally be sleeping right now,” I pout loudly, staring out the passenger window.

“You had six hours to sleep. Learn to time manage better,” he retorts sarcastically.

Someone’s a little grouchy.

Probably because you threatened to turn his dick into confetti.

Pressing back into the headrest. “My head hurt, and you’re a heavy breather. I couldn’t sleep with all that raspy air wheezing from your icy lungs,” I grumble, squinting at the sun breaking through the trees. “I need Tylenol and caffeine.”

“You should’ve drank the cup I made you,” he throws out grumpily.

I snort, shaking my head, which only makes it pound harder. “Why? So you could poison me? I’d rather drink my own piss,” I huff angrily, rubbing my temples.

“I can get you a cup if you’re thirsty,” he assures me. I flip him off without looking, wishing my brain wasn’t thumping so I could punch him. “Bad choices, little spade, equal shitty days. Deal with it.”

I should’ve cut his dick off.

You didn’t cause you’d rather take it for a ride first.

Annoyed with the snarky voice spewing its opinions inside my aching head, I barely let him finish parking before I slide from the passenger seat of his Shelby GT. Because, of course, he has a backup car…

“Don’t get any ideas. One speck of paint touches that car, and I’m chaining your ass to the bed,” he warns evilly, catching up to me quickly.

Raising an eyebrow. “Promise?”

His eyes burn my face. “It won’t be pleasurable,promise,” he growls seriously.

Rolling eyes is seriously painful. Check.

Drinking half a bottle of tequila will do that.

“Wowza, need some gloss to go with those circles?” Zoey jokes, offering me her lip gloss.

“Seriously?” I scowl at her smiling face.

She leans against her locker, watching me open mine. “You look like shit.”

Shoving books in my bag. “Guess you’re not blind after all.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she questions.

Slamming my locker, turning to meet her angry stare. “Deal with your lap catcher before you try to fix me.” Her eyes flair, watching me saunter away.

Truth hurts sometimes.

Who’s truth?

The morning consisted of a lot of useless knowledge, diverted by lots of yawning. I told him I’d be worthless today. After twenty-four hours without sleep, thoughts quit thoughting, and you’re basically left with a rock for a brain.

I shuffle into English, wondering if anyone would be opposed to me dragging this damn heavy bag. At least my head stoppedhurting since Vex, so kindly met me after first period with Tylenol and a bottle of water.

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