Page 41 of Poison Aches

Gran:P.S. All the nurses and doctors in the E.R said congratulations. When it’s time, pick our hospital!

Oh fuck!

As my heart thunders to a dangerous point, I stare up at my computer screen at a loss.

I’m still on the login page. I haven’t even typed in my username.

Hell, I don’t think I even remember my password and yet, just from one outright lie, everyone in my life now thinks I passed.

Was it the pressure of how pathetic everyone thinks I am?

Maybe it’s the repeated cycle of failure even though I’ve literally hung my entire life around books, test papers, study guides, tutorials, extra classes…anything to help me, trust and believe, I’ve pursued it.

And I still failed. Three times.

A single hot trail of tears falls down from my left eye, down my cheek to my chin.

I can feel the saltiness of the tears, feeling itchy on my skin, but that has nothing on the panic about to break out.

I can’t survive a lie…but I can’t tell the truth either.

Before I can think clearly, I start typing with lightning speed on my laptop.

I pull up a program I’ve resisted to touch for the past few weeks, but subconsciously, I had already started building the code…right after the second rejection.

In a blind haze, I type, configure, and build the code, the firewalls, the dupes and misdirects, and then build it some more from paranoia.

By the time I’m done, not only is my back covered by a fine sheen of sweat, but it's already dark out and my phone has fifteen missed calls and fifty unread texts from my friends.

I don’t open them, however. I just stare at my laptop screen and what I’ve just done.

There, in front of me, is a near-perfect score, now displayed for all the schools I applied to, for their consideration.

What have I done?

I just broke several federal and criminal laws…

But then again, I’d been doing that for the past three years…and so far, no one has been the wiser.

If only that were true.

CHAPTER 6

Emmett

Horror movies start more or less in that same cliché, nauseatingly predictable way.

There are the side, filler characters that die off pretty quickly.

Then there are the so-called main idiots who spend ninety percent of the movie tripping over nothing, ignoring the wide-open front door where they can easily escape but instead, they choose to hide from the chainsaw-wielding asshole from behind a flimsy, see-through curtain.

It’s pathetic bullshit filler.

And the worst part is, the audience pretends to give a shit if the character is going to die or not.

Well, that’s not what my story is about.

I’m not interested in beating around the bush or holding up an air of mystery—none of that will miraculously change my fate.

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