When Perfect Meets Crazy

Chapter 3: 03 - Drive me psych ward and strait jacket kind of crazy

This whole day had to be a product of one of two things. One was that I had hit my head, given myself

the mother of all concussions and was sedated somewhere dreaming all this up.

If I was, then I was really glad a device that could tell what comatose patients were thinking hadn't

been invented yet because if I ever woke up, I definitely wasn't looking forward to explaining to my

mom -or dad for that matter- why my subconscious chose to go -and take Olly- to an illegal fighting

arena or to have a boy break into my room.

I already knew what she'd say, that dreams are based off subconscious thoughts so that meant I was

thinking of doing those things. Then I'd be in big trouble. For something that didn't even truly happen.

The other, much scarier, option was that the universe was out to get me, to drive me psych-ward-and-

straitjacket kind of crazy.

I really wanted to believe I was in a coma somewhere, fighting for my life. At least I'd get get-well-soon

flowers -and chocolate hopefully- but more than, none of this would be real. I really really wanted to

believe that but I knew if I had dreamt everything up, then I wouldn't have actually cried.

I had a pretty active imagination but it was still my imagination. It couldn't actually make me cry. Not to

mention the things happening around me didn't have that surreal dreamlike quality. It felt very real,

especially the part where I was yelled at. That was more than real which could only mean one thing.

The universe was out to get me. Karma had finally decided to show up. It was raining bad luck on me.

I sighed wearily. Today really isn't my day.

After five long seconds of watching Masked Idiot repeatedly open and close his mouth like the

complete idiot that he was, I decided to put us both out of our misery because if I left it to him, we'd

never get past this. He'd probably keep it up till morning.

"Why are you in my house? My room to be specific." I frowned, waving my index finger in a circular

motion directed at the ceiling. Why did it really have to be my room? "In case you didn't know, you're

trespassing and invading my privacy. Not to mention, committing a felony."

Technically breaking and entering on it's own wasn't a felony but with my mom as the opposing

counsel's attorney, it could very well be. He didn't look all that bright so I felt the obligated to inform him,

just in case he didn't know that everything about what he was doing in my house was illegal.

I mean the first time I saw him, he had a mask on. A mask in the middle of June. It was nowhere close

to Halloween.

"You're one to talk," he scoffed, finally getting a hold of himself. His tone, the upward curl of his lips, the

condescending air that surrounded him had me stiffening, readying for a fight.

"The fuck do you mean by that?" I snapped, cringing a split second later at my volume.

Shit!

I didn't mean to be that loud. My eyes, wide with terror, shot to the door as I prayed that my voice

hadn't reached my mom's room.

After a few seconds of silence, I sighed in relief.

She didn't hear, thank God.

Relief instantly turned to anger at the idiot lounging on my bed.

My eyes hardened to stone as I glared at him. "Get out," I gritted. "Before I kill you, get out."

"Oh please," he chuckled, rolling his eyes.

"Do I look," I spat icily, venom coating my tone, "like I'm joking?"

I wanted him out and I wanted him out right that second.

He may not have believed in my ability to hurt him or maybe he was confident in his skills as a fighter

but the murderous intent in my eyes got through to him, enough to get him to change tactics at least.

"You barged into my life. You snuck into my reserved room."

It was all I could do not to slap him and hope it would jumpstart his sleeping brain. "Snuck?" I hissed

incredulously. "I snuck?"

What did he think I was? A fan? For heaven's sake, he wasn't a celebrity. He was a criminal. A full

blooded criminal! And clearly not even a good one seeing as he got caught.

"I didn't sneak," I growled, baring my teeth. "I did not sneak into your godforsaken room." My voice was

low, full of barely leashed anger.

It was like he actually wanted me to kill him with all the nonsense he was spouting.

What reason on God's green earth would I have for 'sneaking' into his room? I didn't know him. I wasn't

even a fan of boxing and if not for Olly, I never would've stepped foot in that cursed place.

"I accidentally found it. Accidentally!" I hissed, folding my arms across my torso tightly to restrain the

irrational but understandable urge to wring his neck. "And I left all of ten seconds later. I strongly

suggest you follow my precedent."

My words visibly threw him for some reason.

"Do you not know who I am?" he inquired in a tone that made it clear this little nugget was mind

boggling to him.

"And who exactly do you think you are?" My eyes narrowed to slits, viciousness oozing from my pores.

A casual observer would've thought I was the criminal between the two of us in that moment.

"Black Stripe," he answered, eyeing me warily.

"Is that supposed to mean something to me? Black stripe? Is that your name?" I asked, thrown off by

the two words that seemingly had no relation to the subject of discussion. I found myself seriously

considering whether or not he truly lacked working brain cells. "Great. You couldn't get any more

cliched if you tried," I added under my breath.

I was now ninety percent sure he barely managed to graduate high school. Black Stripe? Really? Who

gives themselves such a stupid name?

"So you don't know?" he clarified, astonished.

"I don't know what a black stripe has to do with anything here," I answered, carefully eyeing him for any

signs of a psychotic break. Especially since he didn't outright admit to it being his name or what

relevance it had to the conversation.

The last thing I needed was for him to be crazy on top of everything. Not to be dramatic but I'd end up

screaming out of frustration.

"I have a better question for you. Why the hell did you come here and how the fuck did you find me?" I

tried not to wince. Cursing wasn't something I was used to but the situation, the whole day in fact,

called for it.

Polite words couldn't properly encompass how horrendous the day had been.

"You know who I am. My real identity. I couldn't just let you leave," he replied, sounding more unsure of

his ridiculous statement with each passing moment.

He ought to be. I knew who he was? Who exactly did he think he was, besides a boy who'd clearly

watched one too many bad TV shows. I mean, Black Stripe? Really?

I couldn't care less who he was. I met him at an illegal fighting arena, that was more than enough for

me to never want to speak of it or see him again and yet, here he was trying to make sure I didn't. Like

I needed the reminder. Who exactly was I going to tell? My mom, who'd kill me? Or my dad, the sheriff

who'd be obligated to throw me in jail or have me give him directions to the arena so he could organize

a bust, after skinning me alive first, of course. I wasn't about to paint a target like that on my back.

Unlike Masked Idiot, I wasn't stupid.

"Look around, stupid!" I sniped, gesturing to my study table filled with collegiate level textbooks and

SAT prep material, my shelf of novels and academic trophies, the absolute lack of posters or any such

frivolities in the room.

Before he laid on it, my bed had been made, the edges crisply tucked in. My floor was spotless, the

polished wood practically gleaming. There was no doll in sight, no boyband posters, no paraphernalia

of any kind. Heck, the height of colour the room featured was my brown study table and floor.

There was not a single thing out of place. The room was organized to the letter, even my pens were

lined up in straight evenly spaced rows on the study table.

"Now answer, do I honestly strike you as someone who gives a flying fuck about your little fighting

business?"

His eyes skimmed the room, understanding dawning.

Idiot.

"Just get out," I sighed wearily. I just wanted to crawl under my comforter and sleep. "Leave. I don't... I

need to rest. Just go."

It had been the longest of long days and I needed to rest. I needed it to be over. I needed him to not be

in my room, my house any longer.

He kept gaping at me like an actual confused fish and once again, I found myself doubting the

presence of an intellectually functioning brain in his skull.

"Go away. Shoo. Beat it. Scram. You have five seconds before I scream this place down." He may not

have responded to reason but I was willing to bet he'd respond to threats. He was a criminal after all,

that was a language he had to be well versed in. "My mother is a high powered attorney and my dad is

the sheriff. Choose wisely." I met his gaze squarely, radiating the impression that I wasn't bluffing.

I was so bluffing. No way in hell was I involving my mother in this. I wasn't so eager to be punished for

life. Fortunately, he didn't know that.

His eyes narrowed conveying displeasure.

"Three seconds," I vocalized.

With a grunt of frustration, he was off my bed and out the window. I didn't bother checking if he made

the jump. If he could sneak in then he'd better be able to sneak out on his own. If he died on the ground

by my window and my parents saw him come morning, I'd deny everything. Dead men tell no tales

after all.

Also, I'd resurrect him just to have the pleasure of killing the idiot myself.

Surprisingly, and also a testament to how unstable I was at the moment, I found that I was annoyed

that he left without fixing my bed.

With an irritated sigh, I went about that.

"So? You've taken care of it?" The tone was harsh but unsure.

"About that..." the masked boy hedged, looking everywhere but at the frowning man standing across

from him.

"What about it?" The voice hardened causing him to steel his spine and meet the man's icy gaze.

"I've sort of taken care of it." The boy squirmed, wondering just how his life had gotten to this. He was

privileged kid from the right side of life for heaven's sake. If only he hadn't been so stupid to poke his

nose where it didn't belong, he wouldn't currently be entangled with what was probably the biggest

crime syndicate in the state.

He stifled a sigh.

No sign of crack show in the man's appearance. Rather, it hardened further with every word that left the

boy's mouth. "Sort of?" The man arched an eyebrow. His tone was velvety soft and full of unspoken

threats.

The boy flinched. "Its complicated."

"I'm not asking for your relationship status. The hell do you mean 'it's complicated'?"

The boy graciously took the jab, inclining his head as his lips turned down at the corners. "What exactly

was I supposed to do? In case you're unaware, I don't have mind wiping capabilities."

"In the first place, you were not supposed to get caught!" the man bellowed.

"Yeah?" The boy smiled acidly as he carelessly sat down, throwing caution to the wind as he practically

goaded the man. "And whose fault is it that I was? Who left their post to go and almost blow the

mission by exposing themselves and leaving me vulnerable?"

"It was a risk I had to take," came the gruff reply.

"And it was so rewarding." Sarcasm overflowed from his words.

"At least tell me you put the fear of God in her," the man asked, sounding resigned. He preferred to

work alone. Not only had the higher ups ignored that, he was forced to work with a kid. A teenager. A

pampered rich kid who was used to be waited on, hand in foot by an army of servants. The kid even

had a butler for heaven's sake.

"She doesn't know," the boy said. A tinge of confused disbelief could be heard in his voice.

"Know what?" the man all but snapped.

"Who I am."

"Right because seeing your face wasn't enough. You'd like to give her your name. How about your

address and entire dossier while you're at it." Even an obtuse man could not have missed the sarcasm.

The boy rolled his eyes. "Not that. She doesn't know about Black Stripe."

She had pretty much looked at him like he was insane when he indicated that she knew who he was.

To be honest, he got the feeling she wanted to clobber his head with a shoe or something much much

stronger.

He couldn't get a read on her. If she was what she seemed to be -a straight A, squeaky clean, Ivy

league bound kid- then what was she doing at the arena anyway? And why hadn't she called the cops

on him. He broke into her room. She was well within her rights to scream heaven down and call 911 but

instead she'd bargained with him like it was nothing. Like she had criminals breaking in every other day.

That was the part he couldn't quite get. It was the one puzzle piece that wasn't fitting in with the rest.

Her blasé attitude was that of someone used to dealing with criminals. Only two types of people where

used to dealing with criminals; cops and other criminals. And she definitely wasn't a cop.

The plan had been to surprise her and cover her mouth before she could scream but when he showed

up, she wasn't in her room. He got bored waiting and forgot he was meant to keep her from screaming.

It was a good thing she hadn't but more than that, it was the reason he didn't trust her. Not one bit. As

impressive as her reaction was, it just didn't fit with the preppy straight 'A' student persona. She even

counted down for him. She really was something.

He needed to keep an eye on her. There was more to her than she was letting on. He was sure of it.

"Yeah right." The man's voice was full of skepticism.

"I'm serious," the boy countered.

"Sure," the man drawled condescendingly. "A girl goes to an illegal fight club to watch matches but

somehow is oblivious of the most popular fighter? Yeah, that makes perfect sense." This belongs © NôvelDra/ma.Org.

"I'm not joking. She has no clue."

"Or she is lying."

"I'll obviously keep an eye on her for the mean time." The boy scowled.

"You had better. I'm not having two stupid teenagers ruin my mission."

"Spare me. It's your own fault I had to be dragged onto this. If you had covered your bases that

would've never happened. And it's your fault, again mind you, for leaving me unprotected while I

changed after a match."

"Zip it, Tiny Tim."

"You're only a little bigger than me," the boy countered. 'A very little.'

"Shut up anyways," the man sniped. "And you had better take care of this or you can start making

preparations to visit daddy dearest in prison."+

"Don't go there." His tone was far more vicious than a starving panther. A lesser man would've faltered

before it.

"Then make sure you take care of it," was all the man said, bringing their conversation to a close.