When Perfect Meets Crazy novel Chapter 11

I wasn’t surprised to not find him when I finished tutoring. Even I wouldn’t have waited ninety minutes, no matter the circumstance. Well, unless my mum explicitly asked me to.

My lips curved up in a small smile as I walked to my car. Looks like I win this round, Idiot.

I swung by a local diner to pick up Olly. She needed a ride home from her violin lesson. Apparently after practice, she decided to get a late lunch at a diner in the area and wanted me to drop her off at home. I would never understand what she had against calling her driver but I had long given up on trying to get her to see reason. She was only two years away from license anyways. And more importantly, in a few months I’d be away at Harvard where it wouldn’t be my problem.

“How was practice?” I inquired as she collapsed into the front seat.

“Do you think mum will let me drop it? Or at least switch to guitar?”

“Not even if your life depended on it.” I scoffed, shooting her a flat look. “Besides, there’s no guitar in an orchestra.”

“You know, it’s not so bad when I’m learning new pieces and prepping for a show but still, it’s so boring and uptight. Geez.” She huffed, roughly pulling the seat belt.

“Yeah, well, that’s the point. ‘Boring and uptight’ gives her bragging rights,” I explained, backing unto the road. “‘Boring and uptight’ in this case translates into ‘respectable and cultured’.”

Being the mummy’s pet that she was, Olly got off easy. I was forced to master the piano and the cello when I was her age. There was talk of getting me on a harp but thankfully, it didn’t work out. School got busy, I ‘graduated’ music lessons and the idea was dropped but of course, my entitled little sister would complain about her one instrument.

“Sheesh.” She rolled her eyes. “None of my friends do this stuff. It’s so lame.”

“You’re fourteen. She’ll let you drop it soon enough. Just pick a really tough piece, perform it, then tell her you’ve mastered the violin,” I suggested.

“Really? It’ll work?” Excitement blossomed on her face. I could practically hear her mentally planning a million and one hangouts with the new found free time.

“It’s what I did but don’t get your hopes up because as soon as you drop that, she’ll get on you to start working on your college portfolio.”

Her smile collapsed.

“You’ll be swamped with more after-school jobs than a single mum with only a high school diploma.”

She flashed me a frustrated look and leaned back in her seat. “Ugh.”

• • •

Dinner had been cooked, eaten and the plates were now being cleared. Olly, true to form, was already upstairs pretending to have gone to bed to get out of having to do any extra house chore. Our mom wasn’t home yet but that wasn’t out of the norm for us even though it was going on ten p.m. Unfortunately, our dad was. I smelled him before I saw him. I had my earphones in so I didn’t hear him arrive while I was taking care of the plates but he quickly took care of that by greeting me with an unexpected resounding slap on my back. A very painful one. Shockwaves reverberated through me, sending the plate I had been washing into sink, soap suds splashing all over my clothes. Even as tiny beads of tears sprang to my eyes, I sent up a quick prayer of thanks that the plate didn’t break. Clearly, my dad was in one of his moods. I didn’t need my mum against me too for unexplainably breaking one of her fancy dinner plates.

I haphazardly wiped my hands on my clothes and hurriedly pulled out my earphones, stashing them in my pocket.

I turned to face him.

“Welcome home.” Despite my effort, my voice wobbled, betraying my terror.

Warning lights were already flashing in my head. I could smell enough alcohol on him to know it wasn’t going to be a pleasant encounter. The knowledge didn't help matters. My heart was racing in my ribcage.

Before I could blink, his palm came crashing down, getting me on the lower half of my face, between my jaw and neck. It hurt. A lot. Tears filled my eyes as I waited for the wave of pain to subside, wondering in a distant part of my mind if it was going to leave a bruise.

“Are you deaf!” he thundered, neck veins bulging.

It wouldn’t, I decided. It was bad but my skin had seen worse. There would be no bruise from this. Besides, drunk or not, he knew better than to leave visible evidence that would be hard to hide.

“I’m sorry.” My voice was scratchy and shaky with fear and unshed tears. “I had my earphones in.”

The explanation only made him angrier. His nostrils flared, eyes flashing red as the smell of alcohol invaded my nostrils. It was suddenly all I could smell.

I shivered.

“So if somebody broke in, that would be it? Your excuse. ‘I had my earphones in’?”

The way he sneered the words had me shrinking, trying to make myself smaller, less noticeable. A distant part of my mind informed me that things weren’t looking good.

I gulped, managing to shield my face in time as his hand came crashing down again. And again. And again. And again. Until I lost count. When he was finally satisfied I had learned my lesson, he staggered upstairs.

I sank to the floor, pressing my hands hard against my mouth to muffle my sobs. Shut up, Avy. Shut up. You know how he feels about dramatics. Or worse, Olly will hear. Shut the fuck up. I drew in a shaky breath, pressed my hands harder against my mouth and focused as hard as I could on the feeling of the cold marble against my back to distract myself. Anything to stay quiet.

• • •

I could pinpoint the exact moment he figured out something was wrong. He had scaled in through the window I hadn’t gotten around to closing. Too busy crying my eyes out and whatnot. He dusted himself off and straightened to his full height.

“I looked into who stays in that house and just so you know, I don’t believe they are entirely harmless. It’s the seemingly harmless ones you should be cautious of,” he said conversationally.

I huddled tighter in the corner between my bed and wall, trying to make myself smaller as I tried -and failed- to stop the tears. It wasn’t such a bad episode and I wasn’t usually such a cry-baby about it but today, I couldn’t seem to stop. The tears waned enough for me to finish doing the dishes and crawl to my room but after getting here, with nothing else to do but mentally replay the episode and berate myself, the water works started anew. Damn it, Avy. Stop fucking crying and pull yourself together. Someone’s here.

It was exactly at this moment Masked Idiot realized something was wrong. For the first time since he crept in, he really looked me, taking in the matching tear tracks, the wobbly smile that just wouldn’t hold and the puffy red eyes.

He froze mid-step.

I drew up a mental image of what he was seeing. Me, curled up in a corner with my arms around my legs, trying to make myself as small as possible. It was the clichéd girl-crying-in-a-corner image. Fuck. Shit. A part of me couldn’t believe I kept my secret this long, only for him to accidentally walk in on it. Even Olly had never seen me cry before. It was the second secret I was supposed to take to my grave. I was such a failure these days.

A stolen glance confirmed my thoughts that he was, in fact, sporting a flabbergasted look.

“Are you...” He trailed off, cleared his throat and tried again. “Are you crying?”

No, Einstein. My tear ducts are simply leaking because they feel like.

“Go away,” I replied, hating myself for the way my voice came out taut, high pitched and -as if that wasn’t already bad enough- broke on ‘away’. Really, Avy? Really? You couldn’t manage to pull it together for five seconds?

I sighed, my eyelids momentarily drifting shut in shame. How pathetic can you get? And for what? Sympathy?  From a stranger? A criminal at that? I was the definition of pathetic.

“You’re crying,” he repeated.

His voice had a faraway quality that made it clear he didn’t quite believe what was happening right before his eyes. You’re a regular Einstein, aren’t you?

My subconscious was not sparing either of us. I had long since come to accept it as one of my defense mechanisms. By subconsciously being unsavoury to myself whenever I cried, I increased the unpleasantness of the whole scenario thereby reducing my inclination to indulge in it. That was the theory I was going with anyway. It was that or accept that I was fundamentally damaged.

“Just go away, Asshat.” I infused as much venom as I could find -and it was a lot- into those four words.

“Hey,” he bared his teeth, “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m perfectly fine. Now get out.”

Instead, he crossed the distance between us, coming to a stop in front of me.

“Are you deaf? I said, go away.”

The instant I heard myself, I regretted it. The agitation in my voice was plain as day. It would have taken a miracle for him not to figure out that my true purpose of driving him away was so I could cry in solitude and miracles weren’t exactly lining up at my door these days. What is wrong with me today?

“Look, I just...” he said tentatively, crouching to my level. He stretched out a hand to me cautiously, like I was a spooked animal.

“Go! Just get out! Are you deaf on top of everything else?” I burst out. “Or just too stupid to understand the words?”

I might have pulled it off if two more tear drops hadn’t chosen that inopportune moment to slide down my cheek. Arrghh!

“Listen here, you little brat.” He hissed, his lips peeling back in a snarl. “I don’t want to be here any more than you want me to be.”

“Then go,” I managed through a sniffle. I really didn’t want to considering it was a pivotal moment and I knew the effect it would have but it was either sniffle or let snort run down my face. I couldn’t hold it off any longer.

“I can’t.” His tone made it clear he really wanted to though. “I don’t like you as much as you don’t like me but you’re crying and unfortunately I have sisters. I can’t just leave you.” He rolled his eyes heavenward. “Ugh, this sucks.”

My eyes drifted shut, a wave of embarrassment and self-loathing washing over me.

“Please.” I tried one last time. “Just go. Please.”

“Why?” His tone made it clear he didn’t get why it was so important to me. “You clearly need someone right now.”

“Because!” I cried out, losing what was left of my cool momentarily.

“Because,” I tried again, drawing in a deep breath. “Because I shouldn’t... No, because I can’t be crying in front of you.”

He paused, thinking it over while chewing on his lower lip. I kept my gaze trained on that and gave breathing exercises another try. Maybe if I tried hard enough, it would work.

“Fine.” He nodded slowly, finally coming to a decision.

I let out the tiniest sigh of relief. At least I’d get to save some of my dignity.

“Just tell me who to call and I’ll leave when they get here.”

My brain blanked out.

“What?” I shook my head violently, wondering if I had heard him wrong. The last thing I needed was for another person to see me like this. “What? No... no. You don’t understand. Nobody can see me cry. Can see me... like this.” I gestured to my pitiful self.

“Why not? What’s so wrong with crying? I mean, it’s vulnerable and blah, blah, blah but everybody does it. So calm down, the world won’t end because someone saw you cry.”

“It might,” I whispered, my insides deflating with despair. “You don’t get it.”

“Then, help me get it. Everybody cries.” His tone was curt and irritated. “Take off your prom queen crown for a second and stop being so full of yourself. Prom queen or not, you're a human being too.”

“I wish that was it.” I sighed, burying my face in my hands and pulling at the strands of hair that slid in between my fingers.

You’re really laying the piteous victim role on thick, aren’t you, Avy? If only you were half as good at doing what you should do, you wouldn’t be this mess, my subconscious chided.

“You’re not making sense,” he declared.

I raised my head, dragging my gaze to his face. He had on a confused frown and was waiting for an explanation. He did not understand it at all.

I heaved a sigh.

“Because it’s...” I swallowed, the words getting stuck in my throat.

“It’s...” I tried again, my eyes rapidly feeling up.

God, I hate emotions.

“Because it’s weak,” I managed, rushing over the words out in a rush.

“And what’s so wrong with being weak now and then? The other ninety nine percent of the time you’re... a smart, scary... badass chick.”

I could tell from his frown he wasn’t just saying it to make me feel better. He really didn’t understand my logic. He wasn’t seeing the problem.

“I mean, the first time I broke into your room, you didn’t shout for help. You just stood there, issued an ultimatum and counted down. Like a boss.”

He was missing the point. If I was weak, then I wasn’t that 'smart scary badass chick’. If I was weak, I was a weakling. End of story.

“Weak is... wrong. Imperfect. My parents won’t... It’s not right. I shouldn’t be weak,” I expounded.

My parents wouldn’t approve. It wouldn’t fit their perfect daughter image.

“Perfection is in the imperfections.”

“Not for me.” I shook my head, wiping my tears away. “For me, it’s... it’s complicated.”

“Simplify it.”

Annoyed, I raised my gazer to ceiling. Did he really think it was that easy to explain? To put into words?

“When I say perfect, I mean perfect.” I gritted. “Perfect perfect. Suburban perfect. Trophy daughter perfect. Perfect on paper kind of perfect.”

He tilted his head to the side, reached out slowly and lightly placed his hand on my shoulder, giving me a gentle squeeze. My face scrunched up in confused irritation, and I shrugged off his hand.

“Avyanna, you’re perfect on paper.” He held my gaze, the brown of his eyes glittering thanks to the sheen of tears in mine. “You can’t not know that.”

“What was that?” I scrunched up my nose in distaste, ruining whatever heartfelt effect he was going for. “Don’t do that. Ever again. Don’t call my full name.”

He rolled his eyes exasperatedly and retracted his hand.

All that explaining and he still didn’t get it. He really was slow. Did he not, at least, watch movies? There were tons of movies with girls like me in them. We weren’t the main characters but we were usually significant to the plot. The girls who weren’t waiting to be saved. The ones who knew that was a fantasy and that we would have to live with our demons. The ones with cameo appearances that the audience sometimes fell in love with. The ones who accepted losses but strove for wins and were always brutally honest whenever they weren’t obligated to pretend otherwise. Did I really need to dumb it down further for him?

“What I’m trying to say is that right now, I’m not perfect. I’m crying. I’m a blubbering mess and you’re here to see it. If I have a problem, I’m supposed to do so quietly. Discreetly. By myself. Understood?” It came out more aggressively than I had intended but in my defense, the concept wasn’t so hard to understand that I needed to repeatedly explain it.

He pursed his lips, wearing a contemplative frown.

“Well,” he began, “if it’s any comfort, you cry prettier than most people.”

He shrugged helplessly, signifying that he still didn't get it and was only trying to shut me up.

Jesus Christ! Was it that hard to understand? I drew in a deep breath to calm myself and turned my face away, mentally telling myself to just let it go. The sight of him was beginning to get on my nerves. It was exasperating.

“It doesn’t matter. Just know that nobody is ever supposed to see me less than perfect. Forget the rest. You clearly can’t get it.” I huffed.

“Why can’t people see you less than perfect?”

My gaze cut to him, eyes flashing with irritation. I had the pleasure of watching him realize I was being serious. Seething silently, I wondered what exactly had given him the impression I wasn’t serious in the first place.

“Like ever?” He sounded downright shocked. Like it was such a farfetched idea. It wasn’t. What world was he even living in?

“It’s not...” I began to answer, only to stop when I realized he probably wouldn’t understand that either. There was no point. “It’s what I was taught. It’s who I am,” I summed, giving up on the explanation.

I broke our gaze and rose to my feet, moving away before he could plague me with any more questions. It wasn’t until I got to my dresser I realized what had happened. What he had done. How –as much as it hurt my pride to admit it- he had tricked me. Distracted me so I no longer felt like bawling my eyes out. Shit. Masked Idiot had actually managed to pull one over me with his confused act and annoying questions. Never thought I'd see the day that would happen.

With the realization, came common sense and a reality check. Fuck. What had I done? What had I said? Shit. Shit. Fucking shit!

“Is there any way you can delete the last fifteen minutes from your memory?” Desperation coloured my tone. I was miles past thirsty.

He shook his head slowly, a satisfied smile creeping onto his face as he sat on my bed.

“I’m willing to settle for you never mentioning it again?” I ventured, unconsciously clasping my hands in the universal prayer sign.

My desperation must have gotten to him because his features softened. He rose and crossed over to me.

He raised a hand, covered my clasped hands and gently forced them down.

“How about we keep it between us? What’s one more secret, yeah?”

Translation: he would bring it up but only to me. Repeatedly.

I could handle that. I deserved that. That was what I got for being vulnerable in front of him in the first place, for doing something so unacceptable. Thanks to that, he had one more thing on me.

“Between us. Promise.” I pressed.

“I promise.” He held out his pinkie.

I noted with mild irritation that he was still staring at me like I was a spooked animal.

“Not another soul hears about this,” I reiterated.

“Whatever the damsel in distress wants.”