Bury Me(38)

There’s a knock at the door, and I race over to it and quickly throw it open. My shoulders drop and I let out an annoyed sigh, leaning my shoulder against the doorjamb and crossing my arms over my chest.

“What are you doing here?”

Trudy stands in front of me with her long blonde hair curled up at the ends and a wide yellow headband keeping her bangs pulled back on top of her head. She’s wearing a short yellow dress with a full skirt and capped sleeves, like a perfect ray of sunshine. It’s so pathetic I want to throw up on her black and white saddle shoes. Maybe she’s really my parents’ long-lost daughter. She certainly dresses the part.

Trudy holds out a bright orange Pyrex dish with a daisy painted on the white lid and smiles brightly.

“We just heard about your mom. I’m so sorry, Ravenna. My mom made a tuna casserole for you and your father. You haven’t returned any of my calls lately so I thought we could hang out and talk.”

Keeping my arms crossed, I stare down at the dish in disgust. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

I push off the doorframe, stepping back inside to close the door in her face. Trudy moves fast, sticking her foot in front of the door to stop it from closing.

“Look, I know your mom died, but that’s no reason for you to be so nasty to me when I’m just trying to help,” she says, tucking the dish under one arm. “What’s happened to you lately, Ravenna? One minute you’re my friend, then you’re mean to me, then you’re normal, and now you’re back to acting weird.”

She pauses in the middle of her speech to look me up and down from head to toe. “Also, that outfit you’re wearing is trashy.”

Maybe the black high-waist shorts that barely cover my butt and dark blue crop tank top that shows off a strip of the pale skin of my stomach are a bit much when I’m just going to be wandering around a prison all day, but this is who I am and Miss Trudy Sunshine better watch her mouth.

“Have you even brushed your hair in a week?” she finishes haughtily.

“What’s your problem, Ravenna? You look awful. Have you even brushed your hair in a week?”

A slow smile spreads across my face as I stare at the simpering idiot standing in front of me. This might be one of the best parts of my plan. If I’m going to destroy it all, might as well start with the useless best friend.

“He doesn’t want you. You realize that, right? You’re just a sad, pathetic little girl who can’t handle it when someone else has something you want.”

Her attitude vanishes and she drops her hands from her hips.

“W-what are you talking about?” she nervously stutters.

I laugh right in her face. How in the world would someone ever want to be friends with a girl who is so clueless?

“I saw you from my bedroom window, Trudy. Just because a guy feels sorry for you and spends a few minutes talking to you, doesn’t mean he wants you to throw yourself at him.”

She rubs her hands together in front of her worriedly.

“You saw us together?” she whispers in shock.

“If by together you mean mauling the poor guy in a sad attempt at trying to kiss him while he stood there with his arms out to the side and a horrified look in his eyes, then yes. I saw you together. Thanks for giving me something to laugh about for a few hours,” I tell her with a chuckle.

“You are a horrible person, Ravenna Duskin,” she tells me as her eyes well up with tears. You’re just jealous because he likes me.”

I throw my head back and laugh again. I laugh so hard and for so long that my stomach starts to ache. When the laughter subsides, I take a step toward her and get right up in her face.

“You’re just like every other whore, trying to take what isn’t yours. No one is falling for that innocent act you put on, you snobby, lying bitch.”

Her eyes widen in fear and it sends a thrill through my body. I want to claw at her perfect face and her perfect skin until blood drips down onto her perfect pink dress and ruins it. I want to rip every strand of her perfect blonde hair out of her perfect ponytail until she runs away screaming in pain. My hands start to shake and butterflies flap with excitement in my stomach.

She moves away from me, but she isn’t fast enough. My arm slices through the air and my nails scratch down the side of her neck. She lets out a yelp of shock and pain, her hand flying up to press against the angry red marks I left behind.

“You just scratched my neck!” she cries, her lower lip quivering as she quickly backs farther and farther away from me.