To Hell With It

 

Tablo reader up chevron

Chapter Three: The British Are Coming

I go to bed almost straight after school, completely worn out. Mom tries to talk to me but I smile as much as I can and say everything went okay. She makes me something quick to eat and I tell her I’m tired and go to bed, and she surprisingly lets me go. She seems tired herself, so I tell her to go to sleep too.

 

Of course, I don’t actually manage to sleep. I lie in bed for two hours, tossing and turning, getting more and more frustrated whenever sleep failed to come. Fuck sleep. I get up and walk around the room for a bit, then get bored and leave. I run downstairs, feeling like a ninja in the darkness and hardly any clothes. Watch out cat burglars, Mira’s awake.

 

I pour myself a glass of water in the kitchen and then go back upstairs, a little slower this time. Instead of going back to bed, though, I decide to turn around and sit down at my desk. I sit there for a while and pick up a pencil, grabbing my sketchbook that’s been untouched for months.

 

I flip it open and start doodling, not really sure what I’m doing. My hand slides over the paper, and I feel I could do this with my eyes closed. I know I have inspiration and I just have to use it. Besides, it might get me tired and I’ll fall asleep afterwards.

 

I outline something similar to the Stonehenge, and shade it in. It covers a lot of the paper, and I love it, surprisingly. I usually hate everything I draw, but it isn’t half bad. So obviously I ruin it and draw stick men having sex and jumping off the tops, as the eleven-year-old comic genius I truly am. That actually takes an hour, which is quick for me, really, and I yawn. Ugh. Normally I’d have given up by now, especially at this time, but my hand is just twitching.

 

The first thing I think of is Marty. I refuse to draw him, because I may be creepy sometimes, but I am just not that bad. So I think about his glasses and do them instead. Then I draw rainbows and smiley faces on the glass part and grin. He should wear some like this. I shade it in and draw squiggles around it and the Stonehenge-thing out of sheer boredom. Another hour gone by.

 

Next is… the Magic School Bus apparently. How many times did I even watch that damn show? But I give it devil horns and colour it in with black and green crayons, giving it cross eyes instead of headlights. Perfect.

 

Wow, I must be sleepier than I thought.

 

I look over at the clock by my bedside table and it’s like ten past eleven. I go back to bed, and do some more tossing and turning, tossing and turning for ages. I keep checking the clock as much as I can, out of boredom more than anything, and then finally, I’m asleep.

 

***

 

I wake with a start and check the time. It's only been like two hours. Four o'clock in the morning. Lovely. Not to mention typical.

It's silent but for the low hum of the television in the corner, bedroom light blinding to my tired eyes and I sit up, blinking a load and rubbing my eyes.

The wind and rain is head-achingly loud as it bangs against my window aggressively. Ugh. It almost seems like it's getting louder just to spite me, and I see a flash and hear thunder. Keep it comin', that's great. It feels like everything's getting lighter, but that's probably due to how tired I actually am.

When did I turn the lights on? The T.V?

My window bursts open, curtains flapping wildly and rain pouring in. Christ.

It's freaking. Cold. And loud. And bright.

I don't even know if it's natural or what. Should I get Mom or something? Then again, what would I say? "'sup, mom, my window's open, and my T.V and lights are on." The rain probably screwed up the electrics.

 

I get out of bed and grab my long, tan coat. Geez, I'll need to set myself on fire to get warmer. I walk over to the window and try to tug it closed, but it won't budge, completely frozen. By this time, I'm already drenched and feel like a freaking ice statue, and the weather is really not letting up either. Perfect.

There's this stupidly strong gust of wind, and I'm thrown backwards, the light getting brighter and brighter and everything's louder and louder. My head feels about to burst and then... it's over.

Just like that.

It's just light and warmth. The window especially has this amazing light streaming in, but I look at the time and it's barely been fifteen minutes. The sun can't be up at this time, there’s no freaking way.

I start to make out this vague figure outside the window - just a silhouette of a girl, and I'm just sat on the floor, helplessly wondering what the heck is going on exactly. She’s coming closer and closer, like some fucking Mufasa wannabe.

Then she's here. In the damn window.

This beautiful girl about my age with silky blonde hair and big blue eyes, wearing a simple white dress. And I am ninety percent sure she's floating. The light shining from behind her makes her look annoyingly angelic. Wait. What. No. Ugh.

"Miranda Wilson," she says in an innocent, ditzy kind of voice. She has one of those posh-sounding English accents, and even though she's all hovering and knowing my name, she has this faraway look in her eyes, like her mind and spirit are someplace else... or she's really, really dumb.

“Are you breaking into my house?” I whisper, staring. It’s a weird friggin’ break-in, if that’s what it is.

She smiles and shakes her head.

“Are you sure?”

 

She nods, still smiling serenely like one of those freakishly peppy kindergarten teachers.

“Are you gonna like eat me or something? Is that what you do? Set up lights and stuff, get your team of crazies to pour water and be all Bill Odie with cardboard? What, you like pretending to be some sorta-”

“I’m an angel,” she interrupts, smile gone. Now she’s staring at me with concern.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m saying. I dunno, man. You’d best be more Buffalo Jim and go after fat or rich people - I’m just lettin’ you know - I’m no use. At all.”

There’s a pause which she breaks with a highly confused “What?”

“Buffalo Jim? Bill? Uh... I dunno, I don’t remember the name. Put the lotion in the basket?”

“Put... what... what do you want me to do?”

There’s another awkward silence. She stares at me oddly.

“...This isn’t how it’s supposed to go,” she mutters to herself, closing her eyes. This is a damn weird serial killer.

“I am an angel. I bring glad tidings and - no. I... I am an angel. And. Um. Okay... so...”

I stare at her blankly, still pushed up against the wall and I look for the strings she must be attached to.

“I don’t see any wings or haloes, honey.”

“That’s just a - look, that’s not the point!” she snaps, exasperated. “Your sister. You must save her.”

I scramble to my feet, angry. How dare she! What the fuck is this?

“Who the hell are you? Who sent you? This isn’t funny. I don’t need this!”

My voice is breaking, but I don’t care. What kind of a sick person would do this to someone?

“Her soul was supposed to go to Heaven, but something happened. She’s in Hell and you must retrieve her.”

“I swear, if you don’t leave right now...” I trailed off my empty threat, shaking, tears in my eyes. I could murder her. Some people are so messed up.

“I have been advised to perform small miracles to help you understand and believe me. I know this must be hard.”

 

“Know? You don’t know anything!” I yell. Where the heck is Mom? If the buzz of my alarm wakes her up, how is she sleeping through the freaking weather earlier and my yelling now?

“What, you’re gonna do your little magic trick and think everything’s gonna be okay? How dare you!”

No matter how annoyed I am, it just seems to confuse her even more and she holds up her hand.

“Don’t tell me to be quiet, you little-” but at that second, all the glass in my room shattered. And let me tell you, you never realise how much glass is in your room ‘til it’s all over the floor.

The windows, lightbulbs, my freakin’ TV screen, empty glasses, the mirror... why.

“You see? I apologise for causing you pain. I assure you that was not my intent.

“How the heck was that a miracle.”

More importantly, how the heck did that happen? Explosives? She broke into my room earlier? That couldn’t be right, the glass of water I’d just got a few hours ago had shattered too. Still, I don’t want to touch that issue with a ten foot pole. Not right now, anyway.

But at that moment, the bright light outside went. Vanished. Switched off. It was dark again. The “angel”’s eyes widened, and she fell, face first onto my carpet.

“What.”

Looks like she’s passed out.

Ugh. I’m going back to sleep.

 

* * *

When I wake up, it’s light out and I’m warm. Really, cozy warm. Which is weird, because I see glass on the floor on my bed, meaning the whole thing wasn’t a dream. Meaning the windows were smashed in.

There’s this pressure by my back and I try to wriggle out of bed, but apparently there’s an arm around my waist in a vice-like grip.

What?!

Crap. Crap. Crap. I start breathing deeply, seriously resisting the urge to scream the house down.

“Can’t we stay here?” a female voice mutters by my ear. Um.

“Can’t you get the hell off me?” I hiss in return. What the heck is going on.

The “angel”.

Really?

Oh, God, I hope she didn’t bad-touch me in my sleep.

She sighs and lets go, and I jump out of her way - falling off my bed and hitting my head painfully in the process.

Of course that’s the moment Mom runs in.

“Honey, are you okay? I heard the -” she stops, looking at the two of us. “Oh. Um. Sorry,” she mutters, backing out quickly before I can say anything.

I blink sleepily and look around. Oh. Okay. Now I see what she saw.

When I fell off the bed, I dragged some of the duvet with me. My hair is probably as wild as it usually is in the mornings, and I’m just wearing the same oversized t-shirt I sometimes wear to bed - which is slipped off one shoulder - and underwear.

Then there’s her.

Her hair’s a little messed up, and her cheeks rosy. She’s also wearing even less clothing than I am. Namely my coat. She’s just wearing my coat. In my bed.

I look away quickly to stare around the rest of the room. I wonder if mom saw the glass, or if she was too focussed on the implications of lesbian sex.

“What’s your name?” I sigh, rubbing my forehead.

“Jophiel. It’s nice to-”

I hold up a hand to shut her up.

“Why are you naked and in my bed,” I whisper. So done with this shit. So done.

“I’m wearing your coat.”

I sigh and stand up, still avoiding looking at her. She must have been pressed up against me all night. I feel my cheeks tingle with a blush.

“Just get dressed and come downstairs,” I mutter, grabbing the nearest clothes (again) and heading to the bathroom to get changed. As much as I would adore throwing her out of the window, Mom’s seen her now.

 

* * *

A family breakfast is always fun.

“So, when did you get here, sweetheart?” Mom asks, and I really wish she was working early today.

“Last night. You were asleep, and uh... she couldn’t get home, so I let her crash here.”

“You shouldn’t lie,” Jophiel says, blinking at me. I glare at her.

“Okay, your parents argued. I didn’t think you wanted my Mom to know,” I say quickly.

“My parents-”

“Want some more food, Jo?” I ask through gritted teeth. Why can’t she be a cool angel? She didn’t even get dressed properly like I told her to. I expected her to borrow some of my clothes, we seem about the same size, but no. She got her frickin’ thin silk dress that looks like it belongs in a porno outside of Heaven, and my coat she slept in.

“Oh, is that your name?” Mom smiles, and my angel-senses are tingling, so I decide to just talk for her.

“Jo Elle, yeah.”

“That’s a pretty name.”

I make a noise which hopefully passes off as agreement around a mouthful of cornflakes. This could not get more awkward.

“So, are you two together?”

I choke on my cereal. Now it’s more awkward.

“No, mom, we just-”

We just met yesterday after she smashed all the glass in my room and passed out at four o’clock in the morning? This is just a big pile of nope, no thank you, I’d rather not.

I grab Jophiel’s plate and my bowl and take them to the sink, dumping them in.

“Thanks, mom,” I mutter, walking out of the kitchen and urging Jo to do the same. I’m walking upstairs to my room when I hear her rush up after me.

“We have to talk,” I say.

“About your feelings?” she asks from behind me, and I start.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I snap, yanking the door to my room open. It collides with the wall sharply and it feels like the cold is attacking me.

So, mom’s trying to get strangers to be my therapists now? I guess she thinks we’re dating. Still. I realise I never really corrected her properly. Great.

I stare at the glass shards around my room like everything is entirely their fault.

“Your mother said you have trouble expressing yourself, especially when it comes to romance,” she stares at me, confused.

“I... what?”

“She said you may try to talk with me, and I mustn’t be offended.”

What.

“Oh my God,” I sigh and she flinches. Oh yeah. Angel. Christianity. Blasphemy. Oops?

“No... dude, no... my mom thinks we’re dating.” She still looks completely lost. “Together. She thinks we’re in an... amorous relationship?”

That’s a word, right? Sounds French. Wonder if she speaks French.

She smiles, and it’s different from when she first smiled. It seems genuine, and lights up her features. She actually looks better without all the glowy crap.

Then she’s laughing, and I never got it when people wrote about ‘tinkly laughs’, but she had one. All light and happy. Angelic.

“What?” I ask between a smile of my own, the same kind of smile I gave Marty the other day. It’s not my fault people have stupid, dorky faces that amuse me.

“Oh, that is amusing!” she laughed, smiling, looking all human instead of annoyingly ethereal like last night.

“How come?” I ask, a little confused, but heck, her laugh was infectious. I hadn’t laughed in what felt like years. It was only a small giggle, but I’ll take it.

“As if I could ever fall in love with one of you!” she laughed, harder now, and my smile slipped.

“What?” I ask quietly, shocked. It’s not as if we were in madly in love, but no matter who says that to you, it’s not a nice thing to hear. There’s a pain in my chest and my breathing is shallower, and I feel like a complete fool. I’m glad she finds me so hilariously repellent.

“Oh, I just meant that-”

“Fuck you,” I mutter, tears pricking behind my eyes, and everything all rushes back. Clearly, I’m not as cried-out as I thought. “You come here at four o’clock in the fucking morning, smash all the damn glass in my room, and then? Then you have the gall to even mention my sister! She hasn’t been dead two weeks, and already I have some nutjobs telling me that my sister - my sister - is in Hell. Hell! Who the fuck does things like that? She was thirteen-years-old!”

She’s not laughing anymore either, in fact her eyes are wide and she’s blinking a lot, as if she’s about to cry but isn’t used to the feeling. But I can’t care, and I can’t stop yelling.

“I have to retrieve her, that’s what you said right?! What the fuck did you mean? Are you high? Is my dad there too, huh? Having tea and scones with the Devil?”

I hadn’t noticed until that second, but I’m completely sobbing. I’ve just lost it. There are tears pouring down my face, and I’m shaking all over, like I want to punch her. How dare she! I want to blame her for their deaths, even, but no matter how angry and upset I am, I know that’s not true.

Then she takes two quick steps forward and pulls me into a tight hug, and I stop crying out of shock. I still want to hit her, but I haven’t really been hugged since before the funeral. They annoy me, I push them away, but this is… different.

I relax and cry into the stupid fucking angel’s shoulder.

 
Comment Log in or Join Tablo to comment on this chapter...
~

You might like 's other books...