Will You Into My Will (chapter 26)

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desktop nexus

‘Stop it already!!’ i throw a light punch on Brandon’s shoulders, catching him draw a yawning  emoji about me, that read, ‘my superpower is getting bored. Nothing interests  me. Nothing! Literally! Call me Miss Sleepyhead’

‘Ok Ok. Don’t hit me. You hit like a man!’ he retreats, rubbing his shoulders.  ‘Remind me to put an emoji down later of how you look right now. Trust me it isn’t a pretty sight.’ He makes a face at me  and cracks into another laughter again.

‘Come on. Can’t you ever get serious with me Brandon?’. I look at him irritated. There are times in my life, when i don’t want to laugh at all. Doesn’t he get it?

‘What are you talking about? I am always serious with you.’   He replies.

‘No you are not..’

‘I am’.

‘Are not. Tell me one thing you have given a serious thought about us or done something, in fact anything that actually proves to me, that you were ever serious’.

‘Is that so?’ he asks raising his brows,  looking directly into my eyes. His eyes then surveying my lips, down my neck..

‘Oops’ i gulp my throat. ‘Yes…’ i stammer. Something about the look he just gave me..

‘I can’t do things to tell you how serious i am’ he replies,  removing his eyes slowly away from me. ‘But yeah, if you want me to be serious with you, you got to start speaking as well. And when i say start speaking, i mean the truth and nothing else beside that. Do you understand?’.

‘Yes’ i nod to him obediently, surprised at the change of his expression and his tone with me.

‘So, tell me what is your favorite silver necklace doing at your dustbin. Next to these crumpled pieces of papers?’ He pulls out a ball of papers that i had just discarded before and stretches it neatly on top of my books over my desk. I look at it. A match stick guy was stabbed, electrified and dug alive into a grave in those rough drawings.

‘First tell me, what were you doing at my bin?’ i question him, equally cautious like he was with me, ignoring his question.

Why? Because this was important. We had only been dating for about two months now and  if he had already started searching through my stuffs  and skimming through  my garbage…only  God knows how messed up his mind is.

He looks at me puzzled. And I lock my eyes to his confused face too, squinting them, trying to focus my head on what could he be thinking this time.

‘Carem this is sick.’ he replies after a while.

‘Look, don’t tell me this is not your handwriting.  Twisted E and  funny A’s.’ he tells me pointing at my ‘e’ and ‘a’ on the words.  ‘For God sake, why would you come up with a plan of  how to kill a man or torture him  in such details. And you have even written it step by step on papers. Do you see how sick it makes you look to me? Who is this match stick guy any way? Is he me? Are you planning to kill me? or have you already killed someone else?Be honest..Please Carem, I want to help you!’

‘What..?Wait wait. Wait right there Mister! ‘ i stop him  baffled.

‘You concluded all that, with these three crumpled pieces of sketches? So what, if i electrified or stabbed a match stick guy? You doodle about the man that wears undies outside his pant always! You even walk around like that,  on your fancy dress costume parties. Do I complain? Do you hear me complaining? Nope. I don’t call you crazy. Or should i? Now that i know you like scavenging on my garbage ‘. 

‘That’s Superman! And you like him too.’ he replies in a very low pitch voice, hurt by my razor sharp tongue, that has a mind of its own when it starts snapping.

Well i know, i am at fault here. But even if he was my boyfriend he doesn’t have  a right to  call me crazy now, has he? People have strange ways of ventilating their anger. Some hit themselves, some hit others, some go and smash things, some travel miles away to just to scream and some…they  imagine that they did horrible things to the person who got them pissed at first place. I guess i am among those. I can’t mentally kill people. I don’t have that high definition imagination to enjoy the scene like they are blessed with. So.. i write. Jot my anger down on paper.Many times with  illustrations and yes, they seem a little creepy, may be too creepy now and then. But as long as it helps me, why not.. Who asked Brandon to dig in my dustbin? He was looking for trouble, for all i know…

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