EIGHT

★Kiara★

Something is seriously wrong with me. Ever since I saw that vulnerable side of Lucille I can't help thinking about her. Worry about her, I should specify. I find myself wanting to be nicer to her, to go easy on her. But I know she doesn't want that.

She's seemed fine since then—it's been an entire week since the day she had her presentation—but I still can't help it. For all I know, she could be suppressing her anxiety, or hiding it from me. I do that all the damn time.

Also we might actually be becoming friends? And it's natural for good friends to worry about one another. Though, I'm not sure how she feels about the idea of us being friends. Knowing her, she probably hates it.

But this past Saturday, I woke up to the terrible smell of hair dye. She was in the bathroom trying to dye her bangs. And then I heard a pained screech and a "GOD FUCKING DAMMIT". Like the decent human I am, I went to see what the hell happened, only to find she'd gotten a tiny blob of dye on the rest of her hair.

I laughed at her (as one does) and called her an idiot (as one does). She told me to go fuck myself, and before I could reply she was putting hot pink dye on the rest of her head.

I was in shock, really. I always thought her bangs being the only colored part was a little odd, but no judgment. And while a whole dyed head is more normal, I still believe she should have taken a moment to consider her options. Rather than murdering her natural blonde hair.

I actually helped her a bit with the back of her head. She said she'd slit my throat if I got dye all over the back of her neck. So I intentionally painted some on her neck.

Then she hit me with her gloved hand, getting some dye on my cheek. I was about to paint a whole streak across her face in return, but then I heard her laughing. It was the first time I actually heard her laugh. It was certainly a weird noise, but aren't all laughs?

I just rolled my eyes and finished the back like she told me to.

When she was cleaning up we were quick to notice all the dye in the bathroom sink. And how it stained. She was trying to scrub it very aggressively, dying of laughter all the while. I really noticed her smile then. Her white teeth, the dimples on her cheeks.

I was snapped out of my thoughts when she slapped me in the arm and told me to help. I looked up ways to wash it off. We tried some nail polish remover since we had that on hand. That actually made it worse.

We both needed to step away because for whatever reason we could not stop laughing. Maybe the dye and acetone had been poisoning us...

After, we tried baking soda and water, letting it sit while Lucille rinsed her hair in the shower.

That actually worked. Only now we needed to scrub some parts of the shower that she got more dye on. That was easier to clean, thankfully.

"Good job, Princess Bubblegum. You've successfully become a cliche college girl by impulsively dying your head." I had said.

And to my surprise, Lucille is not a total loser when it comes to her childhood shows. "Okay, well if I have to be Princess Bubblegum, you're now the Lord of Evil."

"Wait—why can't I be Marceline?" I complained.

"Because then we'd be dating. Also, you just have his face." And then she laughed again. I couldn't even be mad at her and I don't know why.

There was also another time, on Tuesday, when we were actually friendly with each other.

A spider had invaded the dorm. Me—being the brave badass I am—screamed and ran away. Lucille, naturally, laughed at me for being an arachnophobe. She killed the little fucker for me. It was very embarrassing.

She still gets very annoyed with me often, which is generally my fault, but it's happening less now. I can always be grateful for that. There's less yelling and her storming out of the house.

I've also been cooking us dinners occasionally. And breakfast. Tonight I am making fettuccine alfredo, which is simply fettuccine noodles and alfredo sauce from a jar.

We have a small, round dining table now too. Lucille bought it on Sunday because apparently she's like actually rich.

I make myself a serving, Lucille does too. She sits down across from me at the table, doing whatever on her phone. We eat in a comfortable silence like usual.

"No fucking way..." Lucille says abruptly, attention still drawn to her phone.

"What..?" I ask hesitantly. Curious, but not sure if it's any of my business.

"My sister's boyfriend just broke up with her because she's too depressed." She tells me, though smiling.

"Oh? How old is your sister?" I don't think she's mentioned any family before other than her dad. I don't usually ask people about their family lives because I never want to make anyone uncomfortable. I know that awkward silence after abruptly avoiding the question all too well.

"She's 13, so I really wasn't expecting it to last... But I still feel bad for her." Lucille explains, still presumably texting her sister.

"Hm. Also, you're doing the dishes tonight." I say, her head snapping up.

"We agreed that if you ate the food I bought, then you would do the dishes!"

"Yeah, but technically everything we ate tonight was food that I bought. And also I went out of my way and cooked for you. The least you can do is do the dishes once."

She huffs. "Fine."

I'm glad we worked through that with no full on argument or debate. It seems she is finally becoming accustomed to me. Or about to have a mental breakdown and just doesn't have the energy to argue. It's probably the former, and the latter seems unlikely, but you never know.

★★★

That night I've already finished my homework (thank god) so I'm working on my novel. It's about this teen boy who ran away from home and has been murdering people and also how it affects his twin brother who's still living at home. I've deleted so many drafts over the years, I just can't seem to get the story right. But this time things are looking hopeful.

Lucille is FaceTiming her sister at her desk. I'm sitting over on my bed, out of view. I can hear everything that is being said. And I am concerned.

"He used to make me pay for literally everything, and give him money when he needed it because I was the rich one and his dad is just a baker." Her sister says.

"Oh my god..." Lucille replies.

"And he would tell me not to wear hoodies because they made me look fat." I hear her sister say over the phone—and what the hell? These middle schoolers are crazy.

"He sounds like a dick." I say abruptly. Lucille turns in her chair.

"Who was that?" I hear her sister ask.

"Shut up." Lucille says to me, then drawing her attention back to her sister. "Just my roommate. She thinks she's all that, and that she's so special, but she really isn't."

Damn. That stung a little more than it should. Is that really how she sees me? She has a point. She definitely does. I've been a dick. Even if I didn't play as many pranks as I could have, I've still been rude and obnoxious, haven't I?

I should stop... I mean, even if Lucille seems to be tolerating me more, she clearly still hates me. And maybe I'm just fragile, but I don't like being hated by her.

I'll try to be less of a dick I guess.

I look over at Lucille again, seeing her short pink hair that has already faded significantly. It looks good on her though. And it doesn't even look damaged. It probably is, but it looks soft and shiny. Perfect waves flowing all around her head.

Maybe I should try something different with my hair... Despite my dad having curly as hell hair, mine is pin straight like my mother. Which is apparently very rare. Also, despite being 1/4 native Hawaiian (thanks to my dad's mom), I'm relatively pale in comparison to my dad. I can probably thank the fact I hate going outside for that. And my caucasian mother.

I sigh. I definitely should not try anything with my hair. If I so much as dyed a single streak of hair she would drag my ass back to Buffalo. I was shocked when she let me go to college anywhere that wasn't in New York.

Maybe now that I'm 18 she finally realized she doesn't actually have power over me anymore. Woohoo.

I draw my focus back to my computer. Time to channel my mommy issues into a shitty novel.

I'm at the point where Jackson, the killer, finds out that his only friend has been killed by his dad. Which he is completely heart broken over. And angry, of course.  It sounds weird, but there's context and it makes sense, I swear.

I debate whether or not to go into the intricate details of the corpse, bleeding out onto the floor. I decide not to. I haven't had much gore thus far, don't wanna start out of nowhere.

I write until I hear Lucille and her sister saying goodnight to each other, when I notice that it's already 9:30.

I shut off my laptop, reaching over to put it on my desk. I stretch, my back cracking a bit.

"By the way," Lucille says I'm beginning to lay down on my back, staring up at the ceiling. Lucille's desk lap is the only light still on, half her face illuminated in the warm light as I look over at her. "I'm not going to be home all weekend. I'm going to visit my parents tomorrow and spend the night. I shouldn't be back until Sunday evening."

"M'kay." I say. She doesn't get up from her desk, pulling out her textbooks to study, I assume.

I roll over onto my side, my back facing the wall beside my bed. It's cold in here, even under my blankets. I shut my eyes, hoping to be able to fall asleep quickly. And I do.

★★★

I hear my phone's ringtone, flinching me awake. I sit up, reaching for my phone on the nightstand.

It's only 11 PM, I realize. Lucille is still awake as well, studying. Though, now she's turned to look at me.

Who the hell would be calling this late?

I force my eyes open and to focus as I read the caller ID. And then my heart sinks down to my stomach.

In that moment I realize that maybe she really does still have control over me, and my emotions especially. Maybe she is still the one who gets to re-deal the cards when she gets a bad deck.  Maybe she is still so much more powerful than I could ever be.

My heartbeat feels heavier, more prominent. And I feel so empty and sick so suddenly.

I am not free from her grasp. Of course. I could never be. She calls the shots. She always does. And even now,

Mom is calling.