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After what must have been twenty minutes since I stopped to watch her, she turns, noticing me, causing a pink blush to slowly spread across her cheeks and a gasp to fall from her lips.
“You,” she says in a whispered voice.
“Yes, me. Did you miss me, dollface?”
She scrunches up her nose in a confused, disgusted way, causing a forbidden chuckle to escape my lips.
“Really, dollface? Do I look like some precious doll to you? And to answer your question, no, I most certainly do not miss the man who tried to run me over! What the hell is wrong with you?” she replies, her blush turning from a soft pink to an almost ruby red color.
Oh, she's pissed? Well, good, so am I.
“Yes, dollface, you always hated that term of endearment, but you know what? I don’t give a fuck anymore. As for running you over, I admit that was a bit far, but as for the rest, you know good and well what my problem is. So get ready for hell, dollface, because you're in my domain now.”
I turn and head back toward the stairs leading to the locker rooms, ignoring how my dick is trying to break through my pants. I know I’m already late, and Coach will make me run laps. It’s totally worth it, though.
She’s acting like she doesn’t recognize me, but she can only lie for so long. She’ll crack soon. There’s no way she could’ve forgotten about me when we meant so much to each other.
She has no clue what's in store for her here. I'm the king of this school. She may have been the queen once. But what was it that King Henry, whatever number, said?
“Off with her head,” I whisper under my breath, a smile curling my lips slightly.
It's game time, dollface, and as everyone here knows, I'm undefeated.
ChapterFour
What the hell just happened? I am so confused it's not even funny, and my head is starting to ache. Why did he look at me with such contempt? And that attitude? What an asshole.
Turning from the wall where I was zoning out, I head toward the stairs leading to the girl's locker room. Apparently, even with brain damage, I'm still a part of the cheer squad. Ugh. I don’t know, but I guess it will help with college applications. Thinking about all this feels surreal; everything is up in the air. If I decide to go—I’m still undecided about the future. If I even have a future. Who knows these days? Everything just seems so blah.
How can I look toward the future when my past is so foggy?
They say depression can be a side effect of a TBI, a traumatic brain injury. Maybe that's what it is; I'm depressed.
Just another topic to bring up with Dr. Pepper—yes, really, that’s her name. I would have laughed the first time I met her if I’d been able to laugh at all. Maybe I should just carry a journal attached to my wrist or something, so I can write down all the questions or thoughts that keep popping into my head.
Or maybe just do little audio recordings so I could write them down later. Hmmm, I’ll have to ask the lady, er, I mean, Christine, grrr. I have been living in her home for over five months now. Why can’t I just remember to call her Mom? What is it about her that makes her so forgettable? I have no problem calling my father, Dad, or my brother, Gray.
Time, Gracie, just give it time.The doctors did say that anxiety and stress could cause some confusion. Walking into the locker room, I'm assaulted with so many things at once. One being the Queen Bitch standing in front of me with her hands on her hips and a sarcastic, sympathetic smile on her face.
“Oh, Gracie, Ash said you were back. I didn't believe him. Like, why in the heavens would you return after everything you did? You either have a death wish, or your brain injury has just made you dumber,” she spits out with a snarl, startling me; her lip is curled and everything.
It reminds me a bit of a dog I've seen in a movie. I wish I could remember what it was called. Then maybe I could put this witch in her place with a snappy comeback. Oh well, it’s probably best to play dumb like she thinks I am. I have a feeling there’ll be many more opportunities still to come.
“I'm sorry. Do I know you?” I ask softly, almost timid. Playing up the worried look, even going as far as biting my lip while fighting not to roll my eyes. She just blinks at me, so I continue. “Were we friends? You know, before my accident? I'm sorry I don't remember you. What’s your name?”
She gasps and looks appalled by the fact that someone wouldn't know who she is. Ha-ha, checkmate, bitch. Even with my memory loss, I know who she is and that she's loud, obnoxious, entitled, and cruel. I learned her name by overhearing idle gossip within five minutes of entering the school. Bianca. Otherwise known as Queen Bitch.
Keeping my excitement from showing, I just stare at her, still waiting for a reply.
“Whatever, bitch. Stay away from Ash. He may have been yours at one point, but he's mine now,” she eventually snaps back, spinning on her heel.
“Oh, is he the cute boy who just talked to me in the hall? He did seem to know me,” I state, watching her face change color. She doesn't need to know that he was cruel, just that she isn't as hot as she thinks.
I truly hate mean girls, or I think I did—do. Why can't everyone just get along? Life is way too short to spend it with hate in your heart. I turn my back on her and her posse, head toward the locker I was assigned, and put on my practice uniform.
“Oh my God,girl, you look hot. A is going to flip when he sees you in that. Now don’t be rude; tell me I look hot too!” Mia practically squeals when we try on our uniforms for the first time.
Trying hard not to giggle at her antics, I say, “Damn girl, you look smokin’. Can I get your number?”—I burst out laughing—“If I wasn’t with your brother, I would totally wifey you!”
