Admitting // Christy & Charlie
Childish grudge? Charlie loved that book. She had been reading it every night before the incident, and she only parted with it when she decided to offer some help to that stupid bitch. And it wasn’t like Christy had rejected her offer, or had yelled at her, or had thrown the book back at her, or even torn a fucking page. She had set fire to it. And for Charlie there was nothing more scariligeous than burning a book. Not to mention the trauma she had gotten.
She crossed her arms in front of her chest to hide her shaky hands. “Yes, because I am clearly the one that is mentally unstable here. What kind of ten year-old burns the book of her classmate? I mean, OK, I knew you were batshit crazy, but I was expecting some common courtesy. And if you didn’t want it you could give it back.” What agitated her the most was that Christy didn’t seem the least bit remorseful for her act. Not even upset, or proud or something. Charlie’s blood was boiling, and the other girl looked like she was watching a mildly interesting documentary.
Christy’s scowl didn’t get any angrier, because the anger she felt now wasn’t the usual passionate one. Somehow, in an attempt to keep this a good day, she had averted from the blind, blazing white rage she always tended to achieve when bothered, but now she just wanted to order the fucking book and leave. There was still a part of her that wanted to hang about and argue with Charlie, but she didn’t seem to connect to it as much. This was one of those days Christy just felt like actually giving her mother a hug. Where other people had bad days, Christy had good ones. With someone as… passionate as Christy, that was pure and simple logic. And now this bitch in front of her wanted to ruin it.
"I was fucking ten, you lunatic," Christy said sharply, the annoyed, bored scowl still on her face, her eyes growing darker. "A fucking child. Why don’t you time-travel back and take it up with me then? It was eleven fucking years ago. Besides, it’s not like I remember the actual torching of the book, I was way too angry over the stupidity written within.”
Christy didn’t avert her eyes even by an inch, and every time she blinked she wished she hadn’t, just so she could stare darkly at Charlie.
Alright. So maybe Christy actually knew she hadn’t been a stable ten-year-old. So maybe she knew the tantrums she had made her black out in anger (and still did, sometimes). And maybe she knew that torching the book had been childish. But if this girl wanted to pick a fucking fight, Christy decided she wasn’t going to try and stop it. Not even to keep her good day good. It was too late now either way, it was already spoiled.