When Perfect Meets Crazy novel Chapter 3

This whole day had to be a product of one of two things. One was that I had hit my head, given myself the mother of all concussions and was sedated somewhere dreaming all this up.

If I was, then I was really glad a device that could tell what comatose patients were thinking hadn't been invented yet because if I ever woke up, I definitely wasn't looking forward to explaining to my mom -or dad for that matter- why my subconscious chose to go -and take Olly- to an illegal fighting arena or to have a boy break into my room.

I already knew what she'd say, that dreams are based off subconscious thoughts so that meant I was thinking of doing those things. Then I'd be in big trouble. For something that didn't even truly happen.

The other, much scarier, option was that the universe was out to get me, to drive me psych-ward-and-straitjacket kind of crazy.

I really wanted to believe I was in a coma somewhere, fighting for my life. At least I'd get get-well-soon flowers -and chocolate hopefully- but more than, none of this would be real. I really really wanted to believe that but I knew if I had dreamt everything up, then I wouldn't have actually cried.

I had a pretty active imagination but it was still my imagination. It couldn't actually make me cry. Not to mention the things happening around me didn't have that surreal dreamlike quality. It felt very real, especially the part where I was yelled at. That was more than real which could only mean one thing. The universe was out to get me. Karma had finally decided to show up. It was raining bad luck on me.

I sighed wearily. Today really isn't my day.

After five long seconds of watching Masked Idiot repeatedly open and close his mouth like the complete idiot that he was, I decided to put us both out of our misery because if I left it to him, we'd never get past this. He'd probably keep it up till morning.

"Why are you in my house? My room to be specific." I frowned, waving my index finger in a circular motion directed at the ceiling. Why did it really have to be my room? "In case you didn't know, you're trespassing and invading my privacy. Not to mention, committing a felony."

Technically breaking and entering on it's own wasn't a felony but with my mom as the opposing counsel's attorney, it could very well be. He didn't look all that bright so I felt the obligated to inform him, just in case he didn't know that everything about what he was doing in my house was illegal.

I mean the first time I saw him, he had a mask on. A mask in the middle of June. It was nowhere close to Halloween.

"You're one to talk," he scoffed, finally getting a hold of himself. His tone, the upward curl of his lips, the condescending air that surrounded him had me stiffening, readying for a fight.

"The fuck do you mean by that?" I snapped, cringing a split second later at my volume.

Shit!

I didn't mean to be that loud. My eyes, wide with terror, shot to the door as I prayed that my voice hadn't reached my mom's room.

After a few seconds of silence, I sighed in relief.

She didn't hear, thank God.

Relief instantly turned to anger at the idiot lounging on my bed.

My eyes hardened to stone as I glared at him. "Get out," I gritted. "Before I kill you, get out."

"Oh please," he chuckled, rolling his eyes.

"Do I look," I spat icily, venom coating my tone, "like I'm joking?"

I wanted him out and I wanted him out right that second.

He may not have believed in my ability to hurt him or maybe he was confident in his skills as a fighter but the murderous intent in my eyes got through to him, enough to get him to change tactics at least.

"You barged into my life. You snuck into my reserved room."

It was all I could do not to slap him and hope it would jumpstart his sleeping brain. "Snuck?" I hissed incredulously. "I snuck?"

What did he think I was? A fan? For heaven's sake, he wasn't a celebrity. He was a criminal. A full blooded criminal! And clearly not even a good one seeing as he got caught.

"I didn't sneak," I growled, baring my teeth. "I did not sneak into your godforsaken room." My voice was low, full of barely leashed anger.

It was like he actually wanted me to kill him with all the nonsense he was spouting.

What reason on God's green earth would I have for 'sneaking' into his room? I didn't know him. I wasn't even a fan of boxing and if not for Olly, I never would've stepped foot in that cursed place.

"I accidentally found it. Accidentally!" I hissed, folding my arms across my torso tightly to restrain the irrational but understandable urge to wring his neck. "And I left all of ten seconds later. I strongly suggest you follow my precedent."

My words visibly threw him for some reason.

"Do you not know who I am?" he inquired in a tone that made it clear this little nugget was mind boggling to him.

"And who exactly do you think you are?" My eyes narrowed to slits, viciousness oozing from my pores. A casual observer would've thought I was the criminal between the two of us in that moment.

"Black Stripe," he answered, eyeing me warily.

"Is that supposed to mean something to me? Black stripe? Is that your name?" I asked, thrown off by the two words that seemingly had no relation to the subject of discussion. I found myself seriously considering whether or not he truly lacked working brain cells. "Great. You couldn't get any more cliched if you tried," I added under my breath.

I was now ninety percent sure he barely managed to graduate high school. Black Stripe? Really? Who gives themselves such a stupid name?

"So you don't know?" he clarified, astonished.

"I don't know what a black stripe has to do with anything here," I answered, carefully eyeing him for any signs of a psychotic break. Especially since he didn't outright admit to it being his name or what relevance it had to the conversation.

The last thing I needed was for him to be crazy on top of everything. Not to be dramatic but I'd end up screaming out of frustration.

"I have a better question for you. Why the hell did you come here and how the fuck did you find me?" I tried not to wince. Cursing wasn't something I was used to but the situation, the whole day in fact, called for it.

Polite words couldn't properly encompass how horrendous the day had been.

"You know who I am. My real identity. I couldn't just let you leave," he replied, sounding more unsure of his ridiculous statement with each passing moment.

He ought to be. I knew who he was? Who exactly did he think he was, besides a boy who'd clearly watched one too many bad TV shows. I mean, Black Stripe? Really?

I couldn't care less who he was. I met him at an illegal fighting arena, that was more than enough for me to never want to speak of it or see him again and yet, here he was trying to make sure I didn't. Like I needed the reminder. Who exactly was I going to tell? My mom, who'd kill me? Or my dad, the sheriff who'd be obligated to throw me in jail or have me give him directions to the arena so he could organize a bust, after skinning me alive first, of course. I wasn't about to paint a target like that on my back.

Unlike Masked Idiot, I wasn't stupid.

"Look around, stupid!" I sniped, gesturing to my study table filled with collegiate level textbooks and SAT prep material, my shelf of novels and academic trophies, the absolute lack of posters or any such frivolities in the room.

Before he laid on it, my bed had been made, the edges crisply tucked in. My floor was spotless, the polished wood practically gleaming. There was no doll in sight, no boyband posters, no paraphernalia of any kind. Heck, the height of colour the room featured was my brown study table and floor.

There was not a single thing out of place. The room was organized to the letter, even my pens were lined up in straight evenly spaced rows on the study table.

"Now answer, do I honestly strike you as someone who gives a flying fuck about your little fighting business?"