An Urgent Need for Ruin (Full-length Novel Version)

Okay, that was weird, right? I mean, it's not like he was going to rule my thoughts the rest of the day or anything; it was just strange to see someone at that house, that's all. He was probably just a squatter or just needed somewhere to smoke. He'd be gone tomorrow.
And I was right. Tomorrow morning when I left for school, he was nowhere to be seen. There were no lights on inside and no car in the driveway. Stranger Danger wouldn't be bothering me anymore.

Another day of high school trudged on. My verbs for such would be a lot more cheerful (since I put a lot of weight on my education) if it weren't for the fact that we had gotten past the awkward first day. This meant that all teachers were now gunning for the students least wanting to participate, which happened to include me. It's not like I didn't know the answers or didn't care. I did. It's just, you know, I didn't talk. But in our teachers' quest to make sure we were as successful in life as possible, I guess they tended to ignore such trivial things. So I didn't really have anything to hold against them. Bummer. Irritation's much easier to channel when you have a source.
Am I rambling again? I'm rambling again. See, that tends to happen when you keep your mouth shut. If only I were as conservative with my brain waves as I was with my oxygen.
Did I mention I was walking home now? Probably not. Well I was. My backpack was digging into my right shoulder and making that side of my neck ache like nobody's business. Okay, I guess that's one thing that was different about high school: I had a heavier bag and a whole buttload more of books/homework. See, 'cause not only were there textbooks, but workbooks and notebooks and second semester books that they decided to hand out already. I swear English had five in and of itself. We were supposed to shove all these extra books into the back of our locker for when, if ever, we needed them. But our never-upgraded lockers and rusty locks weren't very trusty. So I'd probably just dump them in my room where I most likely wouldn't be able to find them when I did need them.
I switched my backpack to my left shoulder and stretched, irritated with the weight but glad I wouldn't have to carry this much again. Okay, maybe it wasn't just the weight that was bothering me. I had already been pretty irritated by being forced to abuse my dead-to-the-world voice box. Maybe I could make the excuse that I was sick so that I wouldn't have to talk. My voice croaked when I rarely used it, so it'd be easy enough to parlay that into a cold. The only problem would be how long that could hold out: I'd have to "get better" sometime. But I'd deal with that when I got there.
Did I mention the walk was pretty long, too? There was a reason Mom drove me. Any other person wouldn't ever dare to lug my overloaded backpack the distance I was, but I would only have to look around me to be reminded why I did. I loved Moss Bluff. I loved its scenery. I loved its ambiance. I loved the small town feel.. It was so beautiful and comforting. I know I'd never last in the city, where I couldn't see the clear skies or hear nature around me or walk down the street without fear. And unlike everyone else, I was content right where I was at. I never planned to leave Moss Bluff.
A cough that was most definitely not part of nature's sounds made me drop my backpack on my foot as I spun toward the source. (That level of clumsiness deserved some kind of award.) "Sawry... Smokah's lung," came a deeply-ingrained Louisiana drawl, slightly muffled by something between their teeth. Stranger Danger looked like some mafia lord with his cigarette hanging lazily as he leaned against that same abandoned house. But the cigarette lacked the intimidation a cigar would have had and his baby face didn't help that much.
Great! he was going to try to start a conversation. My oxygen was a precious resource and he wasn't going to steal it! Once again, I scrambled to get in the house; but less like a guilty dog and more like Tom Sawyer's cat.
Of course, as I shut myself up in my room, I couldn't deny the fact that my window gave me a perfect view of the corner he was leaning on. I may have looked, just a little. And that little bit of time was just enough for me to notice the wavy chocolate hair that framed the boyish face and a bit of colour on his neck that peeked out underneath.
Okay, so I was completely wrong. He either really liked smoking here or was a squatter. My second quick look to see if he was gone confirmed it: he walked into the house. I didn't know what I was doing until my face hit my comforter. So... I had Stranger Danger scaring the living crap out of me for the rest of my life to look forward to.

The next few months were just as fun as I thought they would be. I even got to the point when I dreaded chores or even walking outside for fear of encountering that demon again. I even started taking the long(er) route home. I argued with myself again and again about calling the police to report a squatter, but my refusal to let him know just how much he got under my skin kept me from doing so. It didn't keep me from being forced to see him, though. I still had chores and he still had annoying perfect timing to be outside right when I had to be. Every time I saw him I just got more and more angry. He would never get me to work my vocal chords. He wasn't worth wasting my oxygen on.
Today wasn't any different. The trash was full yet again and I had no excuse not to take it out. Mom was still at work, Dad was relaxing after unloading groceries, and my brother, Jordan, was in his room doing who-knows-what. I heaved the flimsy white monstrosity out of the can and after shaking it down tried to fill the rest of it wither other small trashcans around the house. Once I thought the thin plastic couldn't possible hold any more, I tied it up and wrapped the handles around my wrists. Now for the hard part. Getting it the short distance between the kitchen and front door was no problem. Opening the front door, hobbling to the trash can, and struggling to lift it in there was, of course. I could barely lift this thing out of the can. (Now, I am not weak. Don't be thinking for one second I am. Even grown men struggle with garbage bags. ...I think.) I looked at Dad for reassurance; maybe I could pawn this off on him. I was really not in the mood to brave Stranger Danger coolly eying me as I made a fool of myself. Let him suffer my dad's small talk. But of course, Dad was already passed out in our recliner.
Crapzilla.
So I struggled with the front door and waddled out onto my battlefield. I was planning just to do this as fast as I could with little to no collateral damage, but I couldn't help myself. Slowly, I lowered the bag just below my eyes to peer at my neighbour's yard. Well actually, more specifically, a particular corner of the house. That was unoccupied. No combat inevitable. That cauldron of anxiety bubbling over in my stomach abruptly died. I let out a sigh of relief I didn't know I'd been holding and readjusted the bag. Finally, some quiet. I could take out the trash in peace.
The bag was ripping; I could feel it. Only a few more steps to the rusty can. I just kept hoping the bag would hold out that long. Setting it down and twirling the ties once again around my wrist, I set off toward the can at a faster pace, feeling it slowly give. C'mon... Just a bit closer...
Yes! In one fell swoop, I meant to swing the bag over the top but only managed to get it halfway. Darn it! Get in there! In the midst of my struggling, through the rattling of the bag I somehow heard the tell-tale creak and slam of a screen door. And I knew exactly where that sound had come from. Oh heck! Not NOW!
"'Ey, Toni!" a voice called out, but his drawl made it sound more like "toenail." That was the least of my worries. Apparently, the trash bag was as shocked as I was because suddenly garbage was shooting out of both ends: rocketing up from the top and plopping down on my shoes from the tear in the bottom. I didn't dare look at Stranger Danger's face; just threw the almost-empty bag in the can and walked as casually as I could through the wreckage of my battlefield to the house.
Of course, NOW my dad was awake. "What happened?" boomed his deep, gruff coice as if he actually expected me to waste oxygen explaining my embarrassment. I just threw a nonchalant thumb behind me and shut the door before trudging off to the bathroom. Let him deal with that devil next door. Maybe he could scare him off; my dad was pretty intimidating. There was no way I was facing Stranger Danger again until I was good and ready; which, if I was honest with myself, would be never.
I threw my garbage-covered clothes to the tile floor and ran the shower as hot as it could go: I wasn't taking any chances with any garbage that got on me. I stepped into the lava rain and began to pick the bigger pieces off my arms and disentangle them from my long hair. I'd clean these up later. All that mattered now was getting clean. I could alread feel some old soda drying into a sticky paste between my fingers mom had most likely cleaned through Jordan's hermit-hole recently. As I scrubbed hard at my arms and face, that had gotten the brunt of the blast, the water eventually cooled down to a normal temperature and began to relax the tension built up.
Stranger Danger was going to be here no matter what, so I'd just have to learn how to deal. I was just groaning over the futility of this when a realization hit me out of the blue. Seriously. I wasn't even thinking about our recent encounter. The shower still hammered on indifferently and the shampoo I had just lathered up ran down my forehead to sit in my eye, which I'd probably regret for the next few minutes. I was frozen in place, fingers still tangled in my blonde mane as the world kept moving.
He knew my name.

Notes

Busy schedules keep me from editing this, so I apologize if it's complete garbage (pun FULLY intended)
Also, I hope some of you are starting to pick up on the theme of my chapter descriptions now.

xo ~Ash

If you want to know what a Cajun accent sounds like: https://www.facebook.com/Miltonpostweekly/videos/456020541243559/