Killing Me Softly

The few days before I started school was hectic. It was filled with unpacking and babyproofing my room. Yes, babyproof. If I have an episode, I could injure myself if we didn’t. It has happened at one point. Since then, we decided to babyproof my furniture.

It was the day before school and I could feel the nerves bubbling in my stomach. I would be the center of attention for a few days, a week at most, and that is not what I wanted. I wanted-no needed-to fade into the background as swiftly as possible. I couldn’t handle being approached by people. Despite what I want, if someone were to approach me wanting to be my friend, I couldn’t find it in my heart to be an asshole in return.

I was making dinner since my father couldn’t cook within an inch of his life. I was making more than normal because the neighbors were coming over. My father had met them and suggested a dinner. He was the reason I was too nice to people, as he himself was the same way. Someone in the family was a vegetarian, so I was making a meatless lasagna.

I love cooking. I figured out how when I was younger when I found out that everything we ate was takeout or diner food. It was a way of expressing myself, but not as direct as music or painting. I could play with flavors and see what went with what. It results in finding the strangest combinations that either turn out to be delicious or horrendous. As soon as I pulled it out of the oven, the doorbell rings. “That should be them,” Dad smiles, getting up to answer the door.

My eyes widen as I look at my reflection in the shiny pan I used for pasta. My hair was on top of my head and was an absolute mess. I had sauce on the front of my tee-shirt and some grease on my hands. I take off running to my room, “Be right out!”

I managed to tame my hair and change my clothes before getting to the bathroom to wash my hands. I could hear my father conversing with the people that had entered our house. I blocked out the conversation until I was able to get all the gunk off of my hands. When I was satisfied, I walked out of the bathroom to greet our guests. It probably a mom and dad with a small child or something. Nothing for me to worry about. “Hello,” I grinned as I saw them, my smile faltering when I see who was there.

I was wrong about the stereotype I was imagining. There were just a mother and a boy. A teenaged boy. The same boy I had talked to at the store a few days ago. I cursed my luck. Of course, this kid would be our neighbor. “Hey!” He replied, “We already met a few days ago, right?”

“Um, yeah,” I nodded.
Dad glanced at me with a smirk playing on his lips, “Well, at least you two already know each other.”

I knew what he was doing. He didn’t invite them over because he was being “too nice”. He wanted me to become friends with Frank. That sly bastard. “Linda, this is my daughter Ilse,” he introduced me.

I held out a hand to her with a polite smile, “Hello, it’s nice to meet you.”

A grin grew on her lips as she took my hand, “Likewise. I’m glad that you’re so polite.”

I held the urge to roll my eyes. I hated the fact that teenagers were labeled as impolite and disrespectful. Instead of showing my distaste in her choice of words, I let out a soft chuckle,
“Yeah, I hate rude people so it’s my goal to be nice to everyone.”

At least I wasn’t completely lying.

Dad lead us all into the kitchen where the lasagna sat on the table, waiting to be cut into. As we sat down to eat, I caught him sparing glances at Linda. There was something in his eyes that made me smirk. Oh, he was so going to get it later.

We sat on one side of the table while the Iero’s sat on the other. “Did you make this, Oliver?” Linda questioned as she grabbed a piece.

He shook his head in response, “No, I can’t cook for anything. This was Ilse’s doing.”

“This is so fucking good,” Frank moaned with a mouthful of pasta.
Linda swatted her son, scolding him for cursing. I couldn’t help but snicker at it, entertained by how Frank cowered to the shorter woman. He was a momma’s boy, but then again, I was a daddy’s girl. I tried to be as quiet as possible, only speaking when spoken to. I pretended to be invested in the conversations occurring, but I was lost in my own mind. I usually was nowadays. My mind wandered from topic to topic, whether it be something stupid like how people came up with unicorns or something dark like what would happen if I had an episode at school.

About the latter, I wouldn’t have to worry too much. Since I get a pinching sensation in my head minutes before one happens, I can ask to step out and go to the bathroom during class. The teachers know of my situation, obviously. It was mandatory that they know but don’t speak about it. “Ilse!” I hear someone shout my name, making my eyes widen as I look around to who said my name.

“Yeah, Dad?”

“Why don’t you go to your room with Frank while I clean up,” he suggested with a nodding Frank.

I almost cringed, but I managed to stop myself, “But he’s a boy! Don’t you want us to be where you guys are?”

He rolled his eyes in reply, “You may have been born at night, but you weren’t born last night.”

“Okay,” I mumbled, knowing that there was no way I was getting out of this.

I bring Frank to my room, which had finally been decorated. “You play guitar?” He asked, walking over to a white Les Paul that sat in the corner.

Son of a bitch, I thought. I told Dad to throw it out! “Not really,” I say as he picks it up.

“Can I try it out?” He begs. “Please!”

I nod, allowing him to play the instrument. He began plucking at it, playing a song that I recognized. “You like Misfits?”

“Hell yeah!” He exclaims. “They’re one of my favorites!”

I couldn’t help but smile at him. He was such a ray of sunshine. Bubbly and cheerful. Which is why he needed to stay away from me. Those who shine the brightest have the worst burn. “If you don’t really play,” he hesitates. “Why does this look so used?”

My smile dropped from my face at his question. It was innocent and easy, but I couldn’t help but be annoyed. I grabbed the guitar from his grasp, replacing it where it was, “It was like that when I got it.”

“Oh.”

We stood in silence for a few moments before he broke it, “You don’t like me that much, do you?”

I was taken aback but his bluntness. I didn’t expect him to be that direct. I avoided eye contact as I wandered over to my bed, “It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it?”

I racked my brain, trying to figure out an answer. I wanted to give him one instead of leaving him hanging, but I couldn’t tell him the truth. It was a conflict of interest and I hated it. I was put in the middle of my own brain. “I don’t want friends right now,” I settle on. “I just want to be unnoticeable.”

“Can you tell me why?” He pushes, sitting down next to me on the bed.

I shake my head, “No.”

More silence passed by before he spoke again, “You’ve noticed our parents hitting it off, right?”

I let out a snort, “Of course.”

He folds his arms over his chest, “That means that they’re going to probably be hanging out a lot.”

“What are you getting at?” I glance at him suspiciously.

“I mean that we’re going to be pushed together whether we like it or not,” he sat with a smug expression.

Fuck, he was absolutely right. Groaning, I put my face in my hands. I could hear a chuckle coming from him, “You could just make this easier on us and at least try to be friends with me. You seem pretty cool, and I want you to give me a chance.”

“Fucking hell,” I breathed before looking back at him. “Fine. But I’m going to hate every minute of it.”

“That sounds like the Ilse I know,” he pats my shoulder.

“But you barely know me.”

“Exactly.”

Notes