9:26


insight fortysix
meh i'm bored. here's some brain fart material...

title: Red
chapter 2
pacing to and from the red framed painting of us, i call for the 65th time, still only going to the fucking generic voicemail lady telling me to speak after the godforsaken beep. i slam down the phone on the already-broken shelf and go into the mouldy bathroom, the stupid bath leak dripping irritatingly into my brain. splashing cold water onto my dark circles and crackled lips i hear my phone ring. tripping over unironed dirty laundry, i race and answer it within seconds.
"hello! where are you Tom? what the fuck are you doing out of this house?!" i yell down the line, hands shaking like fish out of water.
"why the hell you worried 'bout you're ex, sweet-cheeks? it's me Jonas, you know... the current love of your life?" he says, a sarcastic laugh added into the annoying hell-hole that im in right now.
"oh sorry Bonas, i was... checking on the house because he owes me money, but yet he's no where to be found, pussy ass dicknut." i stutter in panic. he can not know how much of a mental fuckhead Tom is.
"don't call me that please sugarboots but okay i get it, i'll see you at home. bye Red." he replies, ending the call milliseconds after. as if i don't have enough going on without this sarcastic son-of-a-bitch sassing me out like some sorta princess.

returning to my pacing state, i let my mind calculate how many calories i have burnt from these 59 laps of my 13 foot corridor: walking for half an hour, im 41, 5 feet 4 inches, weigh 170 pounds, 13 foot is 4 metres so I've walked what? 59 times 4 is like 236 metres equalling around 0.14 of a mile.
"100 calories burnt. keep this up and you'll work off that fried chicken treat you stole from his fridge. maybe i'll be more good looking that the stupid blonde airhead that he left me for." i mutter to myself, grinning at the wide imaginations i have of strangling that bitch with her own fucking giraffe legs.

another ring of the telephone and i role my eyes at the thought of Queen Bonas chewing my ear off in a unsexual manner due to the fact i'm spending 2 hours away from his sorry saggy ass. not even looking at the number i answer the vibrating phone and calm my worrying nerves.
"hello who is this?" i ask as if im a posh business woman earning millions for sitting on her arse looking sexy in tight skirts all day.
"i'm out front. come help me." he says, voice quiet but rough and strong. oh shit. oh shit he did not.

the old dark brown Ford Mondeo sits on the drive, rattling engine echoing throughout the unlit street. beard stubble and caterpillar eyebrows help me identify Tom, his piercing eyes staring at the steering wheel.
"what did you do?" i ask in a calm manner whilst getting into the taped up passenger seat, "what did you do this time?"
"i ain't saying nothin' until you swear to help me," he responds, wandering pupils gliding up my torso, "swear on Bonas' and your mama's lives that you'll help me. no grassing to the pigs this time. we in this together Russhell" Russhell meaning fox or red head, i guess i'm a combination but i don't have a tail or nothin'.
"fine i swear," i holds my hand up as if he has a gun to my face, wouldn't be the first time if he did, "no piggies, just us and your stupid motherfucking problem."

we slowly get out the car and he leads me to the trunk which i notice has a red tassel stuck in it. i mentally sigh as my wide imagination grows narrow at the possibility of his mistake.
"look, i didn't mean no harm," he splutters, looking like a puppy who just ripped his toy in half, "i just thought i could be loved again."
trunk swung open, he pulls out the shawl and the bags from the hardware store. what the hell is going on?!
"why have you brought this shawl, and what the fuck you doing with barbed wire and 7 security cameras? you planning on building a prison or somethin'?" i quickly blurt out before we're inside our... his house again.
"yeah, sommet like that." he casually replies, as if he just said that the weathers shit or that the toilet is fucking blocked... again.
"bitch what the fuck you doing you fucknut. are you crazy? who the hell you keeping in this prison? me? Bonas? your new old giraffe bitch of a girlfriend? i know you're mentally unstable and shit but this aint right Tom," i shout to the back of his navy blue flannelled shirt, "hey! you listening to me Tommy Lewis?"
he pushes me out the way, taking the various weird contraptions back into his shitty car again. grabbing the steering wheel he orders me to pack a bag and tell my pretty princess that i aint gonna be home for a while. what the hell am i doing helping this nutcase?

driving out of Ravenswood, Tom throws my phone into a stop sign, everything smashing into tiny wired pieces. this is not good, not good at all.

... mwhahhahahahha... to be continued...

⛐

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