The Sweetest Kill: A Young Adult Paranormal Read Free Page A

phone a small reassuring smile. “Of course I will, Mom.”
    “Well I have to go. Your father wants to go out for dinner.”
    “Okay, Mom. Tell him I said ‘hi’, okay?”
    “I will. You’ll call tomorrow?”
    No. It’ll only worry you more than you already do. That’s what I want to say but instead, I decide to lie. I’ll make hanging up easier for both of us.
    “Yeah, I’ll call.”
    “Okay. Bye.”
    “Bye.”
    I hear the line get cut as I’m holding the phone against my shoulder and staring blankly at an odd stain on my carpet. I don’t know how long I sat like that, but Florence’s meow snaps me out of my thoughts. I turn to her and figured she wants me to put more catfood in her bowl. I replace the receiver and decide to feed both my cat and myself.
    I get off the bed and make my way to the pseudo-kitchen with Florence on my heels, meowing incessantly for more food. As I grab the only pot I own off its place on the hot plate and begin filling it up with water, I feel my patience begin to wane. Suddenly, my phone begins to ring again but my hands are full, so I just leave it be. When Florence begins stretching up to dig her nails into the fabric of my towel, I lose my cool.
    The sounds of the ripping fabric under her claws, the meowing, the ringing phone, and the running water become all too much. I feel my heart beat faster in my chest, and I swear, I can hear the deafening thump in my ears. A sweat breaks over my forehead. I throw the pot into the sink, feeling my body go into hyper drive. 
    It’s stupid. I know it’s stupid, you know it’s stupid, and I’m pretty sure even Florence knows it’s stupid, but it’s happening. I am having a damn anxiety attack over a hungry cat and a ringing phone. I don’t know how to stop it or why it’s happening. Leaning on the sink, I try to calm my breathing and collect the shreds of my sanity to make something close to patience. My heart eventually calms down and the urge to vomit subsides, as Florence leaves me alone to sit on the bed.       
    The phone stops ringing and I exhale, trying to gain some equilibrium. Once I’m a bit more stable, I calmly grab the handle of the pot and place it on the hotplate before switching it on. I continue to tell myself to stay calm as I grab Florence’s bag of food from the large cabinet drawer. I pour her food into her bowl and watch as she cautiously comes towards it, before beginning to eat.
    Then the phone starts ringing again. I place the bag of catfood beside Florence’s bowl and stomp over to the phone. Yanking the receiver off the cradle, I say in an annoyed voice, “Yes?”
    “Uh, is Jessica there?”
    I scowl at the phone, “Wrong number.”
    “Oh, sorry.”
    The line goes dead and I slowly hang it up. Sitting on the edge of my bed again, I run my fingers through my hair and pull at some strands. When a chill goes through my body, I realize I’m still in my towel. I should probably get dressed now. I slip on a pair of underwear and an oversized t-shirt, which I got from the Goodwill store down the road, an decide to watch a little TV while waiting for the water to boil. Using my towel to dry my hair, I sit on the edge of my bed and watch the news as it comes on with a special report about a traffic accident
    Two dead and three injured. The cars are mangled clumps of metal behind the reporter while he talks about the details. They were about to release the names when I hear the water boil on the hot plate and I reluctantly get up to turn down the heat and add the noodles. When I come back to my original spot on the bed, the report is no longer about the car accident. Instead, it’s about something much more gruesome.
    “Here’s Christina Collins with more,” the overly tanned male news anchor says, before the camera switches to a grim looking young brunette.
    “Thank you, Tim. This is a case that has shortly become a riddle to not only the police department, but also to the citizens of this