"Care to explain what you were doing there?" She asks as she stomps onto the carpet, muffling the sound of the outside world as her hand pushes the door to a snappy close.

"I . . . uh...I" I mumble as my brain constantly draws up multiple blanks to pose a believable answer to what I might have been doing.

'Cleaning your room' is a possible candidate but it is swiped away immediately.

"Give me that!" She snatches the book away from me. I was so stumped by the consequence of the baffled fear that I forgot I was clutching onto it, like a mother clamping her baby whilst walking through a shady ally.

"It's . . . it's . . . wha . . . I." This is stooping lower than being pathetic.

My tongue cannot form the basic words of doubt, let alone express the believable lie which my mind is still short of making up.

I can only speak in stutters.

"Have YOU been reading this?" She asks, accurately spits the question as I flying figment of spit travels at the speed of sound and lands between us.

Her neck lowers before retracting back to its potent place.

I can see the vein around her thorax pumping up and down in fury.

"Did you read this?!" She yells again and this time the scream bounces around the window before stabbing my conscious.

Bless me father for I have sinned.

"Frey, I'm not going to ask agai--"
"Dolorous. Yes."

She sighs as her chest droops down from its infuriated pose to a sudden relief.

She must have expected more of a rebuttal.

"Frey--" She is bedazzled by the endless roads she can venture upon, a thousand techniques of torture that she can use on me for a confession.

It's the trouble of choice.

"What the . . . hell is wrong with you?" She forms a punch to the air as her fist shoot through the invisible upset.

"I...uh...The door was open. I wasn't--"
"You weren't...what?! What?!"
"Dolorous, I . . . didn't do anything . . . the door...it was creaking---the lights . . I mean."
"And just because the door was open, you thought what? You thought you would come in here and look into everything?"
"Dolorous, the lights. . . um."
"Stop with the lights!" Another ball of rolled up spit, forms with the passionate despair explodes onto my thigh as it falls down.

The moment has accepted every bit of fuming, raged words she can conjure as her fiery gaze shoots through me and on the desk, where my accurate presence had left its evidence since the papers are all scattered, the pencil dust has been messed with and to make matters worst, the rubber has rolled away and taken refugee in the corner.

She whizzes past me and a light shove is awarded as I fail to move away in time.

Her keen scan doesn't need to look around for long and before I can decide if escaping through the front door would be a cowardly thing to do, she launches her furious glare at me.

Her shoulder blades aren't features of quirk characteristics anymore.

Their prodding existence looks threatening, like horns which can stab through my child-like flesh with no unease.

"And this too?"

I am flabbergasted.

It's like I have forgotten my lines to say in this climactic, critical scene of the screenplay.

I'm waiting for someone to yell, "Cut" with an added sigh of disappointment but no one does.

"What is wrong with you? Frey?"
"I wasn't. . . I wasn't . . Dolorous..I wasn't trying . . Dolorous."
"Stop saying my name."

I am off performance right now and the party annoying tone of saying her name over and over again, exclusively at the beginning of every sentence isn't really authentic.

I am rattled by my rookie mistake as a spy who was progressing rapidly at the mission of unmasking his enemy.

My skills have capsized.

"Frey!" She squeals as the distance between us decreases but instead of taking a straight punch on my jaw, she performs no acts of intimate, boundless violence.

"Frey!" Her hand slowly wipes away the loose strands of hair from her forehead and then conceal itself on the edge of her frock as she clumsily brushes her throat.

Her thorax is throbbing at a shrunk tune.

The first roll of tear assures me the rule of gravity as it gyrate down her cheek, fluffed and slightly yellow from the overhead golden light.

I have not expected this, in any of possible outcomes. And they were pretty satisfactory.

1. Myself. being punched as they whole world fades to black.
2. Myself. Sprinting down the stairs and sliding across the hall.
3. Myself. Dropping a smoke pellet as I escape through the window.
4. Herself. Screaming an alarm as Jackie enters just at the right time to discover my crime.

Number 3 was out of the question since I haven't mastered the art of dropping smoke pellets.

"Why . . do you . . do things like this? You read the letter, haven't you?"

Her words are questionably indistinct as they are catching on the glum of the tears on their discharge.

The script has changed, in the moment's trickery.

I catch a flash of myself in the mirror.

The comforter walks to the reddened chick girl.

"Dolorous, . . I---"
"Don't say anything." She exhausts as she slumps down on the brink of her bed, accurately evading from sitting on her camera.

This is a deciphered code for performing the complete opposite action.

"I'm sorry . . . it's really . . it was really such a bad thing to do--"

She's trying nothing but her best to not to let me see her cry since her body is crafting quakes every time she pushes down a squeal and swallow a snicker of cry.

"Listen . . I. . uh,I don't . . I won't make excuses. I saw the letter."

She has removed a few fingers from the tightened, clasped hand on her face.

I can spot a line of burst capillary around her eye.

"I'm not..gonna hide it . . I was just poking around . . I didn't mean to see to--"
"You..did...you know you did. You're that sort of person."

Her watery voice bumps and stumbles down as she hands me the words.

Her voice is tear stricken and she is partially weak off of her strong form. This is the perfect moment to strike the belly of the best whilst she's done.

"I know . . . I can't help it."
"Why do you do this? Tell...me. Do you have fun....going through...everyone's things...to know their secrets? Do you?"
"I'm sorry..I..uh."
"Don't say you're sorry.....answer the damn question."
"I...don't....I don't go through...people's things."
"Oh, cut the crap, Frey. That's how you knew about Jackie's parents, didn't ya?"

Her words are bulging but she's on the path of recovery since the lumps in her throat aren't being much of a hindrance.

"No. I know because they fight when they think no one's looking. They say things---"
"And how did you know that?"
"I'm..sorry. I didn't want to...I was just getting my coat that night."
"And what did you come here to get? Huh? You left a coat here too?"

I am standing with my head scanning my socks as they prod each other on the unused carpet. I can sense she is flooding me with glares, accompanied by strong moral questions even without looking.

Her eyes are turning red around the side, not like a demon but the same impression you get on the side of a white paper if you constantly scratch it with a red, razor sharp sharpie.

My heart instantly puts off the screen play act from seeing her red skimmed nose, the musty chicks and the carelessly rubbed creases around the eyes.

At some ordinary time, when I hold the high place of juvenile torture, I wouldn't melt but I cannot help from folding my sly 'bastardness' .

I can see a bit of my mother in her.

Mum was crying too, sitting stuffed with a pair of blankets on the armchair, on a Friday midnight.

She thought no one was looking too.

Countless seconds have passed.

"What are...you doing here? Go away!" Her voice falls weak, she is slowly losing the power play of hard morality because of the 'Post crying hiccups'.

"Dylan sounds like a total ass."

I claim boldly as I pace away from her.

She is Medusa, right now and a simple look at her would churn me into a soft, powerless creature who will not be able to compensate for the crimes he had done.

"And you shouldn't apologize when cursing." I sigh loudly as I clench on the desk, pondering out of the window.

This is mysticism. 

Gravity.

'And Action.'

"It ruins the heaviness of the curse."

I sneak a peak of her from the window frame.

Her face barely pops in the reflection, midst of the leaves, the driveway lights, the black asphalts.

But yet, you can make out the little life of reddened embarrassment.

"So . . . you are admitting that you read it?" She inquires as her nose blows a sneeze. She quickly produces a snotty noise as she wipes it away.

She is lacking the hard, metal armor.

This is good news.

"I did...you know well enough . . I did."

"And you sound so--"
"Proud? " I harvest a sharp noise of insult. "No, just slightly let down."

I walk back to the border of her room, near the mouth of the door to spot if anyone has decided to play a spy who is spying on two other spy's confessions.

Fortunately, no one else in the house is so keen like us.

Her eyes are fixated at me.

"If you say sorry after calling names, it makes you sound like a victim. It's not . . vandal enough. Angry...enough."
"Are you...lecturing me...about the boundary issue you have?!" A lively, sarcastic smile is prodding her lips away from holding a gloomy posture.

This is progress, escalation in attention since her mind is aware of my criticism.

"I'm just saying, you aren't playing at your full potential."
"And how do you know . . . my full potential?"
"You can act more cruel than this. You don't to him...this Dylan because you have a thing for him . . but nothing holds you back when you are poking me."

I throw a decipher in this mix. She has already picked up the cryptography of untuned affection since her face is displaying a confused disposition.

"So, what are you trying to say?"

I step away from the door, closer to her.

She's expecting me for performing the unexpected.

I am going to upset her by performing something which isn't even considered being unexpected.

"And you're dad being a sharp shooter? Passive aggressive doesn't work well with idiots, like this Dylan. You have to understand passive aggressiveness to be scared."

There's is a snicker of being impressed shaping up in her eyes as I continue my pacing.

"No offense, by the way. " I apologize as I fidget on the carpet.
"You shouldn't judge people without knowing them first."
"We both shouldn't do that." I smile and in return she lags behind a few seconds before turning her head to disclose the smile.

"You sound like you are very big on writing hate mails."
"I am. I write one every few months."
"Why am I not surprised? I can't really imagine why anyone would hate you."

I stop my fidgeting, looking flush at her eyes. The reddened disposition has left its marks in the usual places but isn't promising to be elongate itself.

"I'm sorry...I shouldn't have said that."
"See? That's what I'm talking about. You fold too quickly. He wouldn't take you too seriously if you practice that sort of toughness. You have to write as harshly as your lemonade tastes. I mean, be really sour."

I wonder for a few second if I pushed her a bit too much with the insult and to see if the tears are almost at the brink of a comeback, but she stays still and far from leaking.

"You see, I'm not apologizing because I want to establish the fact that, I really hate your lemonade. "
"I see."

I smile to myself as the thought helps itself to recreate.

A new bridge of trust is being formed. She has forgotten about my crime and in the process of understanding, I need not escape anymore whilst leaving things unattended.

"So, who do you write to? Hate mails, I mean?"

Her snotty noise are really bumming off the scent of a newborn friendship.

It's ruining the cabalism of the scene.

I hand her a pile of tissue from the nearby night stand.

"My sister." I answer as I try not to look as miserable as I actually am.
"I thought you didn't have any siblings." I nod feverishly as she puts things into perspective.
"I don't. I lied....I do."
"It's complicated, isn't it?"

I grant her only a strong look.

This isn't acting anymore. I am going off script.

I can imagine the director, angry and mad as I tear off the script paper and swallow a large breath before running back under the spotlight again.

"You wouldn't believe me if I tell you."
"You are pretty unbelievable anyway...so--"
"I know. The bar's set pretty high."

This is lure. In a moment or two, she will solicitously ask me who she is.

"So...who is she? This....mystery sister?"
"I don't know. I never saw her in my life." I pause as I spend a few seconds to slowly push myself up.

I can hear Dolorous's mother in the middle of her interrogation of Jackie as she asks him how he is doing in his Double Biology. I cannot hear Clay through the thin floorboards, nor Jackie's parents.

"She sends my parents a letter every now and then. They never say anything about her. I never heard them say Margaret in front of me. Ever."
"And you know this because you read the letter?"
"I saw the name on the front. I didn't have the...balls to open it."
"And how do you know she's your sister? She can be anything. Aren't your mother's in the Newspaper business? it could be one of her--"
"No, I know she's her."

The interrogation downstairs has ended since Clay is currently telling Lisa how late he is and how angry his mother will be if he goes home any late.

The footsteps are starting to disperse from the living room.

"Anyway." I announce as I get up. "They are coming up. Ken has already run away so we have to dance around Jackie." I pass a look of urgency as I wipe my face. In a ridiculous gesture of wiping away the miser who's currently being me.

"Why did you tell me this? About this Margaret?" Dolorous asks as she quickly brushes her hair, wipes her cheek as they turn red before slowly rendezvousing to the yellow blush.

"You ask a lot. Quick. Look normal."
"You are trying to balance the weight, aren't you? You know something of me and now you told me something that you hide." The voice chirps away as I look back to spot a sly smile conquering her face fast.

"Did you ever think what I told could be an absolute lie?"

Her swelling simper dies down in a slow manner, like the same speed of a deflating balloon as they sag from the wall.

"Now, let's talk loudly about something silly so that we look alright."
"Frey ! We gotta bounce if you ever want to get out again. My mother's going to ground me and probably lock you into the seller too when you come to find me. Come on, man! Now!"

"In a sec."

"Now!"