I’m NOT Evil, Okay?!

I was always a happy child. I was an only child. My parents loved me. My friends rallied around me. I was a bit stubborn, there’s no shame in admitting one’s own flaws. I was used to having things go exactly my way. You can blame my parents for that – they never said no to me. Even when I was being childish, which I knew I often was. I enjoyed testing them and their boundaries at times, but they always caved and never said ‘no’.

I wonder if it was because of what happened with my Nana’s chandelier. We were at her house for the holidays one year when I was still a toddler, and I wanted to play with the glass elephants my Nana kept on the mantle in the study. The elephants kept turning up in my hands and my parents kept snatching them away from me. It got so frustrating that I let out a screech that only toddler vocals are capable of producing, and the chandelier in the dining room exploded. No, it didn’t simply fall down. No, it couldn’t have been an accident as it had only recently been installed. Some of the shards caught my Dad in the face, he still has scars. I don’t know how I remember it all so vividly, I must have one of those photographic memories. *winks* But after that, my parents stopped putting up too much of a resistance to anything I said. And I learned to keep my temper in check, so my own stuff wouldn’t go boom – like that time with Mr. Fluffy Panda, my stuffed bear. So win-win.

Despite being a spoilt brat at home and being the de facto leader of my friends’ group, I’m sure I could never be called a bully or even be labeled as mean. I was a nice person. I liked helping people out. I liked being the one everyone turned to whenever they needed a problem solved or just someone to hear them out. I could put any grievance to rest, I could stop fights even before they started. I was always in the right place at the right time.

Everyone adored me.

That’s why, I think, when Mademoiselle Mercenita recoiled when she took my hand, I was a bit taken aback. I felt a buzzing begin in my groin. A dangerous kind of buzzing that I hadn’t felt since fourth grade when clumsy Hera Munch tripped at lunch and spilled OJ on my new sneakers. But it wasn’t until the Mademoiselle read my tea leaves and, pointing her crossed fingers at me, screamed, “Dios mio! Dios mio! Eres mala! Eres malvado encarnado!” that the buzzing raced up my spine. I felt my feet leave the ground, felt myself hovering above Madame M. Catching my reflection in the mirror behind her, I looked like the Angel of Death – static aligning my red hair into a fiery halo about my head, bluish-white sparks dancing at my fingers. It was a pretty rad look!

I was so busy admiring myself, I probably would’ve forgotten all about Madame M if she had shut up. But she didn’t, kept calling me evil incarnate. I mean, I understand why she’d get that idea looking at my reflection in the mirror. But it wasn’t polite to call people names – especially the ones who were being nice enough to pay for your crap readings just so you could continue to wallow in your occultist delusions.

I floated to the ground and took a step towards her, trying to calm her down. But as soon as I laid my hand on her shoulder, she let out the most gut-churning scream and I totally lost it. Next thing I knew, she’d exploded. And the buzzing inside me simmered down. Her blood coated me, dripping from the tip of my nose. I caught a drop on my tongue, and my body hummed.

The blood had totally ruined my dress and my makeup was as good as gone. Lucky for me, my friends didn’t even mention it when I came out of Madame M’s tent. They agreed that Mademoiselle Mercenita was definitely a total spaz, and we laughed about it all the way home. I just wonder why they’re all so jumpy around me all of a sudden.

[DISPLAY_ULTIMATE_SOCIAL_ICONS]