CHAPTER ONE:
CLAIRE
The hallways of Briarmont High are my
own personal hell. Each time I park my piece of crap car in the parking lot I
curse Jamie for leaving me here, alone.
I hate him, but at the same time, I miss him so much it hurts. The
memory of his messy black hair slices into my heart; his rare smile furthers
the job and bleeds me dry. My chest rises faster with each thought of him, each
moment spent together and I feel the familiar panic begin to bubble up, the
pressure of the walls quickly closing in. I try to stop and breathe in deep,
just like my therapist told me to do. It almost works, but then I catch a
glimpse of the tattoo on my wrist--his initials--and I know everything is not
fine.
"Watch
out freak!" a huge jock grunts, bumping into me so hard that I slam right
into the stale green lockers. The impact shakes my fragile bones and shatters
everything, bringing me back to the present. Snickers erupt and even though I
try to avoid eye contact, I can still see them pointing at me as I attempt to
right myself. Everything blurs together as a watery film forms over my gaze. I
will not cry. Not here. Not in front of them. They aren't worthy of my tears.
"You
should've seen her little skeletal face," the head of my personal
tormenting crew cackles as I race down the hallway. They know nothing. They
have no idea what I’ve been through or the guilt they’ve branded on my heart.
When I’m almost to my first period class, I turn around just in time to see
Lindy Baker with her perfectly styled blonde hair and designer purse reenacting
my shove into the lockers. Everyone around her pauses, their eyes glued to me
as I walk through the classroom door. As soon as I’m out of earshot they all
burst into a cacophony of sound. I dig my nails into the palm of my hand hard
enough to draw blood, the pain sharp enough to elicit a gasp as I slip into my
seat. In every class I sit in the back, not wanting to draw attention to myself.
That was always Jamie's thing, too. I look over to the seat beside me and sigh.
That would've been his. As I'm staring and trying hard not to break down in the
middle of the classroom, a tall boy slides into the seat. He doesn't look at me
at first and I don't remember him from anywhere. His chestnut hair is shaggy,
covering his eyes and curling wildly at his neck. He straightens his faded
black hoodie and then pulls up the sleeves revealing thick leather bands on
each wrist. My eyes narrow as I inspect them. No one's held my interest in a
long time and I wonder what it is about this guy that makes me want to keep
looking, to know what he's hiding from.
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And because I'm a music junkie, let me include a song that I played over
and over as I wrote this story! Here's Ben Howard's Promise, courtesy
of Ibrisar. Enjoy!
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