Waking the Fae [BOOK ONE]

Chapter 12

School. One word was all that was needed to sum up her day. The reasons why everything wasn’t going to go her way.

Rebecca sighed. She didn’t want to go today. At all. Thanks to her blow-up last week she was going to be laughing stock of the school. She’d given everyone even more incentive to go after her. She could barely remember what she’d said but she wasn’t sure if she wanted to know.

And, to make matters worse, it was Monday. The worst day of the week.

Rebecca forced herself into the bathroom, feeling like she was on autopilot. She just wasn’t there. She didn’t want to be there. Showering meant she was a step closer to school. She wanted to the opposite.

She closed her eyes to avoid the mirror. Her emotions were all over the place. If she saw her scars she’d start sobbing. She’d be a mess. Rebecca was already a mess.

And she couldn’t figure out why.

It wasn’t because of mood swings—they’d finished a week ago. Besides, her mood swings weren’t bad. They were barely even noticeable.

Nothing else came to mind. She was at a complete loss for why.

Today was going to be bad, she knew it. Could feel it. She couldn’t put her fingers on why and how but she just knew. Her instincts were screaming it at her. They’d never been wrong.

*             *             *

“Morning sleepyhead. Don’t you look happy?”

Rebecca didn’t trying to smile at her dad. She didn’t want today to happen. She wanted to hide under the covers of her bed and never leave.

Her mother came around the kitchen, pot in hand. “What’s wrong? You look pale.”

Rebecca shrugged, breathing in the aroma of the kitchen. It was heavenly. Bacon was a thousand times better when her dad cooked it. She couldn’t wait to eat it. “I’m okay.”

Her mother frowned, placing a hand on her forehead. “You’re not burning up. Do you feel hot?”

“I feel like normal.” Just sick of the day already—which was basically her normal.

“Oh. If you say you’re fine, I believe you. But if you start to feel woozy or like you have a temperature, tell me. I’ll call work and tell them I’ll be late so I can take care of you.”

Rebecca didn’t tell her mother that there was no way she was doing that. There was nothing wrong with her besides her usual problems. Which, in retrospect weren’t important at all. Her parents didn’t need to worry herself with them.