Clear Lake Academy holds the worst of the worst delinquents from around the country. Each and every student there holds a notorious background that led them there and almost everyone avoids them.
After setting the tenth building on fire, which just...
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Water flowed from the tap, dripping onto the metal base — the hollow sound echoing in my running head. The wind outside howled like a warning beneath the patter of rain. I stared mindlessly outside the window, eyes focused on a lone patch of green.
Will lived in the countryside, amongst the greenest of green in a beautiful bungalow that had a garden filled with golden sunlight and flower beds. The house was rustic and wooden —calm against the noisy, thunderous steps of the boys as Will showed them around . They got along great, or as great as you could call it, being a pack of puppies following his every move.
Will's home was perfect. A cosy one floored home, filled with nothing but love and purity. It was a breath of fresh air compared to the mansion I begrudgingly called home — not a home at all, just stone walls that always felt like they were closing in. That place made my head feel trapped, caged by useless wealth and cold stone figures.
Reveal my desired secret at the ball through a speech.
I heaved a deep breath. It felt like I was stuck in a bubble with an exterior so thick I couldn't find my way out. I felt separated from the rest of the world, trapped and hidden. I mindlessly stared out the window, letting the water flow over my hands freely without a thought as I dwelled deeper into my thoughts.
Only when the heat finally registered did I snap back. I jerked my hand away with a hiss, cursing as the skin burned. Cradling my wet hand against my chest, I fumbled for the cold tap with the other. The moment it clicked on, I shoved my hand beneath the stream, letting the icy water sweep over the raw sting and soothe it.
I stayed like that, holding the edge of my hand under the cold flow, slipping back into the same suffocating bubble of thought.
The boys were somewhere in the house, doing God knows what.
We'd only been here a few hours, and already my mind had drifted to the people who were barely an hour away. No matter how desperately I tried to avoid it, I always circled back to the same thing.
That phone call with my father.
His voice had burned hotter than the scalding water — sharp with rage, cutting straight through me. The harshness of it had rattled me, made me feel like I had done something wrong... like it really was my fault. And maybe it was. Whoever was behind this mess was targeting me, and just by being their friend, I had dragged the others into danger with me.
Memories of my younger self surfaced. The first time I ever noticed the shift in my father's attitude was when I turned five.
It had been a normal morning, filled with quiet laughter, hushed whispers and still air. I was getting ready for school. I wore my usual checkered red and white school dress, with black, polished Mary Janes and my hair in braided pigtails beside my studded ears. A ruby headband sat on the top of my brushed head of hair as I ventured down the hallway of the large mansion I called a home.
