PAIN KILLER [DISCONTINUED]

001. PREQUEL [1]

001.

――― CHAPTER ONE ―――

PREQUEL [1]

SEPTEMBER 6TH, 1985

📍THE MADISON HOUSE

9:54 AM

OUTSIDE MY HOUSE, a person rapped on my door repeatedly. I was half-sure that it was my Dad. He must've forgotten something again.

I groan, not wanting to get out under the several thick blankets that I'm lying under. I contemplate just not answering the door and hoping whoever the person is just gives up and leaves.

After a minute or two, the banging on the door stops and I immediately think the person has left. I breath a sigh of relief and stretch my legs out from under the bed, savoring the cracks my bones make as they release the tension that was just previously stiffening them.

Then the banging starts again, and I groan again. "Jesus, I'm coming," I mutter as I hurriedly ran up to the living-room door and fumbled for the doorknob. I open the door slowly and carefully, balling my free hand into a fist in case it's someone unwelcome.

But when I open the door a few inches, I'm met with a smiling woman― clearly Asian. Her hair is fluffy and curly which easily adds up to three or four inches to her height. Yet I don't release my fist.

"If this is some ploy to sell me something, I don't want it," I say as I immediately close the door in her face.

I'm too slow though, because she catches the door and pushes it open before I manage to close it. "I'm Ms. Kelley," she says.

I furrow my brows. "Okay?" I say.

"I'm going to be your guidance counselor starting tomorrow. Can I come in? This wont take long."

I immediately release the fist I'm still holding and I drop the attitude. I can't exactly be rude to a teacher, I think. She'll make my life a living hell otherwise.

"Oh, sorry, that's fine. Sure. Come in," I say, my voice 3 pitches higher than it was. "Sorry for the mess," I say as we stumble through the mess of my living room. "The maid took the week off."

"No worries," she says, taking a seat on a couch. "So, Dahlia, do I have it right?"

"Yup," I say, popping the p.

"So, Dahlia, how are you today?"

"I'm fine."

"That's good to hear. Is your Father home?"

I shake my head. "No. He leaves for work at seven."

She nods, but doesn't say anything. She flips open a bag I didn't know she was carrying and pulls out a file. At the top, I can see a thin tab with my name on it in clean, typewriter font.

"So..." I say, thinking of how exactly to frame my question in the most polite way possible. "Why exactly did you say you were here again?"

"Ah," she says, closing the folder. "Right. So, Dahlia," she says, placing emphasis on my name. "You should know that school starts tomorrow."