Myla & The Bad Guy's (Mr. Wolf x OC)

Even the Gray Shines

Bar Harbor, Maine. Four years ago

     "See ya tomorrow, insect!" A random boy said out loud.

     The rest of the students failed to hold in their simultaneous laughter as an embarrassed, sixteen-year-old Myla, swung her backpack over her shoulder. She started down the aisle.

     Every time she thought she'd be numb to anything her peers say about her up to this point in her teenage years, she gets proven wrong every time. She did her best to keep on a stony face despite the daunting whispers that coiled her anxiety.

     "You know, out of all of us, I'm surprised Myla is the one to loose her virginity at thirteen—."

     "Well, she is pretty, and blonde, so I'm not surprised—."

     "Weren't her parents siblings? Why would Tommy do her?"

     "At least he wasn't her cousin!"

     "Wonder if she'll go after the football team next—."

     "Nah, they ain't gonna want a slutty insect."

     "Doesn't she have a family already? I heard she's still in foster care."

     "Dude, I don't even think she has friends."

     "I heard her grandparents don't even want her, and yet, she is just now living with them . . . ," the girl sitting in the front row of the school bus said with sarcastic pity.

     For that, young Myla secretly pickpocketed her wallet from the side pocket of her backpack. She hastily stuffed it into the pocket of her red hoodie. She knew the camera surveillance probably caught it, but that'd be future Myla's problem.

     Plus, she was getting better at getting away with petty thievery the more she aged, so that was a bonus on her part.

     The bus driver didn't say anything about her peer's murmurs as Myla stepped off the bus in a coastal town.

     Crossing a busy street that would lead to her grandparents house in the suburb, Myla did her best to ignore four older men—who were walking the opposite direction—send her unpleasant compliments as well as unwanted whistling.

     Her cheeks heated up in anger, her eye twitched in annoyance. She felt the strong urge to shout at them to go fuck themselves.

     However, if she wanted to avoid a confrontation, she'd have to remain invisible—no matter how good she was with knives.

////

     In a horrible, quiet manner, Myla slowly opens the squeaky front door, then quickly shuts it behind her, closing off any sort of light.

     She held her breath, squaring her shoulders, like she was bracing for unknown impact. She kept her trembling fingers locked firmly around the doorknob, too afraid to let go. Her feet remained next to the door with the hungering temptation to just bolt out of the house and get away from here. Far from everyone . . . if she had somewhere to go, some place where she didn't had to spend more than she could afford.

     When she didn't hear unviting footsteps approach, she breathed normally again, letting her shoulders relax.

     Myla hesitantly let go of the doorknob. She looked around the small interior of the house. The same house her parents once grew up in.