Pentacle

Tempest Unbound

Acacia crouched in the shadowy confines of the closet—accompanied only by her shallow, trembling breaths. Her heart hammered so hard against her chest that she feared it might give her away. Her gaze shot to the thin sliver of light under the door as the sound of approaching footsteps grew louder. She tensed, holding her breath.

Her trepidation surged as a shadow passed by the light. The closet air seemed to come alive, responding to her terror. She fought to control her breathing, to no avail. Drawing in a sharp breath, the air inside the closet stirred around her.

She pressed against the back wall, watching the doorknob twist and the door creak open, flooding the closet with light. Acacia squinted, trying to make out the silhouette of the woman looming in the doorway, arms akimbo.

"Found her!" the woman shouted, exasperated.

Acacia's heart sank; she was caught. Releasing a breath, she muttered, 'Fuck.'

"Language!" the woman reprimanded, stepping aside to let Acacia out. As Acacia stormed past, lightning flashed, illuminating her bedroom, followed by a wall-shaking crash of thunder.

Raindrops splattered against the woman's arm, drawing her attention to the open window. "How many times have we told you to close the windows when it rains? You'll ruin the molding."

She moved to shut the window, pausing as her gaze caught a shrouded figure beneath a streetlight, seemingly watching them. She shook her head, dismissing the absurd thought as she slammed the windowpane closed with a shudder. Surely, no sane person would be out in this deluge.

"Shit. Forgot," Acacia muttered, flopping onto her bed. "Sorry, Sharon."

"It's still mom," Sharon corrected her.

"At least until I file for emancipation," Acacia retorted.

Sharon smirked. "Or until your dad and I sign you up for reform school for the next four years of your life."

Acacia rolled her eyes and grabbed her headphones. "You're hilarious," she said, deadpan.

"We've been looking everywhere for you," Sharon scolded. "We missed your birthday dinner reservations."

"I told you I wasn't going if Mickey wasn't invited," Acacia said defiantly, the tension in the room growing thicker by the second.

"The restaurant doesn't allow juvenile delinquents, and neither does this family."

Ignoring her mom's retort, Acacia groaned and slid her headphones over her ears, turning up the volume until her mother's voice was just a distant murmur. She closed her eyes, letting her thoughts drift to Mickey. They met at school last year, and since then, they'd become inseparable. Acacia wasn't rushing to get married or anything. She was nearly fifteen, not nearly insane.

It's just that Mickey loved the bright red streaks "littering" Acacia's beautiful black hair, as her parents put it. He didn't care that her closet was filled with black, gray, and red ripped or skull-peppered clothing. In fact, he thought it made the blue streaks in her silvery eyes all the more alluring.

Mickey was everything Acacia's parents feared. He was the complete opposite of what they wanted in a boyfriend for their daughter, which scared them because it rendered their arguments for her to dress and behave differently moot. They wanted an ordinary daughter, but Acacia wanted to be anything but.

As Acacia tried to block out her mother's nagging, Sharon rummaged through her closet, eliciting a groan of protest. Acacia felt her mother nudge her combat boot and cracked one eye open to see a pale yellow dress dangling over her. She watched her mom's scowling face and moving lips, but the music successfully drowned out what she was saying.