Bad Girls Have Bad Secrets

The Sixth Secret - Her Thoughts Are Poisonous

"Bad Girls Have Bad Secrets."

The Sixth Secret - Her Thoughts Are Poisonous.

I felt so warm.

The bed I was laying on was soft and comfortable. My stomach grumbled before I even allowed my eyes to flutter open. I could feel the warmth of another hand touching mine, their finger tracing over my knuckles. I opened my eyes, confused for only a millisecond before everything came rushing back, my dreamless sleep fading. My eyes flickered to Logan sitting aside me. He had changed into dry clothes yet his hair was damp, several wet strands sticking to his face.

Concern was etched into his features, his violet eyes half closed as he stared down at my hand. His thick eyebrows were pinched closer together, his lips relaxed; turning slightly down at the edges.

The room was dim, the curtains across from me were drawn together. A gentle pitter patter could be heard from outside as it rained. My own clothes were damp, sticking to my skin, but the blanket provided warmth.

I felt Logan's thumb trail back over my knuckles once again, unaware that I was awake. My hand jerked at his touch, and his eye's flickered to my face, expression surprised, before his gaze lowered to the floor and he slowly retracted his hand from mine, placing it on his knee.

I appreciated that he knew his place, knowing I hated making physical contact with other people. Not only because it was out of my comfort zone as I wasn't used to skin to skin contact, but because the only time someone touched me, was to beat me up, so naturally, whenever someone laid a hand on me, I panicked, thinking they were touching me for the only reason anyone really had; to hurt me.

"How are you feeling?" His voice drew me out of my thoughts. My eyes flickered to him. I felt empty, like something was missing. I felt like a sack of nothing.

"What's the time?" I croaked.

"It's past four."

I sat up fast, shoving the dark blanket off me, as I jumped to my feet. It took a few seconds for my dizziness to subside, when it did, I looked over at Logan, who was standing beside me, his lips pursed. "Where's my bike?" I demanded to know, not caring that I was being rude after he helped me. No one ever helped me, I didn't know what to do, what to say, it was different, strange to me.

Instead of answering my question, he frowned at me, "Have you eaten recently?"

"That's non of your business- where's my damn bike?"

"It's outside- you fainted in front of me, of course its my concern."

"How'd you bring it?" My voice was quiet.

"I went back for it."

I drew in a breath, "I have to go." Without waiting for a reply, I grabbed my bike key off the little drawer aside the bed. I turned, hurrying out of his room into the brighter hallway. His home was empty, thankfully. It was pouring when I got outside, I rushed to my bike which stood beneath a tree which successfully shielded my bike from the rainfall- mostly.

As I suspected, my father was waiting for me. When I entered the house, he was pacing up, and down, his thick eyebrows were dipped low into a frown, his dark eyes meeting mine fiercely. Behind him, my mother stood slouched against the wall, her gaze was a glare at the back of her husband's head. It was clear they had been arguing. "Where the hell have you been?" He glowered at me, voice low.

"Out."

"Where?"

"I didn't call the cops."

"I asked you a question."

"I was at school."

"This whole time?"