Wretched

Chapter One

"I am the chosen, wretched and divine... I am the unspoken, the one they left behind... fearless, fight until we die... I am broken-"

The sound of Black Veil Brides is yanked from my ears as the car screeched to a halt. I glance over at my earbuds, now lying in a pathetic heap, slung over the seatbelt and dangling just over my iPhone. Looks like I had the earbuds wrapped around the seatbelt again, I say to myself, chiding my own carelessness. I wrap the earbuds around my phone and stuff it into the front pocket of my enormous black hoodie acting as an advertisement for Pierce the Veil. Alex whines about how he now suddenly has a headache from Nancy's careless driving, Nancy argues back, and Cassandra is crying about how the car hit a squirrel.

"Cassie," I say, sitting my six year old sister on my lap, her frilly pink skirt spreading out over my dark burgundy skinny jeans. "It's okay, the squirrel isn't dead.. he's just sleeping." Obviously it wasn't true, but I didn't want poor little Cassie to remember the day we were finally going to see Fresh Beat Band, her favorite "band" in existence, as the day a little innocent animal was crushed underneath the ruthless tires of our 2010 silver Toyota. The six year old wipes her nose on her white long-sleeved shirt, which makes Alex laugh and Nancy cringe.

God, do I hate Nancy. I pondered for a month whether or not I should get her that World's Worst Stepmom mug, but I ended up just getting her a cheesy card for Mother's Day.

"Juno, will Fresh Beat Band care if I have boogers on my shirt?" says Cassie, giggling. 

"No, of course not. They'll like you just the way you are," I respond, holding her up in the air and spinning her around. Nancy bites her lip, and upon that note, we are asked to go inside by a scrawny, pimple- faced guy of about sixteen, only two years older than I. He nonchalantly tears the tickets in half, keeping the important stuff and giving us the scraps. I plug my earphones in again, only to find Nancy tearing the beat of Sleeping with Sirens from my ears. 

"Focus on Cassandra's band! You can listen to that unholy music any other time," snaps Nancy. "But, for now, at least let your little sister know you care about her."

"What are you talking about?" I say back, but Nancy acts as if she doesn't hear me. "It's Sleeping with Sirens, it's not 'unholy'." But Nancy just keeps cooing at Cassie, so I put my earbuds back in and cover my ears with my mane of oddly wavy-curly "scene hair". Nancy doesn't seem to notice, and with the sound of tranquility pulsing through my entire being, my body easily maneuvers itself to a seat next to Alex while my mind has made a home deep in the sound of Kellin Quinn's voice. 

And that's when the pain starts.

Not pain exactly, more like an uncontrollable itching taking over the area of my shoulder blades. My pulse quickens, due to the fact that it has never happened before, but at least my freaky-long arms come in handy when I have to stretch and lean back to scratch my back. The itching is a little better after a while, but a certain heat lingering on my skin remains. I sit Cassie on my lap so she can see better, and all is well. For now.

~~~~~~

I chew the leftover popcorn from the concert slowly, letting the buttery snack take over my senses. I love popcorn, next to Chipotle it's my all- time favorite food. Alex continually steals popcorn from my bag until I slap him on the arm. I decide to give the rest to Cassie while I lean sideways in the seat to check my text messages (non- existent) and my ask.fm. No new questions. I fidget in my seat.

I open Safari and am directed to the page I was left on. The page about angels, and how people have argued over the years on them and what other users thought about them. I log in, check people's comments, and leave my own. Angels. What a funny thing to believe in. 

"Juno, are you still looking at that stupid angel thing?" asks Alex, rolling his eyes. "And you say you don't believe in them. Yeah right." His chocolate brown eyes easily penetrate my thoughts, but I shrug him off.

"I don't," I reply. One of the only times I'm not lying in some way. "I still think it's an interesting article. And you can read my comments." I hand Alex my phone so he can scroll through my long chain of comments. 

On March 18th, JunoMeNot wrote: "If angels existed, how come there has never been an instance of an angel existing on Earth and solving a problem that actually exists in the world? If the "holy" and the "innocent" can easily get help from angels, why haven't these "holy people" wished for no more discrimination? Or what about world peace? It seems to me that someone who could recieve the service of an angel would have wished for those with some awful illness to be cured, or the homeless to have homes, or the starving to be fed?"

On April 2nd, JunoMeNot wrote: "I think an angel is a metaphor for the good people want to see in themselves. Maybe that's why I don't believe in them, because I know that if I want to find good in myself I'll just do a good deed or something instead of making excuses and thinking, 'oh, I'll never be holy, I've never seen an angel.' Stupid little fucks."

On April 27th, JunoMeNot replied to minetillidie1: "What do you mean I'm a bad person if I don't believe in angels? People are basically bad, the only thing that can make a person good is if they do something that they believe in that benifits the world in some way, or accept that they will not look for an external being of goodness to become good."

I snatch the phone from Alex. He looks up at me, simply giving me an odd look.

"You said a curse word in the second comment."

"Whatever!" I exclaim." The point is, I don't believe in them, I'm just giving my opinion."

"Naw," says Nancy, half being playful, half scolding. "You just like arguing. Point is, angels do exist, and hun, that's why I try to take you to church."

"Well," I retort. "My real mom raised me to be whatever religion I choose, and I choose Atheist. I don't have a problem with Christianity, Nancy. I'm just not Christian." Nancy scrunches up her nose. I smile to myself, but I soon cease smiling when the itching returns.

My forehead is hot. I can  feel beads of sweat clinging to my eyebrows. The itch takes over my back once more, and I can almost feel pitchforks stabbing me as the itch turns to an excruciating pain. I double over in my seat, clutching my stomach, my brain void of an explanation to this sudden ailment. Nancy gives me an odd look.

"My back, Nancy!" I scream. Alex and Cassie look over at me in concern. Cassie begins to cry, and on that note, I am driven straight home at a ridiculously fast speed. It almost seems like hours go by as we drive home. I dig my nails into the seat and we finally pull up to the house, a medium- large brick house a huge tree in front. Nancy scoops me up and flops me on the couch, tossing a pillow at me and a blanket. It doesn't help. Alex runs and gets me an ice pack, and Cassie is running around frantically like a headless chicken.

Nancy orders me to take of my shirt and hoodie so she can check my back, and I do exactly as she says. I stand there awkwardly in my bra and skinny jeans, and Alex excuses himself and proceeds to pretend to throw up. I can hear a gasp escape from Nancy's lips when she snaps a photo with her phone and shows me my back.

Two long, red scars striped down my back, running straight down over my shoulder blades. I have never seen them before in my life.

"Oh, shit," Nancy and I say at the same time. Nancy quickly dials the dermatologist, and I basically deflate into the couch.

"Ohhh, shit." I repeat.

What is happening to me?