Motega

Hello to all readers! This is my first work on Wattpad, and I'm so excited to be sharing my love of writing with other people. Please let me know what you think of "Motega." It would be so, so, so greatly appreciated. :)

Chapter 1

“Thank you so much for coming.” The ashen faced seamstress grasped my hand one final time, “And please tell your mother we appreciate the gift basket.”

                I nodded, soaking in the last few seconds of desperation and sorrow. The entire family had suffered  so much in the last few weeks. Little Timmy passing away, and the mortgage rates were through the roof. The entire family was a living mess. I patted her hand gently.

“My condolences once more. I wish you all the best.”

“You’re such an angel Colette. The entire neighborhood is just so thankful for your help.”

“It’s nothing really.” I blushed. What the seamstress didn’t know, wouldn’t hurt her.

“It isn’t nothing,” she smiled shakily, “I really do hope you get better yourself Colette. Good night.”

“Good night.” I murmured, stepping out of the way as the door swung shut in my face. There really was only so much you could do for someone so deeply fallen into despair. I just wish she wouldn’t have mentioned my condition. It would have been a lovely surprise to find someone who genuinely hoped I got better. Mentioning it only helped clear a guilty conscious.

                Gray flaxen skin, blood-shot eyes, a constant fever, and a gaunt frame are all ridiculous qualities that had haunted me since I was seven years old. For nearly ten years I’d suffered with fainting fits, and a bad case of the shakes. Mother tried to help using her homemade remedies, and when they didn’t help she conceded to a visit from a doctor. Seven doctors actually. It was no use; her little girl was just unlucky and couldn’t be cured, no matter how hard they tried.  

                I no longer had to work the farm like my big brother or father. Instead, I wandered the neighborhood helping the elderly with simple household chores, or assisting a busy mother with children. If I got lucky, I’d have to go see a mourning neighbor, or help someone pack for the big move. And why would that be lucky? Because I’m not just sick on the outside, I’m pretty sure I’m sick on the inside too. When people cry, I smile. I don’t know why. I probably will never know. I hate myself sometimes. Only terrible people can be happy at someone else’s pain.

                Today was one of those days though. I was sure there was color on my cheeks to match the blossoming daisies dotting the crabgrass and dust road. Crickets were out early as the night was so warm, and I shrugged off the gray cardigan on my shoulders. The dress I wore was thin and already patched, but I couldn’t care less. The only thing that could make me happier tonight was if I got home without having a confrontation from Destin Cross.

~~~

                I must have gotten lucky, I smiled to myself, Destin might actually be stuck at home today.

                The white picket fence that symbolized the entire Cross family wealth clashed dramatically with the opposite side of the road, a dark wall of trees. I remained closer to the barricade of trees in hopes of sneaking past the mansion the Cross family called a farmhouse. I took a glance around and sighed in relief. No Destin.

“Looking for someone Cole?”

                I froze. Of course it had been too good to be true. I contemplated ignoring him, but knew he’d just catch up to me. Instead I turned around and faked a wide smile.

“Not anyone in particular Destin.” My gray eyes collided with his blue eyes, “In fact, I was just heading home.”

“Really now?” He murmured, it seemed he was questioning himself rather than me.

“Yes. So,” I gave a little wave, “I’ll. Just. Go.”

                Before I could turn all the way around, Destin had taken three lazy steps towards me and grabbed my arm. He held it gently, but unwaveringly. No doubt I wouldn’t be able to break his grip. Up close, I was once again struck by how extremely good-looking he is.  But all his good looks seemed shadowed and gloomy. He towered over my small frame and brushed his dark hair out of his eyes. It seemed as though each step had been calculated and perfected. This was just another performance of something he’d practiced a million times.

“Let me go.” I attempted to remain monotone.

“Cole?” He grabbed my other arm and shoved me backwards, right into a tree, “We’re friends right?”

“Are you insane?!” I squirmed as the bark imprinted itself onto my exposed back. My jacket lay limply by Destin’s feet, “I swear to God, you better as hell let me go.”

“You never change do you Cole?” he searched my face, his expression becoming more of what I was used to, “You think that if you act all tough, you can protect your pretty face.”

                Pretty? I had to repeat it in my head. Me? Pretty? I guess it could happen. If my skin could catch a tan, or my hair actually remain gold and not grow limp and stringy. I slapped myself mentally. His twisted idea of a joke was to make fun of the sick girl. Like always.

“I don’t act tough.” I snapped back.

“I forgot,” he rolled his eyes before adjusting his grip on my arms, much tighter; “You really are tough, aren’t you?”

                He laughed.

“I make you all heated inside, don’t I Cole?” He smiled cruelly.

“Stop asking questions, and stop calling me Cole.”

“Whatever you say…Cole.” His grip was reaching the point of bruising but I refused to give him the satisfaction of victory. I decided to change tactics.

“If you’d use my real name,” I said thoughtfully, “And didn’t hurt me so much. I’d be your friend.”

                The smirk on his face wavered, and his grip on my arms faltered. Without taking even a second to rethink my plan, I sent my knee straight into his stomach. I slipped out of his arms and ran towards my farmhouse, not caring about the gray cardigan left by the side of the road, or the boy clutching his stomach.  I had almost reached the five minute mark when I heard him call out.

“I know your secret Colette! I know who you are!” I could picture his wicked grin, “They won’t be home when you get there!”

                His threat seemed so empty, but my heart jumped at the thought about him hurting my family. For whatever reason, the seventeen year old boy scared me more than anything else ever did. I didn’t question him and his capabilities. I burst into a full on sprint.

                 I barely even realized he had used my real name.