*Book 1*
*Completed but Editing*
Saphira Colby doesn't actually exist. The memories she comes up with, the family she describes and the appearance she takes on isn't real. It's a disguise. A disguise to hide the real her, the her that's being hunted...
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Chapter 8 "Digging For Gold"
Saphira's POV:
'Very.'
Two hours later and the same word is repeating itself over and over again in my head like a twisted mantra. Why would he say something like that? Then again, I was the one that asked the question, but still! He could've decided to stay quiet!
Wait, maybe he said something on purpose? He wants to 'get to know me,' so maybe he only told me that to get me to reveal something? I mean, he knows Melanie was murdered and I was there. He knows everyone thinks it's my fault, but he doesn't know what happened.
Yeah, he only said what he did to confuse me. To try and open me up like a freaking walnut.
I shake my head, eyebrows furrowing as I take the chicken out of the oven, turning over the potatoes. He won't get inside. I won't let him get involved anymore then he already is.
It's too dangerous.
For him, the people I care about and myself.
I suck in a sharp breath, surprised at the sudden sound of the garage opening. Seeing both of my parents stride into the kitchen only relaxes me a tiny bit. I'm not exactly ecstatic to see them.
"The food in the oven has ten minutes left and everything else is done. I'm getting ready," I don't give either a chance to reply, pushing past the two adults as I take the stairs two at a time. Getting to my room, I resist the childish urge to slam my door.
5:50pm.
It's ten to six and they told me they'd be back by five thirty. I don't have time to shower now. I narrow my eyes at nothing, a certain anger turning to determination. They've gotten on my nerves, so I'm going to get on theirs.
The smirk on my face nearly scares me, but I ignore the feeling, rushing over to my wardrobe as an imaginary ticking starts inside my head. When I turned sixteen, I went through that cliché teenage rebellion faze. I had the typical bad girl clothes, I got my helix and nose pierced, put red streaks in my hair and went to parties.
Got drunk, snuck out and broke into the school.
My parents hated that side of me. But then the incident happened and I suppose they couldn't bring themselves to throw that stuff away. So it's sitting at the bottom of my wardrobe, just waiting to be used again.
I strip out of my clothes, making sure the curtain is closed first, before grabbing some tight, ripped denim jeans, a fitted top with the words, 'F*** Off' written on them and my trusty black leather jacket.
