colors |isaac lahey ✔

One

Louisa Lloyd

"Louisa, honey, we have to leave!"

Angela's voice echoes around my empty room as I look around the bare walls and sigh in disappointment. This has been my room, my sanctuary since I was ten years old, I've created some important memories here. But of course, Louisa doesn't get to decide where she wants to live.

She just gets bossed around, like always.

"Coming!" I shout back to let know Angela I heard her. "Give me a few minutes."

Footsteps can be heard from outside as she walks away from my door, giving me some time to think and digest everything that has happened these past few weeks.

One, I'm adopted. Yep, the two people I've been calling mom and dad since day one aren't my real parents.

Two, I have- well had- a family back in this town called Beacon Hills. I don't even know where it is, I've never heard that name in my life before. This is too much for someone like me. And with someone like me I mean someone who hates contact with other human beings that are not family or very close friends, someone who hates speaking in public or even looking at someone in the eye.

The doctors call it social anxiety. I call it weirdness. I'm weird. Always been, always will be. Louisa, the weirdo everyone looks down to, the weirdo everyone makes fun of.

The weirdo with zero friends and a scar on her arm. A large scar. On her left arm. That's me. Louisa Loyd. Nice to meet you, now can you please close the door on your way out?

I sigh and stand from my safe spot near the window. This is where I used to sit for hours and read, listen to some music and watch movies. All night long, without worries. Angelina and Brett let me do whatever I want, but I have to be a good student and take care of myself.

Translation: no trouble.

I can do it, I've done it for 16 years and counting. I'm used to this feeling, being thrown around by everyone, always the outcast, the girl no one wants to be with.

As I rest my forehead on the window and look outside, Angela and Brett knock on my door and enter side by side, holding a small box, laced with red and white flowers. A tiny angel smiles at me from its lid and I smile nostalgically.

It's awfully familiar.

"What's that?" I ask, afraid of the answer.

"It was your mother's." Angela answers. "She asked us to give this to you when we told you everything about- about you and your family."