wicked games // michael clifford [au]

// chapter four //

<< rory's pov >>

"Rory," My mother's voice calls out from the living room as I slowly and carelessly wash my dishes for the evening. 

Sighing, I toss the dish towel on the counter before dragging myself into the living room to see what ridiculous thing is going to come out of her mouth this time. 

"Did you break this lamp?" She asks, holding up one of our new tall lamps that usually stood on the other side of the room. It's glass shade was shattered to bits on the hardwood floor, it's pieces scattered around my mom's feet. 

"No," I shrug.

Though I knew exactly who did break the lamp. I suppose she should have asked me that as well. Instead, she shrugs, setting the broken lamp down and walks away, expecting someone else to clean it; as she does with every other problem in her life. 

Luke and his little followers certainly know how to be a great welcoming committee. I mean, I absolutely love it when boys break into my house, break my things and try to have their way with me. 

It's my favorite.

Though I highly doubt I'll have to worry about them for a little while. I seemed to have scared them off; a tendency I have with everyone I meet nowadays. 

Without saying another word to my mom and not bothering to poke my head into my dad's den, I make my way upstairs into my bedroom, locking my door behind me. I shiver slightly from the breeze blowing in from my wide-open window.

I pad across the hardwood floor in my bare feet, reaching my stereo and playing one of the many mix tapes I have scattered across my desk. I turn down the music so it's barely a hum in the background, just a small comfort to let me know it's there. 

Taking my time, I slip out of my school uniform, kicking the plaid skirt into the corner, as if that would make it magically disappear along with everything it stood for. My fingers work down my blouse unbuttoning it as I hum along to the music.

After slipping a mere t-shirt over my half-naked body, I stand in front of my mirror, studying myself carefully as I brush through my dirty blonde hair aimlessly. 

It's strange how completely normal a person can look from the outside, but on the inside they're the most damaged things on the planet. Our bodies are rather good at masking all the cracks, I suppose. I've yet to figure out whether that's a good or bad thing.

Sighing, I take a seat at my bay window, the outside world being hidden by darkness. Only the moon sheds light, reflecting off of only the new and shiny headstones, allowing the worn-down ones to go unseen in the night. 

I take out a cigarette, setting it between my teeth. I block the tip from the chilly late September breeze as I light it up. I can't help but to let out a satisfied moan as soon as I take a drag, finding everything about this moment so peaceful.

Of course that never lasts for long.

As soon as I rest my head upon the wooden windowpane and my eyes slowly close, I hear a loud tap on the glass of the window. I sit up slowly, opening my eyes to stare into the dark night. I squint to try to make out the culprit - perhaps a lone tree branch tapping against the glass. 

I get to my knees, taking another drag as I watch carefully. Then suddenly, a small pebble appears, creating another small tap on the window. Instantly my eyes go down to see a figure standing there below the tree in the cemetery.

It's a rather tall figure, dressed all in black. My heart would have started to pound in my chest, had I not seen the white hair illuminating beneath the light of the moon. Instead a grin spreads across my lips.