The Insiders

Warning this book is under renovation! You're welcome to read it, no plot will be changed, but more description and thought will be added. If you do want to wait, just add the book to your library. Every time I edit a chapter I will add a * to the end of the chapter title. Thanks, enjoy :)

I hear a scream downstairs immediately followed by a loud smash of glass.

"Timothy!" I hear my mom cry to my dad. This happens every night. I roll over in my bed and try to block out the sound using my pillow, but it doesn't work. It never works. I hear another smash of glass. I shudder trying to shake off the fear. I hear more yelling from my mom as my bedroom door slowly creaks open.

"Sharlene?" My little sister Reina whispers. I turn over to her and lift the blanket on my bed, welcoming her in. Her tiny body runs across my bedroom floor and climbs into my bed beside me. I let the safety of the blankets wrap around us and I hold her until she falls back asleep. My sister is going to be beautiful when she grows up; her short, dark brown hair will be straight and long. The freckles on her pale skin will look perfect with her green eyes. She's beautiful, unlike me. I have terrible light brown hair that refuses to grow past my shoulder blades. My skin isn't pale or tan, it's an awkward mixture of the two. I fall asleep to the continuing sound of crashes and yells, ending my thoughts.

My alarm wakes me up at 6:45 am. I turn it off quickly, trying not to wake up my sister who is still beside me, deep in gentle sleep. I gracefully get out of bed and head downstairs to do damage control from the night before, part of my normal morning routine. I stop halfway down the stairs in shock. There have been some fairly bad nights, but this is the worst night yet. There are only a few spots in the kitchen without shards of glass on it. I look around to see where my dad ended up, but I only find my pregnant mom deep in sleep on the couch in the living room. I silently walk over and put a blue wool blanket on her. As I walk towards to garage to get a broom, I stop at our last family photo. It was seven years ago; I was eight and my sister was two. In this picture you can really tell how much my sister looks like my mom, and how much I look like my dad. I hate it. My dad and I looking alike is just one more thing to remind me that we're family, therefore I must love him. Besides that I love this picture. It reminds me of a happier time, before my dad's PTSD. My dad is Sargent Timothy Fraser. He was in the front line of our last battle. It has since caused him great pain and our family the worst terror possible. He wakes up almost every night and smashes everything in sight, until he either falls back asleep or wakes himself up. My mom tries to settle him down or wake him up, but it never works. My dad rarely goes into battle anymore because now he's the head general Sargent. He's always in the command station while my uncle Damien is out at the front line.

Once I'm finished cleaning the floor, I go upstairs and prepare for school, trying to be as quiet as I can. I end up putting on some dark denim shorts and a white shirt with blue sleeves. I head out the door and begin my long walk to school. My street is pretty busy with kids and adults rushing to work. I take a moment and envy their normal lives. They didn't start their morning by cleaning up glass after a night of pure fear. They probably ate a wonderful breakfast and kissed their family good-bye before heading out the door. I force myself to focus on other things as I continue to walk. It takes me about ten minutes to walk to my high school. It's a bigger high school, it has about 900 kids. It's actually the only one in town, so some of the kids here have lives like mine; but for their sakes, I hope not.

I eventually reach my locker on the third floor. The hallways are crowded with people talking about their weekend adventures, which they make sound way more exciting than they actually are. I put my code in my lock and open the door. As soon as I open it a white piece of paper falls to the ground. I bend over and pick it up. It's a note from the guidance counsellor, Mr. Rasdear, who is also my math teacher, reminding me of my appointment at the end of the day. Suddenly, I feel a pair of tan arms go around me. I tense in a panic then I relax realizing who it is. I turn around in Peter's arms and place my hands on his chest. His light brown hair is messy from the fall wind outside, it makes me smile. He's so careless, I wish I could be that way. He's wearing light coloured jeans and a dark green t-shirt with some sort of design on it.