Wrong Place, Wrong Time, Right Fate

The night that started it all...

I was sitting in the back of Tim's car, lost in thought and staring at my feet. The atmosphere was tense and uneasy. I didn't know what to say. I knew that if I started talking, I wouldn't say anything smart. Focusing on pressing the ice pack that the nurse had given me for the bump on the back of my head, I flinched trying to ignore his glances at me in the rearview mirror. He looked angry, but his eyes were focused on the road. Then I got tired of the silence. 'I might as well get the lecture over with.'

"Are you angry?"

"What do you think Petra? Why in the world were you fighting at school?"

"It wasn't a fight. These girls had no right to pick on a sixth grader."

"Three of them and you had the brilliant idea to act as a wall. "

"I'm not that defenseless."

"Don't give me that. These girls are immature and they'll want to get back at you for this."

"You're overreacting. They're just a bunch of bimbos who couldn't throw a punch even if they wanted to. What was I suppose to do?"

"Call a teacher maybe?" He snapped back.

"Sorry my priority was to keep that girl from getting messed up. Besides, I did call a teacher."

"After they turned you into a punching bag."

"That's not what happened. They just pushed me and I bumped my head against a locker. They ran away because they thought I was seriously injured. I told you, they can't fight anymore than clawless cats."

"You provoked them by calling them names. That was like throwing oil on fire, Petra. You call that a smart move?"

"Oh! my gosh, Tim! Can you please drop it? I didn't do anything wrong."

I immediately regretted spouting that out to the man who'd looked after me since my parents's death. When my mom and dad died in a car crash along with my little brother, Timothy Kiler, my father's best friend, took me in with his wife Amanda. They were an adorable couple with a seven year old son, called Alec and a eleven year old daughter, Myra. And they were the kindest people I knew.

"Petra, you're going to be eighteen soon. Be a little mature and admit that putting yourself in danger like that was stupid. And it's not the first time. I'm seriously reconsidering letting you attend high school."

I jumped from my seat at the sound of the threat. "You can't take me out of school, Tim!"

"You know you don't need it."

"That's not true! You know exactly why I want to keep attending!"

"If you keep acting like this, I don't see any good reason to. Your parents would tell you the same, and you know it."

A wave of bitterness came over me and I suddenly felt sick . For the thousandth time since then, the tears were ready to escape my eyes. I looked out the window and took long deep breaths to try and contain them. 'It's been six months, damn it. Why am I still crying?' I must have been making a horrible face, because Tim immediately looked guilty.

"Petra, I'm sorry..." He began, apologizing.

"Don't be, I'm the one who started it. Can we just not talk about this please?"

Tim nodded and didn't say anything the rest of the way, while I still fought to keep the tears in. We arrived at their home. The house was right on the border of Sina and Maria. It wasn't that big, but still too big for only five people and it was surrounded by a protective wall and required a passcode to enter. Tim was working for the city's security so the house had to be well guarded. His bosses had strongly suggested he got bodyguards as well, but Tim had refused because he wanted his life to be as ordinary as possible for his children and now, for me. And despite his time-consuming job, he always found the time to be there for Alec and Myra. As for Amanda, she was a renowned Chef and could probably have been the best in the world if it hadn't been for her marrying. She was now a perfect housewife with her own recipe blog. She could spend hours in the kitchen making new things. These people were amazing parents. They just weren't mine. Tim opened the iron fence and the car entered the driveway. I opened the door, grabbed my school bag and walked up the stairs. I entered the house and climbed the stairs quickly to the second floor. Sitting at my desk, I finished my homework. Once done, I kicked off my shoes and just lied down on my bed, staring at the ceiling. I'd been living here for six months now, but my room was far from looking like that of a girl my age. No decorations, no posters, no frames... The walls were gray from the bottom to about halfway up the walls and the rest was white. The floor was made of clear wood and my curtains were rose-red. My desk was white, with a thin glass vase containing faded petals of the three white roses I'd recovered from my parent's and Toby's coffins before they were shut forever. Feeling a new wave of negativity about to overwhelm me, I shook my head to forget and headed back downstairs to the kitchen. I sat at the table and stared at the woman of the house while she cooked.