Prologue: Ashton

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~Ashton's Point of View~

The front door slams and my body on instinct flinches. Putting down my weights, I hurry to my phone and turn off the music blaring from it. I know how much he hates it when I work out to music.

"Ashton! You better be studying for that final! Your teacher already called and told me how you failed a test!" My father shouts while staggering up the stairs, probably just coming home from the bar.

Of course my teacher called. I'm on my way to becoming valedictorian, so it's a shock when I fail anything. Wouldn't want to shame the family name like my dad always tells me.

He's a complete hypocrite. He tells me to get good grades, be the best quarterback Lincoln High as ever seen, and all this crap, yet here he is stumbling up the stairs 10:30 at night; drunk.

Before I even have time to pull on a shirt, my body is slammed against my dresser. My face stings from where he slapped me. "Listen here, you piece of shit. I didn't spend the last 4 years of my life working my ass off so you can  go to the best school in California, just so you could become a failure. You hear me?" His hot breath on my face, reeking of alcohol.

When I don't reply he slams my body against my dresser again, ramming my back straight into one of the handles. I let out a gasp of pain and know there's going to be another bruise I'm going to have to explain to the guys in the locker room.

As though just to reassure me he's still in charge, he slaps me again. "Clean your act up." He snarls at me and walks out of my room.

Taking my time, I get up and put my dresser back in place. Once that's done I walk into the bathroom and pull out the pack of razors I keep in my drawer.

Looking at my ever growing collection of scars, I drag the razor across my skin. I let the blood run down my fingers, straight into the drain.

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