I am Cazmere *incomplete*

Chapter 2

Thanks again for reading! Enjoy Chapter 2  :)

By the time I walk into the spacious living room, it was 7:00 at night, and I was greeted by a huge serving of homemade Shepard's pie, stuffed with all my favorite fillings. My aunt and uncle waited patiently at the table, huge grins lighting up their faces when I stepped in their line of sight. Delicious smells overwhelmed my senses, and my stomach growled, eager to devour the exquisite meal.

Nah, I'm just kidding. In reality, my "guardians" were nowhere to be seen, and the kitchen, as always, was empty besides the numerous expensive decorations and silverware covering the table that was never used. Upon further inspection, I found a small note set on the counter. But of course a plain note wouldn't be enough. Valerie and Mason took the time to fold the crisp sheet of paper into a swan, like the kind you'd see on a hotel bed when you first arrive.

Unfolding and reading it, I let out an audible sigh. Written in delicate swirling letters, it simply said:

"Food can be found in the pantry. I believe there should be some bread on the top shelf and some condiments next to it if you'd like to prepare yourself a sandwich."

I've gotten this note every day since school began. Occasionally they'll switch it up and send me out to buy a frozen meal or something else cheap, so I suppose that's thoughtful of them.

Well, there's nothing I can do now other than eat their slim selection of food or starve, so I go for the first option. After quickly eating the small peanut butter sandwich, I walk with dragging feet towards the long hallway leading to my room.

"Same routine, different day," I mutter.

Even the hallways are flawlessly pristine and in top condition. Yes that's right, hallways as in more than one. Each is identically narrow, with just enough space for two, maybe three people to walk shoulder to shoulder. Huge chandeliers hang from the tall ceilings, perfectly illuminating the lengthy walkways.

"This place gives me claustrophobia," I think to myself for the millionth time since arriving.

My parents died when I was 7 years young; more specifically, they were murdered. Of course, I'm the only one who will ever say it, because I was the only other one there. In technical terms, I was the only witness, but due to my young age at the time, the court wouldn't hold my testimony accountable.

To this day, eight years after the "accident", the deaths of Holly and Flynn McCarthaigh remains a cold case. Or in simple terms, a case that is unsolved after a long time, but will be re-investigated if new evidence pops up. Basically everyone thought it was a lost cause, except for me.

I'm in their room. Silent tears run down my cheeks as my mother screamed and my father shouted for me to run.

Finally I arrive to my room. The first thing I do is plop down on the queen sized bed sitting in the corner, stretching out until I look like a human starfish. Oops, I messed up the perfectly tucked and folded sheets. My bad.

The room is packed full of stuff that Valerie and Mason thought a stereotypical high school boy would enjoy. A PlayStation and Xbox are in the center of the room, along with a massive 86 inch flat screen TV that you can watch from the couch and ottoman set. Wireless headphones are propped on a huge shelf taking up most of the wall, right above an electric guitar, complete with the bag, strap, picks, amp, and other accessories that I have no idea how to use. At least five Bluetooth speakers are collecting dust somewhere in my walk-in closet; the same goes for countless drones, skateboards, footballs, basketballs, video games, and many more things I'll never ever pick up.

After about five more minutes of being a starfish, I sit up and look around at the strangely unfamiliar room I've been living in.

Almost eight years since I moved in, yet I still can't get comfortable. This place might be my house, but I could never call it my home. Not without feeling like a traitor. Both my parents are dead, and I saw them. I saw it happen. But I'm still here, alive and breathing. It's not fair. More than that, it's wrong. My parents were good people, everyone liked and respected them. Even as a 7 year old, it was obvious to me that something went wrong the night they were killed. It wasn't supposed to be them.