Concealed (A Cameron Dallas Fanfiction)

Chapter One

"Leighton, I hate you. Why were you even born? You're the worst mistake I've ever made. I hate you!" My dad's drunken voice shakes me awake. I look around my tiffany blue room, panting, frightened. I see the sun shining through my blue curtains, wind blowing them because the window is half open. I take a deep breath and close my eyes. It was only a dream. Or a nightmare. Except it actually happened. And I hated to hear those words.

I hear a soft knock through my door. "What?" I groan. My mom's head pokes through my door, with a wide smile on her face.

"Heyy, sleepy head." She mumbles, letting herself in. "Time to wake up."

"I'm accepting all hell to break lose." I say, falling back onto my bed.

"Leighton, watch your mouth." Hell isn't a bad word, but she thinks everything my dad repeated is a bad word. "I think being a 16 year old junior is cool." She confidently smiles at me, stroking my hair.

"I think I'll be underrated. Declassed." I tell her, not wanting to get up. I started school early, so I've always been one of the youngest people in my grade. I'm supposed to be a sophomore, but that doesn't really matter. My mom thinks I'm a prodigy. A work of art, really, making my "mark" on the world using my mind. Bullshit, I know, but that doesn't stop her from telling me that, every day.

"Well I think," she plants a kiss on my bangs, "you'll be great." She gets up and starts going through my closet. "Now get up. What are you wearing?" She asks, moving to the right as she goes through clothes on the hanger.

"I don't know." Even though I do know. "But I really don't need your help finding out." My mom looks at me, wounded, before smiling again. She nods and dismisses herself. I've been giving my mom the cold shoulder only because I didn't want to live here all that much. Typical, I know, but I only had to move for my dad. Also typical. I'm always in a certain position because of my dad. It's like a chain reaction. The stupidity he gives out reflects back on me. I take the bullet. I get the wound. It's hard to believe he made me. We're nothing alike. He's violent, I'm calm -at times. He's dumb, I'm brilliant -not trying to be vain. He's a complete asshole, I'm likable -on certain terms.

I shake off the chills I gave myself thinking about my dad, and swing my feet over the bed. I rub my forehead several times before slipping out of bed. I lazily walk to the shower, thudding the floor with every step. After washing my face, I strip down and turn on the shower. I don't know why, but I stand there, under the water. I guess wishing, maybe, this is a dream. California itself isn't bad, but being here, away from my birthplace...I just never thought of living anywhere else. Indiana was shit, don't get me wrong -and call me cheesy- but it was home. Now, once again, I have to move to a new town, and be the new girl.

After washing myself and my hair, I put my pink towel around my body. I walk over to my closet, in need of finding something that won't make me look like a slut. Here in California, it's always hot. Therefore, you can wear pretty much anything so you don't pass out while walking to class. They don't really have a dress code, like my old school, so me and my mom had to go shopping for what I liked to call the "dress like a slut for school" haul. My mom made me put all of my sweaters and jeans and anything with actual material in them, in a box down in the basement. She said, and I quote, you won't need them where we're going. That was a hint we were moving far away. I thought maybe London, with cute boys with accents and beanies, but I struck my luck and landed in California. Selfish? Maybe. But, come on, no one can deny boys with accents and beanies!

I finally decide on my bleached high waisted jeans, white with pink floral print crop top, and all blue toms. I grab my bag, phone charger, and house keys, and go downstairs. My mom's sitting at the dinner table, with her reading glasses on. She doesn't look at me, but does acknowledge me. "Breakfast's in the microwave." I nod and walk into the kitchen. My mom picked a pretty nice house for the two of us. 4 bedroom, 3 and a half bathroom. Basement and game room. We use the basement as a guest room, if we do ever get guests. My brother, who's in college now, talked about moving back in with me and my mom, to "protect" us. My brother is, of course, not my father's child. He was blessed with grace, and integrity, and the most important thing, common sense. Back when we were in school, everyone knew me because of him. He was well liked by girls. You know what the means, of course.