The Truth Is.

Chapter 1

SADIE

         His eyes pulled at me, dark and alluring, I could almost see the devil burning behind his pretty gaze. Like a puppeteer, he tugged the string on me all over again.

My wrist burned, his rough callouses drug across them, clinching the joints. His laugh bounced around my head, blocking any positive thoughts from entering.

The condescending taps of his finger whispered against my skin. Drowning, I was drowning, my lungs jerked and pulled for oxygen all the while my mind remained trapped. He tugged me along, forcing me to twist and smile.

"Remember Sadie." His smirk tickled my ear. "You wanted this."

The flash of a photograph ripped me from the memory; Like cold water it pulled me from a pensive state and into reality.

I stood, in the middle of town hall with my family. Photographers and citizens surrounded us. Memories came crashing down on me when I remember Father had won the election.

"Sadie, smile," Mom warned me, curling her mouth into the gentlest of smiles. Dad stood behind her with his arms curled around her waist. They both shared the same plastic joy. Dad grinned, glancing downwards. On the photo it would look as if he was looking at Mom.

I followed his eyes to find them hooked on his watch.

To my left, My brother Victor stood like a stone-cold soldier. His mouth in a reluctant line. His golden hair combed back with hair gel, smelling like its brand name was SHOCK, or ELECTRIC.

Melanie, My last sibling laid her hand on my shoulder, keeping it tightened in a warning. Hair poured down her shoulders in a silky straight lines, the ink black color accentuated the deepness of her eyes. She'd gotten our mother's hair. I could hear her words replaying in the back of my mind as I plastered on a smile.

You always had the ugliest little grin Sadie.

Snap!

The photograph switched off his flash, gave my Dad thumbs up and stepped to the side. The camera switched to Mr. Fellings and his family.

"Mr. Gallagher! Over here Mr. Gallagher." One of the reporters waved his notepad, attempting to catch my Father's eyes. Behind the reporter was a cheering crowd. The sound was like thunder roaring through the town hall in which we stood.

I waited, praying for lightening to strike.

"Yes?" My Father released my Mother. She didn't sigh or shiver at the loss of his touch. Instead, she turned to me, arching a thin dark eyebrow. I sucked in a cold breath.

My Father approached the crowd, extending his hand upwards in a greeting. Voice erupted into a flurry of questions and accusations. They forced through one another, desperately reaching for my Father. He smiled, a beautiful and empty smile.

He was infectious. He twisted his golden locks so they all fell in a perfect swoop. Darkness shrouded his eyes, carrying honey-like warmth to them. Trips to exotic countries have his skin a lively warmth to it.

Cameras flashed, and tapes rolled.

"What was your question. . . Mr. Reeves?" My Father glanced down at the reporters name-tag.

The clean-cut man eyes lit up. I swore he would've fainted If the cameras weren't rolling He pulled at his tie, and swiped a hand through his already slicked dark hair. With a nod to the cameras he began.