The Guardians (The Highest Order, Book One)

CHAPTER 17

Waking up the next morning had never been so difficult. Kaleb had left some time in the middle of the night, I could still feel the light kiss he'd placed on my head before walking back out onto the small balcony.

I splashed cold water onto my face to sooth my bloodshot eyes. Never had I let myself seem so weak in front of another like I had last night. The thought made me feel sick. A sort of embarrassment ran through my body as I closed my eyes, leaning my hands on the small counter in front of me as I took three deep, calming breaths.

'Just don't talk about it' I say to myself in the mirror, face still dripping with water, 'Forget it happened.'

Pushing away from the counter, standing to my full, crouched height, I saunter out the bathroom, not giving myself another look in the mirror behind me.

My room looked exactly how I'd left it. Bed had been freshly made when I left it this morning, traces of Kaleb's scent still filled my room, lacing the pillow he'd laid on. The photo he'd had in his hand, the one of me holding my bat read to hit my very first strike when I was ten. Dad had taken that photo, he'd been so proud that day, dropped the camera the moment it was called. I still remember the look on his face as he picked me and swung me around in his arms, I'd never seen him so happy and I'd never felt so loved.

Baseball was our thing. Mom never really understood it. She wanted me in dresses, playing dress up with other girls my age but she accepted it. It was our thing. Father and daughter, until eventually it became my thing and slowly it stopped being even that. Dad gave up coming to watch me in baseball practice when I was 14, he'd much preferred staying home criticising mom or staying in the office.

A year later, I stopped going, after I'd come home late one evening to find mom lying on the floor with blood oozing out of her arm and glass shattered on the floor. He back was slightly perched against the wall as she held the arm, tears streaming down her face as she begged my father to stop.

I still remember the look on his face when he turned to find me standing there as the door closed behind me. He just stared, with this animalistic look in his eyes, predatorial even. That was the first time I'd ever been truly scared of my own father. If I could even call him that.

I haven't gone to a single baseball practice after that. Hell, I won't even watch the game anymore.

Pulling my hair lightly over my shoulders, I dab a light layer of concealer under my eyes to try and mask some of the puffiness. Dressed in a pair of black skinny jeans and a plain white t-shirt, tied into a knot at the waist, i'm as ready to leave for school as I was going to get.

Mom had already left for work, I heard the door close about an hour ago. We had yet to discuss last night and I had no doubt we'd be doing that tonight, if she came home in time. It seemed that she was home less and less over the past few weeks. The house was starting to feel empty.

The coffee pot was half full by the time I made it to the kitchen but it was still warm enough to drink. That was my breakfast for this morning.

A knock on the front door rang out as I took a sip from the mug. Furrowing my brows, I open the door, to reveal an unusually chipper Maia.

'You know you don't have to knock right?' She held two muffins in her hand as she followed me into the kitchen.

She laughed, 'Mom told me to bring these over,' She said, handing me one, 'it seems oth our moms go through baking phases'

We had about 20 minutes until we had to leave, I was still shocked that I managed to pull myself out of bed ontime, much less early, 'Tell her thanks for me' I say, eyeing the muffin she'd placed in front of me, 'You want coffee?' I ask, as I turn to grab my mug from next to the coffee maker.