The Degenerates - Under Edit

f o u r t e e n

Trey's name appeared on my screen as my phone vibrated through my jeans. I ignored the call, not wanting to hear from him right now. As much as my heart lurched and my adrenaline shot through my body at the thought of him wanting to talk to me, I remembered how I felt when he had left me standing on the balcony in the cold.

Rain sprinkled down lightly as I stuffed my hands in my pockets, nearly jogging across the grass. I found myself at the door of the giant house that got the ball rolling on my journey here in Alsbury. It was made from heavy oak, double the size of any normal door, but I gave it a shove anyway, mindful that even though I was behind a thick hedge, I never knew who could be watching me.

The door remained locked, naturally, and I began a scavenger hunt for a spare key. There had to be one, they were a bunch of boys, surely they were prone to forget and one of them had the idea to keep a spare around. I slid the doormat away, finding nothing. I ran my hands along the bricks, in an attempt to find a loose one, to no avail either.

I backed up from the door, to see if I could peer over the top of it, in case there were a spare above, and the heel of my boot knocked something and almost sent me tumbling backward into the garden. A plant, in a turquoise pot, tipped backward off the concrete path and into the garden, spilling its' soil. I swore, and crouched down , trying to stuff the soil back into the pot.

My hands were quickly covered in the soft dirt, but a hard material scraped my knuckle. I recoiled instantly, drawing out a key. I smiled to myself.

After discreetly letting myself into the mansion, I timidly closed the door, as if not to alert the peace and disrupt the silence. The interior appeared much larger than it did the night I was here.

The large federation style building boasted tall, high ceilings and bold, framed windows. The floor echoed with each step, any noise bounced from the marble and travelled around the room, like a boomerang. I followed the hall into the enormous lounge room; from memory, this room was the dance floor.

An oversized brown rug lay over the tiles, crisp and clean, what looked to be an untouched coffee table posed over top. A single candle light burned, casting a tiny flicker of movement over the white leather couch and an antique bergere chair. It defied belief how they could trust a bunch of boys to live here and not destroy everything they saw.

I distracted myself from admiring the beauty of the house, remembering I was on a short time limit, and hadn't the slightest clue on how I'd get myself out if I were to be caught.

I left the lounge room and approached the grand staircase. It was hard not to imagine the Queen of England walking down, waving at her admirers, her heels clacking on the marble. The vision quickly vanished as I stumbled up the staircase in my worn out leather boots.

I stopped and peered over the railing, giving another check to see if anyone were lurking around. I hadn't exactly thoroughly checked before entering, but I supposed I arrived into that risk when I decided to break and enter. Well, unlock, and enter.

The areas downstairs, from what I guessed, were empty. I continued my journey upstairs, passing the window I had stood at when I properly met Trey Arden. Like school children, each bedroom door had been labelled with a name, or two, depending if they shared or not.

It certainly made my job easier. As I wandered along, I found two doors, side by side, labelled Brad and James.

I circled around the room once more, just in case anything interesting stood out to me. An eerie silence fell over me, and I suddenly felt uncomfortable. I reached for Brad's door handle, and something scraped along the carpet, barely audible. My hand recoiled from the handle, my heart accelerating.