Walls
  • WpView
    Reads 48
  • WpVote
    Votes 0
  • WpPart
    Parts 1
WpMetadataReadOngoing<5 mins
WpMetadataNoticeLast published Sun, Jan 18, 2015
Hi. My name's Alice. I live in the lovely town, Janesville, in Wisconsin. I had a mother who was an amazing artist and an even better mother. And a father who would never stop drinking. And then there came the crash. And then I was forced to go to Westhills Children's Home. But then I met Jackson Evans, my best and pretty much only friend. He claims that I've built hard brick walls around me to protect anyone from ever climbing in and stealing my heart. He's right. He's determined. He's climbing in.
All Rights Reserved
#3
zoned
WpChevronRight
Join the largest storytelling communityGet personalized story recommendations, save your favourites to your library, and comment and vote to grow your community.
Illustration

You may also like

  • Eternity
  • My Wildest Dreams
  • Is It All A Myth?
  • Mia and Her Alpha
  • Love Like This
  • Standing Alone
  • Started as a Mistake (pernico/perico)
  • When He Saved Me
  • How to be a girl ✔️
Eternity

Wayland Everett is someone no one expects to have problems. He is the 'Grade-A' student: top off his class with no marks against him. However, he has more to him, and Jean West isn't too happy about it. Follow the story as two people, both having gone through their own hell, learn to overcome the obstacles in their lives blocking their happiness- because sometimes we make our own obstacles and don't even know it. The moment it all began: "I peek at him through the corner of my eye. Wayland Everett, the goody- two- shoes who did everything right and never got into trouble, was peeling off his russet soaked white t-shirt, revealing dark purple and black bruises all along his sides criss-crossed with red and pink scars. If I squinted my eyes hard enough, I could see small circles of charred flesh dotting places across his neck and arms- but not his lower arms where it would be too visable. Wayland winces as the material sticks to the torn skin, but eventually he scrapes it off. In doing this, his normal mahogany beanie slips off, and black hair matted down with sweat is pushed back exposing the sides of his head to be shaved with intricate sharp designs. The sides are shaded a deep, bloody red, and glimmer wickidly against his dyed- probably a more temporary type of dye- black locks. A gasp seems to rush through my whole body, but I throw my hand up to cover my mouth and keep it from escaping. But it's too late; he heard me.

More details
WpActionLinkContent Guidelines