Through The Bars
- Reads 210
- Votes 2
- Parts 4
Ongoing24m
Last published Thu, Apr 2, 2015
"what could possibly happen?"
When Alyssa Rodness volunteers to tutor the biggest screw up of the whole of California, she thinks it's going to be simple. The extra credit may possible raise her grade high enough to get into Berkeley University. That she will no longer have to dwell on the death of her mother. That same death that made a massive impact on her education and her self confidence.
Although, Brent Sunderthorpe will not let that happen, even if she is helping him. He'll do anything to get in the way of Alyssa and that big grade.
"Is it me?" She asked. "Did I do something really fucking bad, which made you do this?" she whispered to him. He slipped his arm around her waist and kissed her neck.
"Babe, I'm only just getting started."
But Brent hides a dark secret from everyone, that nobody can know.
All Rights Reserved
#677
criminal
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𝘾𝙤𝙢𝙖𝙩𝙤𝙨𝙚.
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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.
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