Alive | Jasper Hale | Book 1

3. School

                                                    3. School

    

When my eyes fluttered open, the room was cold and quiet while light poured in from the windows. Groaning, I sat up rubbing my short, disheveled hair. The headphones popped out of my ears, falling in place next to the CD player. I quickly shut it off and pushed it aside before glancing at the clock on my bedside table.

It read: 5:15 AM.

I slept thirteen hours. Great.

Pushing myself up from my bed, I stumbled over towards the dresser. I pulled open the first drawer, spotting piles of colored clothing. The first piece of clothing my hands touched, I pulled out and examined. It was an orange shirt with the caption, “Don't talk to me, I'm too sassy.” I cracked a smile, but set it down. I didn't want a graphic tee, I wanted something plain. After a minute of sifting through t-shirts, I found a gray v-neck.

I yanked open another drawer, spotting piles of folded denim. Grabbing a random pair of jeans, I held them out. They looked ordinary, nothing special. Only slim-fitting.

“This will do,” I murmured to myself before grabbing undergarments and heading towards the shower.

The bathroom was small, but had everything I needed. A stack of towels, shower necessities, and hygienic supplies. Turning to face the mirror, I couldn't help but gasp at the reflection of me.

Up until now, I had never looked into a mirror. I had been shown pictures of what I looked like before I had ran away. None of those pictures had shown me what I was like now, though. My raven-black hair didn't reach my shoulders. It reached my chest. My eyes were wide and icy-blue with dark eye circles—as if I hadn't had enough sleep lately. Beneath all the blood and dirt that caked my skin, I could barely tell what color skin I had.

Shame and disgust were only two of the emotions that flared up in me.

The next half hour was spent scrubbing every inch of my skin to the point it was tinted pink. Eventually, I dropped the wash cloth and let the water run over my skin. I shuddered underneath the cold water, but made no decision to move.

Had I really walked around looking like that? No wonder people felt bad for me. I must have looked pathetic.

When I couldn't stand the cold no more, I shut the water off and dressed myself in the jeans and shirt I had picked out. I had gone through the process of making myself look presentable. When I was sure I was finished, I had gone downstairs for breakfast.

However, to my surprise, Grace was flitting around in the kitchen—one hand holding a spatula, the other hand holding a phone.

“Yes, Stella, I got her registered in school. Yes, I got her supplies as well—no! I am not going to make her go to school today. Because yesterday, she realized she has no memory previous to waking up in that coffin. I don't know about you, Stella, but you'd be pretty freaked out too, wouldn't you? Yeah, yeah, go make excuses and do the hanky-panky with that boyfriend of yours.”

For a moment, I stood there shocked. It was one thing to hear Grace stand up for me, and a completely other thing to hear her say “hanky-panky”. From the impression I got from her yesterday, she seemed strict, cool-headed and especially not the type to use the word 'hanky-panky' in a heated conversation.

A giggle slipped from my lips before I clamped my mouth shut.

Grace turned to me, a look of surprise crossing her features before she grinned. “Sit, sit,” she told me while patting the kitchen table. “I've got breakfast ready for you.”