The Manor; chapter 1

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Okay, so this is called The Manor. It's WAY different from Bet and Dare but it's going to be amazing. Sad, but amazing. PLEASE read it. And tell what you think. I promise to update Bet Dare as often as this one, so fans that won't be disappointed. Love you all! xoxo Ash


Clayton McMillen

He sat on the edge of the bed in his new room, not really seeing the walls around him. His lip smarted where it had cut open again. When he touched his right cheekbone, pain shot through it from the huge bruise that was still blossoming. His ribs still hurt with every inhale and all his muscles were still sore, the skin over them covered in black, blue, and purple bruises. They had been the yellow of healing wounds until two days ago. When Clayton closed his eyes he still saw the dark figure hovering over him as he shifted between consciousness and blissful darkness.

The last beating had been the worst it had ever been. Clayton had gotten third in state instead of first. He'd wrestled his best, but the new guys were so fucking good... Then he'd contacted his mother. Second mistake of the night. Maybe if he'd just left well enough alone. But he'd been proud of himself, he knew she would be as well. He hadn't known, however that his father would be home early that day. Expecting his son have a first place trophy. Not a weak third. Clayton's hands clenched tightly.

His father had taken the trophy from the counter, spat in his son's face about how weak he was. How he'd lost every ounce of talent he'd possessed. Then, when he had picked up the phone and pressed redial, only to see Clayton's mother's number, the first blow had come. Then another and another. A hit with the trophy. Clayton fell, becoming almost numb to the pain. That or he simply couldn't remember what it was to not hurt anymore. Kicks to his ribs, his arms his legs his head. He'd wondered if he was going to die this time. Had prayed to die. If god really cared, he would have.

The next thing Clayton remembered, he'd woken in a hospital to the sound of a heart monitor beeping and an IV in his arm, pumping nourishment into his system. The first thought that had come to mind was panic. He couldn't gain weight! He'd barely eaten to get down to make weight class. Too little food and too many fingers down his throat and he'd finally made it. Then he realized, he probably wasn't going to wrestling for a while as it was.

Three days later here he was. At The Manor.

Amber Manett

I wish he was here, was the only thought that ran through her mind. As always. All she wanted was Hunter back. Was that too much to ask of Him? For the love of her life back. Then again, if God had ever even existed, he'd turned his back on her long ago, Amber thought. First her father, then Hunter. If He was real, He could go fuck Himself. She paced from one side of the room to the other, unable to stay still. She rarely could when she didn't have a drink.

She closed her eyes for a moment more than standard blink and the image came back as it always did. The headlights coming towards them. Hunter throwing her into the backseat where she would be safer, giving up his own life. The ultimate sacrifice. And one she wished he hadn't given. Being dead would be better than living without him. She needed Hunter. She was nothing without him. Or that was how it felt. Since he'd died Amber had felt like nothing more than an empty shell, merely going though the motions of life. Motions she didn't want to take. Took only so she wouldn't be committed.

Then she'd discovered vodka. Her mother had lost herself in it when her father had died. And if she could do it, Amber damn well could too. And did. Vodka, whiskey, brandy. Anything hard. She didn't like the easy stuff. It didn't get her drunk enough fast enough. She could still remember. Still couldn't sleep. But with straight alcohol, she could simply drown it away, fall into an alcohol induced stupor until she finally fell into a numb sleep.

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