If It Were Me

The Unexpected

So... here's the new chapter! Personally, I don't like how it's written, so I'll probably end up going back and editing it, but I needed to update soooo.... voila! The main reason why I don't like this chapter is because I feel I might be moving things too fast for Grant and Seaver or that I didn't describe what happens in this chapter correctly because this is a REALLY important for later on in the plot. I don't know, you guys tell me what you think!

Comment (if you would be so kind) and vote if you enjoyed it!

Thanks guys!

- Sierra

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I woke up the next morning to utter silence. The night before Bryce and Hayden had fought so badly that Bryce stormed out, knocking over my mom’s favorite vase in the process. I had tried to sleep through it, but couldn’t go to bed until the wee hours of the morning. It probably didn’t help that the Renaissance man’s rotten smile was still seared into my eyelids. 

I struggled for a moment before I finally sat up. I surveyed the darkness of my room. As usual, the sounds of my mother’s hair dryer awoke me and I listened to see if the sounds of my father could be heard. Nothing. I felt an overwhelming sadness take over me; the kind of sadness that only rears it’s head time to time.

Mom and Dad had been fighting nonstop for the past, well, forever. They always fought in the mornings so they wouldn’t disturb us. Unfortunately for me, my room was right next door and it was hard to fall asleep to the sounds of my mom’s sobs. It broke my heart.

As I sluggishly walked to my bathroom, I snuck a peek into my parents’ room. The purple-themed bedroom was illuminated by the bathroom light which shone through the open door. My mother’s side was messy; the pillows strewn across the bed and the sheets rumpled. But Dad wasn’t there.

Again.

Letting out a grumble of distaste, I walked back into my bathroom. I slid open the shower door and turned it on. Sitting on the edge, I put my hand under and waited until the water became warm. Remnants of last night’s dream flitted in and out of my mind, leaving me shuddering at the smallest images. A man’s calloused hands shoving me to the floor… his hand covering my mouth when I tried to scream...

A sharp yelp escaped my lips as I snapped back my burnt hand. The meaty flesh of my palm was a bright red to my usually pallor skin, the area softly aching. I turned the knob a bit lower before carefully stripping down. As I pulled my hair out of the pony tail, I caught a glance of myself in the partially fogged mirror. 

My skin was sallow, gaunt against the cheap lighting of the bathroom. Pale indigo bags decorated my eyes, making the once milk brown now almost black. I raised a hand to this face, to this stranger in the mirror and sighed. It was weird to look at myself, realizing what had happened to me. I was a victim, a number amongst the thousands. It was as if my skin was covered in ink that could never be washed off; the realization of a bruise that you hadn’t known was there. It was subtle, it was small, but it was there all the same. 

After changing into my “Godzilla Destruction Tour” t-shirt and jean shorts, I dragged myself down the stairs. The shower hadn’t done anything to appease my thoughts, but I guess that was expected. This problem couldn’t be fixed with just warm water.

Opening the fridge, I got out the jug of orange juice and took a swig, relishing the citrus-y taste. I would usually get into trouble for this, but if no one sees it, it didn’t happen.

“That’s disgusting.” I shrieked/jumped at the voice behind me. Juice sprayed the kitchen walls and floor, coating me in a sticky residue. I mentally cursed at the mess, feeling my insides coil in annoyance. But more than anything, it was that familiar voice that had me in a tizzy so early. I slowly turned, already knowing who it was.