Chapter One

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Chapter One: Meeting of attraction

Buzz buzz buzz

I roll over to face my alarm clock. Ugh. Another Monday morning. I hate Mondays. Why? "Doesn't everyone hate Mondays?" You ask. But hear this, Mondays are assembly days. An hour wasted sitting in a gymnasium listening to teachers talk about boring excrement that no one listens to anyway with a bunch of restless teens. Oh joy. One of the perks of my life.

Want to know another?

Knock knock knock

"Alyssa!" My mother screams to make her presence known. The knock wouldn't do, so she drowns out my eardrums screaming my name too.

Speak of the devil and she shall appear, my very wish. Not.

We don't have the best relationship. We fight. I know, I know, all families fight. But we're not a family. My dad left me to fend for myself when he finally went back to London. He would only leave me if he knew I would be safe, and since he knew mom stopped physically abusing me –since I'm practically stronger than her- he jumped on the first plane out of LAX.

The woman is always complaining about something or rather, usually to do with me. Ever since her younger brother died of cancer five years ago she's been a drunk, a ghost of the woman my father once fell in love with, a home-wrecking whore, and to think I used to look up to her. Ha!

I'm a senior in high school. No I'm not popular, although most people at school question why. I don't like being around people, I'm an only child and have very poor social skills. I'm a loner with the exception of my friend Cameron. We became close a few months ago. We met after a big fight of mine. Ever since then we would train together, hangout, go to the movies. Cameron and his little group are the only other street fighters at school.

To explain me you would need a scientist, a trained sociologist, and some medical equipment. But in case you don't have those three things on you right now or the time, I'll shorten it to what I know. I'm sarcastic and very short tempered. Plain and simple that's me. You want more detail you say. Fine! I'll just write down my police profile, okay?

I own a set of dark green eyes that have been placed on the front of my head, can you believe it? Below the eyebrows that are also sewn onto my face. I have boring dark brown hair that flows messily to my waist. I work two, more or less, jobs you could say. I am very talented at defending myself, so I started out street fighting about four months ago. I needed cash don't judge me. I also work as a waitress at a little café in town. My mom and I live in a two-bedroom tiny shit box apartment in a small town called Wingsfield.

We may live together but not by choice. I pay my half of the rent and bills and she pays hers, I don't know how the hell she gets money, she's jobless but I don't really want to know.

Knock knock knock

Ugh. I wonder what she wants this time.

I ignore her and pull on the doors to my cupboard. I pick out my clothes thinking about how I should display my awesomeness today. I take out a thin sleeveless gray cardigan -you know the one where its shorter at the back and longer at the sides, I walk to my draws and take out a plum purple singlet and a pair of black jean short shorts.

All the while the knocking is consistent.

After dressing, I pull on my black biker boots and my black gloves. I only wear the gloves when I'm not wearing long sleeves to cover the faint pink and light brown scars that adorned my wrists. A couple years back my home life was really bad and I cracked a few times not being able to handle it.

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