The Dare, Book 1

Chapter 1

*Pictures to give an idea on how I imagine the two to look with minor changes :)*

**Pictures sourced from Google; I do not own image rights.

Payton

I jittered with nerves as I looked at the vast, daunting, modern building from the window of the car — white walls that looked fresh and clean, three stories tall with large windows. In the middle of the main building, a substantial reflective glass front, with double glass doors with the words 'Newquay College' etched into the glass in bright white lettering.

Tree's were scattered around the edges and a few at the front, providing shade for the wooden benches just a few feet away from the entrance.

It didn't look much different from my previous one, although my old campus held a slightly more rustic look to it.

My parents had died a couple of months ago in a car crash. A selfish drunk driver took them from me while I'd been at a sleepover with a friend. That's how I found myself here, in a new town, attending a new college, in a city where the only people I knew were my grandparents.

My father and I had a strained relationship, he always expected more from me, and when I failed, he made it known. He was never silent when one of my grades fell below a B. But he was still my father, we had good times, and I loved him nevertheless.

My mother, though, I loved her more than anything I'd ever loved, or could ever love. We had that typical dream mother-daughter bond that I cherished. She worked, although she only took jobs during schooling hours.

She always dropped me off and picked me up until I was old enough to make my way. We'd spend time together, watching TV, getting our hair done, or our nails, going to the park, or just hanging out.

Losing her, it broke me and tore me up into a million pieces. When she died, a part of me died too.

I used to be happy and outgoing, despite the fact I'd suffered a bout of depression, and I'd cut when I was thirteen. Besides the odd low mood since I'd been pretty outgoing and friendly for the most part.

I had my bad days, and I'd be lying if I said I never had a relapsed, but I was full of life and had dreams. I wanted to see the world, try new things, visit new places, and be adventurous.

I'd always longed to pick up my guitar and tour the world with a band. On stage, feeling the guitar in my hand, my fingers softly gliding over the fretboard as the plectrum picked at the strings.

Art was another love of mine, mostly manga style, but I was competent at portraits and animals too. I used to figure there was a whole world out there for me.

I was decent looking, five foot four, and slim, strawberry blonde hair that fell in natural loose curls just below my shoulders. My chest size was average, a 34C. I had some curves and typically dressed in the rocker chick, scene type style. I wasn't a supermodel by a long shot, but it was good enough for me to be happy in my skin.

After that night, though, I hadn't been the same. I shut out my friends; I couldn't hear them say another 'I'm sorry' or see that look of tortured sympathy in their eyes. I left the band I was in, too, and I stopped drawing.

Then I found out I'd have to move, right before my eighteenth birthday, coming to stay with my grandparents was my only choice.

I tried to reach out to my friends, but they all ignored me, which only made things worse. I'd lost my parents, my band and my friends all in the space of a few short weeks.

I'd found myself cutting again, that was until my grandmother found out last month. I had the urges daily, but I wasn't allowed anything sharp without supervision. Nana threatened to have me put on medication, and I hated the drugs, it always made it worse for me.