Sins and Reborns

Chapter one

GRACE

You never know what it's really like to live as someone.

My family name was infamous for its 'pure' image – if you may call it that. Neighbouring towns respected my priest of a father. For centuries, the men in the household had become priests; it was this way for three generations now. He'd been the head of church for merely forty years. At the ripe age of eighteen, my parents were married. The date was chosen long before the actual wedding. It was how it worked in my family: your suitor gets chosen by the parents. Quite old-fashioned for the twenty-first century, but every family forms its own path.

Except, in my family they claimed it was God. The infinite decision maker for every birth, marriage, death, and the list went on. And to become true to his ancestors, my father took it upon himself to abide by the bible, to abide by strict rules.

I was raised to act a certain way: never use crude language, wear long dresses to not show any skin ('Skin can be provocative' – they liked to say), use my words carefully (think for thirty seconds before you speak), pray every night before bed, obey and not put up a fight (in that way, God shall respect you too), be polite and never break the seven deadly sins (or go to Hell).

I recited a passage (written by my ancestors) before bed each night: "I shall not adhere to envy, gluttony, greed, lust, pride, sloth, wrath. I shall obey or learn the true meaning of sacrifice. I won't disobey. I won't. I won't..."

Sixteen I wont's.

I stretched as I sat on the edge of the bed, then headed to the window. It was tall yet old. Our house used to belong to my great-grandparents. It was an inheritance – a big thing to my parents. The white paint chipped off windowpanes. Every morning, large groups of children walked to the bus stop, got on the yellow bus, and rode to school. As a little girl, I dreamed of being one of them. But it ceased to happen. Instead, my little brother, Wesley, and I were home-schooled from the start. Apparently, now's society was a bad influence and would corrupt our brains. My mother constantly whined about the teenage girls who spent their days scouring social media, hooked up with different boys in cars, and talked about nasty stuff. It was one of the reasons me and Wes weren't really allowed out.

Echoes of laughter erupted on the streets, despite it being seven a.m. The group often seems awfully cheerful. If I'd gone to public school, how different would life be? Would I jog after one of them and talk with the girls? Or would I be the outcast?

At age twenty-one, it was too late to return to school even.

I waited by the window. And waited.

"Connor," I whispered at the first sight.

He was already past my house with his little sister, Carrie, jogging to catch up with the bus. It surprised me: he was always on time. What happened to make him late? Had he slept in? If so, why? Did he forget to set the alarm? Was he tired from his shift at the local café? Had it run late or were the customers rude? He was only twenty-one yet working too hard by juggling two jobs: full-time at the café, then part-time at his stepfather's mechanic shop.

But he was also kind. No matter the day, he was there to walk his sister to school and wait for her after to get off the bus. They'd talk like they were best friends.

On the specific mornings and times from Monday to Friday, I often longed to run outside and have the courage to speak to him. To make him see me. To make him see that I see him. Even if he was merely a glimpse, I'd seen for at least a decade from my window, that we'd never spoken, I saw him like no other.

He was my simple reason for getting out of bed.

If the rest of the world were to only see it that way. My family certainly wouldn't. If I came home with Connor, I'd be shunned.

Connor's parents divorced thirteen years ago. His mother remarried weeks later, yet not to a wealthy man: a new-in-town-mechanic. Mark Drake, adored by the single ladies and rough around the edges. The lone wolf. Until Sabrina, then married to Charles Mitchell, mother to an eight-year-old boy. When suddenly, her new pregnancy came right before the divorce papers to Charles. She'd moved out in the nick of time. Six months later, Charles left town and supposedly now lived with a much younger woman.

Then started the rumours of the affair. Even though Charles was a drunk and had committed several counts of adultery, people still respected him for how much money he'd donated to the local charities. Yet they all turned on Sabrina for committing adultery with the poor mechanic who was just starting his business. Only in the past few years had their financial troubles ceased, and Mark's business was going off the charts.

But people never forget what used to be. It's like history is engraved in our brains, but the story gets twisted in ugly directions. What does that make of people? You don't always get to hear different sides; mainly, it's one side.

It happened with Connor. The town saw his father in him, then his 'slut' of a mother. He was the recluse, the bad blood.

It made me think: what do people think when they see me? A replica of my mother? A replica of my father? If so, I doubted I wanted to live for a long time.

Currently, Connor hugged Carrie goodbye. She was twelve and with long braids that reached her lower back. They swayed as she bounced onto the bus, laughing with her friends, and waving her big brother goodbye.

Then he turned to walk back with straight confidence. A dark blue jacket draped over his shoulders to protect him from the early autumn wind. The black loose jeans embraced his thick thighs. The sides and back of his hair kept short with the top slicked back. Shockingly, I hadn't seen him up close enough to know his eye colour. But I imagined his eyes as brown like hot chocolate or fresh grass green. Maybe as grey as the clouds in a storm, waiting for the sad rain to fall.

But our world only existed in my imagination. In the real life, we existed on opposite sides of the window. He walked the streets as a free man. I was in, an observer of his features, of his careless laughs, and his kind demeanour.

My hand palmed the glass, the cold breeze squirming through the cracks. My fingers spread to reach for him.

Connor was a beautiful stranger to me.

I fell back on my bed after he was gone, heading off to work. I stared up at the starry ceiling. I had planted those stars to the ceiling to have a view at night, to see a fallen star at night, and pretend I could wish for a miracle. The miracle of meeting him.

He was my one last wish. A wish upon a star.

The frigid air did nothing to decrease the warmth my heart held for him.

Connor Drake was the misunderstood, misjudged, broken boy. This town wronged the people in it. We were one of them.

"One day we may meet," I whispered.

_ _ _

This chapter is short, but I like it the way it is and I wanted to leave it this way.

This was basically the introduction chapter.

Comments and votes are appreciated. :)

Lots of love. <3