My mind's divided into two halves with my logic in the middle. My glowing phone screen a window into the mystery of the box and Liam's impassive gaze a window into my near future.
Standing at yet another crossroad, I decide to take a leap of faith and pick the one gazing right at me over the one I'm gazing at. Sighing in hesitance, I shove my phone back into my pocket.
"Can I explain later? my knuckle kinda hurt," I explain hoping my scrambled mind can reassemble itself by then.
Wordlessly he pushes open the door a little more granting me access. Frowning my brows when I get a glance at his room, I look at him surprised. 'What creature keeps his room this clean!'
With not a single drawer open or thing out of place and a perfectly made bed, his room is concussively tidier than mine! His olive-green walls with a subtle white accent to them seem to suit his personality perfectly.
With dumbbells stacked on a rack in a corner of the room and a neatly organized fitness and diet chart mounted next to a whiteboard near his desk, he has this distinctive aura surrounding his room.
A swat to the back of my head is quick to snap me out of my daze, leaving me with a glare pasted on my face directed towards Liam.
"Come on," he says motioning towards the bathroom with his head with amusement lingering in his eyes.
While he ransacks his cabinet for the first aid kit, I jump up on the counter and take a seat. Rolling the sleeves of my jacket, I wince at the sight of the bruise.
My mind immediately goes to coach's reaction if he sees this making me cringe. That man literally has no chill. The clicking sound of the first aid box being opened rings in my ears gaining my attention at once.
"How many punches did you get in?" Liam inquires as he drenches the cotton ball with my sworn enemy—disinfectant.
"You're just going to assume I was in a fight?" I counter question with a raised brow that soon creases into a frown as I wince at the sting when the cotton ball makes contact with my hand.
"Seen plenty of these," he remarks with his eyes focused on my hand.
"Just a disagreement turned violent," I try to dismiss, 'try' being the operative word.
A single raised brow from him is enough to let me know that he isn't going to let this topic go unexploded. But I didn't expect anything else, well I was hoping he would but I know better.
"Just got into a fight with these junior jocks that were harassing a freshman, but then that's what happens during hell week and you won't know that that is and I really don't want to explain that so can we drop it?"
My rant starts off in a fast-paced normal tone and ends in a whiny tone because all I can think of right now is the lecture coming my way and the mystery text sitting in my phone that I'm yet to look into.
"Varsity state captain 2018," he replies promptly as he dabs a clear ointment on my knuckles. This newly found information taking me by surprise.
"Okay, so you do know what hell week is. So, you don't really need me to exactly explain what happened," I add trying to get out of this conversation.
"That wasn't my initial question, was it?" He points out glancing at me briefly as he wraps my hand in gauze.
"I didn't count the number of times I hit them, Liam," I reply flatly when realization smacks me in the head.
"How many were they?" He inquires ignoring my reply.
"Five, well four fought, one stood and watched," I sum up unclear why he wants to know this.
"How many did they land on you?" He continues his interrogation while suppressing the urge to roll my eyes at the turn this conversation has taken.
"Not sure, two maybe," I reply with a hazy memory.
"You can do better. Tomorrow gym at six, don't be late," he announces helping me off the counter and walking towards his door opening it for me.
"Wait so you're not going to scold me about this?" I blurt out in shock raising my bandaged hand in emphasis.
"You want me to?" He offers sounding it out as a question making me instinctively shake my head negatively.
Narrowing my eyes at him when I notice the amused smirk twitching his lips in a teasing gesture. Huffing at a loss of words, I cross my hands against my chest and march out of the room.
"You used self-defense for well...what self-defense is meant for, no one's going to penalize you for that kid," I hear him add nonchalantly as I make my way back to my room stopping me dead in my track.
Spinning on my heels to face him in confirmation that I'm not just hearing things, I come face to face with his closed door. Sighing in dejection I return to my room discarding the topic from my thoughts completely.
Attacked by the hit of a crumpled ball of paper that smashes right into my nose, just as I set foot into my room. Staring the culprit—Lindsey—dead in the eye flatly I stand rooted in my spot as she offers me a sleepy smile as a peace offering.
"How did question hour with Liam Santos go?" She asks trying to divert my attention from the mess she has managed to convert my room in within the short timeframe I was gone.
Sighing I wordlessly walk towards my bed. Grabbing my sketchbook that is innocently lying partially hidden under my duvet, I make my way towards my desk where Lindsey has stationed herself at.
Ignoring her expectant look, I lean over her arm to retrieve my pencil case and walk back towards my bed. Well not before swatting the back of her head for which I earn a surprised yap from her soon accompanied by a deadly glare she sends my way.
"What was that for you violent Homosapien?" She mumbles while nursing the spot of the assault.
"You knew Liam would ask questions if I went to him and yet you didn't spot me. Idiot," I grumble grumpily as I position myself in the middle of my bed with crossed legs.
"How was I supposed to know that you didn't know?" She points out in defense.
"You could've still reminded me," I argue hopelessly earning an eye roll from her.
"You know, you sometimes don't live up to your reputation," she murmurs under her breath while rotating in my chair facing my desk.
"Wait what reputation?" I inquire inquisitively my ears immediately perking at this new piece of information.
"What reputation, I didn't say anything. You don't have a reputation," she blurts out spontaneously.
"You're lying," I assert calmly simultaneously getting started on my new piece as I plan my approach to the text I just received.
"You sound like your brothers," she remarks.
"No going to work. Stick to the topic," I tell her with a small lingering smirk catching her not-so-subtle attempt to divert my attention to another topic.
"What topic?" She tries yet again causing me to roll my eyes at her sending her a brief 'knowing look' before returning to my sketch.
"Fine! It's a blood thing," she discloses leaving me even more confused and intrigued.
"A what thing?" I ask in clarification unable to suppress the chortle that leaves my lips.
"A blood thing, you know the super hearing and smarty-pants brain thingy and all the other stuff you Santos' have in common," she explains while twirling in the chair.
"We Santos's I like you put it have nothing in common except for our last name and DNA. Sure, the boys do have similar traits like you know bossiness and emotionlessness, the usual. But if you ask me, I would put that as a personality disorder rather than a trait." I end with a scoff accompanied by an eye roll.
"But me? Damn if it wasn't for our last names and somewhat similar looks, I don't think anyone would think we're related." I add.
My words held a degree of truth in them that even Lindsey can't deny. The five of them together are like a tight knot that is impossible to be untied, but me? I stick out amongst them like a sore thumb.
"You keep telling yourself that honey," she retorts playfully attempting to lighten the sudden stiffness in the air.
But her words to my ears and mind sounded like an attempt of reassurance. It's a kind gesture. But I didn't necessarily need it, coming to terms and accepting my situation is something I had learned years ago and I use it to this day.
"Whatcha drawing?" She inquires taking a leap from the chair to the bed.
Motioning to the book I continue to add all the microscopic details my mind could capture from my memory of a glance.
The soft golden accent and aesthetically crafted curves that completed the design are imprinted in my mind like metal wallpaper.
"You're trying to complete the design on the jewelry box?" She notes rhetorically to herself.
"Wait if you can complete the design then we know exactly what we're searching for!" She concludes aloud while my concentration is completely dedicated to sketch before my eyes.
But unlike her assumption, only I truly know why I'm doing what I'm doing. If what I conclude is what I think I will, we're in way over our heads. This will no longer be the harmless mystery of the jewelry box; it might just be the mystery.
And if that turns out to be true, I don't want Lindsey anywhere near this death trap. So, if that means I have to lie to her, it's a small price to pay.
As my mind fills in the missing parts of the design using the rest of it as a trample to craft it, I slowly mirror the mental image on paper.
"Damn you're good at this!" Lindsey acknowledges as I bring my pencil to a halt as the design sits on paper in its full form.
I offer her a polite smile for her complement while trying my best to hide the panic attack bubbling within me. 'Deep breaths, calm nerves. Rhythmic beats, safe place' I continue to chant this in my mind as a reminder that I'm fine.
"Hey, you okay?" Lindsey's worried voice reaches my ears but is not processed by my brain as my eyes continue to remain trained on my sketchbook.
Snapping me out of daze by shaking my shoulder vigorously, I'm abruptly pulled back into reality. Blinking a couple of times, I successfully manage to maintain my calm and composure.
"Just getting a headache will all this thinking," I mumble in response while gently massaging my temples with my fore and middle fingers of both hands.
"Take a nap then, I'll see you tomorrow at practice. I better get going anyway, have to get started on Mr. Wells's homework. Our next match is in about three days, can't believe we made it to the semi," she advises and continues to rant to herself as she walks out of my room.
Letting out a loud sigh, I fall backward onto my mattress as I think of my next move. I need to go to one of the boys that is more than evident to me, preferable Jason or Noah since Xavier isn't here. And even if he was, I don't think he would be my first choice.
'But go to them and tell them what?'
'Hey, guys! So, mum gave me this jewelry box when I was like five and told me to wait for 'the right time' to open it. Now that I'm fourteen I got really inquisitive and wanted to open it, but I can't because it has some weird-ass key that I have no idea where to find'
'Oh, and there is the mystery texter that is creepy as hell and I'm scared that we're all going to die at the hands of the person who killed our mum'
I don't think that will end so well. And I don't want to alarm them about something that might not even be a threat in the first place. As my heart slowly comes back to its normal beat, my breathing also evens out.
Rolling to my side, I grab my phone from my nightstand alerted by its ping. To my relief and surprise, the notification isn't from the mystery texter, but from my Instagram.
Tapping on the app, I go to my notifications as a light blush coats my cheeks. The following request pops up with an all too familiar username. Accepting it without much debate, my eyes widen out of sudden realization.
Facepalming myself, I bury my head in my pillow letting out a soft scream when I remember that I never texted him! 'But he did say to call him if I need someone to talk to' my brain reminds me.
'But isn't it like an unwritten rule that you texted a person when they give you their number? Especially if it a boy you LIKE!' The voice in my head counters.
Pikachu's adorable cries for my attention pulling me out of my internal debate. A squeal leaves my lips as my heart starts to race when I see that Alessandro send me a text through Instagram.
alessandro_genovese: Hey!
astoria_santos: Hi
I send as my blank mind refuses to come up with anything more innovative or interactive, to say the least. Light flutter fills my stomach as I wait in anticipation for his next text, all other thoughts eliminated from my mind.
alessandro_genovese: What's up?
astoria_santos: The sky
It's only after I hit send do I realize how stupid that sounds. 'The heck is wrong with me?' I ask myself as my brain refuses to cooperate and my heart is doing her own little warm-up leaping from her spot to my ribcage and back to her place.
alessandro_genovese: Oh, that's news
I can almost envision his green twinkling eyes imbued with amusement as he typed this causing my blush to only deep.
astoria_santos: So, how have you been?
I send trying to ignore how stupid I sounded in my previous text, only to realize that my recent text sounds worse! Smacking myself in the head, I try to play it cool, but up until now, I sound like a complete fool!
alessandro_genovese: Good. Just landed a while back, so I thought I should check in with you
Reading this my brows frown in confusion as my cheeks set themselves on fire while my heart bounced off the barrier of my ribcage—the only thing preventing it from actually jumping out of me right now.
astoria_santos: Landed?
alessandro_genovese: Returned to Italy just this evening, well morning for you.
My lips curve into an 'O' as I nod to myself in understanding. We chat for a while longer after which he excuses himself from some important work.
I find it cute considering most people would just go offline without telling the person they're texting they're leaving and the next person keeps waiting for them to text back.
Dropping my phone to the side, I lose myself in my daydream as my lips curve themselves into a permanent smile.
Another 'Pikachu' resonates through the room causing me to jump out of my daydream and unlock my phone hurriedly. But a frown soon etches itself to my face when I realize that the notification isn't from Instagram.
Investigating the cause of the notification, I scroll through the dozens of unread notifications piled up in my inbox, it doesn't take me long to find it as it sits at the very top of my display.
My heart starts to race yet again but this time for a completely different reason. With antipathic thoughts screaming in alarm in my head I click on the text.
A photograph soon starts to download as with every passing moment my anxiety increases. Once fully loaded my voice caught in my throat and my head spinning with a thousand thoughts just swirling within it.
A transverse view of a distinctively recognizable Noah standing outside the firm on what I recall to be the path to the parking. But all this is secondary the detail that has my targeted attention sits subtly at the corner of the picture.
The text message that appears momentarily on my screen sends all my senses of high alert as I read what it says, it's every word giving the sender an ounce more power over me.
'I need to get help...fast!'
Author's Note:
So we finally made it!
I can't tell you how nervous I was about this chapter, but hey I did it!
Thanks for reading!
And for those of you who don't know, like I've mentioned on my message board I've set-up an Instagram account for Astoria by the name astoria_santos.
I will be using that account to post pictures of all of her sketches and other updates on this book.
I thought it would be nice to make this journey a little more interactive since we have grown into such a large family over the span of almost a year!
And before you leave, don't forget to hit the star and vote...and comment!
~Kia