I've always felt like an outsider.
Like I didn't belong anywhere, with anyone. I used to think it was because I was too weird or too smart or too something.
But asking too many questions got people in all sorts of trouble- trouble that I couldn't afford.
At the age of six, I learned that silence was my weapon of choice. The less I spoke, the less they noticed me. The less they knew about me, the more control I had.
And I needed control if I wanted to survive.
I had to survive.
"Vanessa?"
At the sound of the soft voice from my front, I lift my head from my canvas, shifting my focus from the portrait "Mare" by George Grosz.
My Art teacher, Miss Brown, furrowed her eyebrows at me, gazing in concern. "Vanessa? Class ended five minutes ago."
I glance around and realize she's right; all the seats are ruffled and empty. I must have been too focused on my book to notice anything else.
"Sorry," I murmur, tucking my brunette hair behind my ear. "I'll be leaving."
Miss Brown is the only teacher in Moonstone High that I get along well with. Well, except for Mrs. Tate, she is the canteen lady who always manages to serve a little bit extra.
"That's okay," Miss Brown smiles. "I'm always pleased when a student of mine actually shows interest in the lesson. But go enjoy yourself. It's the end of school after all."
Enjoy myself? Huh-that's a new one.
I scuffle my chair, mumbling an inaudible 'sorry,' and dash out of the worn-out classroom, stopping only when I reach my locker to pull out the rest of my things.
A hand slams on the locker next to mine banging in a loud thud that made me flinch.
"What is the whore doing here?"
The overpowering scent of his cologne invades my nostrils, and I suppress a groan.
Trezor Zale was the biggest bully at Moonstone High, and his family's connections to local gangsters make him basically untouchable. Over a month ago, when I first started school, Trezor started a rumor that I was sleeping with one of the teachers who had been overly friendly with the girls in class
I was labeled the school slut.
The outcast.
The girl who fucked her way for good grades.
I clench my jaw, my hands balling into fists. I knew better than to react, but the words still stung. I could feel the stares of other students as they walked past, some snickering, some pretending not to hear.
I couldn't blame them, though. Trezor had a way of making sure no one dared to cross him or speak up against him.
I quickly grab my backpack and slam my locker shut, trying to make a quick escape.
But Trezor blocked my way, his face twisted in a menacing sneer. "What's the matter, slut? Cat got your tongue?" he taunted, blocking any attempt I make to move past him.
I take a deep breath, trying to remain calm. I can feel my heart racing, my palms sweating. "Please move," I manage to say, my voice barely above a whisper.
Trezor chuckled, taking a step closer. "Make me," he challenged, his eyes glinting with amusement.
I could feel the panic set in. I didn't want to deal with this, not today. I close my eyes for a moment, trying to gather my thoughts.
Then, suddenly, a voice interrupts the tense silence. "Is there a problem here?" I open my eyes to see Miss Brown standing a few feet away from us, her arms folded across her chest.
Trezor's expression turns sour, but he stepped aside, muttering something under his breath as he walks away.
Miss Brown gives me a sympathetic smile, "Don't pay attention to him. He's not worth it," she says before walking away, leaving me standing there, still shaken from the encounter.
I furiously blink the tears from my eyes. No one would ever see me cry. Not now. Not ever.
God, I just wanted to escape this hell hole.
But where would you go? To Amberly?
I inwardly snorted. Aunt Amberly was too drunk to give two fucks about me.
I was captive. Again.
I sighed. I swung my bag over my back and walked down the stone-cold steps, and headed to the nearest bus stop. The whispers and stares didn't stop there, but by now I was used to it.
The bus stopped outside on my street, I got down and thanked the driver. I walked down, focusing my attention, on my drawing, sketching as I did so.
Drawing had been my salvation for as long as I could remember. It was the only thing that could keep my mind from the horrors of my life. My pencil moved with a frenzied energy, almost as if it had a mind of its own. Sometimes, I didn't even know what I was drawing. A tangled mess of lines and curves, much like the chaos of my own life.
But there were times when my art took on a life of its own. When I poured all my emotions into it, and it became a beautiful masterpiece. Those moments were rare, but they made all the difference.
As I turned to the curb, my heart stopped. A line of police cars blocked the entrance to my street, their flashing lights casting an eerie glow on the surroundings.
Panic flooded my senses as my eyes darted to the house they were all parked in front of. My house.
Without a second thought, I bolted towards the scene, my heart pounding in my chest like a drumbeat. The sound of my footsteps echoed loudly on the concrete as I ran, my mind racing with endless possibilities of what could have happened.
Oh, god.
No, no, no.
Please, no.
My breath came in ragged gasps as I approached the open door of my house, my senses on high alert.
"Aunt?" I called out, my voice trembling with fear.
My ears picked up the sound of movement coming from the kitchen, and I followed it, my steps faltering as I took in the gruesome sight before me.
Blood. So much blood.
"Vanessa Vacker?" A soft voice interrupted my hazy mind.
Blood.
Why was there so much blood?
No, no, no.
Not again. It can't happen again.
"Vanessa?" The voice repeated again in a slow melodious tone.
My gray eyes find the pale light blue eyes of a woman-an officer.
"W-what happened?" My voice sounded hoarse like I had been screaming till my lungs bled out. Maybe I had. Fuck, I didn't know. Or care.
"What happened?" This time my voice is firmer, and more in control. Good, don't lose control, Vanessa.
Not now.
"Vanessa, we will need to take you to the station. This is for your own safety and protection." This time it was another voice. A man's.
For the first time since I entered the room, I shifted my gaze around, desperately trying to avoid the sight of the blood.
The air was thick with the acrid scent of coppery blood, and it made my stomach churn. I had seen gruesome things in my life, but this was different.
The sight of crimson splatters on the white walls made my skin crawl, and my heart thundered in my chest like a wild animal trying to escape.
"Why is nobody bloody telling me what happened? Where is my Aunt? Where is Amberly?!"
"Miss Vacker," a voice cuts through the haze of shock and confusion. My eyes dart up to meet the sharp gaze of a police. "My name is Officer Adrian Carter and I'm in charge of this case. I'm afraid I have some bad news. Your aunt, Amberly Vacker, was the victim of a homicide. She didn't make it."
My heart drops to my stomach, and I feel as if the world has come crashing down around me. The air grows thick and heavy, as if it's suffocating me. My thoughts become muddled, and I can barely comprehend what I'm hearing.
Homicide. My aunt.
Dead.
My aunt was dead.
No-my aunt had been murdered.
I can't even bring myself to form words, let alone respond. The weight of the news feet too much to bear.
I forced myself to meet Officer Adrian Carter's gaze, my own eyes steely with determination. "W-what happened?" I manage to choke out, my voice strained and shaky.
Officer Adrian hesitated, his expression grim. "We don't have all the details yet, but it appears to be a violent attack. There seems to be some violence that had occurred here judging from the scene. We're still piecing together the details, but it looks like Amberly was taken from this house after the attack. But we're doing everything we can to find out who did this and bring them to justice."
I nod, the motion stiff and robotic. I could feel the anger and grief bubbling up inside me, threatening to spill over. But for now, I push it down, deep inside.
Fucking hell.
My aunt would never have won any awards for being the perfect aunt, not in this lifetime nor the next. She was an abusive alcoholic. No, Amberly Vacker was more like a living nightmare.
Like a dark cloud that loomed over my childhood, casting a shadow over everything I held dear.
But still, despite her toxic behavior, she was family. And I couldn't help but crave her affection, that desperate longing to be seen and loved by someone, anyone.
"Vanessa?" It was the female officer this time.
"W-What?" She must have been wondering why I wasn't screaming, crying, or doing anything. I was numb.
So fucking numb.
I stared blankly at the female officer, my mind a foggy abyss of numbness.
It was as if I was watching everything unfold from a distance, like a spectator to my own nightmare.
The officer's voice was distant and muffled, barely penetrating my consciousness. I couldn't find the words to respond, my tongue feeling heavy and useless in my mouth.
My aunt had been murdered.
And I was standing in the room where it happened.