****** READ ME *********
Despite the few comments (Thanks megs) that this story has been getting, I have decided to pursue it, undeterred! If you absolutely hate this story, please tell me so I don't make a fool of myself by continuing to post a story that no one will ever read.
By the way, I have another story that you guys may want to read (prepare yourselves, its a vampire story) so if you want to learn more about that, post in the comments below.
By the way, by the way, I'm thinking of starting a YouTube Vlog Series (I doubt that it will ever happen) so if I decide to do that I'll let you guys know.
Anybeach balls, on with the story!
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Chapter 1
"Brooklynn Anne Tabitha! You are going to be late to school if you don't hurry up!" my mother screeched from the bottom of the stairs.
She was was standing there, ratty bathrobe on and curler in hand as she twisted a piece of her hair around and around the iron. I paused a moment to watch smoke curl lazily up from her brown strand, but shut my mouth, preferring to laugh at her burnt hair than warn her about it.
"I've got time!" I called down to her as I dashed back and forth between the bathroom and my room as I raced to get ready for school.
She looked at the clock overhanging the living room T.V.
"Two minutes, to be exact!"
I stuck my tongue out at my reflection as I finished applying my eyeliner. Large grey eyes stared back at me, ringed by a layer of eyelines too thick for my pale skin. Despite my best coaxing, nothing would make my eyes pop. On any given day, during the summer, during the winter, whatever, my eyes always looked like something had taken a vaccum and sucked the color out of my eyes. Where that color was floating, I had no clue, but it was somewhere, just out of my reach.
I twisted my unruly blonde hair up into a lazy bun and threw on my black jacket over my shirt and skinny jeans. I checked my reflection once last time before I popped a piece of gum in my mouth and grabbed my backpack.
"Coming, mom!" I yelled as I gave one last tug on my hair-bun, slung my backpack on my shoulder and flew down the stairs at record speed, landing two inches in front of her nose.
She didn't even flinch.
I grabbed the money my mom had in her hand and headed toward the door, turning myself around before I made it completely over the threshold. I smacked myself on the forehead, as I raced back upstairs, snagging my drawing pad and pencils from on my desk and stuffing them in backpack alongside notebooks and crushed pencils.
I flew back down the stairs and threw open the door, bounding out before I remembered something else I forgot.
"What about your breakfast?" my mom called after me as I raced down the street.
My footsteps crunched on frost-covered grass as I skipped through the yards of the run-down old houses surrounding mine, trying to make it to the bus stop before the bus did. My breath fogged out in front of my face as I ran, hopping over small fences and knee-high hedges. I had to use the city bus to get to school every day because the school bus didn't run this far out, and because my mom wouldn't let me get a car.
Living out on the manor house really sucked sometimes - especially times like this where it was 32 degrees out and I was running late. Other times, I really loved it; most of that due to the fact that my sister's every memory was practically built into the walls of the house.
I was born in the Middle of Freaking Nowhere - a.k.a just past the suburbs of my hometown, Westlake, New York - and will probably die here if my mom has her way. She is constantly reminding me of the history of the plot of land our house rests on.
Apparently, the original owner's daughter -back in the 1800s - had committed suicide by flinging herself off the cliff by the house. The mother, so racked with grief, had locked herself and every worker on the plot in the house and set it on fire. They all burned to death, and the house burned to the ground.
"She must've truly loved her daughter to do something like that," my mom would always say after she told my sister and I the story.
"Yeah, and the fact that she was probably a little off her rocker,” my sister would say and we would both crack up into giggles.
It's a strange location for a manor house, especially since the town was at least 10 miles away. The owner must've likes privacy.
After the manor house burned down, the lot was abandoned for at least 200 years before my parents, freshly married and out of college, bought the land and built our house on it. My mom rebuilt the garden in memoriam to the original owners and their daughter. My sister was born halfway through the year long construction. My mom had me two years after the house was finished. My dad then joined the navy and was deployed right before I was born.
And that’s around the point our family officially fell apart.
Snapping out of my reverie, I looked up to see the bus heading down the street toward my bus stop. I groaned and broke into a sprint, trying - but knowing - I wasn't going to make it. I reached the bus stop just as the bus left it, and I coughed, inhaling the bus exhaust.
I sighed and plopped down onto the bench, resigning myself to the fact that I was going to be late. Well, later than usual, that is. I was hoping I would make it to school in time for first period or else it was bye-bye perfect attendance. I also really didn't want to die at the hands of my best friend, Angel.
I pulled out my i-pod and had just settled into a good Paramore song when I heard somebody cough behind me. I turned my head toward the noise and saw a boy leaning against a tree planted beside the bus stop.
Underneath the shadow of the oak tree, I could see nothing but his face which was hidden beneah a full head of hair, and his backpack, which was thrown at his feet. He had on all black - judging by the way his body melted into the tree behidn him - with a shock of white skin streaking across his forehead, marking his face in the shadowy darkness. The creepiest thing was the sense that I was being watched from eyes lost to me within the pit of his shadowy face.
I slowly turned my head forward, shaking my head a little and trying to ignore the obviously high young man. I was just about to look behind me to make sure he was still there, when he leaned down, picked his bag up and began to walk toward me. Once he stepped out of the shadows of the tree I could see the curly black hair hanging in his face, blocking most of his face from my vision. The only thing I could truly see were his empty grey eyes and a mischievous grin. The grin curled his lips up and cast his personality in a sinister light.
I whipped my head around, silently praying that the bus would come soon. I snuck a peek at the guy, and he was grinning wider, still walking slowly toward me with a gait and gaze that had my heart racing. I stared back down the road, biting my lip.
He reached the bench and dropped his bag down at his feet, staring at me for a long moment. Then, without a care in the world, he slid onto the bench right beside me. Officially creeped out by this guy, I slid a little farther down the bench, moving as far away from him as possible. He stared at me for a moment before he followed suit, sliding closer to me across the cold metal bench. I slid farther away again, only to have him slid closer, his grin widening each time.
I felt like we were playing a sick game of cat and mouse. In which case, I knew I was the mouse and he was the cat.We continued like that until there was no more room on my side of the bench.
He was still watching me, and I felt the strange urge to cover myself up, as though his dark eyes could see straight to my soul. I wanted to curl up and hide, but instead I sat up straighter, staring back at him boldly. I got the feeling that he was shocked by my change in attitude, but he continued watching me, examining my every movement for a sign of submission, or weakness.
I tilted my chin a little higher in the air, and I looked at him, taking in his tan skin, the proud way he held himself and the almost regal tilt to his chin. His eyes were a pale grey, with no color, mimicking my own in a way that frightened me to no end. His pupil stood out distinctly against the pale grey of his iris, but I stared him down, just as hard as he was staring at me. I watched as an image of something faraway and distant formed in his eyes, but he blinked and I looked away, shoulders slumping as if I was a puppet and someone had cut my strings.
I sighed in relief when I saw the bus heading down the road towards me, but one look at the young man and I knew it was still too far away. He was watching me in a way that had my teeth on edge, in a way that had me thinking of dark, cold places and nightmares that wouldn't stop. It seemed like he was trying to see inside my soul, looking for something that would tell him exactly who I was and who he was to me.
Just then I heard the squeal of brakes as the bus pulled up in front of my stop. I hopped up, grabbing my bag and running onto the bus. Never before had I been so happy to see a vehicle of public transportation. I deposited my money and nodded to Mark Greenville, the bus driver, before finding a good seat among the mostly empty ones. I nodded to some familiar faces, all with the same glassy-eyed, sleep-deprived stares.
I sat down at a good window seat and stared out the window, at the boy, who hadn't gotten on the bus. He was watching me and he was grinning again. The only thing different about his grin was an air of smugness that had not been there a moment before. I glared at him questioningly and he raised an eyebrow in amusement.
The bus started up as the boy waited there, and I kept watching him until I could no longer seem him anymore. As he finally disappeared out of my sight, I felt relief, but also the strange sensation that he was still watching me from within the eyes of someone on the bus.
I shook those thoughts out of my head and got ready for a long, long day.
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