Chapter One
The day I met Eric was both the best day and the worst day of my life. The best day because I met the guy I am supposed to spend the rest of my life with. The worst day because I met the most conceited jerk that ever lived. He was annoying, self centered, and obnoxious. He was conceited, and mine. We were meant for each other, but we didn’t know it yet.
So how is it that the man I was meant to spend the rest of my life with I started out by hating? Well… it started out like this.
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“Annabelle! Get your lazy ass out of bed!” Dad yells. I groan, rolling over onto my side and pinching my eyes shut. I don’t want to get out of bed. I sigh, planting my feet on the ground as stumbling to the bathroom. I brush my teeth and comb out my hair. I want a shower but because I slept in late I only have a half our before I have to leave for school.
I throw my hair up into a ponytail, deciding that that’s the best I’ll get and head back into my room. I duck into my closet and pull on a pair of grey skinny jeans, tall black, lace-up boots and a white tank top. I add a layered necklace for effect.
I add the barest of makeup with just a swipe of mascara and a hint of lip gloss before jogging downstairs. I’m surprised to see Dad standing at the stove, a flowered apron tied around his waist and a spatula in his hand. He usually leaves when David gets up for his classes at the local campus.
“Morning, honey.” Dad says without turning around. I grin. He’s always called Melissa and I that, even now that we’re sixteen and eighteen years old.
I sit on a barstool next to Melissa.
“What are you still doing home?” I ask Dad as I look Melissa over. Ever since she broke up with her boyfriend nearly two weeks ago he’s been spreading rumors that he got what he wanted and that she’s a slut. Now it’s all around school and every guy (and some girls) want to sleep with her because they think she’s easy. Dad hates it because he can’t afford to have her change schools or even home school her. Mom died when Melissa was six months old. She barely remembers her, but what she does remember, she cherishes.
Since Mom died Dad’s had to work two and three jobs at a time to pay bills and build up some sort of college fund for us.
“I decided that I should make breakfast for my children.” I give him a look. “What? I can’t make breakfast for my kids?” I give him a pointed look. “Fine, scheduling mix up, I don’t work until later.” He grumbles, returning his attention to the stove.
I grin, Dad is forty-one and doesn’t look it at all. He has shaggy dark brown hair and shares golden brown eyes with David, which he insists the ladies call “smoldering”. He always has at least a day’s worth of stubble on his chin but otherwise stays clean shaven. He works out when he can so he some muscle on his arms and chest.
I glance at Melissa as Dad places plates of eggs and toast in front of us. She grabs a fork and starts to push the food around her plate. My heart breaks every day for her. Since she became the “school slut” she’s worn loose, baggy clothes like sweatpants, jackets and bulky sweaters. She used to wear tank tops and skirts all the time and now she worries about guys pulling up her shirt or pulling down her skirt.
I hate that she suffers. I want to take her pain away, to suffer in her steed, but I can’t, I know I can’t, and it kills me.
I scrap the last of the eggs off the plate and suck them off the fork.
“You ready?” I ask, pulling the fork out of my mouth and pointing it at Melissa. She shrugs and I take that as a yes.
“Good.” I set my dishes in the sink. I’ll do them later. “Grab your stuff.” I say as I tug my keys out of my backpack and take a bottle of water out of the fridge.
It’s a silent ride to school. Melissa used to turn the radio up loud and sing to all the songs. Now she sits in silence and stares out the window. I always wonder what it is she thinks about when she doesn’t speak. Does she think about her time with Gabe? Does she think of things she believes she should have done?
I sigh, resting my hand on the wheel and flick the radio on. I sing softly along to the radio, tapping my fingers on the wheel along to the beat.
We ride like that for the rest of the way. Thankfully the school is a mere ten minute drive from home.
I pull my car, an old 2006 SUV into the first available parking space and climb out. I sling my backpack over my shoulder and grab Melissa’s from the back. Handing it to her I walk to the front doors with her.
It pains me to see Melissa’s shoulders slump and a frown appear on her face when we step through the double doors leading into the school. Luckily our lockers are next to each other, something we both found annoying until recently. I grab my math and English book out of my locker, knowing I won’t have time between classes to grab them. I sigh as I sling the backpack over my shoulder, the extra weight hurting me.
Melissa shoves the three notebooks in her locker that she took home last night to look over. She is lucky enough to have Homeroom as first class and have her next class close enough for her to exchange books so she doesn’t have to lug around a heavy bag like me. I’m not going to complain though, this is my last semester after all.
I sweep the strands hanging in front of her face out of the way and tip her face up to me.
“You okay, Liss?” She looks miserable. Her shoulders are hung, her skin pale and her hair un-styled.
“Yeah.” She mumbles. I love that I’m going to graduate but I hate that Melissa will be left all alone in the school with no one to look out for her.
“Come on, lets get you to class.” I say slinging my arm around her shoulders. I try to act like the brave big sister, but it’s hard. It’s hard to be brave when my little sister is so fucking broken.
I walked with her to class, sticking close to her and glaring at anyone who dared to look at her. I know that it’s not going to stop anyone from doing something, but maybe if they know that someone is looking out for her they won’t be as likely to try something.
As if.
I leave Melissa at the doorway of her Homeroom and run- okay walk quickly -towards my math class. The bell buzzes just as I slide into my chair. Mrs. Strat gives me a look, which I ignore. So what if I barely made it to class? It doesn’t matter, I’m here, aren’t I?
Math drags on. I’m usually good at math, it comes easily to me because Dad has always been good at it, but right now, I feel like I can’t do anything mathematical. I’m ecstatic when class is over and I quickly slide my notebook into my bag and head out of the room.
I walk to English while Melissa goes to Science. Her class is close to mine, which is good. I wave at her as she walks into Science. She waves back, her blonde hair twirling around her face.
I slide into my chair, pulling out my books as I go.
“Hey girl!” I look up and see my best friend in the world Claire walk in. She slips into the chair next to me, her nearly-to-short-to-be-allowed-in-school shorts slide up her thighs and the guy next to her reaches out, rubbing her leg. She slaps at it, shooting him a glare and flips him the bird.
I laugh as he pretends to be hurt, sending her a pouty look.
“Fuck off, loser.”
“Baby, you wound me.” He drawls, sending her a “sexy” look.
“As if.” With that she turns to face me and ignores him.
“Have you seen that guy at the party yet?” Claire has asked me this every day since I met (kissed) him.
“No, Claire, I don’t want to, okay! He fucks every girl and I don’t want to be like everyone else! I want what I have with someone else to be special.” An easy way of saying “virgin.”
Claire rolls her eyes at me. “It looked special to me.”
“Really? What part of making out in a crowded room over a drunk party game is special?”
“You have no sense of romance, Ann.” Claire frowns at me as if I’m the dumbest girl in the world for not jumping Eric when I had the chance.
“I do have a sense of romance, and that doesn’t include drunk party games.”
The teacher saves any further intergation by walking in and beginning the class.
“We’re talking about this later.” I roll my eyes. This is so not what I want to talk about.
English was much more interesting than math, which wasn’t saying a lot. We were reading To Kill a Mockingbird and were currently on chapter two. Mr. Dunnum reads in such a monotone voice that I find myself leaning against my hand and staring blankly at him as he reads.
I’m nearly asleep when a freshman runs into the room.
“Yes?” Mr. Dunnum asks, placing his finger on the page where he was reading.
“Is Annabelle Wright in this class?” I look up sharply, staring at the freshman for a moment before saying.
“Yeah, right here.” I don’t know what to expect. What does she want?
“You need to come with me, it’s your sister.”