(Author's note: Thank you for reading my story!! If you like it [or if you don't] please leave me a comment- constructive criticism is appreciated since this is my first draft and first Wattpad story. I hope you enjoy!)
Author's note x2: This is a reminder to please please please read the newer version of this book before this one! It's called Living With the Enemy and is updated and better written in general.
Scriiiiitch. The long, gnarled fingernails scrape down the cell, sending ripples of fear through my body with each scratch. My heart is pounding so hard I feel like I'm going to choke on it, but I force myself to look up, to face whatever's caging me in. The hand slowly reaches into the bars of the cage, and this time, my eyes travel slowly upwards. The scaly hands are attached to the body of a tall figure hooded with a large, ragged black cloak that ripples when the person beneath it moves. Fear seeps into my bones, slow at first, but speeding up until the wave of terror physically hurts. I don't know why I'm so scared.
"Who- who are you?" My voice shakes, and I can barely get the words out.
The figure laughs, a familiar laugh, and slowly pulls his hood off, to reveal:
"Dad?"
My eyes open automatically and -
Oh my god. I rub my forehead, trying to ease the tension still left from the dream before it causes a migraine, and wipe the hot tears off my face. I shake my head, the pounding in my heart not subsiding a bit. Calm down, Sienna. You're fine. But I can't calm down, not really, haven't been able to in three years. Not since... I shudder involuntarily, not wanting to think about it. Too many memories resurface when I do.
Wow. Now I really am going to get a migraine.
I spring up from my twin mattress with more energy than I honestly think I have in me after another restless night. It's always the same. I spend hours tossing and turning, and when I finally do get to sleep I'm haunted by nightmares of cages and monsters that always turn back into dreams of the car crash that changed my life and ended my father's.
"Sienna, the bus is going to leave without you if you don't get down here soon!"
Wiping away the last of the tears on my face, I slump downstairs and pour myself a bowl of Froot Loops, forgoing a spoon and instead just shoving handfuls in my mouth as fast as I can before the bus gets here.
I rinse my bowl of froot loops in the icy water. It wastes less electricity that way, and god knows what we'll do if we have to pay any more. My mother is already working three jobs and barely making ends meet. I check my cell phone screen and realize with a jolt that it's 7:45. We only live like 10 minutes away from school but I have trouble enough making the bus every morning, without having to walk. I grab a t-shirt and leggings from the clothesline, throw them on, at the same time brushing my teeth like I'm on steroids and snatching up all of the school papers scattered across our apartment floor. "Have a nice day, Sienna!" My mom calls from her room. Yeah, right. Like that's going to happen. But I call back "Thank you!" anyways because she's just trying to be nice. My mom doesn't know how terrible school is for me and hopefully she never will.
After my hasty departure, I manage to barely make the bus, and I take a seat in the back, my head down. Hoping no one notices me. Unfortunately, that doesn't work.
"Hey, Sienna," I hear the syrup-sweet voice of Katie Newman, our school's stereotypical bleach-blonde cheerleader and self proclaimed 'It' girl. "Love your outfit!" she says in her mock-friendly tone. "no ever told me that Dumpster Couture was in style right now."
Laughter is all around me as I hunch my shoulders and walk to the back of the bus. When I'm about to pass Katie and her group of cheerleaders, I have to bite my lip to keep from flipping them off. I'm certainly not afraid of speaking up, but sometimes it's just easier to let them think you're weak. If you stand up to them it becomes a power struggle, and I really don't give a damn about besting the high school popularity system and becoming HBIC. So I just hunch my shoulders and roll my eyes, taking a seat in the back row and tying my red hair into a bun. My mom says that when she looks at my hair, it's as scorching as looking directly into the sun. I then remind her that unless she is some strange version of color-blind, the sun is yellow. Not red. She just rolls her eyes and smiles, and tells me that I should take a compliment. I just tell her that she obviously doesn't have a clue what a compliment is, but secretly, I don't mind at all.
I'm too lost in my thoughts to notice when the bus stops and more students get on, until I feel someone slide into my seat. I look up abruptly to see Mayah sitting next to me, her wide brown eyes as lit up and excited as she is. "Hey, Sienna." Her dark hair hangs down her back in gorgeous box braids today, big eyes accented with a flick of wing liner. Mayah is probably one of the prettiest girls at United Virginia Public High School, a fact which she seems unfortunately unaware of.
"So guess what?" Her eyes sparkle with excitement, and her infectious enthusiasm seeps into me. "What?" I ask.
"Ethan and I both got into the all-state choral program!"
I smile. "Oh my god! Congrats! I knew you'd get in."
She rolls her eyes. "Considering I bombed that audition, I'm surprised they didn't just kick me out of the class altogether."
"Mayah, you were incredible, and the talent scouts clearly knew that too. We all knew you and Ethan were going to get in."
It's not a lie, either. I went to the auditions with them last summer, and watched as Mayah sung note after delicate note of some beautiful, haunting melody that I don't know the name of. I actually think Mayah might have written it herself, because she's just that fucking talented. I didn't get to see Ethan's audition, though. I remember I had a doctors' appointment that day and Ethan and I weren't close enough friends back then to justify rescheduling it. Until that audition, it was Mayah and me against the world. Ethan was just one of our casual friends. Now, he's a regular at our lunch table and I honestly feel like Ethan and Mayah are getting closer and closer everyday, between their piano lessons, AP chorus, and now this new prestigious all-state program. Not that I'm friend-jealous. Because I'm not. If Ethan and Mayah both got into this program, I'm nothing but incredibly proud of them. I can't be anything else. So I just smile at Mayah, nudging her. "Look who's on her way to being the next Whitney Houston."
"Whitney Houston?" Mayah wrinkles her nose. "No way. I wanna be Taylor Swift."
I snort. Mayah's music inspiration changes so much I honestly can't keep track anymore. "Okay, then, Taylor."
The bus pulls up to school approximately 2 minutes and 37 seconds early, according to my watch, but Mayah and I have already gotten off before the other students even stand up. I don't need to glance at Katie to know that she's 100% glaring at the short red-headed nerd bounding past her. I don't care. I need to ask my AP Physics teacher a question, and I can't do that if I'm late.
As I step out of the bus and into the strange post-thanksgiving chill, I'm instantly swarmed by students from the Glendale bus. Dammit. I shove past the sea of Louis Vuitton bags and up the stone steps. See, United Virginia Public High School is located directly between two area codes: one of the richest in the state- and one of the poorest. Take a quick guess as to which one I'm from.
Yup. The latter. While the Glendale students are worried about their acting auditions and whether they should buy the new Prada dress, the Vernon kids like me are trying to find a way to put food on the table. Even now, as I try to maneuver myself through the thick crowd of students, I catch whiffs of Chanel no. 5 perfume. Not a hint of Old Spice to be found, even on the soon-to-be-frat-bros. As I'm sniffing the air like a madwoman, someone jostles me and I lose my balance, falling over backwards into the arms of some unsuspecting person. They push me upwards and I almost fall the other way, but regain my composure and turn around. "Watch where you're going, Red," the guy I'm now staring at glares. "If you slobber all over me, i'm sending you the dry cleaning bill." He pushes his wavy brown hair out of his face and something clicks. It's not just any guy that I fell into. It's Jase Turner, UVPHS's star lacrosse and soccer player. And the most sought-after, (admittedly attractive), asshole-y guy in the entire school. "Ditto," I glare back at him, adopting his crossed arms and narrowed eyes, trying not to be intimidated by the fact that he is about a foot taller than me. "I don't want to get your disgusting jock germs on me."
He snorts, looking around at a tall, blond guy next to him. Cody Chasen. "What did you just say to me?"
I roll my eyes, trying to keep my cool, to keep from shaking. "Just that you're a self-absorbed, stupid jock."
His eyebrows raise. "Wow, that says a lot, coming from someone who can't even be bothered to iron her shirt or buy shoes without... what are those? Holes in your sneakers?"
We don't have an iron in our house, you jerk, and my mom has more important things to pay for than new sneakers. Sorry.
My face heats up, and I have to bite my lip to keep from spitting at him. "Fuck off."
I turn away, pushing past the throngs of people intermingling from both buses. I'm shaking with rage and humiliation as I hear him mutter to Cody, "What's her problem?"
How dare he. My mom works three jobs and can barely cover the debt we're in from my dad's cancer treatment. She can't even put food on the table half the time, I don't know how she's expected to buy me new shoes. And I know that Jase Turner didn't know that, but that's the problem. He didn't know. He's just like every other guy here: too caught up in this game of who-can-become-the.-most-popular to care about anyone but himself.
I'm still upset all through physics, and, to add insult to injury, when I go to meet Mayah by her locker, I find her and Ethan already there. "Hey, Sienna!" Ethan calls, waving me over with a pale arm. "Mayah and I were just talking about you!"
"Yeah!" Mayah smiles. "And how you should totally come with us to Cody Chasen's party Friday night.
I snort. "Have you met me, Mayah?" I don't do parties. Like ever. Like ever ever. I've seen enough TV shows to know what kinda stuff goes down there, and I do not want to be a part of that. She shrugs. "Whatever, suit yourself."
Well, I didn't want to go, but I didn't expect Mayah to care this little. It kind of hurts, honestly.
"Oh, come on!" Ethan says. "It'll be so fun. Everyone will be there. We can even set you up with a cute guy." He waggles his eyebrows like this is a valid way to convince me.
"Don't bother," says Mayah, her voice tired as she looks at her perfectly manicured nails. "We all know miss goody-two-shoes over here would never really come with us." I blush as crimson as my hair. Okay, so, maybe it's true, but still. Mayah's supposed to be my best friend, not make fun of me for my choices.
"Also none of us have invites."
"Minor details," Ethan waves his hand. "Invites aren't going to stop me from a very drunk Clayton Shreave."
Mayah wrinkles her nose. I have no idea who Clayton Shreave is. "Ew, Clayton's not even cute though!"
"He so is!"
"Not remotely close to-"
Ethan bursts out laughing. "Oh my god, no!"
"Because he was cute."
"Remember when you- and he- and the condom-"
and now I'm just standing there, feeling completely invisible, next to the two people that are supposed to be my best friends. "I'm going to go," I mutter. Neither of them answer. They're too busy laughing at things that I'm completely not a part of. It's fine. Whatever.
Lunch is the same thing, only now they're talking about some girl from music camp, and so I get up and throw away the rest of my lunch and go walk out of the cafeteria. And smack straight into Jase Turner. Again. This time, he's with Cody, plus four other guys from various sports teams. But instead of snapping at me, he looks down at my body. In a I'm-Checking-You-Out-Right-Now way. "Hey, babe," he says smoothly. "Why is someone as pretty as you wandering the hallways alone?"
"Fuck off," I say, glaring at his chest. I won't look up at his eyes. It feels submissive, somehow. One of his tanned, strong arms grabs my shoulder, preventing me from moving past him. "Slow down there, little red," he drawls, and I finally find the courage to glare up at his disgusting, perfect face, into his emotionless deep blue eyes. "Get your filthy hands off of me"
He smirks. "Whoa, playing hard to get, I see. Normally, I chase girls who are a little bit taller, but I'll make an exception just for you, Red."
Anger flares up inside me. "What makes you think I want to be chased in the first place?"
Jase looks around at his cronies- oh, sorry, I meant friends- who, at this point, are standing there like they're expecting more of their leader, and then settles back on my face, widening his eyes in a mock sweet way. It's just condescending. "Sweetheart," he says, and I want to punch him in the face, "Didn't you know? I'm Jase Turner. I get whatever and whoever I want. And right now, you are what I want."
My breath catches in my throat and I wish I had pepper spray, or a taser, even though I know rationally that they aren't going to hurt me. Not here, in a crowded hallway during lunch while the security cameras are watching. Still. I can't breathe. "Well," I say, tossing my hair over my shoulder and summoning all the bravery I don't have, "You can't have me, do you might want to retest that hypothesis of yours." And, the element of surprise still on my side, I twist away from Jase's grip and the circle of vultures around me, maneuvering my way through the hallway. "Whatever," I hear Jase say from behind me. "She wasn't that pretty anyway." Someone knocks into me. "Whore!" This Jase yells purposely loud.
Just get out of here, I whisper to myself, breaking through the crowd and into an empty bathroom stall. It's okay. You're fine. It's okay. You're not what he says.
But the word whore stays with me all day, burning a hole in my chair during fifth period.
I feel like people can see the word on me. I feel like they're watching me more than usual. When Ms. Phillips asks me to name the year Radon was discovered, I choke.
I've never been called a whore before. And now I feel like the word has been tattooed on my forehead, screaming out to the whole world: "Steer clear of her!" I don't know why I feel like this. Girls get called whores all the time and couldn't care less.
But the one thing I do know?
Jase Turner is a disgusting, misogynistic asshole.