Running in the rain steals my breath.
Ruins it.
Smashes it.
Nearly eradicates it.
When I arrive home, my soaked clothes are stuck to my skin. My shoes are slouching. My toes are cold and stiff.
Erratic strands of my hair stick to my temples and forehead, dripping all over me.
I stand in our small garden, catching my breath, and press a shaky palm to my chest.
My heart’s palpitations grow uneven and out of beat as if protesting. I close my eyes and tip my head back, letting the rain beat down on me.
Soak me.
Rinse me.
The droplets pound on my closed lids almost like a soothing caress.
I’ve always loved the rain.
The rain camouflaged everything.
No one saw the tears. No one noticed the shame or the humiliation.
It was just me, the clouds, and the pouring water.
But that’s the thing about the rain, isn’t it? It’s only a camouflage, a temporary solution.
It can only rinse the outside. It can’t seep under my skin and wash away my shaky insides.
Wiping away my memories isn’t an option either.
It’s been barely an hour since Aiden had his hands on me – all over me.
I can still feel it.
His breath.
His nearness.
His psychotic eyes.
I lock the encounter deep in the darkness of my head and trudge to the entrance. I need to change before I catch a cold.
Our house sits in a cosy upper-middle class neighbourhood. It’s two-storey and with more rooms than we need. The three of us did everything to make it as homey as possible. We planted an orange tree. A few roses. Uncle and I made sure to take care of the gardening ourselves — but lately he doesn’t have time to.
My movements are numb as I hit the code and step inside.
The interior design has been carefully picked by Aunt Blair. Despite being minimalist, it’s classy and modern. The lounge area has dark blue and beige sofas. The bookshelves are also dark blue with a touch of strength that doesn’t only represent Uncle Jaxon’s alpha character, but also Aunt Blair’s.
Not bothering to open the tall, french windows, I drag my numb feet upstairs.
Aunt and Uncle wouldn’t be around until late at night. The more their company grows, the less I see of them.
Sometimes, they pull all-nighters — whether in their company’s office or their home one.
Sometimes, one of them returns to spend the night, but most of the time, they don’t.
I’m going to be eighteen soon and I’ve always acted responsibly, so I stay alone just fine.
Deep down, I know they don’t like leaving me alone — especially Aunt Blair. When I’m by myself or with Kim, she calls a thousand times — even with the safe neighbourhood and the alarm system.
God. I can’t believe I ditched school.
I just couldn’t sit in the same class as Aiden and pretend I was fine.
For two years, I took pride in walking the halls with my head held high no matter what the minions said or did to me. Today was too raw.
Too deviant.
Just too much.
The steel will I thought I had crumbled in a matter of minutes.
I always heard about people’s breaking points, but I was too delusional to think I didn’t have one.
I discovered the hard way that I do.
A breath leaves me as I step into my room.
My sanctuary.
I always joked with Aunt and Uncle, calling it my kingdom.
The decor is cosy with a mixture of pastel pink and black. I have my own library stacked with psychological and Chinese war books organised alphabetically. CD’s hang from the ceiling like a curtain separating my bed from my desk.
The wall across the bed has two huge posters of my favourite bands; Coldplay and Bastille.
I let my backpack drop on the floor and press play on my Ipad. Hipnotised by Coldplay fills the space.
Tears barge into my eyes as I strip from my soaked clothes and step into the bathroom.
My hand itches. The need to scrub the filth off it fills me with an obsessiveness.
I stop at the sink and wash, scrub and rub my hands together until they become bright red.
When I lift my eyes to the mirror, my lips part.
It’s me. The witchy, white-blonde hair. The baby blue eyes. But at the same time, it isn’t.
There’s a void in there.
A… numbness.
I’m about to move to the shower when something else stops me.
My scar.
Several angry red marks surround it. Did the psycho leave freaking hickeys around my scar?
What in the ever living hell was going on in his defective brain?
I rip my gaze away from the mirror and take the longest, most scalding shower in history.
When I step back into the room, the song has changed to Good Grief by Bastille. I let the music drift around me as I climb into bed, still in a towel, and close my eyes.
I fight the tears and lose.
I startle awake.
My hair sticks to the side of my face with sweat.
Heat smothers my body and my breasts tighten against the towel.
That’s not all.
Oh. God.
My hand rests between my legs and I’m… wet.
I jerk my hand free as if I was caught stealing.
I don’t even remember the dream, so what the hell is this reaction supposed to mean?
My surroundings come back into focus. The soft light from the lamp. The music I left on. The chorus from Grip by Bastille strikes deep inside me. Something about the devil having him by the arm and pulling him into the night.
The neon red numbers on the nightstand read seven pm.
I slide from the bed, willing my body temperature to go back to normal.
With a deep breath, I put on my pyjamas shorts and a T-shirt, gather my hair in a bun, and sit at my desk.
My first day at senior year started with a disaster, but nothing will take Cambridge away from me.
I retrieve my books and tasks organised in Eizinhower’s method and dive into it.
For thirty minutes, my mind is tuned to studying. Then, I start drifting.
The pen grazes my bottom lip as my thoughts spiral into directions they shouldn’t.
Even when I want to forget, my body has a memory of its own. My body still remembers how Aiden held me. How he was hard because I struggled.
My eyes still remember that dark, bottomless emptiness and disregard.
If I didn’t cry, what would he have done?
A shudder goes through me at the thought.
In old Chinese war books, it’s said that the best way to understand someone is to see things from their perspective. To think as they do.
There’s no way in hell I’m doing that with Aiden.
Depraved bullies don’t deserve to be understood.
After being singled out as an outcast, I thought that one day, karma would bite bastards like Aiden in the arse and he’d stop tormenting my existence in RES.
I was only fooling myself.
Aiden might be a psycho, but he’s a smart one. He knows when to push buttons and when to step back.
He took me by surprise today.
Ha, understatement of the freaking century there.
He rattled me.
He shook my world.
He made me doubt myself.
Since he kept his distance for two years, I never thought he’d get close. That close.
I’m still all too confused about what I felt. What I feel. And whatever dream – or nightmare – I just had.
I know for sure that he took something he had no right to take and that I fucking hate him for it.
But more than him, I hate myself for letting him take it.
A knock sounds on the door. I startle, biting the pen and my lip.
Ow.
I smother my expression. “Come in.”
Aunt and Uncle walk inside, both of them still wearing their work suits.
When Aunt Blair leans in for a hug, I stand up and remain in her embrace for a bit too long. Beneath the cherry perfume, she has Mum’s scent. Something that resembles cotton candies and summer.
I don’t know why I’m thinking about that right now when I don’t even remember my mum.
Today, I miss her.
I miss the life that I don’t remember.
Reluctantly, I pull away from Aunt and hug Uncle Jaxon. He plants a kiss at the top of my head.
Uncle is classically handsome with brownish blonde hair and cobalt blue eyes.
Although his build is above average, he has a beer belly.
“I called and you didn’t pick up.” Aunt studies my face in that scrutinising way that brings her clients to their knees.
It’s like she’s detecting the lie before I even say it.
“Sorry, I forgot it.”
“I called the school,” she says. “They said you went home?”
“I…” Darn. I didn’t think that far when I left. “I didn’t feel so good.”
Uncle Jaxon looms over me, his forehead creasing. “Are you having palpitations, pumpkin?”
“No.” I force a smile and hope to hell they believe it. “I just had a headache and wanted to come home and rest. Sorry I didn’t call you.”
“We were so worried about you, honey.” Aunt smooths my hair back. “I came home to check on you earlier, but you were asleep.”
“I told you she would be fine.” Uncle chimed in. “Where did you forget your phone?”
“At… school.”
Real classy, Elsa. I’m shooting one freaking lie after the other.
It hurts to lie to them, but I’d rather die than put Aunt and Uncle’s company in jeopardy.
Their names and Aiden fucking King’s name shouldn’t exist in the same sentence.
Aunt continues scrutinising me and checking me up and down like she’s expecting me to collapse any second. “A headache out of nowhere is suspicious. Maybe we should visit Dr Albert.”
“It’s just a headache, Blair,” Uncle says on my behalf.
“Headaches are symptoms for the nastiest diseases, Jaxon.” She scolds.
“One of them is simple fatigue.”
“I’m fine, really,” I chime in, not wanting them to argue. “I’m just going to study for a bit and have an early night.”
“Dinner first, pumpkin. And we should play a chess game.” Uncle hooks me under his arm and drags me out of the room. He asks about my first day and tells me a joke about a worker of theirs. He almost fainted when he got a phone call that his wife was in labour.
Uncle Jaxon has a way of lightening up the mood, and I smile along.
Aunt follows, but she’s not amused. She keeps watching me intently as if trying to see through me.
Once we arrive at the kitchen, I smile. “Aunt, do you have time for some yoga? It helps with headaches.”
“Hell yeah.” She chuckles then her smile dies. “I’m sorry I haven’t had much time for our girls’ time, hon.”
I shake my head and say in a mocking tone, “Nah, it’s for the best. Too much girls’ time would distract me from Cambridge.”
Aunt busies herself behind the counter and I slide to an empty stool. Uncle comes behind me and massages my shoulders. “I’m going to coach you so well for Cambridge, pumpkin.”
Aunt rolls her eyes. “This isn’t a Premier League game, Jaxon.”
“Ignore her.” Uncle leans in to whisper, “I’ve got tickets for Arsenal’s game next week. Guess who’s asking you on a date?”
My chest flutters with excitement. I hate our school’s football team, or more specifically, I hate the arseholes who play in it, but I love the game. Uncle converted me to the dark side and turned me into a Gunner — Arsenal’s diehard fan.
“You better not be asking her to abandon her studies to go to some stupid game.”
“Of course not,” Uncle and I say at the same time, then he snorts and I can’t help but laugh, too.
Aunt folds her arms and taps her foot on the floor.
Uncle and I busy ourselves with retrieving vegetables from the refrigerator while trying to suppress our laughter.
“Teamwork,” Uncle and I murmur to each other.
For the moment, just this moment, I forget what happened today.
Or I try to, anyway.
In the morning, Aunt drives me to school on her way to work.
I kept recalling yesterday for the entire night and contemplated not showing up today. But then, I had a serious angry session with myself.
No one — Aiden included — will break me.
My early childhood didn’t and he certainly fucking wouldn’t.
I just have to be smart about dealing with him. Like avoiding the shit out of him and go back to glaring from afar.
I wave at my aunt and stride into the school with my head held high like usual.
The taunts begin, but I don’t let them rattle me.
A little voice in my head whispers at them.
Run along, kids, your little pranks are nothing compared to Aiden’s depravity.
Despite my pep talk this morning that gave me much needed courage, a tremor shoots down my limbs the closer I approach the class.
I’ll see him again. I’ll see those demon eyes.
Those sadistic smirks.
That dark soul.
Son of a bitch. How the hell am I supposed to survive an entire year with him in the same class?
To make matters worse, Kim is nowhere to be found. Since I don’t have a phone anymore, I called her from the landline earlier but she didn’t pick up.
I still have some time before the first class, so I head to her spot in the garden.
My pace falters near the tree where Aiden trapped me yesterday.
A strange awareness grips me by the throat. My body’s memory acts up again.
I can feel his hands all over me.
I can smell him amongst the trees.
I can see that soulless look in his eyes.
A strong wave of hate takes over me, but that’s not the only thing.
Something else, something completely immoral grips me, too.
Get out of my head, damn you!
My brows scrunch when I arrive at the cabin and find no trace of Kim.
Like me, Kim never skips. If she did, something serious must’ve happened.
That wanker Xander better not have hurt her or I’ll go all mama bear on his arse.
I turn around and my head collides against a strong chest.
“Are you here for more, sweetheart?”
