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Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781546237709 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | AuthorHouse |
| Publication date: | 04/17/2018 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 252 |
| File size: | 266 KB |
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CHAPTER 1
It's dark, I can't see a thing. My heart races at a million miles per hour, and my breathing is ragged. I'm bleeding, I can feel the warmth oozing through my shirt, causing it to stick to my side. I'm going to die, I think as I stumble through the pitch-black corridor. The stabbing pain in my side is agonizing. It calls my attention away from finding an escape from this black hell, but I keep moving forward.
A freezing wind blows through and I stop, a cold presence sending chills down my spine. I feel as if someone has replaced my blood with ice water. I'm cold to the core.
"You can't run from me, Celia," he says. His voice is oddly soothing but with an undertone of malice. "I will always find you."
I wake up gasping. My sheets lay in a tangled mess at my feet, and the comforter is on the ground in a crumpled pile. I can feel my heart pounding away inside my chest, in time with my quick breathing. Slowly, I take deep breaths, calming my fried nerves. It's the third time this week that I've had this nightmare. It has always included the cold but lovely voice, promising to find me. I can't tell whether it's endearing or creepy, although based on my reaction, I'm leaning more towards the latter.
I roll out of my bed and onto the ground, hitting the carpet hard, momentarily forcing the wind from my lungs. I groan and roll onto my back, slowly regaining my ability to breathe.
"Damn dreams," I growl in frustration, climbing to my feet. I walk to my window and gaze out over the front lawn. The sun is barely rising, just coming over the peaks of the bluffs, bathing the city in a pale orange light. I rest my head against the window, the cold glass feels nice against my burning skin. It helps to soothe the nerves that were sent into overdrive.
"Celia, get your ass up!" There's a pounding on my door, shaking me out of the piece of calm and serenity I had found after my rattling nightmare.
"Step off, Amy. I'm up!" I yell back, irritation heavy in my voice.
"Then get the hell out here, we have to get to school."
"We have forty-five minutes," I say with exasperation as I open the door. My sister stands there with her arms crossed over her chest, a frustrated look adorning her face.
"Yeah but–" I hold up a hand, silencing her.
"Amy, we always get to school on time, there's no need to worry. I will get my little sister to where she needs to be in a timely manner, as I always do, okay?" I say reassuringly.
"Fine," she sighs in resignation, turning away and meandering down the stairs to the kitchen table.
I close my door and get dressed, putting on the outfit I had chosen the previous night, as I've always done. Today is nothing special, I've decided to go with a black miniskirt and a red and black plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up. I've never thought of myself as the person who walks into school dressed as if I were heading to a job interview, but I've also never thought myself to be the person who comes into school looking like I rolled out of bed only seconds ago. I like to be in between the two extremes, looking nice, but also casual. Well, at least my opinion of casual.
I go through my morning routine. It's the exact same one I go through every morning, following each individual step as if it's the law. The only thing that ever changes is the way I do my hair, and today, I simply comb it and let it fall onto my shoulders as it naturally does.
I jog down the stairs to the kitchen table where my sister sits and grab the same Power Bar I've eaten every morning, quickly unwrapping it before wolfing it down and heading to my car.
Amy follows, quick on my heels, complaining about something which I neglect to pay attention to. Instead of listening to her, I focus on carrying out my morning routine the exact same way I have done every morning.
My sister and I pile into the flaming red Dodge Avenger that sits in the driveway, glistening in the light of the morning sun. I stop for a moment to admire my car before I climb inside and begin to drive away.
"Huh-uh, feet off the dash," I command, chastising my sister. "You know I don't like your dirty shoes on my clean dashboard."
She sighs and pulls her feet down, giving me the annoyed look she always does when I insist she keep my car as clean as it was when she entered it. I'm very affectionate towards my car, treating it better than I treat most people. I always make sure to keep the exterior and interior clean and pristine, careful so that my car is never scratched or damaged.
We pull into the parking lot with 15 minutes until class starts, snatching the same parking spot we do every other day.
"You have OCD," Amy declares as she closes her door and slings her backpack over her shoulder.
"Is that a problem?" I ask, doing the same as she had done. "My OCD and need to follow a routine are what get us to school on time every day."
"I guess you have a point," she says in defeat, wandering off to some place unknown, most likely in search of her friends.
I sigh, mentally preparing myself to deal with the idiots who infest Goodman High School, before locking the doors and heading inside.
If you've ever been in a high school parking lot, you know that it's a crazy mesh of speeding cars, frantic for a parking space, and reckless teenagers who believe they're invincible. Kids rush out in front of the cars, attempting to make it to the building before the warning bell goes off. This one is no exception. Impetuous students still sprint about, narrowly avoiding the speeding cars. Symphonies of honks and hollers can be heard from any and every point in the parking lot. If that isn't enough to wake you up, or drive you crazy, then there's obviously something wrong you.
With another sigh, I begin my journey through the treacherous high school parking lot. I only feel relatively safe once I'm in the building, and it's not because people are that bad at driving, but because I know that there are several people who would just love to run me over, simply for kicks. Because somewhere along the line, I really offended them, which happens a lot more than I'd like to admit.
As I enter the building, I'm immediately pulled into the slow meander of student traffic. It flows through the hallway at a speed that seems to crawl.
I push through the crowds of people. I just want to get to my locker so I can swap out my books and get to class.
Finally, I reach my locker and quickly spin in the combo, switching out my AP French and Culture book along with my AP Psychology book, for my College Calculus and AP Chemistry books. I grab my copy of Paradise Lost, by John Milton, from the top shelf of my locker before heading to class.
Almost instantly, I open the book to the page I had left off on, not that it really mattered. By this point, I've read the book so many times, I can open to a random page and know exactly what is going on.
Suddenly, I come to halt, running head on into someone in front of me.
"Oops, sorry," I say, lifting my gaze to see who it was that I had run into, and upon doing so, I almost drop my book. "You know what? I'm actually not sorry," I scowl, irritated at the sight before me.
"Watch where you're going," he growls. "Maybe if you didn't always have your head in a book you might be able to see where you're going."
"You know, this unfortunate predicament isn't just my fault. You could have used those athletic skills you pride yourself on and dodged me, but alas, you were too stupid to do that. But that doesn't really surprise me, considering you only have three brain cells. One to walk, one to breathe, and one to spout out stupid things," I retort.
"It's not possible for someone to live with only three brain cells," he tells me with a condescending voice.
"Well, Beckett, you are living proof that one can," I smile, a bitter mocking smile.
"God, you are such a bitch," he says.
"I never said I wasn't, but that doesn't change the fact that I am fantastically amazing."
"Does the word 'arrogant' mean anything to you?" Beckett asks irritably.
"Nope," I respond right away in a light tone. "Does the word 'stupid' mean anything to you?" I ask. "Because it should. Oh, and by the way, Calculus is down the hall, not the way you're heading."
"I was on my way to my locker," he scowls. "I forgot my textbook."
"Can't say I'm surprised," I mutter, as he storms off down the hall. "What a prick," I say to myself with a bitter laugh, turning and walking to my math class.
I enter the room to find a new seating arrangement displayed on the front board and sigh. I hate the momentary chaos of getting new seats.
"Nice of you to join us today, Ms. Walters."
"I always join you, Mr. Lawrence," I say drearily. I try not to scowl.
I've been told that it's not good to scowl at your teachers, but it's hard not to with Mr. Lawrence. We disagree on everything other than one little fact, and that fact being that we both detest each other. He thinks that I'm a spoiled brat who happens to be a know-it-all. I think that he's an asshole who sucks at teaching, and that sums up our relationship.
Before I lose my self-control and allow a look of disdain to creep onto my face, I switch my gaze to the front board in search of my new spot, freezing as I do so.
"Are you kidding?" I practically shout, turning to my teacher in fury. "I have to sit by Beckett Halverson?"
"I'm not pleased about it either." There's a mutter from the doorway, a voice that sounds completely miserable.
I spin around to find Beckett standing there with a bitter look on his face, a look that matches mine.
I groan and move to my seat, dragging my feet along the way as if I were headed to my execution. I drop my bag and take my seat, letting my head fall onto the desk as I slump forward.
"Look, I don't like having to sit next to you either, but honestly, you're acting as if this is a death sentence," Beckett says.
"Ugh, don't talk, please," I say in as agonized voice. "Your voice gives me a headache."
"God, you are such a bitch." His voice sounds far away. I'm lost in my own world of thought.
Who is that person in my dreams? I wonder, staring absently at my desk while Mr. Lawrence rambles on about something I've deemed unimportant.
I can't forget the way my blood chilled at the sound of his voice. Although his words would be found touching under most circumstances, they made my hairs stand on end and put my senses into overdrive. They made me want to scratch my skin off, just so I didn't have to feel that cold feeling.
"Ms. Walters!" Mr. Lawrence shouts, jarring me from my thoughts, demanding my attention. "Can you tell us what the answer is?" He wears a smug smile, triumph shining in his eyes.
"Seven," I say, looking up at the board, solving the equation in less than a second.
"Correct," he says grimly, the triumph fading from his eyes, granting me an immense amount of joy.
I spend the entire class ignoring Beckett and Mr. Lawrence, burying myself in my thoughts. I wander into a world far away, a world almost forgotten.
I'm jarred from my thoughts once again as the bell rings. I leave as fast as I can, desperate to get to my next class and away from the two people I despise the most.
"Good morning, Celia!" Mr. Simons greets me as I enter my Chemistry class, his voice cheery and light like it normally is. "How are you doing today?"
"Good morning, Mr. Simons. I'm doing well, and how about yourself?" I ask.
"Not too bad, thank you for asking. Alright everyone, get to your seats, we've got an exciting day ahead of us!" he exclaims happily, clapping his hands together as he makes his way to the front of the room.
I do as he says and take my seat at the back of the room, watching the other students file in and slowly take their seats.
Despite the interesting lesson Mr. Simon has planned, I don't pay attention, and he has no problem with that, which is nice. I like that most people chose to ignore what I'm doing, most of the time, they just let me do my own thing.
No one glances back at me as I absently stare at my desk or start reading a book. Not even when I pull out a music score and begin reading it, hearing the music in my head as my eyes scan the notes on the page, creating a symphony held only for me, with music that only I can hear. Music that tugs at memories buried deep within the murky waters of my mind.
No one is bothered by me except for Beckett Halverson. His gaze periodically falls on me from the front of the room, disdain obvious in his face.
I sigh, using all my self-control in order not to throw my music score across the room at him. I think I might just hate him more than I hate Mr. Lawrence.
What the hell is she doing? I glance back to see Celia reading a music score. A freaking music score. I'm pretty sure it's Chopin. I've overheard her talking with Mr. Simons before about her love for Chopin several times.
I think it's rude the way she treats teachers, especially ones as nice and fun as Mr. Simons. I mean, she could at least pretend to pay attention instead of pulling out a damn music score. I honestly don't think she has a polite bone in her body.
She lifts her head from the score to survey her surroundings and our eyes meet. I turn my head away from her cold gaze, unable to bear the intensity of her eyes. I find them piercing and unnerving, maybe even scary. They hold an intensity that burns right through you. She looks at you with a predatory stare, like she's devising all the ways she could tear you apart, mentally and physically. It's something that makes you uncomfortable in your own skin, to the point where you want to take a bath in acid to get rid of the feeling her gaze leaves.
I can feel her eyes on my back, watching me, analyzing me. I can see her bitter scowl in my mind; it's a look that I've become very familiar with. She wore that same scowl the first time I met her, and it was at that moment that we started hating each other. You may not believe that it's possible for a six-year-old to hate someone, but I assure you, it is possible. That moment, almost twelve years ago, pure hatred was born, and I can feel it inside me as I hear her sigh and flip a page.
"Beck, chill man."
"Huh?" I turn my head towards the voice and my best friend, Ben Milton, is looking at me with a grin. "I can't help it," I tell him. "She just pisses me off. She does whatever the hell she wants and thinks that it's okay! How can you stand her?"
"Cause she's cool," he says simply. Unlike me, he and Celia were great friends from the start, in fact, I think he's her only friend. It's kind of sad if you think about it, but the truth is that she brings it on herself, and there's no point in feeling sorry for someone like that.
"I think you're into her," I say finally. I can't come up with any other explanation for why he tolerates her.
"Dude, that's gross," he says with a shocked and disgusted cough. "Besides, I think that you're into her. You're the one who's always watching her and brooding over her actions."
"Don't be ridiculous," I scoff. "That girl simply pisses me off. There's something about her that just rubs me the wrong way."
"Yeah, I'm sure it rubs something," he says quickly, his grin spreading across his face. I reach out and smack him hard in the arm and tell him to shut up. I look over at him, waiting for another smartass response, but it never comes. Ben just stares down at his desk with a sad and faraway look in his eyes. The look makes me wonder just how much pain the guy has been through.
When he was younger, his entire family was killed in a brutal homicide, and he was moved out here to live with his foster parents. He never talks about his past, the names of his family members, if he'd had siblings, or even where he used to live, but I had been able to figure out at least one thing about his past. He'd had a little sister. I could tell it by the way he treats Lily, my little sister. He treats her better than I do, to be honest.
"Ben, what's up?" I ask in concern upon seeing his sad expression.
"Huh?" his head snaps up and that forlorn look disappears. For a minute I think I might've imagined it, but I know I didn't.
"You had that look," I tell him.
"Oh, I was just doing some thinking," he says nonchalantly, but I can tell he's being guarded. I can hear the undertone in his voice.
He glances back at Celia and that look crosses his face once again, making me more worried that before.
Maybe he actually is into her, I think. Maybe I just insulted one of the only people he loves who's still alive.
"Earth to Celia Walters." I blink and snap my head up to see Ben Milton waving one of his hands in front of my face.
"What?" I ask, slapping his hand away.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "The Eternal Masquerade"
by .
Copyright © 2018 R.J. Lehner.
Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse.
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