Crouched in the back of her closet, her chin resting on her knees, Marty sunk to the floor –sinking deeper and deeper than hell itself, as if flames engulfed her. The white shuttered doors separated herself from the outside world.
Crying out silently into her own oblivion, the collar of her shirt, began to soak with salty tears. Within each hiccup and gasp was a question without an answer.
High school wasn't like they said it would be. She expected more. More solace. More acception. More clear direction.
Emma gave her none of that.
The sweet, smiley boy from her history class gave her none of that.
The junior varsity communal cheer team gave her none of that.
None of her teachers, mentors, or classmates fit the bill, because they weren't her.
Distracting herself with flashcards, notes, and PowerPoints only did so much. Because when it came down to it, she was a faker. Her parents were intelligent, with degrees. They taught her so much. She didn't ask for it, didn't warrant it. But was born into it, unaware of those around her who had it differently. Then, why –why—why—why—did it feel like her parents were distant with their words? Were unloving and more critical? They supported her, her hobbies, grades. Everything.
But there were times when their anger and punishment came out of nowhere, for no reason.
She came home with Emma late one night. She told them. She texted them that she would be late, but would be home before midnight.
Why did they yell at her and question her?
She banged her head into the wall behind her.
The darkness enveloped her, but a small glow peeking through the doors' frames –her princess night light that she never removed and fairy lights that were too chic to think about turning off.
Scratch scratch. SCCCRRR
Devy pawed at the closet door, attempting to break it down.
Marty wiped her wet cheek on her sleeve and opened the closet door. Devy pranced into the closet and laid his on top of Marty's thigh, unmoving from that spot.
Cracking a chuckle, Marty pet his soft brindle coat. "Where were you before you came here?" She nuzzled into his back. "No one claimed you stupid dog. And my dumb self just thought, 'Oh, Emma has pets! So does everyone else. I should keep this mangy mutt.'" She wiped her snotty nose and laughed through her tears. "You know, Dad wanted to name you Thomas Jefferson?"
The dog's ears perked up. His eyes slid in their sockets to look up at the girl.
"I know, silly right? Who would ever name a black dog Thomas Jefferson?"
YOU ARE READING
The Devil's Tail - The Devil Chronicles Book One - ROUGH DRAFT
Paranormal(rough draft!) A missing dog and a mysterious tattoo were not what Marty Reiling was expecting for Christmas. When a man named Levi shows up with an identical Mark and claims to be her dog, she must reassess everything she believes to uncover the tr...
