"Two damaged souls who fell in love at a school meant for fucked up rich kids."
Bryce Weston is an uptight seventeen year old who used to have it all. After getting an expulsion from school she's landed at Welton Academy a place for second chances...
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THE YELLOW RAYS pouring through my windows ached my eyes. I moaned turning around and stuffing my face into my limp pillow.
After being grounded for a week, I had nothing to do but sleep and sleep and sleep.
Sitting at the dining table became an anxious await especially with Jake there. He kept glancing at me and then at my mom who looked about ready to smash a plate on my head. But alas I survived her laser looks and slept through the week.
If there was any luck, then I would consider myself lucky as both Louis and Catherine were in England with their mother. I had the whole house to myself in the mornings and the nights were filled with silence.
My alarm clock started ringing screeching in my ears. I muttered incoherent words and got up slamming it hard enough for it to roll down on my polished wood floors with a thud. Since my phone was off-limits, I used this god-forsaken thing to alert me of my mundane mornings.
I got up half dragging the comforter with me. My room was pretty big but mostly plain with clothes strewn around and chocolate wrappers from last night hung on the rim of the trash can. I walked over to my closet and searched for an outfit to wear. I pulled out a baggy black shirt that had some graphics on the front, baggy jeans, a silver pendant necklace, and air force ones. I didn't feel the mood to wear a crop top or leggings.
I just wanted to sulk.
Freshening up and brushing my teeth I threw on my clothes and brushed my long brown hair into a messy knot behind me before walking out. The house was quiet as usual, but the kitchen blinds were already open. Curious I searched through and found my mother shuffling through the pantry.
I stood there for a few moments not knowing whether I should speak or not. She was pissed at me and I was at her. If anything, we could start a full-blown argument over nothing and make it into something worth not talking about.
Composing myself I licked my lips and spoke, "Morning." I cringed at the weariness laced in my voice.
My mother jumped her short frame hitting the inside of the white shelves before she ducked out looking at me alarmed. She clutched her heart closing her eyes. "How many times do I have to tell you to not walk like that? You'll give me a heart attack." She snapped.
I shrugged sitting on a stool resting my arm on the island. "I can't help it if you get scared of every little shadow behind you, mother." I was in no mood to argue. All I wanted was for her to leave so I can pull up my cigarettes and have long smokes lulling myself to sleep.
She sighed picking through the fruit basket. I watched her closely as worry line etched on her young face. I never thought my mother was honestly capable of aging. She still looked as young as the time I first met her at the shelter.
She continued arranging the apples and oranges as if it was an art of sorts. I was waiting for her to slam them to shout and scream but she didn't. It made me feel worse. This whole guilt trapping was horrendous.
