Ivory Rosewood is an 18 years old college student, ever so ambitious for what the future holds but saw her world crashing when life starts revealing itself in an unforeseen manner.
~~~~~
I used to know him like the back of my hand, but this is uncal...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
I inhale for any familiarity in the scent but smoke fills my lungs and I cough.
"What made you think this shed is the better option?" A voice followed by Issac's silhouette is making its way through dense smoke.
"What are you doing out here?" I sigh, no trouble at least.
"There was huge uproar going over... you know." He walks over to the dusty wooden table and stands against it. It creaks but is still standing on four legs.
"Rather what brings you here?"
"Same thing as you."
"Playing fugitive?"
"So you agree you are on run?"
"Goddess! You are really good at it," I throw the stash I am holding at him. It was the only thing around me other than this flimsy beanbag that I am using and a lighter.
"At what?" He chuckles catching it.
"At getting confessions out of me."
Enough moonlight is passing through roof to light this cabin. I turn my head to my left trying to make his face through the thick smoke taking over the cabin. He shakes his shoulder like all this comes natural to him.
"So Ryker?" I ask. Each time I am flicking the lighter in my hand I am thinking of new way I will burn his hair with it.
"And your parents, and mine," he adds. He is throwing the stash in the air like a ball.
The thought of dad and alpha arguing is giving me fidgets. "This isn't going to burn out soon, is it? I screwed up!" I groan and lie back down. "They won't let me back in quietly this time."
"You worry too much," he says, his eyes glowing in the dark with a hint of... disappointment?
I zip my lips. He doesn't know the things they said to me, what is worse is half of it is true, "forget it," I sigh. Sound of glass shattering in the living room echo in my head. Having Zack around gives me a sense of comfort, too close, that could be a problem. How do I talk to him about this?
"This involves me as much," he says raising off of the table.
"I want you to stay out of this, this is my family matter and..." I sit back up.
"And I said is taken care of," he closes the argument.
"What do you..."
"Shush... let's try this." He squats down beside me and whispers, "celebrations," flexing the polythene ball in his hand that clove gave me. But my eyes goes to his leg muscles, god my way of perceiving him has totally switched.
//Warning: this isn't underage stuff or for any age at that matter. Reality is in no way related to the world of fiction. And this is in no way a definition of cool or fun. If anything **drugs=snotty losers.** **Definition of fun= doing your duty properly and making a safe living out of it**//
