Kat Wells is the perfect student, cheerleader, and daughter. But that's not who she really is, not truly. The real her is hidden behind a perfect mask that nobody sees, except him.
Wally Clark was the perfect jock, friend, and son. But everything ch...
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She always thought that she was invisible, and he always watched her.
Like every Wednesday at exactly 7 pm, Kat stood at the edge of the rooftop, directly facing the sunset. She knew that no one was allowed there, and still, she continued her morbid ritual - standing too close to the edge, wondering if she was going to jump today.
She hated school, everything about it, from the yellowish hallway to the buzzing lights on the ceiling. She couldn't help but furiously despise this place. And yet, this spot, and the very place she hated so much, was her secret garden.
She felt as if she was truly by herself there, and at the same time, she didn't feel so alone.
Home was the worst anyway.
That's why she stood there, on a Wednesday, at the edge, looking at the pink sky and orange sunset, wondering if she should jump. It had started a month ago, maybe two, during one of those fights with her mom, trying to convince her that she was indeed doing her absolute best to keep up with what was expected of her - the grades, the scholarship, the piano lessons, and the cheerleading squad - everything. She was doing everything. But that night, as she ran away from the pressure, she found herself there.
To her surprise, the school wasn't closed, like it was waiting with open arms, and even if she hated the place, she still got inside and onto the roof. She never took the jump. It always amused her to still try, but she couldn't in a literal way. Every time she tried, she'd always feel a small pressure on her hand, like a buzzing and warm feeling of something or someone holding her back. She got addicted to the feeling, as if she was held by a blanket of warmth.
So, every Wednesday, after cheer practice, she would wait to be the last girl in school and go up to the roof. She would step on the edge and wait for the warmth. And then she would go home with butterflies in her stomach and hope that everything would be okay.
Little did she know at the time that he was watching her, begging her to stop playing with fire. He never stopped watching or following her. He knew she couldn't see him, and she could never know he was there. And still, he was, like a shadow.
She was playing with death, and he didn't want death to catch up with her like it did for him.
