Meet Vannessa Walters, a teenager who lives a lavish lifestyle. She has things that most teenagers can only dream of having. But the problem is...
There is a cavernous hole in her heart that she desperately needs to fill due to tragic circumstances...
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The picture above is Wilma. (Vanessa's Housekeeper)
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It was around nine o' clock when I had reached the solitary of my bedroom. I had freshened up and retired to bed early as soon as I locked my window.
Somehow, this time when I climbed the tree neighboring my window, I didn't fall. Maybe the devastation I felt prevented me from focusing on how high I was climbing.
Earlier before I had encountered my second near death experience, I had stuffed my duvet with some pillows to make it seem like I was fast asleep. So in case my dad or Wilma had come into my room to check on me, they wouldn't have suspected a thing.
It was now a little past eleven o' clock in the morning. I had eaten breakfast early with my dad. He tried to make conversation here and there but I didn't know what to say to him. And I'm sure our worker, Bruce, wished he could have grabbed a bread knife from the table and slice through the tension that was in the air when he was serving breakfast.
After the awkward breakfast with my dad, I sent him a barely interested farewell. I headed back to my room. Sulking at the tragedy that was last night's events.
Ping!
A frown overtook my facial features and I lost track of how many times my phone made the dreadful sound.
I didn't have to check my phone to know that it was Sean texting me. I had seen some of his messages at the top section of my phone screen last night. But I ignored him.
What was there to say?
How would I look at him without crumbling like a poorly stacked pile of blocks?
I sat on my window seat and stared outside. Studying the fountain in my yard as water sprung up and splashed in many directions majestically.
"You look like a mess."
I knew who it was before I looked up. I could never forget that deep, sultry voice no matter what.
"I'm not in the mood for your taunts Dontae, so just leave me alone."
I turned my head towards his window to send him an exhausted look. My head pressed against my palm and an elbow took residency on the windowsill.
"Ouch," Dontae gripped his chest in mock hurt and perched himself carefully on his windowsill. He scrunched his eyebrows at me.
"What's wrong? Why were you crying?"
How does he know that I was crying? I'm not even that close to him. If there was a ladder to connect the windows of our rooms, we would use five or six middle steps of the ladder to reach each other.
