The Heartthrob Won't Leave

Chapter Two (New Chapters)

School is a jungle, there are those who get abused and those who do the abusing. It wasn't hard for Blake to learn the hierarchy in a matter of days, being forced into her spot near the bottom, she might have even been in the lowest block. It was better with her friends there to navigate this new place, Life fell into a repetitive bliss, where she was the background noise to those who mattered, and she was Ok with that. She still held the football in her closet at home, and Zac was never punished because they never found the ball that held the evidence, all because she did a stranger a favor. Maybe after that day, a small fraction of her mind thought that life would never be the same now that she had met that boy, but how very wrong she was. That day was the first and last time Blake had spoken a word to that boy, their connection now was nothing more than slight glances in the halls, and watching him from afar as he strode around, talking to his friends around every corner, how happy he seemed to be, how much he smiled made her chest clench. Anyone could be happy without her in the picture.

Her reason for thinking about that day, the day she met him, was because of what her eyes currently held across the courtyard from where she sat on a splintered picnic bench near the football field, silently eating her bland ham and cheese sandwich lunch and staring at them. Stella was hanging off his shoulder, talking to his friends and laughing, her nails digging into the skin of his shoulder like a claim. If Blake knew anything well, it was when Stella made up her mind she rarely wavered. And her choice: Zachary Quintin.

"Blakelyn!" his voice echoed like she was underwater, her young self turned, looking at the towering figure of shadow. "You're trash Blakelyn. You look just like that disgusting woman"

"But Daddy! I thought you loved Mommy!"

"I hate that woman!" he snapped "If it wasn't for her, I wouldn't be stuck with you and your brother!" the young girl got to her feet, eyes glossed and small hands fisted

"But Daddy! You're supposed to love me!" The child screamed, falling to the black floor

She sprung out of bed, breathing heavily, grabbing a hold of her thin pajama shirt in a tight fist, feeling her heart hammering in her chest. She glanced around the empty dark bedroom, the sun hadn't even started to rise, and the moon was still at its apex out the window. She sighed, running a hand through her sweaty hair, wiping her soggy forehead on her shirt sleeve. Then, there was just a few silent moments when she couldn't hear anything, couldn't see anything but the pale palms she stared at. Her hands were so small and weak. They couldn't protect her even if she wanted to. She was so weak, so fucking weak, and it made her so angry. Another nightmare was no surprise, they were frequent, especially in times of stress, which was basically every living day. She pulled her hands away, glancing at the clock for the time, just after four in the morning. Her body was completely sheened in sweat, damp and sticking to her skin. She got to her feet, knowing her conscious in too much fear to go back to sleep. Her blue towel hung on a metal hook on her bedroom door, she took it between her fingers, grabbed the small shower caddy of items on her dresser, and headed out into the hall. She silently moved past the other doors, not wanting to wake anyone else on her way to the bathroom at the end of the hall, god forbid she woke up Jace and have to deal with him too. She opened the bathroom door, turning on the light and locking it behind her, remembering the last time Misty had walked in on her when she was showering and the resulting swollen goosebump on top of her head when she slipped, startled, and hit her head on the tile wall.

She stripped her clothes one at a time, letting them fall to a pile at her feet, stepping into the shower and letting the hot spray fall on her head, slipping softly across her skin. She couldn't help but let her eyes fall to a close, letting out a sigh of relief. She wasn't just washing the sweat off her body, but the nightmare itself, and she let it disappear down the drain. If she let herself dwell on it, all it would do was ruin an already stressful day of daily life. She got out softly, wrapping the towel across her body, standing in front of the sink and the foggy mirror. She lifted her hand, wiping the condensation away, revealing her worn form to the sight of her eyes. She leaned in slightly over the counter, staring at the eyes looking back at her in the mirror. Her eyes were so... tired looking, with dark circles. The light green of each iris looking sparkless and dull. Somehow, she hated the face looking back at her, so much so that she looked away from the mirror, not wanting to see it any longer.