1

764 54 252
                                    

St. Mary's Camp for Mental Rehabilitation...

Eli was sitting in the back of his mum's Range Rover looking at the brochure in his small hands. God how he hated the back seat, he thought. Eli couldn't tell her, he seriously hated confrontation. He was getting restless just thinking about it, her disappointing glare and motherly tone. She wasn't scary, not at all, but Eli found almost everything scary. He thought about where he was going, and how scary that was. He panted, a pain reached his chest, his breath shortened. Not again, not another one. Suddenly something soothing was slithering around his arm, his breathing steadied, taking comfort in his snake's slow movements. Gypsy always calmed him down. His therapist recommended a pet, and when he saw the pitch-black scaly reptile in the local pet shop, it was an immediate connection. His mother, however, hated Gypsy, she couldn't understand why her little lamb needed such a creepy animal to comfort him and that's exactly why he's in the backseat.

"Mum," Eli whispered, well it wasn't supposed to be a whisper, he was just extremely soft-spoken.

Timid and afraid.

"Yes, Honey?" She replied sweetly.

"Do I have to go? What if I get lost in the woods, I have no sense of direction! What would happen if I died? I mean I couldn't do that to you, leave you all alone. Let's go home, where it's safe."

Eli was afraid, but Eli wasn't stupid. In fact, Eli was the smartest person he knew. His therapist said it was common for people with high IQ's to have anxiety, in fact, 20% of people with IQ's over 132 are diagnosed with an anxiety disorder. That's double the national average.

"Don't even try my little lamb."

Eli wanted to roll his eyes at the nickname, but he didn't. He never did. I mean he was small; his hair was naturally white and he had sweet innocent blue eyes. Every time he panicked he was like a little lamb, shaking before its slaughter. Eli really couldn't calm down during the ride, his heart was pounding painfully, his fingers shaking wildly. He didn't calm, not when his mother drove through the big iron gates of the camp, not when they found their way to sign-in, his fingers barely working, and especially not when his mother was bugging him to get out of the car outside his designated cabin.

He looked up at the massive cabin, it looked like a holiday home, but Eli knew it was far from home. He wouldn't feel comfortable here, he was pretty certain no one would. His mother nudged him in, and he looked around quickly, making eye contact with someone Eli could only hope wasn't a 'fellow happy camper'. His mother shoved his bag into him, as she said a hurried goodbye, he waved with an unsteady hand in return. He could see the determination on her face, even if she was sad about it. Eli was staying all summer.

His eyes wondered back to the other side of the room and Eli gasped in surprise. The boy was staring at him. Not discreetly. Not at all. The boy had a smirk of a preying lion. And Eli like the little lamb he was, scurried away.

...............................

Caleb was standing in front of the camp gates, sulking. There was nothing wrong with him, nothing at all. Well, at least, he thought so. He bit his lip hard enough to break the skin and entered. Finding his way to his cabin, feeling nothing but pure frustration. It was ridiculous. Once he got there, he was immediately met with a circle of chairs. He groaned, a group circle, how he hated group therapy. He reluctantly found his room, it was fairly large but that didn't surprise him, if he knew his father, which he did, this place cost more than a car. There were two beds, both sightly larger than a single but not big enough to be considered a double. There were two closets, two desks and an adjoining bathroom. He reluctantly dropped off his bags, wondering downstairs to wait for the other mentally 'unstable' boys to arrive. He looked down at the edge of his sleeve, the worn out leather jacket running roughly along a prominent scar on his thumb. Three metal pins, he remembered. So what if he accidentally hurts himself? It's not like he's dead, he's only ever died once.

Caleb's eyes shot up when the door opened, he noticed a cute little blonde, dressed in a lilac sweater and light blue jeans. Caleb was fairly large at 6ft and full of muscles, he had copper eyes with dark unruly hair. He wore black or white t-shirts, with leather jackets and motorcycle boots. Caleb's entire body was tan and covered in scars, the other boy was smooth and pale, as if nothing had ever touched him, even the sun. He watched as the boy raised a shaky hand goodbye to his mother, before heading upstairs with his belongings. Caleb was immediately drawn to the smaller boy, his polar opposite. Just his type. A smirk played at his lips. He was almost certain that the summer was going to be an endless circle of pointless therapy. He thought of the blonde and a wicked thought ran through his head; this summer might not be so boring after all.

.......................

Outside of the cabin was Jordan, he fiddled with his button. He twisted it three times, and three times again. And again. Jordan was 6ft 3, a proud heritage mix of African and Scottish decent with chestnut brown eyes. He was handsome, and he knew that. Everything on his body was perfection, not a hair out of place. It had to be, he couldn't stand it otherwise. He fiddled with it one last time before he patted down his perfectly ironed designer shirt, that was tucked seamlessly into his perfectly ironed slacks. He started to walk into the cabin when he heard a small ping, he looked down to see that his previously abused button had fallen off. It happened often and always irritated him beyond belief. He'd rather not wear a shirt at all than one with a button missing.

He turned around to look for it only to find a small ginger boy, bending down and picking it up, beaming like he'd found the world's greatest treasure. He couldn't be bigger than 5'5 Jordan thought. Instead of giving it back to Jordan the boy simply pocketed it then walked past him, as if he wasn't even there. That irritated him more than the missing button. He grabbed the smaller boy's arm, halting his movements completely.

The smaller teen looked up curiously, beaming when he noticed his obviously annoyed expression. He loved it when people were mad, it was like a fun game figuring out their motive. How long it would take before they cracked. He hardly ever got mad, and seeing people so riled up, thrilled him. He wondered what it was like to be hot headed, but the cheeky redhead hardly ever experienced it. He tugged his arm out of his hold and raised a brow.

"Yes?" He questioned.

"Give it to me."

"Give you what?"

"Give me my button now." He demanded. His voice was deep and cold, almost like a growl.

Rory thought about it, but he couldn't remember a button? But Rory took so many things...

"What button?"

"You know what button, you just picked it up!" Jordan raised his voice, he couldn't believe he was denying it.

"I pick up a lot of things." Rory replied causally.

His casual tone drove Jordan over the edge, not only was he missing a button but he couldn't fix it with this kid refusing to give it back. He suddenly slammed the smaller teen against the wall, bending his head and placing his lips next to the boy's ear. He breathed out heavily and smirked when he saw the boy shiver under his hot breath.

"Empty your pockets" He hissed, his lips grazing his skin.

Jordan ignored the tingling sensation that remained on his lips even after he pulled away.

As if under a spell Rory emptied his pockets, in the palms of both his small hands was everything he'd put in there. Jordan was shocked, why did he have so many things? He had 5 paper clips, 2 lighters, 4 stones, 3 different sized buttons including Jordan's, an ID that wasn't his, 2 wallets, 4 sets of different keys, a necklace, loose change, even a euro? And a condom. Jordan lent over and picked up his button, glaring at the boy one last time before walking away. Rory touched his ear sub-consciously, who was he.

-
A/N: If you're reading this you stumbled across my book, it was previously known under a different name but I've rewrote and edited it.

There'll be frequent updates until the book is finished.

St. Mary'sWhere stories live. Discover now