Bullied (Bullied Series #1) (SAMPLE)

Chapter 3

Present

How the hell did he get my number?

No, don't go there, Sarah. I'd known for a long time that Hayden was capable of anything. He was used to getting anything he wanted.

That night I couldn't sleep a wink. I kept imagining the worst scenarios, waiting for mom to appear and tell me my nude photos were all over the Internet. I might not be able to set foot in school ever again.

I didn't reply to his message, because even the slightest action could've provoked him. I'd checked a few accounts of East Willow High students, trying to catch any sign of those photos, but I couldn't find anything. As far as I could see, unless Hayden decided to publish them secretly on some foreign website, he didn't post them at all. He didn't send me any other message, and I didn't know if that was a good or bad sign.

I could never figure Hayden out. He was too unpredictable and impulsive, and his actions could be inconsistent. One moment he was cold, the next he was fuming with white-hot rage, and it was overwhelming. To top it all off, there was still that issue of our last encounter before summer. He had a score to settle, and to think he would let me off the hook would be a serious mistake.

The first day of school arrived all too soon, and I wasn't ready at all. I didn't want to go back to that Hellhole. I didn't want to face all those people.

I entered the kitchen and found my mother making breakfast. She wasn't a morning person, so she rarely spoke a word to me before her first cup of coffee. I looked at her exhausted face and saw dark circles under her eyes, clear proof that my ears hadn't deceived me—she'd indeed come home at three in the morning. She hadn't showered so she reeked of alcohol and cigarettes, and her hair was unkempt. Disappointment clouded my mind yet again.

How many times had I imagined her as a normal mother—cheerful and full of love? The first day of school was awful every time partly because of such depressing mornings. She was here, but it was like she wasn't. She didn't prepare me breakfast and didn't wish me good luck.

She wasn't one of those overprotective mothers who wouldn't let their children go outside unless they kissed them a hundred times, hugged them so tightly they could barely breathe, and checked twice if they took everything they needed.

These days she was terribly moody, whether she was sober or drunk, and I didn't know how to help her. I wasn't sure if she was annoyed because of me or if there was something else bothering her.

Since I wasn't hungry, I just took an apple from the kitchen counter, impatient to get out. "See you tonight?" I asked because she had an evening off.

"Yes." She didn't even glance in my direction. "Have fun in school."

And that was it. Have fun in school. She said it like she didn't know how horrible school was for me.

"I'm going now," I said, dejection coating my words as I snatched my keys out of the bowl in the hallway.

"Later," she replied.

I stopped, expecting her to say something more. There was a foolish part of me that still hoped she would show that she cared. Was she even aware that today was my first day as a senior?

She didn't say anything else, and I stepped outside, trying to suppress my tears. When did it become difficult to tell her "I love you"? When did our signs of affection stop? I wanted to hug her and kiss her, but it was so difficult—like there was some invisible barrier between us, and it was impossible to cross it.