younger years, my “caterpillar brows” were the cause of incessant teasing. My eyes, a simple caramel brown with a ring of green, are identical to my father’s, and I have a slender nose that upturns the slightest bit at the tip, just like my mother’s. My lips are much too big for my face, and when I smile, it only makes it worse. I usually try to keep my mouth closed when I smile, just so I don’t blind everyone by looking like Jim Carrey from The Mask. Even without lipstick or colored lip balm, my lips are naturally a pinkish red, which is annoying since half the popular girls in my class think I’m trying to one-up them. The icing on the shit-cake that are my looks? The smattering of freckles I was cursed with that decorate the bridge of my nose. My grandparents think it’s cute. Me? Not so much.
With one last self-depreciating glance at myself, I blow out a discontented sigh before heading upstairs. I jerk my gaze up at the sound of stomping feet. My mom’s face is twisted with anger as she flies past me without really seeing me.
“Fucking asshole,” she mutters under her breath, no doubt referring to my father and the fight they must’ve had. My grip tightens on the railing, and my chest squeezes in an agonized vise. Slamming my eyes shut, I force myself to remain impassive and think about anything else but my parents and their problems. Adult issues should be the very last thing on my mind. A tired huff slips past my lips as I head into my bedroom. For once, I wish I could go to my mom with my problems, instead of always worrying about hers. I wish I could ask her for advice, but chances are, that’ll never happen because her problems and her unhappiness consume almost all her thoughts.
Pacing around my bedroom for a while, I find my thoughts returning to the events of tonight. Still stuck on Endymion. I’m damn near wearing a hole in my carpet until I can’t stand it anymore. I need to talk to him again. About anything.
I make an excuse to my mom that I’m heading to my friend, Julia’s, to borrow her notes on an assignment for class. She only lives around the corner, so it’s not a big deal. Mom agrees, without question, because here in Dunsmuir, you don’t have to worry about your child walking around the corner to their friend’s house. Everyone in this town knows everyone and keeps their eyes out for the entire community.
I start down the street at a brisk jog, my gaze darting around, wondering where he could’ve headed next. If he was jogging around the neighborhood, I’d need to turn left on Stone Creek, but he was heading toward his house to finish his jog. Or at the very least, that’s what it seemed like. I opt to turn down Elm Street anyway and head toward his house, just to see if he’s home. Elm Street turns off Sunflower Lane, the road I live on, a few blocks ahead. If he is, I’m sure his window at the top of his two-story will be lit up, much like it usually is when he’s up there.
At fifteen years old, it’s no secret that I’m as unsuspecting as they come. And I’ve never truly known heartbreak until tonight. I jog down Elm Street, closing in on his house, and that’s when I see it.
I see them.
I thought we might actually be getting somewhere after what I thought was a meaningful conversation, where he actually saw me and I was no longer that invisible girl anymore, but I couldn’t have been anymore wrong. He actually didn’t see me at all. I was nothing to him, and chances were I always would be.
The knife plunges in my heart when I hear the moan. I glance at Holly Matthews’ house, who lives a few houses down from Endymion, and blanch at the shadows I can make out on the side of the house. I pause along the sidewalk, and my eyes widen, my chest cracking open when I realize what I’m looking at. There at the side of the house are Endymion and Holly, damn near going at it. I can see her tan, golden skin peeking out from the shadows and his strong, bulky frame as he holds her up against the side of the house. I shouldn’t be all that surprised. Back