001

Isabelle

“I’m not a child, mom!” I snapped, my voice higher than intended.

“Your overprotectiveness is suffocating me. For crying out loud I’m 18 already, I’ll be starting college next year. Can’t you trust me for once?”

She turned to me, her eyes blazing with anger. “Trust you? After what happened with Alex? You think I’m going to let you run wild and get hurt again?”

I felt a surge of rage at the mention of that name. That mother fucker had ruined my life—posting my nudes at graduation party.

“That was one mistake,” I countered, hell bent on attending this party tonight. “Just give me a chance to prove myself. You always assume the worst about me!”

“I’m just trying to protect you, baby. You don't know what's out there. You don’t know what people are capable of doing.”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh, come on, mom. Not this ‘the whole word is a scary place speech’. Technically, I’m an adult and going to a club shouldn’t be an issue.”

A frown etched on her face as her gaze shifted from the road to me, “Well you live under my roof and my decision is final!”

“No—”

The blaring horn of a trailer cut me short. A trailer was barreling towards us.

Fuck

“Move, look out!” I screamed, but it was too late.

The crash was deafening, glass shattering. I felt a jolt of pain spread around my body and everything went dark.

My eyes flickered open, blurry at first. The sounds of sirens and whispers were too loud, causing my ears to ache.

My head felt so heavy and I scanned the place, trying to take in my surroundings, when I saw her—my mother.

“Mom!” I screamed, my voice trembling as I pushed my body to the other side of the road where she laid in her own pool of blood. “Wake up, please!” I shook her body, my hands soaked with her blood as tears streamed down my face.

She wasn’t moving.

I turned to the crowd. “Someone help! Help me!” My attention shifted back to her, “ I’m so sorry mom. I’ll stay at home. I’m grounded…just please, open your eyes.”

Strong hands gripped me, pulling me away as the medics surrounded her, but I refused to budge, until—Something cold splashed onto my forehead and I sucked in a sharp breath, my body jerking upright.

My vision turned into a blur as I wiped my face, my fingers trembling.

I thought it was my tears, the one that dropped whenever I had this kind of dream, but this, this was water.

I blinked rapidly, dragging the present into focus..

I was slumped over a desk with my notebook opened under my cheek. The paper was smudged with ink and a drool or my tears, soaked through.

My neck ached from the awkward angle and the classroom was in murmurs.

Yes. I was at college.

Another drop of water hit my hairline and this time, I looked up.

Lucas. Of course, it was Lucas Graham.

His hockey jacket hung off his shoulders, the school emblem stitched proudly across his chest.

He was the golden boy of the college. The star hockey player.

He was the guy everyone praised and commend for his work. The so-called lifesaver who once pulled a kid out of a pool and never let anyone forget it.

Even though I always scoff whenever there was a story repeating what he had done because I don't believe he had actually saved someone.

But the rumors of his father fundraising the college before he died? Hell right. I was on his father's scholarship.

He was leaning over me, one elbow braced on the desk, a plastic water bottle tipped just enough to let slow drop of water fall onto my head.

His lips was curved into that familiar, lazy smirk, the one that says ‘I know exactly what I am doing and I enjoy every second of it.’”

And behind him? There, his friends, Clark and Finn were there, grinning and waiting for his last strike.

Trust me when I say this wasn't the first time he would actually be doing this to me.

I straightened slowly, locking my jaw as I met his gaze.

He tapped the bottle once more, letting another drop fall, my eyes tracing the water to my already soaked uniform.

“Oops,” he mouthed mockingly, his hand covering his mouth like he didn't actually do this to me.

I could hear laughter behind him, so I reached for my notebook, my fingers stiff as I scribbled furiously.

“Stop!”

I shoved it toward him.

Lucas glanced at the word, then laughed under his breath. He leaned closer, invading my space with his warm breath. “What?” He murmured with his voice low enough that only I could hear. “Cat got your tongue?”

The familiar jab landed like a punch to my gut.

Ever since my mother's death, which obviously was my fault, I hadn't been able to say a word.

The doctor said it was because of the trauma, they called it selective mutism, but it’s three years now and I couldn't try to say a word.

I could feel a sharp panic attack in my chest as I swallowed hard and wrote again, digging the pen into the paper.

“LEAVE ME ALONE.”

Lucas straightened, lifting his hands in mock surrender. “Relax, Isabelle. It’s just a joke.”

A joke? To drop water on my body while I was asleep and insult my inability is a joke to him?

I glanced around the room, helplessly and stupidly, hoping —that someone will step in and say something.

But as always, no one did.

Every one turned around back to their business while some chuckled at the scene.

The lecturer cleared his throat at the front of the class. “Is there a problem back there?”

Lucas didn’t even turn around. He just flashed that charming smile over his shoulder. “No, sir. All good.”

The lecturer’s gaze landed on me instead and on my stiff posture..“Isabelle,” he said, his tone already irritated. “If you’re going to cause a disturbance, you can leave.”

My head snapped up in surprise and I instantly shook it quickly, my heart dropping into my stomach in fear. I grabbed my notebook again, my hands shaking as I wrote.

“I was asleep. He…”

“I don’t want excuses,” the lecturer interrupted, not bothering to look at what I have written in my paper. “Out. Now.”

Lucas finally turned to look at me, a triumph glittering in his eyes.

Of course, it was his world against mine. No matter how obvious it looked that he pulled the stunt, no lecturer cared.

I gather my things slowly, tears gathering in my eyes as they threaten to fall down. I walked out of the classroom with the voice of Lucas's friend laughing, running into the background.

The hallway was empty and I had two thoughts running in my head. Stay back in school till the end of lectures and let Lucas taunt me again or just go home and give my dad a lie.

Last year when I got into the school through a scholarship, I thought it would be easier for me to avoid being the center of attention.

Especially when I heard there was a bully and he was the one carrying the school scholarship pay. However, things changed. He tackled my new found friend, Gina, I was pissed and I hopped in.

Even when Gina was out of the school and outside the country, he never stopped tormenting me.

I stood there for a moment, staring at the floor, breathing shallowly as I fought the sting behind my eyes.

‘Don’t cry.’ I thought to myself, my hand calming myself down.

That's the only coping mechanism I grew up with. My hand tapped my shoulder to calm myself down.

“Tell lies to my father again.”

By the time the bus came to a stop in front of our apartment, I could hear a different scent coming out of the apartment.

What's the occasion?

“Isabelle?”

My father’s voice drifted from the kitchen as soon as I stepped in.

I paused, my fingers tightening around my bag strap. For a moment, I considered lying. Writing that I was tired and that everything was fine.

Like always.

But I didn’t say anything. I just walked in and he was standing at the gas, his sleeves rolled up, stirring something in a pan. The smell hits me immediately. Garlic, onions?. It was so unexpected that I stopped short.

Dad… cooking?

He turned when he noticed me, his tired eyes lighting up. “You’re home early.”

I nodded, still shocked.

He frowned slightly, concerned creasing his brow. “Everything okay?”

I forced a smile and shrugged, pulling out my notepad to jot.

“Class ended early.”

He studied me for a second longer, like he could sense the words I was swallowing. Ever since Mom died, he had looked at me like that, like I was a careful, fragile being that he wouldn't want to lose. And that alone made me hate myself more.

“Alright,” he said, softly, letting it go like he usually does. “Go wash up.”

I lingered instead, watching him move around the kitchen. There was something almost surreal about it. Mom was always the one who cooked, humming softly as she moved, tasting and adjusting and smiling at me over her shoulder.

The memory alone tightened my chest. I would forever beat my chest that I was the one who made our home wrecked with sadness.

My father had never been the same ever since he lost his wife. I lost my mother and he lost his wife, the woman he met before they could ever dream of having me.

And I was the cause of everything.

I wrote again, pushing emotions off. “What’s the occasion?”

He chuckled, a nervous sound coming out. “Can’t a man cook for his daughter?”

I raised an eyebrow that said “Since when?”.

He sighed, giving in. “Okay, okay. Get dressed. I’ve got a surprise for you. I bought you a new dress that recommends the occasion.

My heart stuttered.

A surprise? A new dress?