[Sequel to The Merciless Black List Of Highland High]
Secrets and lies.
The very flesh and bone of the infamous Shameless Foursome guys.
Collin Adamms, the supposed creator of The Shameless Virginity Games, knows what it's like to make mistakes t...
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Eleven hours.
That's how long it took me to get here and yet, I'm nowhere near my final destination.
Nearly one hundred bucks spent in the meantime, on the goddamn Amtrak train ticket from Los Angeles to San Francisco, then the cab ride to Richmond District, and let's not forget the bottle of Coke and cayenne chicken sandwich I bought back at the train station because I was hungry as fuck after not eating for nine-ish hours. Not that the sandwich made much of a difference. I'm not a picky eater -- you can't really afford to be one when you're living in a household with three other children and one single mother trying to scrape by, or when you're forced to live with your father who's the rich type of workoholic but can't be bothered with fullfilling his parenting duties such as actually filling the fridge up with something other than cans upon cans of useless beverage --but that sandwich tasted worse than a pile of dust.
It's a miracle I managed to save up a few hundred bucks considering the majority of money I got my hands on thanks to working shifts here and there at the Rage club before the accident went straight down the drain, funding the pills and classy A stuff candy.
It will also be a miracle if I manage to not run out of my savings. Because that would make things certainly more difficult. And that's the last thing I need when I'm already putting so much on the line.
My hands are so sweaty I have to actually wipe them against my jeans. The anxiety? I feel it in every cell of my body. The last time I was here, three years ago, was the last time things were fucking normal. Then Adam died and everything fell apart. Hasn't actually stopped falling apart since. Only it's slowlier now, like a disease taking its fine time while spreading throughout your entire body silently, without your full knowledge. You feel the signs, you see the signs but you're still too dumb to acknowledge how deeply in shit you are.
I'm well aware I can't be standing here for the reminder of the night. It's already nearing ten p.m. And my stomach is grumbling because no, that disgusting sandwich didn't do anything.
I'm not breathing when I punch the bell hanging on the wall. And I'm not breathing when the door swings open, what must be after a full damn minute.
His nearly black eyes dilate when he takes my face in. Stitches, healing scars and all the glitz. Which reminds me, I have to ask him to take me to the doctor to get them removed sometime this week.
"Collin?" He's gripping the door now, his bulged muscles visibly flexing. I'm the ghost of his past, and in a way, he is mine, too. "What – What are you doing here?"
Immediately, he steps out and peers around, scanning his property, most likely for any sign of my father. Instead of replying, I choose to put him out of his misery. "He's not here. I came by train, alone."
"What? Why?" He must be finding it more unbelievable than I expected he would. I mean yeah, I expected him to be shocked. Uncle Carlos cut all ties with us and now I knew why. My father found out that Rose is not his daughter, that my mother cheated on him with his younger brother, most likely confronted him about it and then he, instead of dealing with it and taking interest in his biological daughter, he decided to stop caring about all of us altogether.
