Sealed Lips [Sealed Spy #1] | Wattpad Featured Story

Chapter 1- You'll Make It Out Alive

My mother used to tell me there were four different kind of dreams.

The first one was enjoyment. A dream that made you happy, or made you feel calm. It would be a good dream, but more peaceful and calm.

The second was thrill. It wasn't a dream that was horrifyingly frightening; nor was it a dream that would classify as a nightmare. It was a dream that either stimulated your senses as you woke up or gave you an adrenaline rush.

The third was a neutral dream. You didn't remember it when you woke up. It could be about something completely random.

The fourth was a nightmare.

Glass shattered in the hallway. My eyes shot open. On reflex, my head shot off the impossibly hot cement floor, scanning the room.

She wasn't here.

I burst out of the empty room and rushed down the long hallway to the squeaky clean kitchen. Like I predicted, there she was.

The only visible evidence of my ten year old sister was her mop of dark brown hair as she quickly cleared glass off the kitchen floor. I stood there, breathing lightly until the glass pricked her.

I dropped down and crawled over to her, my body protesting. Gently pushing her away, I cradled all the broken glass in my hands. The pieces dug into my hands but I ignored the slight pain. Knowing my sister was nearby watching me, I remained nonchalant.

My heart pounded in my chest as I heard a trickle of water being released from the sink tap. I didn't have to turn around to know it was my sister. The sound was too close to be him.

A minute later I concluded he was still asleep, or perhaps too hungover to check on the scene in the kitchen. Maybe he died in his sleep. I only hoped.

Why would someone wish such an ill fate on their adoptive father? It's the classic novels I've read in the time I've scavenged for the school's library. The drunk foster father abuses the main character as she/he tries to keep him away from their sibling.

I quietly walked to the back door making no sound whatsoever with the glass resting in my hands. My blood pooled on top of them and the cuts slowly agitated me with the itch they were producing.

Keeping my head straight, I didn't dare look out the windows. The hope that someone would save me from here had disappeared entirely, and blindly staring at the fence that bordered both properties wouldn't make my empty wishes come true.

Emotions made you weak according to all those characters with abusive foster parents. Yet my sister deserved the love that I could give her. After spending nearly two years here, I learned the hard way that the only way you could survive was knowing how to hide your emotions. I had them. I just didn't show them.

I rolled my eyes when I realized that I still wasn't near the back door. Reaching it I hesitated, listening for anything before quickly pulling the door open without a sound, another useful skill I had picked up. A few months ago using a few items and a school computer, I attempted lock picking and opened the lock permanently, knowing he wouldn't check the door.  He still thought it was locked.

I surveyed the garden outside the two story house critically before finally stepping out the door, sticking a cardboard box filled with gardening tools in the doorway to keep it open. I made my way to the trashcan I kept near the patch of small flowers for emergencies like these and entered the house once again.

Keeping a rough groan from spilling out, I made my way across the house to the nearby bathroom. The sink turned pink as the blood washed off my hands, giving me a vague dose of reality. I shut off the tap, cleaned the sink and kept a sigh from being released at the visible scars on my palms.

I didn't dare look up at the mirror, feeling sensitive at how I looked at the moment. It was a Monday morning, which meant that the last two days had been havoc. More beatings, bruises and no access to clean clothes or a hair brush. My appearance had always been an unsettling thing for me, which is why I generally avoided mirrors until I got those privileges on school mornings.

I rested my palms on the sink, leaning forward until my forehead rested against the mirror. Closing my eyes, I let a peaceful expression betray my emotionless mask and rest on my face for a while. Even if he did end up in the kitchen, we'd be okay. I had cleaned up the glass already, so there was no eviden-

CRASH

My eyes flipped open and I winced immediately. The blood. My blood. I forgot to clean my blood up.

I raced to the kitchen quick enough to see my sister cowering in a corner as he yelled threats filled with colourful language and curses. I stepped up behind him and my sister's eyes fluttered open to meet mine. He hadn't heard me yet, making me believe I was being extremely quiet unintentionally or he was drunk at this early time.

She quickly shook her head at me as I approached both of them closer, careful not to anger him any farther.

"It was me."

My strong voice filled the room, even though my emotions were going haywire. The expressionless mask was set on my face, not betraying a single emotion. His head turned so his bloodshot eyes could meet mine. My sister was sobbing on the floor, a mess of brown hair clinging to her sweaty face. I held her gaze and gave her a reassuring smile before turning to him.

"I did it."

He smashed the beer bottle on my head.

A/N: Welcome to the world of 553. Don't worry if you don't know what that is. You'll find out soon enough.