When Clyde Parker, the wayward son and the rotten-apple of the Parker family-tree, storms his way back into Avery Fields, he sets out a flurry of butterfly effect in Dawn Marshal's life.
...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
AVERY FIELDS WAS NOT that big of a town but big enough to make one feel lost. Edinburgh Street was way off into the east, a few miles away from their school. Almost every house there was made of burnt bricks and every house had a red mail-box.
Hence, half an hour, twenty-something brick-houses and red mail-boxes later with Mia's poor sense of direction Dawn finally succeeded in finding her best friend.
Mia stood in the dark alley, draped in a white crumpled bed sheet, her blonde hair in a disarray, her perfect curls falling loose. Her makeup was blotched, tears ran down her eyes along with her mascara and eyeliner. She thought, her best friend looked so un-Mia-Thompson-like.
Dawn stopped her car beside Mia, she had never seen Mia look so lost and broken, she wanted to hold her tight. And she did. "I am fine..." Mia croaked, her cold breath fanning Dawn's hair and let go.
"I know you are and I know you will be better tomorrow."
That was how Dawn Marshal came up with another one of her theories which was perhaps one of the universal truths, second to the world being round—Tim Graham was a jock, so was Caleb Parker and although, jocks were fine as hell, they were dimwitted, gutless bastards.
After she was done changing in Dawn's spare pjs in the backseat they drove home in silence. She decided not to pepper Mia with questions since Mia Thompson's, applied and tested theory was to ignore it and it will go away.
But she was aware, it was not something that could be fixed over tubs of Chunky Monkey and soppy chick flicks. This was not some itty-bitty heterosexual high school break up. Mia was cheated on, she was broken. Her heart was torn apart by the love of her life. And it could only be fixed with time and much needed space.
"Why does it hurt so bad this time?" it was the only thing Mia, the usual chatter-box had said the whole ride home.
"Maybe it hurts so bad because it was real." Dawn replied with a riff-off version stolen from a John Green novel.
°•°•°
He had been standing at the edge of the cliff with a roll of cigarette between his lips, not for the first time and certainly not for the last time.
For reasons unknown, this place had been calling out to him since he first set foot in this town. He knew he wouldn't jump, a few days ago he might've but seeing her changed things.
When the sirens blared, he had been too lost, staring out in the black hole of nothingness to pay heed. Then blue-red lights fell on him, he had heard sirens, voices. His heart hammered against his chest.
Chucking the cigarette onto the gravel, he scampered off into the wilderness where his motorcycle, a metallic black Ducati Monster 696 was well-hidden from public eye. Dark Knight, he called it. He threw his leg over the fender, kick starting it with his hands prominently clutching the handgrip.
There was an audible rumble of the engine and the black menace steered off into the highway, far and far till it turned into a black dot and then disappeared. With the smoke still afresh in his mouth, that night he drove off somewhere he shouldn't have. "It was a close-call!"
°•°•°
It was threeish in the morning, Mia was snoring softly beside Dawn. Tears stained her face and her pillows were soaked.
Dawn didn't need to ask why, she remembered lying wide awake, staring at the papery white ceiling that somehow seemed to have piqued her interest. The slumber had long abandoned her in this lonely dark room.
She could hear Mia breathing heavily, her chest heaving up and down. She could hear the wind moaning outside and see the shadows of the trees dancing on the walls. She thought about what a dreadful phenomenon love was.
It showed you a thousand shades of life, the bright vibrant hues but as it disappeared you realized that life was always in monotone, only bits of black and white. No colors. Love was an illusion. It showed you what life was supposed to be, not what it really is.
She heard the windows rattle. The lacy pink curtains fluttered, it was perhaps the wind. She should've closed them. Then she heard a groan and a thump and realized it certainly didn't sound like the wind.
Alarmed, she rolled out of her bed and grabbed the nightlight from the bedside, pulling its cord. It was plenty dark. But she wasn't scared of it, she had been in darkness long enough to not be scared of it. For darkness cannot get any darker.
The stilted floor creaked beneath her steps, with the lamp steadfast in one hand, and her phone with 911 on speed dial clasped in the other.
She was scared. Not of the darkness but the shadow in it.
There was a human-like bulge in the frills of the curtains, his limbs shuffling through the endless lace and head bobbing up and down. She could hear him breathing, not heavy like Mia and not unsteady like hers. Her fingers hovered on 'Call' as she reached for him with the lamp.
A hand shot up and grasped her wrist. Firm and cold. She was stupid enough not to consider that the trespasser-burglar-murderer-pedo-rapist could've carried a knife or a gun and was in fact twice her size and strength. With a night-lamp as her only defense, she knew, she was a gone-case.
She opened her mouth to let out a scream loud enough to wake the whole neighborhood. She was certain that either her brother or Mia, who were both out like dead would hear her if she was loud enough.
He flung over the curtains, irritated and then slapped his hands over her mouth, pinning her to the nearest wall. "Slow down there Joan of Arc!" he whispered to her hair, "It's just me".
He glanced at the hoodie she was wearing and then his eyes dropped to her bare legs, he licked his lips and sucked in a breath— the hoodie covered her shorts completely. A lopsided grin was carved on his lips. She tugged his hoodie down to mid-thigh self consciously as it continuously rolled upwards.
Even in the darkness, he could see her cheeks tinted a flaming red, her eyes dancing with fear and uncertainty. He felt something tug at the heart he never knew existed before, something squeezed tight and released and it felt like he might not breath again. What do you call this inexplicable feeling? Questions, every damn fucking time! All the while something tightened around his trousers and he was thankful for the darkness.
His eyes flickered like two blue navigation lights. His grasp on her other hand tightened and the lamp slipped out of her clammy palm clattering on the floor noisily. Mia stirred a little but didn't wake up.
"Whad ad veu doin' ere?" she muffled to his palm. He bathed into the moonlight, in a grey hoodie and the same-old black jeans. Clyde Parker was always wearing grey or black. It was like he didn't want to be seen. It was as if he wanted to be invisible.
He brought his finger to his lips, "Shh" and then she heard it over the loud battering of the wind, the distinct blaring of sirens.
"Don't scream" she blinked, understanding and he moved his hand away. She craned her neck through the window while Clyde laid flat against the wall centimeters away. Blue-red beams fell on the graying asphalt and four cop cars veered off to the other road.
"They are after me" he said dead serious, "I need a place to stay".
Billions of questions bombarded through her thoughts. What was he doing here? What did he do? Why were the police after him? Why did he come back after being AWOL for two years? Did he commit anything serious? "Why are they after you? What did you do?" she asked her lips trembling apprehensively.
It was long before he spoke and when he did, he didn't face her. He was only a silhouette breaking through the darkness. "I killed someone."
Ops! Esta imagem não segue nossas diretrizes de conteúdo. Para continuar a publicação, tente removê-la ou carregar outra.
Ended on a grave cliffhanger (I know I am evil) at least now you people will have a reason to look out for Part 13 this Friday, if all goes well. Also, amazing cover by this dopeass human Scribophobia and I have a feeling this cover is a keeper. Comment below what you think about this new cover and the story so far and don't forget to click that little orange star button if you like it.
![Under The Surface [Editing], de ACNichols](https://img.wattpad.com/cover/1437688-80-k602874.jpg)
