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This is my first time writing, so please forgive any mistakes. I'm still learning, and I truly appreciate you taking the time to read this. Thank you for being here it means a lot to me
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Mornings always started the same.
Too early.
Too cold.
Too heavy.
The moment my alarm clock screeched at 6:30 AM, I knew I had to survive another day of pretending—pretending that my life hadn't completely fallen apart. That sound, that sharp, metallic screeching, wasn't just a wake-up call. It was a reminder that I was still stuck here, trapped in a story I didn't choose.
I slapped the alarm clock off with a tired hand and curled back into my blanket. For a moment, I just lay there, breathing in the silence of my tiny room at Nana's house. But my peace was already broken by the memory of last night's dream.
Jason.
He was in my dreams again. And not the way he was in real life—smirking, laughing, humiliating me. In my dreams, he was softer. Warmer. He touched my face like I meant something. He whispered my name like it was sacred.
"Anna..."
And in those dreams, I didn't push him away. I didn't scream. I leaned in. I let it happen.
Which was wrong.
So wrong.
Because Jason wasn't just a classmate. He wasn't just a bully.
He was my stepbrother.
And worse, the son of the man who paid for the roof over my head and the books I studied from.
I forced myself out of bed, hating the flush on my cheeks. A cold shower helped, but not enough. The memory of the dream clung to me like a second skin.
In the mirror, my face looked pale, drained. My blonde hair hung damp around my shoulders, my green eyes dull from another sleepless night. Once, long ago, I used to be full of life—bright clothes, loud laughter, a dozen friends. But that was before... before everything.
Before the accident that took my dad.
Before the silence that filled our house like fog.
Mom had tried. She really did. She held herself together long enough to remarry—surprising everyone, including me. Her new husband was a successful businessman. A single father with a teenage son. Jason.
At first, it wasn't so bad. Jason kept his distance. I stayed in my room a lot. It felt like we could manage it.
But then Mom died. Cancer. Fast, aggressive, and cruel.
That's when everything crumbled.
With both parents gone, I had to move in with Nana—my only living relative. Jason stayed with his father in their glassy, modern mansion across town. I didn't see him much outside school.
But his presence never left me.
Because while I lived with Nana, it was Jason's father—Mr. Davenport—who paid for everything. My tuition. My supplies. Even some of Nana's medical bills. He insisted. Said it was what my mother would have wanted.
So I said nothing. I kept my head down and tried to survive.
After dressing in my usual half-hearted outfit—jeans, hoodie, old sneakers—I headed downstairs. Nana was at the table, her cup of tea steaming, her gray hair twisted into its usual bun.
She looked up, her eyes smiling, and signed to me: Eat something. You'll need strength.
I smiled back. I'm okay. Love you.
She nodded, though she didn't look convinced. I grabbed a slice of toast, kissed her forehead, and slipped out the door.
The bus was late, as usual. The sky was gray and heavy, and the air smelled like rain. I stood there in silence, backpack hanging off one shoulder, pretending I didn't hear the whispers or the giggles from the kids gathered behind me.
Even on the bus, I couldn't escape the awkward stares. Most people didn't talk to me. They didn't have to. I wasn't part of anyone's group. I didn't belong. Not since Mom died. Not since Jason decided to make me his favorite target.
Wayne High was already buzzing by the time I got there. Students swarmed the halls like bees, slamming lockers, shouting across the corridors. I kept my eyes low and walked fast.
Locker roulette: would it be glitter, gum, or something worse?
Today... nothing. Just books.
Which was more terrifying than any prank.
Because when Jason didn't strike, it meant he was planning something worse.
He and Kimberly—his on-and-off blonde girlfriend—were always two steps ahead. She hated me for reasons I never understood. Maybe she was jealous. Maybe Jason told her lies about me. Or maybe, she could just see something in him... that I tried so hard to ignore.
Jason Davenport.
He used to be just a name. A boy.
Now he was the force that kept my nerves tight, my guard up.
And the worst part?
He used to be kind.
Back when Mom first married his dad, Jason was... different. Polite. Awkward, even. We barely talked, but he'd smile sometimes. Offer to help carry groceries. Ask about my day.
But something changed after Mom's funeral. He grew cold. Sharp. Almost like blaming me made it easier to cope. I didn't fight it. I let him be cruel. Let him throw spitballs. Let him shove notes in my locker that said, "Maybe if you smiled, your face wouldn't scare the lunch lady."
English class was the worst. We sat two rows apart. Today, he arrived late, dropping into his seat like he owned the place. His eyes met mine, and he smirked.
My stomach flipped.
Not in the cute, romantic way.
In the I-hate-myself-for-still-feeling-anything kind of way.
By lunch, I was starving. The cafeteria smelled like old pizza and fake cheese. I stood in line, ignoring everyone, until I got my usual tray of unidentifiable slop, an apple, milk, and the small mercy of chocolate pudding.
I held the tray like a fragile treasure and made my way toward the far table—my table—the one in the corner that no one dared sit at unless they had nowhere else to go.
But to get there, I had to pass his table.
Jason sat at the center, surrounded by friends and fans. Kimberly was there too, twirling her hair and laughing at something he whispered. His back was to me, but I knew he saw me. He always did.
I kept my head down, my eyes on the tiles, counting steps.
One. Two. Three—
Suddenly, my foot hooked on something. No—someone.
Jason's shoe.
I stumbled forward, arms flailing, tray flying. The chocolate pudding soared like a grenade. The milk exploded. I hit the ground hard, my palms stinging as they scraped the floor.
Laughter.
Ringing.
Sharp.
Someone clapped. Someone whistled.
I didn't cry. Not this time.
Jason stood slowly, his smile slow and lazy as he picked up his soccer ball from under the table.
"Oops," he said, glancing down at me. "Didn't see you there, Stepsis."
The word felt loaded. More dangerous than usual. Like he was daring me to react.
I didn't.
I just stood, face burning, fists clenched.
And as I turned to walk away, I hmmm wdidn't miss the way his eyes lingered.
Or the way Kimberly's smile faltered.
Or the flicker of something in his expression that looked almost like... regret.
But that was the game, wasn't it?
He broke me.
Then watched to see if I'd pick up the pieces.
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END OF CHAPTER ONE