Tortured Souls (Rebels of Sandland 2)

In this house, there were photographs from holidays; skiing, at the beach, and trekking in the mountains. I hadn’t seen the sea until I was ten years old and we went on a school trip to Brighton. I’d certainly never been skiing. Our lives were worlds apart, whole galaxies even.

In the photos, every one of the Yates’s was smiling. The photos I had weren’t like that. Most of the time I was grimacing into the lens, or I wasn’t even looking, too engrossed in whatever I was doing as my nan made a feeble attempt to document my life on film. I was never dressed for the occasion like these pictures either. In our photos, I usually had mud all over my knees, a dirty face, and clothes that looked like they’d seen better days. Mostly homemade by Nan, using fabric that was already threadbare.

I picked up a photograph of Harper and Brodie with their heads together, grinning into the camera, and then I noticed a smaller frame that’d been hiding behind it. It was of Harper on her own. It looked recent, and in it she was sitting on a rock, surrounded by hills and little wooden houses. It didn’t look like it’d been taken in this country. It was probably Switzerland or somewhere posh like that. The style of the houses looked European; pretty. But she… she was fucking stunning. Her blonde hair that framed her face made her glow like an angel. The light in her eyes was mesmerising. I’d never met this Harper. Sure, I knew Brodie had a sister before that night, and I might have caught a glimpse of her in a darkened room or at one of our parties, but I’d never seen this side of her. The side that shone like a fucking beacon.

I’d done that.

I’d taken the light out of her eyes. I’d made her the shell she was today. And looking at the photograph, I realised I hated myself for it.

I should have walked away. I should have taken the fucking rose, my message, and my fucked-up self and left her alone. Finn was right, she didn’t deserve this, and yet, I couldn’t. The force that drew me to her was too strong. I couldn’t walk away now even if I wanted to. But I knew one thing, looking at the angelic face staring back at me from the photograph. I wanted her to get some of that back. I knew she’d never be the same after losing her brother, but she wanted to feel powerful. She wanted back control of her life. I could give that to her. Even if it was in exchange for my own. Maybe, just this once, I could do something selfless.

I kept hold of that photo frame. It was mine now. A reminder of what my new plan was. There were people in this town I was coming for, that’d never change.

But her?

I was going to save her.

Good morning, flower.

Good fucking morning, flower.

That was the message he left for me in my kitchen. I was thanking every lucky star that I’d woken up first and found it. Having to explain this to my mum and dad was another ball ache I could do without.

I guess he thought he was being funny, leaving a note with a flower and calling me fucking flower. But his passive-aggressive bullshit was starting to grate on me. Not to mention the fact that he’d overstepped so many boundaries coming into my home. How the fuck did he get in? I couldn’t see any signs of forced entry.

Shit.

I hoped he didn’t climb through my window. Mine was the only one left open the night before.

Fuck.

The thought creeped me out, made me shiver, want to take a bath in bleach, and scrub my skin off. I felt so violated.

I shoved the white rose and the note to the bottom of the bin, hiding it under the gross vegetable peelings and other shit in there so no one would see it. Then I took the apple and binned that too. Like I’d eat anything he’d touched.

I glanced around, suddenly feeling like I was being watched. What if he hadn’t left at all and was hiding in our pantry? My life was turning into a horror movie, but I wasn’t the dumb blonde everyone thought I was.

I stomped over to the pantry door which was ajar, but when I flung it open, all I saw were the shelves full of cereals, tinned food, and other groceries my mum was stocking in preparation for the zombie apocalypse. I slammed it shut, then marched over to the patio doors. I pushed the handle down, and sure enough, the door opened.

Shit.

It must have been like that all night.

I’d need to start checking all the locks and bolts myself before I went to sleep. Dad was dropping a big fucking ball leaving us open and vulnerable to the likes of Brandon Mathers and his psychotic ways.

I shut and locked it back up, giving the handle a good yank to double check it was secure. I didn’t even trust myself with my safety anymore.

Mum walked into the kitchen just as I was throwing myself against the door again one last time for good measure.

“Are you okay, love? Did you manage to get any sleep?” She smiled at me, trying to look bright and refreshed, but the bags under her eyes were dark and heavy. When she stifled a yawn, I could tell she’d had as restful a night as I had. Just my shitty luck that the time I was asleep was the time he’d made his night-time visit.

“I got a bit of sleep,” I said, sitting up at the breakfast bar and taking an apple out of the fruit bowl. Then I remembered that Mathers had had his hands all over the fruit and I put it back again, grimacing.

“No appetite again?” She sighed. “What do you have planned for today?”

I shrugged. What kind of stupid question was that? I was doing the same today that I did every day.

“Nothing. Just gonna hang around here.”