Okay, so the first chapter is getting a lot longer than I thought it would, so there might actually end up being three parts to it rather than just two. In case you didn't realize this, I have also changed the name of chapter one to "The History of the Girl". I'm thinking about calling the story The Death of an Angel, so the old title wouldn't really work out all that well.
Okay, so this is probably going to cut off somewhere in the history (you'll see what I'm talking about, it's like part one), so it will just be continued in part three.
The History of the Girl
::part two::
::part two::
Obviously I didn't die. No, I wasn't punished with the same fate as my parents, but I was still punished nonetheless, and for what I still have no clue. I wasn't marked or tortured, at least in the cutting or beating sense. For some reason, I got away with 'just rape' as the police liked to put it. I'll never be able to be the same way again and they say, "You lucked out." You want to know what my favorite part is, though? They still don't even have a suspect.
When I went back to Blair a few days later than scheduled, the news had somehow gotten around that my parents were murdered back in Carlisle on Christmas Eve. Now I don't mean to sound like I have major self-pity issues, but unfortunately for me the people who I had helped time after time and had all those good times with suddenly turned all their judgment on me, looking at the entire thing with accusing eyes. Walking through the halls ended up being the same as walking down the street my house is on all over again.
"They can't find the person she described. Make she killed them."
"I bet she made up that story on what happened to her. What kind of killer murders two adults and leave a girl to live and tell everyone about it?"
Those were only two of the many hurtful things I heard spewing from my former friends' mouths whenever they saw me walking around campus. Slowly over time, even my best friends began to fall to the rumors spreading all around them. The only friend I had left was Hannah, but she wouldn't do me much good a whole town away.
After a while I began to lock myself in my dorm room more often and my personality completely altered. Instead of being popular and happy, I grew distant and introverted. My dreams of a bright future with great friends slowly distorted their way into nightmares about pain and death. You know, it's actually somewhat funny, really, how being made a victim over and over again for something you couldn't possibly have any control over could completely change you like that.
Now that's a part of the story, but not fully it. I think you have the idea of why I come off as the kind of person you wouldn't want to be friends with or you'd teach your kids to stay away from. See, I don't depend on others anymore to defend me and I don't care what others think of me either. Once so many rumors go by, you grow accustomed to tuning out everyone around you.
With all of the time I used to spend with my friends left empty, I focused more on my karate training, improving more in those three months than I had in an entire year before 'the incident'. Strength was all I really needed anymore. Not love, not revenge, not hate. Just strength. If I had that, then I could prevent something like this from happening again, keeping that hole in my chest closed where the whole thing had blown out my heart. I'm going to run into him again eventually, especially now in my field of expertise.
Now this is where the other part to the history comes in. This new chapter of my life all began on a rainy Saturday; the day I met Gunnar and Evan.
***
I sat on a bench outside of the awning. The rain isn't as bad as these people make it out to be. Actually, I find it quite refreshing for a day in mid-May. I don't care how many people tell you the rain is depressing; it's always been a great thing to me. It seems that every time it even sprinkles, something important happens. This was a good sign.
As I wiped away a strand of my brunette hair that was stuck to my face from the wet, I notice someone standing across the street. He was a guy about my age, just standing there, looking at the bus stop. There wasn't much traffic, so I found it slightly off that he hadn't crossed over if he was waiting for the bus. He should know if he planed on catching it, standing over there would do him no good at all.
I could tell that he was soaked from the way his clothes were clinging to his pale skin, dark brown hair stuck to his face. I watched him in curiously out of the corner of my eye as a noticeable smile formed on his face as he began to walk across the street.
"Lovely weather, isn't it?" He asked me when he arrived by my side in one of the most enthusiastic tones I had heard in a long time, giving me the impression that I wasn't the only one enjoying the wet weather. His charming tone, however, made me want to laugh. That was a foreign sound to me too.
"Indeed," I said, just in time for the bus to pull up. The people flooded out of one safety to pile into another, cutting me off as I made my way for the over-sized vehicle. I opened my mouth to yell something to the little boy that was the first one on but felt a hand grab mine, placing something inside. I quickly turned to look at the mysterious stranger, but he was already gone, walking a good ways away from my location.
As I stepped onto the bus, last one on by the way, I look at a folded paper that had been placed in my hand by the stranger. I wouldn't open it yet. Maybe later.
Thankfully my stop was one of the first ones. I had to get off at the supermarket and walk a block to where the station was. There wasn't really a point in my rushing my way there since I was already drenched. I doubt they can pull any new tricks out of their asses to catch my parents killer anymore. (To be continued...)
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