Kendall was normal until a series of frightening nightmares and daydreams invade her life. The search for answers only leads her to more questions. Is she prepared for the outcome?



The back door slammed shut. Blind rage filled me as I tore through the house, breaking nearly everything in my path. If I'd had enough strength, I'd have pulled the fucking fridge down. Instead, I settled for throwing a pan at it. It dented it slightly, but it wasn't enough. What I really wanted to do was illegal.

I wanted to go to Jude's house and rip his throat out.

That made me sound crazy, I know, but I was pissed. Slowly, as the anger ebbed away, I realized what I was missing. Or rather who. I slid down to the floor and my hands shook as I looked at them.

Christian should have been here to see my rampage. He would have loved it.

I wondered where he was. I thought about going to see him. Maybe if I went, he wouldn't want to see me, and then I would come home in more of a mess than I already was.

Maybe it wasn't worth it.

Sighing as the anger left and was replaced with exhaustion, I stood up and went to lock the back door, only to find someone standing on the other side of it. My hand shook as I reached for the doorknob and turned it.

Christian stepped over the threshold, his eyes full of apology and something more, and wasted no time wrapped his arms around me and kissing me hard. My arms automatically went around his neck. His fingers were pressed into my skin, so tightly I thought they'd leave a mark, but I didn't care. Something inside me had repaired itself when I saw him.

He pulled away from my mouth and buried his face in my hair. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so fucking sorry, Kendall."

My head was resting against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. Regret sat in my gut and I wanted to tell him the truth about Jude. About the kiss. About what I found out. But I knew it wouldn't help anything right now, so I stayed quiet. We ended up on the living room couch, his hands everywhere all at once, his mouth still on mine.

A slamming sound jarred me awake. I instantly panicked, realizing what was going on, and looked around. Christian was asleep beside me, his breathing soft, his arm draped across my stomach. Something slammed again, then a figure appeared in the space that connected this room to the kitchen.

"What are you doing?" My mother asked angrily. "Who is that boy? ANSWER ME!" She screamed.

Christian was startled enough to wake up. He blinked a few times and his eyes widened. He whispered, "Oh fuck."

"He's my boyfriend, mom." I glared at her and the bottle she held. She never would have yelled at me normally. She needed some help. "We weren't doing anything."

She came close to me, reached down and slapped me across the face. My head snapped to the side and I let out a small cry. My mom, no matter how drunk she was, had never hit me in my entire life. My eyes burned with tears as I turned my head to look at her.

"Don't lie to me, you little bitch," she hissed. "I know what you're doing when I'm not home. Do you enjoying fucking all the boys in the town? You know why they do it, don't you? They feel bad for you. You're not much to look at and you don't have a father, so they feel sorry for you."

That was when Christian chose to intervene. He climbed over me, stood in my way, and stared at my mom. I watched her watching him and I thought she was going to smack him to, but she didn't. She just kept staring at him, then her lip curled nastily.

"I want you out of here," she said, craning her neck to look at me. "I won't have you sleeping with every boy in my house. I want you gone by tonight."

When she left, I closed my eyes, my hands trembling. Christian sat beside me, put his hands against my shoulders, and started to lift me. "Come on," he said softly. "Let's go."

"She didn't mean it," I said, knowing it wasn't true. When you drank, your deepest desires and truths came out. "She just had a bad day, that's all."

When my knees gave out on me, I didn't want to get up again. One of Christian's arms went around my middle, the other underneath my legs, and he carried me into the kitchen. My mom was standing at the sink, drowning another glass of alcohol. She didn't even turn around.

"You know," Christian began, "if you were a better mother, and not a monster, then maybe this wouldn't have happened. I've seen what drinking does to people and I don't like it. But I sure as hell wouldn't let you lay another finger on Kendall, so we're leaving. You're never going to see your daughter again, Mrs. Scott. I hope you're happy."

As he walked out of the house with me in his arms, the glass my mom held could be heard shattering on the floor.

Join MovellasFind out what all the buzz is about. Join now to start sharing your creativity and passion
Loading ...