I didn't understand why does Jade do this to me, his presence. Everything. It clung to me the whole way down the hallway into the open light of the front yard.
And that's when I saw her.
My mom.
She was across the street-half-out the car, key in hand, like she'd just parked. Still in her work uniform.
And her eyes weren't on me.
Not at first.
They were on him.
Jade.
He was walking ahead of me, backpack slung lazily over one shoulder, hoodie still up, going to a particular black Mercedes Benz I saw few years ago on Instagram.
But she watching.
Frozen beside the car, her brows drawn up in a look I'd only seen when she spotted something amusing. Her hand still on the door, like she'd forgotten she meant to close it.
Then her eyes shifted-
To me.
I slowed automatically, the heat rising in my cheeks before I even reached her side. I didn't say anything. I couldn't. She probably now has ideas in her mind.
She looked between me and Jade again.
And then- just a breath of hesitation- she finally spoke.
"... You too..." she stopped. "... let me drop you."
I nodded. "Okay. You have work?"
She glanced at her watch. "In twenty minutes."
_
I stepped onto the sidewalk. She didn't ask anything else. She didn't need to. That look said enough.
She sighed and pulled the door shut behind her.
"Lock the gate behind you."
"I will."
And then she was gone- driving off into traffic, leaving me there under the wide sky with the words he'd whispered still echoing in my head.
'Maybe you like the way I make you nervous."
A smile creeped onto my lips. Going to school wasn't a bad thing so far.
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JADE'S POINT OF VIEW.
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It was 5:00 and I was already on the streets. I jogged until my lungs burned. Not because I was trying to get fit. Not because I liked it. I just like being gone.
Out there, past the gates of this damned house, with the wind in my ears and my hoodie pulled low, no one looked at me like they knew my name. No one talked. No one asked.
The neighborhood was quiet- maybe because they were few big houses along with tall, big trees that you would be lost in, if you didn't know the place. I jogged past them like I didn't belong in any of them. Maybe I didn't.
By the time I got back, the sun had barely risen above the trees, and sweat clung to the back of my neck. I pulled off my headphones as I stepped through the tall glass front doors.
The house smelled cinnamon and perfume. It always had too many different perfumes everyday.
I already knew what that meant.
She was or is here.
Another one.
They all spend the night here.
And they never stayed long enough for me to care.
Her giggle echoed down the hall before I even turned the corner into the kitchen, all the way from my dad's bedroom.
That irritated me to the core. I walked to the sink, filled a glass, drank half of it.
I went upstairs to my room, I didn't take off my clothes, not yet. I sat on the edge of my bed, breathing out everything I couldn't say.
Mom would've hated this. The smell, the noise, the fakeness. But it didn't matter. Not anymore.
It had been four years since she died. Four years since the falling started out of the nowhere. Four years since Dad, Jackson said she didn't need to go to the hospital, that she'd be fine. She was just epileptic. And wasn't a big problem.
It was a problem.
It always have, ever since.
He never apologized.
And I never forgave him, maybe I never will.
And not one day of peace was restored since.
I don't think it will be.
I went to take a shower, a cold shower. It usually helps me to calm down whenever am angry.
I didn't rush. Didn't care.
I walked out of the bathroom and sunk myself into my black hoodie and baggy trappants. I walked downstairs, down the hallway and into the kitchen trying to make myself something to eat.
But-
She was there.
I immediately lost my appetite.
She was standing by the stove, barefoot wearing one of Jackson's white button-down shirt- just the shirt. Long sleeves roled past her elbows, collar stretched loose, the hem brushing the tops of her thighs. No pants. Fuck. No lie she has nice legs. The legs would put on your shoulder when thrusting into her so hard. The legs you wouldnt even mind licking. I bit the bottom lip, letting my eyes wonder. I wouldn't mind fucking her.
Ow, Jade what are you doing? She slept with Jackson, remember. And I immediately shooke that thought away from my head.
The spatula in her hand was completely still, even though the eggs in the pan were already starting to burn.
"Oh, hey," she said brightly, like we were friends. "You're already going to school."
I didn't answer. I opened the fridge to grap some soda. She turned to look at me.
She was maybe twenty two. Tops. Probably younger or my age, twenty. But I knew Jackson wouldn't risk to sleep with an underage. He loves his reputation more than anything.
"I'm Sierra," she said, stirring the eggs too late-half-burnt already, just like her timing.
She leaned against the counter, hips angled, one bare leg crossed over the other under my father's oversized white shirt. She wasn't wearing anything else, not even shame.
"You look hotter than your dad," she added with a too-bright smile, licking her lip like the line was supposed to land.
I didn't react.
Just stared. My gaze locked directly onto hers, unblinking, like glass.
She let out a nervous little laugh.
"Okay… wow. You're really quiet."
Then she moved-bare feet padding softly across the marble. She took a few bold steps toward me.
Her fingers hovered at my chest, not touching yet, just testing the air between us.
"I like quiet guys," she said, voice sultry now. "I find them… really attractive."
"Get your hands off me," I said, flat as stone. My tone didn't rise. Didn't shake. It didn't need to.
She froze.
"Wow," she scoffed, backing off slightly. "He said you were a little moody, but I didn't think-"
Before she could finish that thought, I stepped past her, shouldering her out of my way. I grabbed my bag off the stool, slung it onto my shoulder, and snagged my car keys off the counter.
Then I walked out the front door and slammed it hard enough to rattle the glass panes.
Let him hear it.
Let him remember I was still in that house.
Still alive.
That's all he gets.
_
By the time I got to school, the halls were already thinning out-lockers clanking shut, teachers halfway through their roll calls. Doors closing like I didn't matter, I actually didn't care. They can lock the gates. Like I care.
Hoodie up. Music loud. Eyes forward.
I didn't need attention. But I got it anyway.
Girls glanced over shoulders. Whispers trailed behind me like smoke.
That used to be useful.
A look here. A wink there.
Hot boy act-easy enough to play. Enough to keep people at arm's length.
But what I really liked was the silence.
The power of disappearing in plain sight.
If I wanted to vanish, I could.
Except with Principal Vale breathing down my neck.
Uncle Darien.
He always had some 'concern' or fake pep talk loaded like a weapon.
I was still thinking about that when someone stepped around the corner and slammed into me.
Of course.
The devil himself.
My headphones nearly slipped from my head, but I caught them in time.
"Oh, Jade," Uncle Darien said, like I was a lost cause he still had hope for. "How are you?"
"Fine," I replied, short and simple. Always was.
"How's your father?"
My jaw flexed.
"Why are you asking me about him?" I kept my voice firm, but not rude. Not yet.
He gave me that look-pity, disappointment, power. All mashed into one.
"That's the problem. Go to my office. I want to talk to you."
"But-"
"No buts. Go. Now. I'll be there after I finish up."
I sat in that stupid office the entire day.
He never showed.
Not a message.
Not a word.
By the time I was done waiting, my patience was dead. I stood up, peeked into the hallway. No one. Perfect.
I slipped out, made my way to the back building-the one no one monitored.
The dark hallway where the cameras didn't work.
I pulled out a cigarette. Lit it with my thumb trembling slightly. I didn't know what I was mad at exactly—Uncle Darien, Jackson, Another one of Sierra at the house, life.
I just knew I wanted to burn something down.
That's when someone bumped into me.
I didn't panic.
But my body tensed.
Because for a second, I thought it was him.
It wasn't.
It was a girl. Small frame. Scarved tight around her face like she was hiding something.
She looked up at me with eyes like glass-trembling.
Scared.
Of me.
No girl ever looked at me like that.
They usually giggled. Whispered. Tried to flirt.
She didn't.
She shook like I was something dangerous.
It intrigued me.
She was new.
And maybe… maybe I could take that to my own advantage.
I heard a voice echo through the hallway. A woman.
Her mother.
I let go of the girl's wrists, leaned back.
Composed.
She turned the corner and saw us.
Then I smirked and stepped past her.
"Nice meeting you, ma'am."
And with that I left.
I headed toward the car lot, but my chest was tight.
Thinking about that house- Jackson, another lady, the smell of different perfumes and lies-made my brain boil.
I turned around.
Didn't even make it to the gate.
I went to my place.
The one no one knew about.
The one that my mother gifted me when I turned 16, not knowing that it would be her last gift.
The one with Mom's old books and quiet walls and the kind of silence that didn't press down on your throat.
The only place I still felt human.