Two Years Ago

          I WAS ON HOUSE ARREST. Ever since I tried to throw myself off a building a couple of weeks ago, my parents forbid me from leaving the house, which made my problem worse. This place drove me insane; I couldn't breathe in here. Not with Mom breathing down my neck every single hour.

          I played with my long, black hair as I listened to my parent's conversation. They were arguing, like usual. And it was about me, like usual. Dad, I could tell, was on my side, but Mom was the oppressor. Though, I understood Mom would have a separate outtake on the circumstance because she was the only normal one in the household, but would it kill her to see things from our point of view?

          I sighed and stepped away as their arguing became more intense. I flopped back on my bed, staring up at the ceiling. My parents trusted me before the whole "suicide phase"—as Mom called it, which made Dad upset for numerous reasons—, and being fifteen, trust was huge. My suicidal episodes rarely happen, and they knew that. If I could just convince them, only this once, hopefully, I could gain back their trust.

          I checked the time and lifted myself off my bed. Without making a sound, I walked towards their room, listening to what they were saying. Muffled voices came from their door, and I took a deep breath. I wrapped my hand around my sleeve to soften the knock on their door. The noise ceased, and then came some shuffling before the door creaked open.

          Dad opened the door with a humble smile; his brown eyes were eddying with insanity. Many people were frightened of him because of his schizophrenia, but he never bothered me—crazy people were comfortable with each other.

          "What do you need, sweetheart?" he asked, managing to sound calm though I could hear the tiny bit of agitation in his tone.

          I stared beyond him and observed Mom picking up pills from the floor and shoving them into a canister. Asking about whatever she was doing would cause more agitation, so I decided to stick with my original question. "Can I go out?"

          Mom stopped hunting and stood up as Dad glanced back at her. He then turned back to me with furrowed brows. "Out? Out where?" he asked.

          "Does it really matter where Dylan?" Mom said, hopping into the conversation with an icy tone. "She can't leave."

          "Where did you want to go?" Dad asked me again, disregarding Mom's statement.

          I fiddled with my sleeves as I spoke. "There's a construction site tour I've had on my calendar for months now, and it's today. It's almost starting, and I really don't want to miss it. I've been waiting for months to go, Dad, please?"

          He sighed. "Sweetheart, the last time you went out, you almost died. How can we trust that you won't do it again? Your mom and I can't lose you."

          "Just this once? Please, I'm begging you," I said, clasping my hands together. "I swear that's—"

         "Your father said no, Valentine," Mom snapped. "Go to your room. End of discussion."

          Her sharp tone sliced through my heart like always. I pulled back my bottom lip as my shoulder slumped in sadness and sulked back to my room. I collapsed face-first onto my bed, wanting to cry, but I didn't want to seem weak. The situation wasn't anything to complain over, but it did hurt.

          Mom, I believed, wasn't always so harsh towards me. Before I was diagnosed at an early age of eleven with this infuriating disorder, she was gentle and loving. Now, I couldn't even remember the last time she smiled. And I understood why―I really did. It had to be stressful dealing with two mentally damaged people all by yourself, but I just wished that she would still be a good mother. Dad was always trying his hardest to be the best father he could. Despite his illness, he made sure he knew I was loved and never pushed beyond my disorder. We still acted like father and daughter, but Mom treated me like I was an inconvenience, and that stung. It really did. And though I would never hate her, I just couldn't bring myself to say she was a good parent.

          A tear slipped from my eye anyway, and I quickly wiped it away when someone knocked on my door. Dad's heavy footsteps came near my bed, and he sighed.

          "Valentine, I know you're upset," he said. "But you've to understand where we're coming from. Your mom and I love you so very much, and—"

          I sat up. "Does she, though?" I asked.

          He sighed. "Yes, she does. And that's why I got her to agree that you can go out this one time. And," he said when he saw my face light up, "if we call you, we expect you to pick up the phone. You've got two hours, and that's it. Here's a twenty if you need it, and keep your location on. If you are not back by six, you can kiss your freedom goodbye. So, can we trust you?"

          I nodded quickly. "Yes. I swear on everything. It won't take long, I promise. I promise."

          He nodded once and got up to leave. As soon as he closed my door, I began to jump around happily. I quickly threw on some clothes, something warm because the autumn weather called for it, and left the house as soon as possible.

          It was about a fifteen-minute walk from where I lived to the inner part of the city; there were about a mile and a half of woods. It was easier for me and Dad to live here so we wouldn't disturb or cause harm to anyone if we were to have neighbors. It was already hard to control ourselves in public, so we thought living in a deserted area was for the best.

          The sound of horns and people brought me back to reality. Tucson wasn't a noisy city, necessarily, but it did look like one. The high skyscrapers, people roaming throughout the sidewalks, street music playing—it was all here, and it was beautiful.

          My phone rang and saw it was Mom. I quickly answered it. "Hi," I said, and then the line went dead. Maybe she was just checking in on me, but a response would've been nice.

          Once I made it to the construction site, I beamed. A whiff of freshly cut wood floated into my nose, and I found it invigorating. The building wasn't completed on purpose; it only had a coarse, wooden exterior. I ran my hands over the boarded door and pushed them open. Everyone was everywhere at once, and it was absolute chaos, and I loved it.

          "You look too small to be in here," a lady said to me. She appeared to have worked here for a while now. Her hands were rough-looking with calluses that had more flex to them than my own bicep. The binder between her arms carried over a thousand wrinkled papers in them, and it only bothered me slightly. Her white t-shirt was faded like she had worn it about a hundred times, and her cargo shorts were splattered with paint and log sawdust.

          She was an icon.

          "I'm actually here for the tour," I told her. "I know I'm a bit late and I didn't sign up on time, but I really want to come because I've been waiting for forever. It's been on my calendar for months now, and I really, really—"

         "Kid," she said, cutting my rambling short. I shut my mouth, intimidated by her tone, but then she smiled. "Don't worry about it. We get strays all the time. Follow me."

          She started walking, and I took that as my cue to follow. As we migrated through a bunch of hard-working citizens, I investigated the place. There was a healthy mix of male and female doing both the dirty work and the minuscule tasks. The lady demonstrated how everything operated here as we maneuvered through the craftsmen like my own personal guide. It was neat, and I ended up seeing what I came out for. I smiled the entire time.

          Somewhere along the line, I lost the lady, and now I really was a stray. I kept turning every corner, trying to find her for about thirty minutes. The building was huge, and I wasn't familiar with this place. I checked the time and realized I only had fifty minutes left, which technically meant twenty minutes before I had to start heading back home.

          I sighed as I turned another corner, only to bump right into someone. "I'm sorry," I immediately apologized, looking up and then realizing I had to nod my head up even more. He was seriously tall.

          "It's okay," he responded, and I noticed an accent that sounded Australian, which was weird. We didn't have many foreigners here, and I wondered if he was lost.

          I only caught a quick glance at him before I put my head back down. I only saw his face long enough to know he was around my age, if not a little older. And so, I kept my head down so he wouldn't think to ask me out or anything. I never wanted to see conceited about my looks, but guys asking me out happened all the time, and it was bothersome. If he went to Wayfield, there would be no avoiding him, and I didn't have the time or patience for that.

          "Are you lost or something?" I asked like I had any room to talk. I was about to freak out if I saw the same desk I've seen for the third time.

          The mystery boy chuckled. "I think I should be the one asking you that."

          I rocked on my heels, embarrassed. "How could you tell?" I asked him.

          "The look on your face. You seem a little confused," he said.

          Then, out of nowhere, he suddenly drew me towards his chest. Taking a deep breath out of panic, I caught a whiff of fresh mint. I was ashamed of the fact that I just inhaled him, so I didn't let go of my breath until he pulled me away. My face was probably as red as an apple.

          "Watch out for the boards around here," he said as I struggled to regain my breath. "You almost got beheaded."

          I glanced up at him again. "Right," was all I could say to the stranger. My toes curled in my shoes, a nervous habit I needed to break. "Um, by any chance, do you know how to get out of here?"

          "Yeah, you just follow those arrows," he said, pointing toward the one that said EXIT HERE!. I felt like an idiot.

         "Thanks again..." I trailed off, waiting. This time, I actually stared at him and was almost knocked off my feet.

         "Calum," he told me with a smile. He was seriously attractive, which was not what I was expecting. His dark hair matched his medium skin tone, and he seemed to be working up some muscle on his biceps. The color of his eyes was the same as his hair, and they were captivating.

        "Calum," I repeated with a nod. "I'm Valentine."

        "I know," he said.

        "You know?" I asked, surprised. I was a background kid. No one knew me.

          Calum laughed, and it made me smile a little because it was cute. He was cute, and I knew I was already crushing on him. Just a tiny bit. Like microscopic.

          "We go to the same school," he said, "and you're in most of my classes."

          Feeling bad because I never noticed him, I kept quiet. It wasn't that I was unaware of the people around. I was just busy. Busy with my studies. Busy with regularly peering over my shoulder because of Mandy. And busy with trying to not cause an uproar in classes.

          Someone called Calum's name, and I looked up at him. He wrote something down on a sticky note, and then he quickly handed it to me before he rushed off. "Catch you later, Val!"

          I reached out my hand, confused, but he was already gone. Checking the time, I realized that I had to leave now. I followed the arrows like Calum said and swiftly made it out of the building and raced home. I made it back home, exactly one minute late, and Dad was waiting on the couch.

         I passed by him without saying a word, but he called me back. My shoulders tensed up, and I knew I was going to be in trouble.

          "Yes?" I said, my voice small.

          He stared at me before picking up something off the ground. "You forgot this," he said, placing it in my hands.

         "Thanks," I said and quickly went to my room and cracked the door behind me. With my back to the wall, I released a long breath. I thought for sure that he would yell at me. Then, I uncrumpled the sticky note that Calum gave me, wondering what was written on it. Staring at it intently, the parentheses and dashes made it clear.

          It was a phone number.

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Can I get a hee hee? ANyways, whats goooood my fellow peeps! My nose is in paaaaaiiiiiiin. But whatever

And if you're wondering...yes! I did move the chapter and made it a .5 type of thing. That's going to happen for every chapter after we change to a new numberrrrrr of ten. That means, new chapters. And new rearrangments. I thought of it just now and I'm impulsive so I said why the hell not. Teehee.

It's 6 am. I'm not tired. And I'm almost done with chapter 13, but I kind don't feel like writing right now. Where'd my inspiration go? With 5SOS, cause them boys been  A B S E N T . 

How can I write fanfics if they're nowhere to be found? I crrryyyyyy. I miss them.

.YAWYNA

(that was anyway backwards if you couldn't tell)

I might get chapter 13 done tonight...today...this morning?.....SOON.

How's your dad?

Bye.