PAID BOOK

Chapter One
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Steady eyed, I stared at the door on the right side of my room through the gloomy shade of twilight as I lay awake on my bed. The sound of rain beating on the roof, the wind howling all along like a mourning song, was deafening. . . but not even close to the piercing screams of silence that swallowed me.

God, I wish . . .

The silence was tearing me apart inside, so very slowly, making me feel every bit of the pain as it sliced in deeper and deeper. . . until a tear slipped from the corner of my right eye. I didn't care to wipe it off. I let it be. I only cared to pray that this silence would break in defeat to my mom's loving whisper.

It was the seventeenth of August. If Mom was still with us, she would've walked into my room through the very closed door I was staring at, and kiss me on my forehead with a birthday wish.

I waited. . . waited for a miracle.

Seconds ticked by.

Seconds turned to minute.

Not long after, I realized it had been quite some years already since I'd stopped believing in miracles. No miracle happened when Mom lay pale and thin on the hospital bed. . . And no miracles since.

I rolled onto my side towards the window - ripping my gaze away from the door that was never going to open to reveal the miracle I craved for - and soaked my pillow wet with tears that bitterly trickled from my eyes.

It killed me to imagine and wait as though nothing had changed. But of course, everything had changed. . . ever since she left us six years ago; ripped apart from us, from me, by cancer. Merciless. I was ten then.

Just around 6:00am, I peeled off the warm covering and went straight towards the bathroom. I took a quick shower, got dressed and walked out of my room. I stepped down the stairs with extra care so as not to disturb Dad and my extremely alert eight-year-old brother's sleep.

By that time around, the roar of the rain had ceased and when I opened the front door, all that was left was a drizzle; which was good because I didn't have a car to drive me around the town. I was still underage. Dad had promised to get me one once I get my driver's license.

I was lucky I hadn't got blown away a couple days ago during the thunderstorm. The wind was crazy, which shouldn't exactly be surprising for a South Dakotan town near Sioux. The weather keeps shifting every other day like going through TV channels.

I walked leisurely along the pavements of a damp, empty highway with an umbrella in hand, scanning all the stores and houses and coffee shops that I passed as I headed towards Rose's Roses, the florist shop where I worked part-time every weekend for the fun of it. By the time I reached the shop, the morning light had encompassed the sky in its full glory and Mrs. Clayton had already begun arranging the flowers when I walked in.

I loved this little shop because inside it, the feelings I felt always changed to something entirely surreal. Inside the little shop was a different world; a world of romance and fairytale. Mrs. Clayton, an aged lady with silver hair that ended just above her shoulders, was tilting her body from side to side as she sang her favorite song, 'Dream a little dream of me'.

"Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you
Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you
But in your dreams, whatever they be
Dream a little dream of me"

"Morning, Mrs. Clayton," I greeted as I stepped in and shrugged off my jacket.

"Good morning, Alana." She looked back and smiled at me.

It was saddening to know that this morning would be the last time I would see her until I saw her again, and I didn't even know when that would be. She had always treated me like a daughter. She was family.

Like always, she remembered my birthday and gifted me a beautiful, red rose. She had also arranged a bunch of pink roses for Mom. Pink roses had been my mom's favorite and I had told her so on countless occasions. With a rueful smile, I hugged her and settled into her embrace more comfortably.

"I'll miss you."

The light drizzle still lingered when I left the shop after helping Mrs. Clayton with some of the chores and a promise to visit her.

'I guess it's life,' I thought as I walked back home. 'One day one leaves, the other day one returns. Or in some cases, they just keep going and don't return at all. It's life.'

We were moving back to our old town, Los Carlos, and I pretty much had no problem with that since I would finally be reunited with my childhood best friend, Kendra. I missed her a lot. We rarely met up since I moved here and so, the thought of seeing her every day excited me beyond measures. I'd already told her that I was coming back but saved the news that I would be going to the same school for a surprise. So I was looking forward to seeing the look on her face when she spotted me in Greenwood. And then, there was Jacob too.

Nonetheless, half of me still felt bad for David, my little brother. He was barely two when we left Carlos six years ago. And everything he'd ever known was all here in East Port. He'd been pretty sad lately at the thought of not seeing his friends from school again. I felt sorry for him. He was the sweetest of all apples and seeing him sad would be the last thing I'd want. Since Mom left us so early and dad was mostly busy, I had made David my responsibility and I had been trying my best to be the best sister for him. I would do anything to keep him happy.

But either way, we hit the road at 11:00am and left East Port behind us. Our surgeon Dad, Ryan Lancaster, got transferred back to St. Stephen's, the hospital he previously worked, and there was no way around it.

And just before we drove off, while I stood next to Dad's car, the-sweetest-of-all-apples hugged me warmly and said, "Happy sixteenth birthday, Alana. You smell old."

Yeah.

The eight-year-old loved to tease me.

*

Carlos was just a four hour drive from East Port so by three in the afternoon, we were back in our old town. Our new house (a five-bedroom, single-family detached home) was located at a neighborhood called Spruce avenue at 5th Felix Street, which was not far from our old neighborhood, Elm Avenue in the same street. In fact, we even passed, by our old house on the way.

What I felt when I saw the house was indescribable, confusing, and heartbreaking. . . It brought back memory of those days when Mom was alive and kicking, and then all weak and worried. . . about us.

Before anything, I headed towards the cemetery with the bouquet of pink roses in my hand. I still remembered the town vividly. Nothing had changed so much in six long year's, only that a few shops had been replaced by other new shops. And as I walked along the pavement towards the cemetery, I noticed that Big Jerome's cafe was nowhere to be found. It used to be just around the corner of the street, and I used to love the vanilla Ice cream they had there. If the cafe was still there, I definitely would have stopped by to meet Big Jerome and have some ice cream. It's funny how I, as a little girl, used to wonder why he had such a big tummy. I thought he was going to have a baby.

When I reached the cemetery, a sense of wistfulness overwhelmed me as I looked over at all the gray and white stones of different heights and sizes from a distance. It looked like some medieval European town; one I would definitely love to go visit or maybe even settle down in. But the moment I saw someone sitting on the stone I respected beyond words, the wistfulness was immediately overtaken by a grip of astonishment and confusion.

I marched through the iron-gate with my eyes fixed on him. He was writing furiously in a diary. I came to stand in front of him but he didn't seem to care a bit that I was standing right there in front of him, so close that I could even knock on his forehead. He kept writing away in his black diary, which was on his right knee, leaning on the headstone and sitting like a misplaced king.

He was young, probably in high school. Donned in black colored ripped jeans, faded denim jacket over a black T-shirt and with the way he had styled his bronze mop of a hair in an impressive up-do, I could clearly make out that he was obsessed about the way his bronze hair looked. He also wore a black headband around his forehead. I cleared my throat to get his attention. He still didn't seem to care the slightest bit.

"Excuse me?" I called, profound disbelief in my voice.

"Yeah, just. . . One minute. Hold on," he responded busily.

As if he would die the next moment if he doesn't, he quickly scribbled one more line before looking up to me. When he did finally lift his face, I beheld the most gorgeous face I'd ever had the privilege of seeing. His deep and consuming brown eyes held mine like there was a fire smoldering behind them and I couldn't help but stare back. His features were sharp and chiseled, yet with hints of passion and softness in the way he met my eyes.

He said nothing for a while and stared at me curiously before jerking his chin to question me, "Sup, bro."

"What are you doing here?" I asked, slightly dazed at that perfect face.

His eyes then scanned me up and down as if he was looking for fractured bones; so keen that they almost made me itch, and as if he was the Prince of Yoghurt, he did it so coolly.

"I think I know you," he finally said.

"Huh? What?"?

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So, that's the first chapter. THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!!!

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