Unedited.

Shout-out to @hindering for the awesome cover which I'm yet to put on (I'll do it ASAP!)

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The lunch bell rang just as everyone was finishing their work. Rebecca didn’t rush to finish writing anything down; she didn’t need to. No one was waiting for her outside the classroom. No one was going to meet her. At least she had some company if she was around a teacher.

               “Miss Morley?”

               Rebecca looked up at her teacher, pen stilling in her hand. “Yes?”

               Mr Mace frowned at her, concern etched onto his face. His overgrown beard seemed even longer with the expression. “The bell rang. You can go.”

               “I know, sir. I just want to finish this,” Rebecca said, smiling at him. “Less homework. I have enough to as it is.”

               He didn’t seem to buy the excuse but he let it go, folding his large body into his tiny desk chair. “If you say so. I’ll wait for you to finish.”

               Rebecca nodded, writing down the notes. She debated writing slower so it took her longer to write it but she decided against it. Mr Mace had to go to lunch. He didn’t want to watch her write on paper for an hour.

               “Rebecca.”

               She looked up, eyes passing the white walls of the classroom before landing on her teacher, who was reclined back, stroking his grey beard. “Yes?”

               “Are you okay?”

               Looking away from him, Rebecca stared at one of the posters on the classroom wall. She couldn’t help but roll her eyes. ‘Don’t be a bully’ it read, as if it was mocking her. She dealt with it every day so the signs were pointless. No one listened to them. She wasn’t even sure if anyone looked at them. Refocusing on the teacher, she nodded. “Of course, sir. Why wouldn’t I be?”

               His hard gaze didn’t leave her face for even a second. “You seem . . . off. Even more withdrawn than usual. I understand that you don’t want to talk in class, I do. That was me when I was in school, so I can relate. But you barely paid attention to the class. Did someone hurt you? Nothing is going on at home?”

               You’re ten years too late, Rebecca thought bitterly. They were the words she’d wanted to hear when she was five, living through abuse. Now? Well it was too little too late. “Everything is fine at home. I’m just tired, I guess. It’s Friday. No one pays attention on Friday.”

               He laughed, the frown lines on his face becoming even more pronounced. “I can attest to that. I don’t want to teach today.” His expression sobered. “But, Rebecca, you can talk to me if something is going on — at school, at home, anywhere. Here,” he held out a slip of paper and Rebecca hurried to grab it from him. “Call this number if anything bothers you.”

               She smiled ruefully. Skye was bothering her. She wasn’t about to tell anyone though. That would only make it worse. If she found out about . . .

               Rebecca grabbed the necklace at her throat, shuddering. If Skye found out that Mikael had given her a necklace there would be hell to pay. Mikael’s advice was warranted. If she showed anyone it could get back to Skye. Rebecca wasn’t ready to risk it. She wouldn’t stop wearing it however. It was warm and solid against her chest and it was . . . calming, somehow.

               She grabbed the note, scanning the number for a second before smiling at her teacher. Then she went back to her bag and started packing up. Mr Mace would keep asking her questions if she stayed. She’d rather be on her own. She waved to him as she closed the door. “Bye, sir.”

               He smiled. “Bye. Enjoy your weekend.”

               “I will,” Rebecca said before shutting the door.

               The hall was full of activity, friends standing by lockers talking, others just watching everyone go by. They all looked at Rebecca disdainfully but Rebecca ignored them, walking towards the library. She didn’t want to sit in the trees. Yesterday had been surreal but the feeling she had gotten afterwards had been one she was used to—dread and panic. Her instincts had been screaming at her that something was going to happen; something bad.

               “Where do you think you’re going?”

               Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. Then she turned, coming face-to-face with someone she didn’t know. “Uh, library.”

               He frowned, black hair flopping over his eyes. He was familiar though she couldn’t pinpoint why. “Don’t you remember me?”

               Rebecca shook her head. “No. sorry about that.”

               “I talked to you yesterday.” He placed a palm on his chest. “I’m wounded you don’t remember me.”

               Ah. Rebecca remembered him. The guy who’d offered her his cigarette. Nervously, she laughed, hoping he’d take the hint she didn’t want to talk to him. “Oh. I do now. Look, I have an assignment that I need to do. Unless you want to join me in the library . . .” She didn’t finish the sentence, well aware that he wouldn’t set foot in a library. She didn’t have assignments but he didn’t need to know that.

               “How about I show you something?” he asked, walking closer. She could smell the cigarette floating off of him.

               Backing away, she cursed her luck. Of course, just when someone finally noticed her it was the drug addicts. “No thanks.”

               He shrugged. “Well pretty lady, you’re out of luck. You’ll want to see this.”

               Rebecca looked around, hoping one of his friends would come and grab his attention. “No, I really won’t.”

               He ignored her, putting an arm around her shoulder. Like Mikael had. But, unlike with Mikael her heart didn’t flutter. She tried to break his hold, more uncomfortable than she’d ever been in her life. “Let me go,” she demanded.

               He shook his head. “Sorry, no can do.”

               Dread started to sink in, hard and heavy like a sinking ship floating to the bottom of the sea. “Please. I don’t want any drugs.”

               “I don’t do drugs,” he denied, even as he took a cigarette out of his pocket.

               Rebecca couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “Sure,” she muttered. Still, she tried to get away. Even as they walked and it was clear that she wanted away, people looked away from them as if they couldn’t care.

               “I smoke cigarettes. That’s not a drug. I’ve only ever done weed once in my life,” he said.

               Did he think that was amazing for it? Did he want an award? “That’s great,” she muttered. “And I want you to let go of me.”

               He laughed. “You’re funny. And hot when you’re angry.”

               If he’d spoken the words before he’d turned into a creep, she would’ve blushed or felt complimented. Now they only made her uncomfortable and she swore she could feel someone scratching her. “And you’re a creep. Get off.”

               “No can do. I’m showing you something that you’ll love.”

               He dragged Rebecca to the outside of the school and Rebecca turned away the minute he let her go. They were in the back of the school, where no one went because it was practically abandoned. All around them was concrete, bins and brick walls.

               “I don’t know why he’s trying to make this easier on you.”

               His voice stopped her short and she turned. He was staring at her, something in his eyes that scared her. And yet she couldn’t look away. “What do you mean?” she demanded, crossing her arms over her chest.

               He smirked at her, pulling a cigarette out of his pants. “You don’t even know do you?”

               She glared, watching as he lit his cigarette. “Know what? That you’re a creep and I want to get away from you?”

               He shrugged innocently, rolling his eyes. “Whatever you say. I can’t believe you don’t feel it.”

               “I feel how uncomfortable you make me feel.”

               “Then go.”

               She wanted to. But his words were keeping her there. “Tell me what on earth you’re on about.”

               He still stared at her like he knew something she didn’t. It unnerved her to no end. “You don’t know.”

               “Know what?” she growled, wishing she could make him talk.

               “Who you are,” he said simply.

               Realisation dawned and she glared at him. “That was you. How dare you? Tell me who gave you my number.”

               “I don’t know your number. But I do know who you really are.”

               “Who am I then? Jesus?” she spat, angrier than she’d ever been in her life.

               “You’re your mother.”

               “Don’t bring my mother into this.” Rebecca didn’t know who her biological mother was but she wasn’t going to let anyone talk about her.

               “I don’t buy it. You know. You’re just playing dumb for attention. So Mikael will dote on you like a lost puppy.”

               “Excuse me? I’ve known him for two weeks! I’m not his damn puppy. You, however, seem to be if you know that much about him.” This had to be what she’d been feeling. She didn’t get this angry and if she did then it was always hidden.

               “Maybe that rumour was right. You’re that desperate. The fact that you’d try to get him to sleep with you, when he clearly didn’t want to, is believable now.”

               It was the last straw. She closed her eyes, the anger now a simmering fire that was about to implode. She felt the wind whip by her and a loud crash but she didn’t open her eyes. If she looked at him she’d lose it.

               After a few minutes, she finally opened her eyes. The anger in her wasn’t going to explode anymore. She was under control.

               Looking around, she frowned. He wasn’t standing there anymore. He was gone. Had he ran while she hadn’t been looking? Turning, she looked around, something catching the corner of her eye . . .

               She walked closer inspecting what it was. What she saw knocked the breath out of her. There was a body by the dumpster, out cold. Blood dripped down his forehead. Rebecca tried to stop. Tried not to walk closer. She couldn’t resist. It was him, she noticed. Same cigarette hanging from his fingers. Same hair.

               Oh, god. Horror started to sink in as she looked around for the person who’d hurt him—

               Shaking her head, she walked closer crouching down. Placing her fingers on his neck, she felt for a pulse, praying he was just unconscious.

               He wasn’t.

               There was no pulse.

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