One :
We Only See Each Other at Weddings and Funerals

A pit.

A deep stinkin' pit.

Addison constantly felt as though a pit plagued her heart and soul, yearning to be filled.

Waiting for someone to come back and put an end to the ceaseless weeping it did.

Even her love of creating firearms and instructing at a not-so-local shooting club she had pursued many years ago helped, fix that emotional pain she felt.

Sixteen years, four months, and fourteen days.

That's how long she's felt that cavity for, ever since the day Five vanished from her sight. Ever since he's gone poof, into thin air.

Oh, how Addison wishes that she had acted on the instincts that had shouted, no, wailed at her; that she grasped the brunet that she dearly loved and prevented him from running off.

It almost felt like it had occurred yesterday.

The old scratchy record of Herr Carlson drilling into her mind.

The silver steak knife suddenly digging into the thick oblong table.

Five arguing with father.

The large mahogany front door slamming as he ran out.

The silence afterwards strangling the girl like a thick rope as the seconds soon turned into minutes, eventually becoming too much.

She didn't even wait to be dismissed by her unfazed father, Addison just ran and locked herself within her white-scale room.

A heart-wrenching scream had ripped from her throat, the platinum blond cradled herself within the unoccupied corner.

She had grasped onto her peach coloured deco pillow as tears fell and stained the linen pillowcase, eyes glistening and red as the droplets of liquid sunk through to the soft feathers.

Addison swears that it's still salty to this very day.

Three years later, the day she and her adoptive family all turned eighteen; she left, like most of her remaining siblings planned to do.

And vowed to never set so much as a hair into the horrid academy again.

There were just too many things that happened during her time there, the place practically reeked of unpleasant memories that constantly threatened to force her into another terrifying round of nightmares.

The poor girl nearly shot herself in the temple one fairly chilly August morning when she had heard the news that had been broadcasted to every news show, newspaper and radio station it could reach out to.

The shooting club she worked at was a short ten-minute walk from Addison's cozy little apartment, opening at nine in the morning; and closing at eight in the afternoon.

She had to pass a particularly run-down news agency to get to her destination, an equally old TV that had two crooked antennas (greatly reminding Addison of a large cockroach) sitting proudly just behind the wide grimy window, gathering great mounds of dust that only continued to grow over the years.

The news would have inevitably reached her, even if she hadn't listened to the news reporter speaking rapidly, Addison always bought the cheap flimsy newspapers for one of her friends; who regularly went hunting with her on weekends like this.

Today's headline: Eccentric and reclusive billionaire, Sir Reginald Hargreeves - dead.

Addison wasn't at all stunned by the fact that her adoptive father had kicked the bucket, not even the slightest; she was strangely numb to the revelation.

It was the fact that there was bound to be a funeral for the old man, and the chances of it not being held at the academy was as likely as Klaus being straight.

Addison could already hear the nightmarish shrieks and howls ringing through her mind.

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Thank you for checking out this book! Just a little reminder, Five has been aged up; so he's fifteen.