Chapter One

"Time is now to be dreaded - since once he put that mark upon your throat."

- Except from Bram Stoker's Dracula

***

 

This is an introduction by Patrick Symmonds

I don’t remember a lot about my childhood. Most of its just flickering holograms that I can’t be sure really existed. Details are hazy. Faces are just numerous shadows. I can’t be sure of anything. The worst part is that the only things I can really remember from being a kid is the stuff I try so hard to forget. Ironic isn’t it? My whole life is irony. Me, my family, my house, my school; everything about my pathetic existence is one big joke... and everyone’s laughing. Except me.

 

Charlie came into the room then, wielding his hammer covered in blood. “Don’t get up off the floor,” He said, “Stay where you are you scum piece of s**t- or I’ll drive this through your skull,” He slurred. Charlie was a nice enough guy. He was a quiet guy. The kinda guy who wasn’t going anywhere in life- the kinda guy who would emotionally black mail you so he could spend hours on the couch while you were out working off the debts he made... until of course he got drunk. Then he was a f*****g riot.

 

I shivered on the wooden floors, my hands shaking as I hugged myself. “P-p-please,” I whimpered, “D-d-don’t...” I never got to the end of that sentence. He came over and kicked me in the face.

 

“Charlie!” I heard my mother screaming from the other room, “Open the door!” She cried, “Open the f*****g door!” That sound in her voice- that painful grief- it was horrible to hear. I coughed up blood and sobbed with my face against the floor.

 

“I’m sorry Patrick, did you have something to say?” Charlie chuckled. I shook my head, “I know you had something to say, Patrick!” He yelled.

 

“N-n-no,” I shook my head, crying.

 

“Spit it out!”

 

“D-don’t- please, d-don’t hurt her,” the words finally stammered out of my mouth.

 

“P-please,” I sobbed.

 

He dropped the hammer inches away from my face and smirked, “Don’t hurt her?” He said, “Don’t hurt who, Patrick?” He laughed. I looked at the blood crusted hammer and felt my stomach churn.

 

I was angry. At him. At my mother. At myself. I remember a bitter taste filling up inside my mouth as I lay there thinking about how mum had tried to get me to call him dad. I remember the feeling of Charlie’s foot against the back of my skull, that crackling sound the fake leather of his shoes made as it bent... and I remember hearing that metallic clicking sound as he cocked his revolver, just loud enough for me to hear over the sound of my heartbeat rising.

 

“Patrick,” I looked up and saw that the whole classroom was staring back at me.

 

“Patrick Symmonds,” Mr. Wilson said, lowering his glasses. “Are you ready to do your report?”

 

I sunk in my seat and saw the sneers and rolling eyes. I shook my head. All those fake, plastic social kings and queens, spinning their gossip fed hate. My 12^th birthday spent with my head between the sticky crimson stained floorboards and Charlie’s shoe seemed kinda nostalgic now.

 

“No, Mr. Symmonds?” He smirked, the others taking the cue and starting to giggle. I felt sick. I wanted to close my eyes, but I tried so hard not to. Tears began to well up from the sting.

 

The bell rang just then and everyone hurriedly filled out of class.

 

 Mr. Wilson sighed, “Saved by the bell, Patrick,” he mused, “Perhaps you’ll be ready next week?”

 

I waited until he turned towards his desk before I started packing away my books, hoping I wouldn’t have to hear the words “Mr. Symmonds” again. I hated being called that, but Mr. Wilson seemed to find a sick pleasure in reminding me of my father. I tried to gulp down that burning feeling of hatred that seared like acid in the pit of my stomach.

 

Throwing my bag over my shoulder I escaped out the door and split my own path down the crowded hallway. People either stepped out of the way when they saw me coming, or made a special point of walking into me. Either way, I was used to it. I lowered my hat and kept walking, my eyes focused on the ground below me.

 

“Patrick,” How’d I hear her voice amidst all the sounds? All the bad music spilling out of MP3 players and all the stupid rumours spilling out of lip gloss painted lips... her voice still managed to ripple through the chaos. “Hey,” She said when I turned around.

 

“Hey,” I said.

 

“Why didn’t you do your presentation today?” She asked. “You were ready,”

 

“Wilson knew I was only supposed to do it next week,” I replied shakily, still staring at the ground. I saw her mud stained doc martins staring across the marble floor at my dirty green chuck taylors. “He was just pushing my buttons...” I muttered.

 

“I know- but you shoulda just stood up and done it anyway, just to shove it in his face,” She said. I smiled. “Hey Patrick,” I heard her say after a short pause, “You can look at me you know,”

 

“I-I know,” I took in a deep breath and looked up quickly.

 

Hayley grinned up at me, a glint in her hazel eyes. She wore a mesh white singlet underneath a black military jacket dotted with band patches, and a purple tartan skirt that attracted second glances from some of the band geeks that walked past. She bit her lip ring, and cocked her head at me, letting her long black fringe glide over her right eye. “So am I gunna see you tonight?”

 

I sighed, avoiding stares from onlookers as I pondered the answer, “Maybe,” I said.

 

“Maybe?” She smirked, “You’re a jerk,” She punched my shoulder.

 

“I hate those places,” I muttered, holding my shoulder.

 

“So do I... which is kinda why I would like to see you there,” she smiled, “It would make it less unbearable,” She bit her lip again. I think she knew how much I liked it when she did that... and how impossible it was to look away when she did. She took a step towards me and I felt her hand clasp mine, “Please,” She said. The distance between us was unnerving, and it formed a lump in my throat. I hung my head for a moment.

 

“Um,” I stammered, “Okay,” I managed a weak smile as I looked up at her again, “But you owe me,”

 

“No problem,” She said and leant forward to kiss me on the cheek. My heart dropped into the pit of my stomach. “I’ll see you tonight,” She grinned as she walked away from me. I stood frozen for awhile, then smiled and turned to walk away.

 

Something about Hayley made me feel real. The way she smiled at me, the way she touched me... somehow she made sense of the mess I was. I was human for a split second.

 

 

Author's Note

This is weird but I feel like her name shouldn't be Hayley... I'm not sure, what do you guys think?

Reviews

[Silvario]

this was an excellent introduction. so very well written with a smooth easy to read flow and an obviously talented voice.

great set up of the characters and their situations. the ending sentence couldnt be better to all but force a reader to turn the page to the next chapter... as i shall do.

well done indeed :)

[Edalene Connell]

This is great so far. You do a good job on hooking the reader.
Hayley seems like an ok name, but really it is up to you to leave it or change it.

[tayzer--]

I really like this so far, and I'm deeply intrigued! :)
I agree with you though, Haley seems too ordinary of a name almost. I think something more exotic would be better. But whatever you choose will work fine. Nice job, again. Love it so far.