The Truth About My Scratches
By Kiersten Modglin
The Truth About My Scratches
Copyright © 2016 by Kiersten Modglin.
All rights reserved.
First Print Edition: November 2016
Limitless Publishing, LLC
Kailua, HI 96734
www.limitlesspublishing.com
Formatting: Limitless Publishing
ISBN-13: 978-1-68058-869-9
ISBN-10: 1-68058-869-9
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.
Dedication
To my husband Michael, for being my high school love story.
To my sisters Kaitie, Kortnee, and Kyleigh for filling my childhood with love and laughter and strange Halloween costumes.
I love you all.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
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Chapter 1
Someone once told me that eventually time takes away everything you have—everyone you love, your dreams, your memories, your fears. It takes everything you’ve ever had, and you never notice until it’s gone. The same person told me that though time is known to heal, time is actually cruel. Despite every single thing time steals from you, it will never take one thing away. No matter how many nights you spend awake, how many meals you miss, or how many stares you try not to notice; time is just time, and no matter how much time passes, it will never let you forget the truth.
My room is painted a sickly pastel pink. For the record, I hate pink with every fiber of my being. My mom picked out the color years ago, and for whatever reason, it stuck. My mom died when I was fifteen, and she was replaced by a fake smile on a silent face. My entire world fell apart when I was fifteen. I remember a time when every morning was filled with the smell of bacon cooking and the sound of my mother’s laughter. Dad could always be found close by reading a newspaper with a charming smile on his face and a cup of coffee steaming in front of him. I don’t know the last time any of us looked at a newspaper. They’re off-limits now.
My alarm clock rang out, but it was pointless. I had been awake since 4:04, just like always. I looked around my dark room, heaving a sigh. I had been boarded into the same room my whole life. It changed as I did, going from posters of The Little Mermaid and Barney, to kiss-worthy pictures of Chad Michael Murray and NSYNC, and most recently, to nothing—to blankness, the emptiness I felt inside. I could describe everything in my room by memory. Beside my bed sat a small desk with my ringing alarm clock and a book that I should have read months ago for a class I couldn’t pretend to care about. Although I could see only a vague outline, I knew that the wall I was facing contained the only thing hanging up in my now bare room. It was a drawing of me, a simple pencil sketch that had faded with age, but it made me look more beautiful than the mirror ever could. Years ago, when I started high school, I had been surprised to find it taped to my locker. It was perfect, beautiful. I had asked around, trying to find a clue to point me to the artist, but no one claimed it. Eventually I had just given up. It had never really mattered to me who had drawn it, perhaps a crush too shy to come out, maybe a cheerleader thinking it would be funny to draw my nose a little bigger than it was in reality. In the end I’d kept it, deciding to display it proudly on my wall like a trophy. I chose to believe it was a good thing, a sign that somewhere out there I had a friend.
Coming back to reality I heaved a sigh, pressing my fingers onto the plastic of the clock, halting the sound. I brushed my hair from my eyes, pulling the string of my lamp and allowing it to illuminate my room. Rubbing sleep from my eyes, I pulled the blanket off of my legs, welcoming the cool air. Getting up was the easy part. Facing the day was where it got hard.
***
Step, step, grab door handle, pull door handle, smile, walk. I told myself how to move, what to do, keeping my mind focused on only that. These days, it was so hard to concentrate on anything for too long. I entered the school building with my head down, walking toward the corner near the back of the lobby I was so familiar with. My corner. My safe spot. I passed dozens of students, each lost in their own world, no one making eye contact with me. That was okay. I liked it that way. As I neared my corner, I stopped. There was something unfamiliar waiting for me. He wore a blue buttoned up shirt: simple, safe. His hair was blonde, reminding me of the inside of a banana. It swept over his eyes carefully. His eyes met mine; they were brown: warm and calm. He was saying something. He was staring at me.
“I’m Brayden,” he said, gazing up at me with a half-smile on his face. He asked if he was in my spot.
Yes, you are. Move.
“Uh, no. You’re okay,” I heard myself answer. Good job. Now smile back.
I turned quickly to walk away before he could ask me anything else. My heart pounded in my chest, telling me to get away. Faster. Faster.
“Where are you going?” I heard him call out from behind me.
I kept walking, afraid to answer, afraid to turn around. The hairs on back of my neck stood up. Nothing felt right. I heard his shoes squeak on the floor as he stood up. I heard him rushing to keep up with me.
I jumped as he touched my back gently, trying to make me stop.
He pulled away. “Look, I’m sorry if I took your spot or your corner or whatever. I can totally go somewhere else, honest. It’s not a big deal.”
I stopped walking, turning to face him. “It’s fine. Seriously. It’s not like my name is on the corner or something. Chill.” I looked hopefully toward the corner, feeling his eyes resting on me anxiously. I avoided his gaze, trying desperately to slow my pounding heart. It was pathetic really, how nervous I was. I took a deep breath. Good girl. Stay calm.
He smiled. “Go ahead.” He gestured toward the corner. “I have to go find my locker anyway.”
I nodded, looking away and hoping he would leave. Am I supposed to say “thank you” now? After a few awkward seconds I turned and walked shyly toward the corner, pressing my back into the cool wall as I slid down. I closed my eyes, feeling my heart rate finally slow down. I reached into my purse, pulling out a book and flipping it open, silencing my racing thoughts. No sooner had I finally begun to read, than a pair of legs slid down beside me. The smell of his cologne burned my nose. It was peppery. I glanced up, hoping that an annoyed look radiated from my face.
“Hey.” He smiled at me nonchalantly.
I nodded. “I thought you were going to go find your locker?”
“Oh yeah, I totally forgot that I’d already found it. My bad.” His eyes focused on mine with a vice-like grip. The corners of his mouth turned up co
yly.
I looked away, willing him to shut up. What was his problem? Why couldn’t he just leave me alone? What had I done to deserve this?
“Am I bothering you or something?”
I didn’t bother to look his way, instead turning the page pointedly. “No.”
“So, what’s your name?”
Silence. Take the hint, boy, please.
“You do have a name, don’t you?” It was like he had never even heard of a hint.
I slammed my book shut, raising my eyebrows to look his way. “Yes, I do have a name. I’m Jaicey.”
“Jaicey, huh? Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Jaicey. I’m Brayden.”
“Yeah. You said that already.” I didn’t smile.
“Right.” He smiled. His smile was nice, warm in a way that would’ve had other girls blushing. Other girls. Normal girls. Girls not like me.
I looked back down, ignoring the pressure of his gaze, and tried to focus on the book I was attempting to read. I refused to let my heart speed up again. You’re fine, I told myself. You’re safe. Finally, he turned away, pulling out a book of his own and beginning to read as well. I sat as the minutes passed, flipping aimlessly through a book I wasn’t truly reading. Instead, I just skimmed the pages, waiting for the bell to ring. I couldn’t focus on anything but him. He was entirely too close to me. It was distracting, and I don’t mean that in a good way. I could feel the heat of his skin only inches from mine. I could hear him breathing, see each page as it turned in his hand. It gave me chills. Finally, I was given relief. As the bell sounded I all but jumped up, racing away from him and refusing to look back.
***
Some things never change: take school, for instance. No matter where you go, what grade you’re in, or who you are, you’ll always find the same kids. There are the kids who everyone secretly wants to be, the ones who are members of the country club, whose fathers could buy them a whole city if they wanted to; the people with their designer clothes, beautiful faces and perfect lives. There are the people who honestly don’t care about anything; the ones who are comfortable with themselves, usually for extremely unobvious reasons. There are the kids who can quote whole books, who can answer any question correctly, and then there are the kids who just fade into the background, the kids who you’ll look back at in your yearbook in five years and not remember at all.
As I walked down the hall toward first hour, I prayed to be forgotten. I held my breath, tucking my chin into my chest and heading quickly toward my classroom, focusing on my feet. Then I heard it.
“Jaicey.”
Keep walking, I willed myself. Maybe I had heard wrong, but the voice was unmistakable. I felt her perfectly moisturized hands grasp my arm, her fingers wrapping around my wrist like talons. “Jaice, hey. It’s me,” she said again. I was stuck; there was no way out.
I looked up, feigning surprise. Smile. “Oh, hey, Mallory. I didn’t see you.”
“Oh my God, Jaicey, I can’t believe it. I heard you were back. Everyone will be so glad. It’s so good to finally see you. We’ve missed you so much. How’ve you been?” If it was possible, her teeth had gotten even whiter since I’d been gone.
Horrible. Terrible. Leave me alone. “Fine. You?”
“Oh, I’m amazing.” She waved me off. “If you hadn’t heard the rumors already, Tyler asked me to prom. It happened last week. He went all out with balloons and flowers. I wish you could’ve been there to see it,” she exclaimed, as if that weren’t already a given. Homecoming Queen and Quarterback. They went hand in hand. I put on my best smile, my gaze drifting away from her face.
“Oh, congratulations. I hope you have fun.” What I really hoped was that I was doing a good job of looking like I cared.
“Aww, thank you. I think we will.” She smiled at me brightly. “Hey, you know, I’ve heard Derek is still looking for a date. I don’t know if he knew what to do about prom after everything. You know, I wonder if he even knows you’re back yet. I haven’t seen much of him lately, honestly. He’s been so out of it. Not that I blame him, you know. Oh, he’ll be so happy to see you, and of course, I’m sure he’d love to go with you. What do you say? Oh, look at me. Here I go, rambling. I should let him actually ask you first, right? You know how I get…always one step ahead.”
I paused. Smile. Is she actually asking me out for someone else? The poor guy deserves better. “You know what, Mallory? I can’t go. I actually already had plans for that night. Sucks. I wish I’d known sooner,” came the automatic response.
She pursed her lips. “Jaicey, come on, girl. We miss you. You know we’d all love to hang out with you again. All of us. We’ve all called dozens of times, even come by to visit you. They said you just needed space. We understood, but we’re your friends. We just wanted to see you.”
“I’m sorry. Some other time, maybe. I really have to get to class. I can’t be late already.” I smiled and hurried off before she could get in another word. The popular kids at my school think it’s funny to pretend to be nice to those of us who aren’t like them—pretty, popular, rich. We all know they make fun of us behind our backs. I, unlike so many others, never fall for their games. I scowled as I heard her voice ringing in my head. We miss you! How can you miss something you never had?
***
Stares. I felt them. I looked around, meeting Wyatt Grey’s eyes. He smiled. His gaze fell to my neck. I leaned my head over, flashing him a dirty look. He looked away quickly, but not before Mr. Putt had seen this; he gave Wyatt a warning look, and then continued on with his discussion on World War II. I offered Mr. Putt a thankful grin, but he didn’t notice. No one noticed. Mr. Putt was new at our school, starting only last year. He was friendly enough. Our old teacher, Mr. Brown, had retired the year before, much to our dismay. Mr. Brown was my favorite teacher and I missed him dearly, but I would never forget him, of that I was certain.
Chapter 2
After school that day, I walked out toward the buses and I heard yet another familiar voice. “Oh my God! Well, look who we have here. If it isn’t Miss Too Cool for School herself gracing us all with her presence. Where have you been?”
I turned, knowing that no matter how bad I wanted to I wouldn’t be able to keep walking. Derek was a lot closer than I had expected. His blue eyes burned into me, extinguishing the breath in my lungs immediately, just like they always had. I reminded myself that this was normal. He was every girl’s crush and so out of my league. Still, I couldn’t help but appreciate the way his brown hair curled around his ears, his perfect, football-playing build, and his beautiful, white smile. My heart bellowed in my chest and I felt blood rush to my cheeks.
“Hey, Derek. How are you?” I mumbled, immediately kicking myself for not having something cute or witty to say.
“Better now. It’s so good to see you. I’ve been hoping you’d be back soon. No one really knew what to expect. But hey, you know what’s coming up, right? What do you say to a few Friday nights from now: you, me, some spiked punch, and a full night of dancing?”
“I don’t dance, Derek.” My response was immediate. Could he actually be serious?
“What are you talking about? You love dancing.” He frowned, pulling my hands away from my sides as if we were going to start dancing right then.
“I do not. How would you even know what I love?” I tried to downplay the unexpected anger in my voice.
“Come on, Jaice, please don’t be like that. You have to go with me. It’s senior prom. You just have to. Please? Pretty, pretty please?” He dropped my hands, touching my face, his skin burning mine. Flinch.
I swallowed loudly, pulling my eyes from his gaze, embarrassment filling me. “It’s okay, really. You’ll have more fun with someone else. I have a lot going on that night. I’m sorry.”
“I want to go with you, though,” he insisted. His stare made me feel dizzy. He leaned in toward me until his breath hit my cheek. I stared into his eyes; the kind of eyes that you could get lost in. For a moment I forgot where
I was, forgot what I knew. Everything faded away and all I could see what his face, his beautiful face. Then, without warning, he did it. He glanced toward my neck, just for a split second, but I’d seen it and my moment was over. The world came back to me.
I pulled his hand down from my face. “I don’t think so. Maybe another time, okay?” Without giving him a chance to answer, I walked away. My face burned from awkwardness, my feet carrying me away without my own volition. I just wanted to get away from him, from this place. I heard him calling my name behind me but I couldn’t look back; I wouldn’t.
I was almost to the bus stop when I heard a voice behind me. “Boyfriend?” This was a voice I didn’t immediately recognize.
I turned abruptly. “Huh?” There he was; a face I had nearly forgotten.
I paused, unsure of what to say. “Oh, you’re Brayden, right?”
He was standing next to a tiny, blue car, grinning broadly at me. His smile was far from perfect and his hair was standing up in random places, but I could tell he didn’t care. I took a moment to look him over properly, a chance I hadn’t been given this morning. His face was confident. He had a stance that made him look strong, even though his build was slightly smaller than most guys our age. He laughed, obviously enjoying my stares. I looked down quickly.
“Yeah,” he said, “you remembered. Good to hear. You seemed kind of out of it when we met. I didn’t know if you’d even recognize me.”
I let a tiny smile creep onto my lips. “Yeah, believe it or not, I actually get that a lot. Sorry—did you say something to me?”
He gestured to behind me, where I was sure Derek would still be talking to his friends. “I asked if that was your boyfriend.”
“Derek?” I shrieked, probably too quickly. “Oh, no. No. He’s just Derek.” I let out a laugh that seemed a little too crazy.
The Truth About My Scratches (The Carolina Killer Files #3) Page 1