Hidden (The Scions Book 1)

by Gemma Weir

  Finishing my breakfast quickly, I leave before Zeke and get to Emmy’s house much earlier than I need to. I decide to go in rather than sit in my car, so I walk up the path, push open the front door and walk in, the same way I’ve been doing all of my life. Auntie Nikki is dressed in a leopard print silk dressing gown and she smiles warmly when she spots me.

  “Nova, sweetie, you’re early. Have you eaten?”

  “Hey, Auntie Nikki. I’m fine thank you, just a little more organized than normal this morning. Could I get a coffee though please?” I ask.

  “Sure, help yourself,” she says and disappears into the back of the house when Phoenix shouts. Emmy’s little brother is the same age as the twins, with strawberry blond hair the same color as his sister’s and a gruff disposition, just like his dad.

  Grabbing a cup from the cabinet, I pour myself a coffee and add caramel creamer, before lifting the cup to my lips and inhaling deeply.

  “Hey, how come you’re so early?” Emmy asks when she walks into the kitchen.

  “I got a little sick of the Valentine Miller appreciation society holding a meeting at my place, so I came here instead.”

  “I know he was a little mean in the cafeteria yesterday, but I’m sure it’s just nerves from being at a new school and not knowing anyone,” Emmy says sweetly, pulling out a box of cereal and pouring it into a bowl.

  “He’s a douchebag, Em. After I got home last night, I took a shower. When I got out, he was on my bed looking through my cell phone.”

  “He was in your room?”

  “Yep. Just invited himself in and started insulting me. He really hates me and I’ve got to be honest, him letting himself into my room scared me.”

  “Wow. Are you okay though? He didn’t…?” She trails off and I quickly answer.

  “No, he didn’t touch me or anything. He was a dick. We argued a little, then I shut myself in my bathroom until he left.”

  “Maybe you should just stay away from him?” Emmy suggests.

  “That’s the plan, although it won’t be that easy if he ends up being friends with my brothers.”

  After homeroom, I manage to avoid Valentine all morning, not even spotting him at his locker or in the halls. Walking into the cafeteria, I tense, scanning the crowds of kids and exhaling in relief when I don’t spot his inky black hair. Grabbing a tray, I peruse the selection of food and settle on a pitta filled with rice and veggies. It doesn’t look great, but it’s the best thing I can see. Adding a bottle of water, I pay the cashier and make my way to my regular table at the back of the room. Neither Emmy or Brit are there, so I sit at the far end of the table, sliding my tray down and pulling out my cell.

  Our group of friends is a mix of guys and girls, and somehow, we’ve never gotten out of the middle school routine of girls at one end of the table, guys at the other. One by one the guys arrive, sliding into their usual seats at the opposite end, greeting me, but not making any effort to slide along to the empty seats on either side of me.

  My cell beeps and I pull it out and find a text from Emmy.

  Emmy: I’m at a good bit in my book. I’m just going to grab a sandwich then eat outside while I read. See you later xx

  Sighing, I type out a quick reply.

  Me: Okay, enjoy x

  Reluctantly, I tear open my pitta, pulling off a chunk and pushing it into my mouth. It’s revolting and I immediately push it away and instead pick up my bottle of water, opening it and taking a long drink to wash away the horrid taste.

  “Hey, Sis.” Zeke says when he passes me, trailed by Griffin and Valentine.

  “Hey,” I call, averting my eyes and trying to avoid Valentine’s notice. I half expect him to come over and taunt me, but maybe after our spat last night he’s decided to hate me at a distance like I suggested. The thought fills me with both relief and a little bit of sadness.

  Focusing on the relief at not having to deal with his vitriol, I pick up my cell and feign interest in Facebook, scrolling through my newsfeed as if the selfies and relationship status updates hold the answers to world peace. When Brit arrives, I exhale a relieved breath.

  “Hey,” she says, sliding her tray onto the table next to me and pulling out the chair.

  “Hey, Brit.” Valentine calls.

  Brit looks at me, her eyes wide and full of excitement, then she smooths out her expression before turning. “Hey, Valentine,” she purrs, in her best attempt at a sultry tone.

  “Why don’t you come sit with me? You can share my fries,” Valentine drawls, his voice smoky.

  Brit turns back to me, makes a silent scream face and then lifts her tray up and moves down to the guys end of the table, letting Valentine pull her into his lap as she giggles flirtatiously. Like Valentine has shattered some unwritten agreement, the guys eagerly call their girlfriends, bootie calls, and fuck buddies up to their end of the table, leaving me sitting alone.

  The solitude wouldn’t normally bother me, but I can feel eyes on me, and hear the whispers of the other kids, all wondering why I’m sitting alone. Their judgment settles over me like a lead weight and before I realize what’s happening, my breathing becomes shallow and my eyes dart around the room.

  I catch the gaze of a girl at the table opposite, and she looks from me to the crowd of people at the other end of the table, then turns to her friend and laughs. Two more heads look up and all I can feel is staring eyes; the sensation feeling like a hundred spiders are crawling across my skin.

  The sound of laughter amplifies. Are they all laughing at me? No matter how conceited the thought sounds to my own ears, suddenly the mocking whispers and cruel laughter are all I can hear. Louder and louder the noise hurts my ears, until I want to cover them with my hands, but the crawling beneath my skin has my arms frozen in fear.

  My body becomes overwhelmed with all of the sensations and my mind amps up, questioning everything: every sound, every look, everything. A hundred doubts and fears hit me at once, robbing the breath from my lungs.

  Are they all talking about me?

  What are they saying?

  Do I look like a freak?

  Do they think I’ve been outcast?

  More and more thoughts assault me until my knees starts to bounce; the agitation that’s locked inside of me needing to find a physical manifestation, while my flesh feels like it’s too tight and moving and numb all at the same time.

  Should I leave?

  Can I run?

  Will they see me if I do?

  Do they care?

  Will they all know?

  Can they see how much I’m falling apart?

  Am I alone?

  Do I want to be alone?

  Can I be alone?

  Can I hide?

  Can I hide?

  Can I hide?

  The last thought screams loud enough that I lurch up from my seat, leaving my tray behind. I can’t be here anymore. I need to hide, to get away, to find some peace from all of the noise inside my head. This room, these people; it’s too much. Grabbing my purse with shaking hands that don’t feel like they belong to my body, I fumble with the strap, trying to pull it onto my shoulders as my hands tremble. I have to remember to breathe; each inhale of oxygen physically painful. Locking my eyes on the door out of the cafeteria, I walk with as much dignity as I can, while my legs shake and my stomach roils.

  I don’t look at the faces of the kids around me. I don’t know if they’re watching me, or if all of this scrutiny is just inside my own shattered mind, but I daren’t look. The precarious tightrope of sanity that I’m swaying back and forth on is ready to snap and I can’t be here when it does.

  When I finally push through the exit doors and into the hallway, I drag in a pained lungful of air, saliva filling my mouth. The hallway is empty, but the sounds of their whispering fills my head. Why can I still hear them when the noise of the cafeteria is only a dull roar, muted by the doors between us?

  Closing my eyes tightly, I try to push the whispering away, to stop the tr
emors running up and down my skin. But instead of abating, it multiplies, and my limbs feel numb as if a breeze could knock me over, leaving me at the mercy of my own subconscious. Bile rises in my throat and I clasp my hand over my lips and run to the restroom, shoving open the door and barely making it into a stall before the water I just drank and this morning’s coffee reappear.

  I throw up until my brow is coated in a sheen of sweat and all of my demons have left my body. Trembling and weak, I flush the toilet and grab some tissue to wipe my mouth. Lifting myself up, I manage to lower my shaky body back down onto the toilet, unwilling to sit on the disgusting restroom floor any longer, no matter what kind of emotional meltdown I’m in the middle of.

  My thoughts, clearer now, drift back to the cafeteria: the staring, the feeling of being alone in a room full of people who are judging me. Another wave of nausea hits, but I pull in long, deep breaths and it subsides. “Enough,” I tell myself, willing my body to heed my words and stop the spiral I’ve fallen headfirst into. Lifting myself up from the toilet on shaky legs, I push open the stall door and find an intrigued looking Valentine propped against the exit.

  Why is he in here? I know it wasn’t concern for me that drove him to follow me in here, so why did he come?

  Was he one of the sets of eyes on me in the cafeteria? Did he see how cracked and broken I am? How easily I fell apart, crumbling like sand. My mind screams at me that he knows, but I’m too exhausted to care. My stomach begins to roil again, and I wonder if he just heard me throwing up.

  It’s takes everything I have to ignore him, to not ask him why he’s here, and what he saw. Without looking in his direction, I walk to the hand basins and wash my hands, then splash water on my face. I hate being sick. This is the first time my panic has escalated to the point when it actually made me physically ill and I have no idea what that means.

  Smoothing back my hair, I tip my eyes up to look in the mirror and I’m shocked at the reflection staring back at me. Hollow, sunken, scared eyes look at me. There’s a green tinge to my complexion, and I can still see the slight tremor running through my shoulders and down my arms. I look awful and tears pool in my eyes.

  I’d almost forgotten about Valentine until he steps into my view in the mirror and I suck in a shocked breath. My mind stops whirring for a moment and I’m grateful for the reprieve. My eyes lock with his and I watch as his nostrils flare and his lips part. I can see him amping up to say something awful, the glee is right there in his eyes. But right now, I can’t take it. A single word from him could push me over the edge, so I drop my gaze.

  I look away from the mirror, pick up my purse and walk slowly to the door. Valentine is still half blocking the exit and when I reach him, he looks at me, his lips lifted into a half smirk, his eyebrows raised expectantly. Closing my eyes, I do a long blink and when I open them again his expression changes.

  Triumph flares in his gaze, like he thinks he’s won something. Maybe he has. Either way, he steps to the side and follows as I push through the door and exit into the hallway. Leaving him to bask in his victory, I turn my body away from him and walk toward the office and escape.

  I feel his eyes on me the entire way down the hallway. “See you soon, Princess,” he calls, just before I turn the corner and disappear from his view.

  From the moment I walked out of the cafeteria, the thoughts in my head have centered on one thing. Can I hide? Usually I fight this question, denying myself the ability to cower from my own insecurities, but today my mind and body are weak and when I ask myself, can I hide? I finally say yes.

  The lady behind the desk in the office takes one look at me and agrees I should go home. Now that I’m eighteen they don’t have to have my mom come and collect me, so I exit the building a moment later and head straight for my car, starting the engine and driving away. Mom is in her office when I get home and I poke my head around the door and attempt a weak smile.

  “Honey, what’s the matter? Why aren’t you at school?”

  “I got sick at lunch,” I tell her, not lying, but not exactly telling her the truth either.

  “Oh no,” she cries, jumping up from her desk and marching across the room to reach me. Laying a palm across my forehead she makes a ‘hmm’ noise. “You don’t have a fever. Do you still feel ill?”

  “I don’t think I’m going to throw up again. I just want to go to bed. Is that okay?”

  “Of course, sweetie. Go sleep, I’ll check on you later.” Mom says, her brow furrowed with concern.

  As soon as I get into my room, I strip out of my clothes and pull on a huge t-shirt I use to sleep in. I text Emmy and let her know that I’m sick and I won’t be able to drive her home, then I text Zeke asking him to give her a ride.

  As soon as I crawl beneath my sheets and close my eyes, everything comes back to me in a rush. Being alone, feeling everyone watching me, knowing they were talking about me. Before I can stop it, tears are pouring from my eyes and my body is shaking with silent sobs.

  I cover my mouth with my hands and cry, letting all of the anxiety of the day pour from me. My emotions overwhelm me. I must be going crazy, that’s the only thing that explains how much of a mess I am. It’s not normal to feel this way, I know it’s not, but I can’t tell my mom. I don’t want to see a shrink. I don’t want everyone to know how unhinged I am.

  I must cry myself to sleep, because when I wake up, it’s dark outside my window and the house is quiet and still. My throat is dry, and my eyes feel gritty from all the tears. Sitting up, I notice a bottle of water and a packet of Tylenol on the nightstand. I immediately pop two tablets out and swallow them with a long pull on the water.

  There’s a dull thudding headache behind my eyes, and a sad empty void that feels like it’s sitting in the middle of my chest. Lying back down, I try to go back to sleep, but end up staring out of my window, watching the moon outside.

  Minutes turn to hours as I lie in the dark, unable to sleep. The emptiness inside of me frightens me, and all I can see when I close my eyes is the amused, whispering faces of the kids in the cafeteria. Giving up on the pretense of sleep, I sit up again, bringing my knees up and hugging them into my chest. I rest my head on my knees and wait for the sun to rise and a new day to begin.

  A knock on my door a few minutes before my alarm is due to go off startles me and I look to my door to find Zeke peering his head around the frame. “Hey,” he says.

  “Hey.”

  “You look like shit. Emmy told me you came home sick. Why didn’t you come find me at school? One minute you were sitting at the table in the cafeteria, the next you were gone. What happened?”

  I think about telling him the truth—that I had a meltdown that ended in me throwing up—but if I do, he’ll either insist that I tell Mom or he’ll tell her. So I lie. “I think it was the sandwich I had at lunch. It tasted disgusting and the next thing I know I’m running to the restroom and throwing up.”

  “Did you not sleep? I thought Mom said you were dead to the world when she came to get you for dinner.”

  “I woke up in the middle of the night and couldn’t get back to sleep. I must have had too much sleep earlier.”

  Zeke nods, then moves further into my room and sits down on the edge of my bed. “Do you want to ride to school with me today?”

  “I think I might stay home,” I say. “I don’t feel a hundred percent and I won’t miss much with it being the first week.”

  “Okay. I’ll text Emmy and swing by to pick her up after I get Valentine.”

  “Valentine’s riding with you?”

  “Yeah. He seems like a cool guy; you should give him a chance,” Zeke says.

  A bitter laugh escapes me and I turn my face and look out of the window again. “He’s an asshole. He hates me and I think we’ve kind of agreed to ignore each other unless we absolutely have to.”

  But he’s already broken our agreement, hasn’t he?

  “He doesn’t hate you,” Zeke says dismissively.

 
“He does. He’s a dick to me every time I see him.”

  “Maybe he just doesn’t appreciate the cold bitch act. Maybe if you were a bit more real with him, he’d get a chance to really know you,” Zeke says, his voice getting louder.

  My heart sinks in my chest at Zeke defending Valentine and suggesting that his hostility toward me is my fault. More tears threaten to fall, but I force them back. “You should get ready for school,” I say, lying back down and turning to my side away from him.

  “Nova,” Zeke says, but I ignore him, closing my eyes and blocking him out.

  Mom lets me stay off school for the next two days and I spend the time shoring up my mental defenses, while crying myself to sleep every night. I don’t know why I’ve become so much of a mess, but I do know I need to pull myself together and learn how to deal.

  “Going back to school on a Friday is dumb,” I say.

  “You already missed two days’ worth of classes; you aren’t missing anymore,” Mom says sternly. Her ‘don’t mess with me’ face firmly in place.

  Recognizing defeat, I plod up to my bedroom and get dressed, pulling on a white halter-neck sundress that always makes me feel pretty and braiding my hair into an intricate twist with just a few tendrils of hair left down to frame my face. I put on more makeup than usual, and by the time I slip my feet into gold sandals, I feel almost ready to deal with school and the other kids.

  “Here,” Mom says, handing me a thermal mug as soon as I walk back into the kitchen.

  “Thanks,” I say, lifting the mug to my lips and expecting to smell the familiar scent of coffee; only instead the cup smells minty.

  “No coffee today. That’s peppermint tea; it’ll be easier on your stomach.”

  Rolling my eyes, I take a sip and find the hot drink surprisingly delicious. “Always with the tea, Mom.” I say, teasingly.

  “Hey, it’s a British thing. Tea can literally solve every problem and it’s suitable for every occasion. Feeling down, have a cup of tea. Celebrating, do it with a cuppa.”