Chapter 1
Trigger Warnings:
Knives, Sexual Language, Gore Talk, Blood, Fear, Fire, Self Harm, Murder, Assault, Horror, and further told~ trigger warnings will be notified on every/most chapters that they appear in.
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dear diary,
about six months ago, my dad died. so now, i'm supposed to write down my feelings in this diary. notebook. journal.
It's stupid in my opinion. my mom assigned it to me and said it would be better than paying hundreds of dollars on therapy. (she doesn't believe in therapy if you couldn't tell.) me and my little brother, Joseph, moved here to Trinidad, California this summer from Virginia. and we have made zero effort to be the new kids. i mean, i haven't. i think Joseph has some friends, but probably not that much. people don't like him because he's mature for his age and tells it as it is. i like that in a person but... kids don't.
next week i'm starting school, so maybe that'll give me some friends. as long as people talk to me. i'm not really the conversation starter type, so i've never made friends unless they talk to me first. i guess that comes with the whole anxiety package.
i realize it's strange. that i out of all people came out dented. i had a fine childhood! i don't remember a ton of it, but the parts i do are fine. my mom was loving towards me. my dad was too. my brother always admired me and we were best friends. I never really considered having anyone else.
I feel the wind blow gently against the back of my neck through my open window. It's not as breezy as Virginia, sadly, and it's making me realize how much I miss living in a small town with cold falls and even colder winters. A knock on my door startles me, I swivel my head to see my mom leaning in the door frame in her work clothes.
She looks at the diary and comes to sit beside me, "this'll be a good project for you to work on. maybe it'll help you." She presses her skinny finger on the leather cover.
I have zero shame, I just hate the woman. Maybe I didn't use to, but I do now. She always thinks she's doing the right thing and she never sees any other side or way. We never get along, it just seems like we do because we choose to ignore eachother. It's for the better though. According to my expertise litter brother, Mothers and daughters usually have this type of bond.
I think that's a bullshit excuse.
I shrug, "yeah I guess."
She rolls her pale blue eyes, the gorgeous ones she didn't pass down to me when visiting the gene shop, "Stop it with that attitude. If you have that in school they'll kick you out."
I hate her. I kick the book off my bed where I was writing and shrug again, "Good. I don't want to go to that shitty school anyways."
She furrows her eyebrows, an expression she shows a lot, "Isabella Jane Maple!" She grimaces at my fathers last name, still soft to the fact that she’s a widow now, “if youre going to be a bitch you might as well not be here! I am trying my best for you and Joey to have a fresh new start. ATLEAST, try being kind to me!"
I hate her. She stands up and walks off madly.
"Please, close my door!" I shout after her but she ignores me. I. hate. her. Right, My name, it is Isabella, but I hate it. Reminds me of my dad. He used to sing me to sleep at night, the song Sweet Baby James, but instead of James he would say my name, Belle.
"good night, you moonlight ladies.
rockabye sweet baby belle.
deep greens and blues are the colors i choose.
would you let me go down in my dreams
and rockabye sweet baby Belle."
So now I hate the name. And my terrible mother knows it. So I go by Bea. Buzz buzz.
7:00 a.m., First Day of School.
I slip on my brown tennis shoes an acdc sweatshirt over an old grey tee and rough jeans. Jogging down the stairs to the kitchen I grab my breakfast, and ruffle my brother's hairy head. "have a great day at school, Jo," I say and he beams.
"you too Bea!"
I hop onto my scratched up skateboard (that i know zero tricks on, i just have good balance and hate walking), and stroll out as my moms footsteps echo through the house and down the stairs. Life is ten times better when we avoid eachother.
I park my skateboard up on the side of my locker and head into the office where the secretary sits. It reeks of apples and tator tots. Like Texas or something.
She looks at me judgingly and hangs up the phone she's on, "Well hello honey. Whatcha need?" Yeah, she's a good ole Texan.
"Um hi, I'm Bea.. Maple? My mom said to come here to get my schedule sorted out-" I start and the secretary jumps to her feet, "Oh Isabelle? Mayeple? From Virginuya right? Oh uv course sugah bon, let's get on with that! Follow me sweet cheeks." I follow her out of the office and to a classroom, room 107, trying not to laugh at her heavy accent.
"Well hello there juniors!" she says joyfully as I stand behind her. I tap my leg anxiously. "y'all have a brand new classmate tewday, she came awl the way from Virginyua!"
The lady pushes me ahead of her and a bunch of eyes are planted on me. Great, they're all shooting mean looks. or maybe they're not mean, i just always think the worst of people. I glance to a dark haired girl and she sneers. They're definitely all assholes.
"Hello dear!" says the teacher up front as the secretary leaves, "well, can you tell us your name, and a few things about you?"
I play with my fingers nervously, "Um, I'm Bea. Maple. I'm 16. And...I don't wanna be here? Also I like the color red." I nodded and turned my head downwards.
"What an interesting name..." she says and points to a chair beside a dude, "take a seat, Bea." A few kids mumble and laugh. God, I feel so embarrassed. I nod and take the chair beside the boy as everyone but him look away from me and back up at the teacher. He has brown curly hair and dark hazel eyes. They get smaller as he smiles at me.
"Hey," he says and I grin awkwardly before replying. A corner of his mouth lifts as we both turn back to the front.
"hey."
"So, this is cool," he says, spacing out his words in an even more awkward tone. Is he trying to make friends? Does he have...friends? I shouldn't be judging. I nod and look up at the teacher. Cool? Is he joking? Being here is not cool. I can't get the smell of tater tot's out of my nostrils.
"I like ac dc too," he says and I just look at him as he speaks on, "Highway to hell is my favorite."
I roll my eyes, smiling. "please. Everyone knows Highway to Hell, you're so basic."
"What's wrong with basic?" He raises his eyebrows and his lips twitch. "What's your favorite then. Hm?"
"Sink the Pink," I state, and he rolls his eyes back, scoffing.
"Sorry, that’s basic too!"
"No, uh, I bet no one in here knows the whole 'fly on the wall' album," I argue and he grins sheepily.
"You're just superior aren't you?" I nod, agreeing, and he laughs.
"I'm Oliver, by the way," he says. I look at him.
"Huh?"
"Oh, my name. My name... is Oliver. That's what I was saying," he explains, stuttering a bit.
I smile to myself. I forgot I was talking to a person for a second there. I look at Oliver and he smiles at me. Maybe it isn't going to be so bad here.
...
I was wrong.
Dear diary,
Literally, what the living hell.
Miss Tator Tots decided to give me DETENTION for the stupidest reason. Lunchtime: everyone is sitting in their spots, right. Well poor little old me; No place to sit! so, I grab a chair and sit in it. All alone! okay? no one is by me. and some short dark haired girl comes up to me and clears her throat.
"Girl, that's my chair," this bitch says. And I'm thinking: get another one. if I stay quiet she'll leave. Anger is bursting in my chest right at this moment. well- I ignore her. Maybe she isn't actually talking to me? She clears her throat again.
"I said, THAT IS MY CHAIR," she practically shouts. most of the attention in the room is currently on me, right?
"Oh-" i stutter...and guess what; my new home room buddy decides to intervene. That's right, Oliver from English.
"be nice Amelia, she's new." she glares at him and back at me, taking the chair and pulling it out from underneath me. This girl had ANGER ISSUES, because she shoves the chair into Oliver, causing him to fall.
"Can't defend your little girlfriend huh?" she mocks. I'm currently on the floor. It's my first day, come onnnn! Amelia's friend beside her takes the chair and sets it on my hand, then sits on it. MY MOTHERFUCKING HAND!!!! and holy FUCKING SHIT IT HURT. AND i still have a mark from it, surprises it's not broken.
at this point I've had it. I, on the floor, grab her ankle and pull it. You know, that usually wouldn't hurt someone...Well i thought at the moment it wouldn't. And boom, I'm in detention for giving Amelia Astin a 'concussion'. she's probably one of those girls who twists her ankle and is wearing a brace the next day, and crutches. And I'm stuck here with that dude, Oliver! Yeah, the one who lead this whole fight on. -made me look like a wimp too. I'm not even that mad at him though. He seems like a nice guy. I just don't like girls with the name Amelia who are bitches about chairs. not to mention her friend Abby who might've broken my hand! So yeah, I AM writing from detention, and Oliver is trying his best to apologize to me. I haven't decided if I like him or not yet.
"Hm." I look up from my diary and see the detention teacher looking down at me. He moved his dark hair out of his eyes and tucks into his baseball cap.
"What?" I ask, covering my book with my arm. If this man sees anything I just wrote he’s going to think I’m a total-
"I haven't seen you before? You a good kid or new?" The man crossed his arms. Small talk Bea, that’s all it is. He didn’t see your anger issues documented.
"Why can't the answer be both..." i mumble, shaking my head. The guy laughs.
"Well, okay. I'm Mr. Fever." His voice is near cocky. I raise my eyebrows as a disturbing scent fills my nose.
He smells like toilet water. It’s super gross. Does everyone here has a distinct aroma?
"I'm Bea." I say, preparing for the Joe Goldberg clone to laugh.
"Cool." He says, like Oliver did earlier. But was it cool, or was he nosy?
"...cool."
"Where you from?" he asks. He’s nosy.
"Virginia."
"Well, Old ‘Ginny is better than here, i think. Trinidad is not as amazing as it's told to be. Why did you move?" Old Ginny? God, this man’s weirding me out. Stop it, Bea. He’s just a teacher creating small talk.
"someone close to me passed away. so we had no real connection there anymore." i say, putting my knees up to my chest.
"hm. who died?" damn is this teacher is nosy. Bea, calm down. maybe he's just being friendly.
"Someone."
