The Surge

A low groan escaped me as my alarm clock shrieked beside my ear, each beep somehow more offensive than the last. I swung an arm toward the nightstand, hoping to end its reign of terror, and instead knocked over the collection of water bottles I’d been accumulating for the past week.

They hit the floor in a spectacular crash, scattering across my bedroom like I’d just raided a recycling center. One still had water in it, naturally, and managed to splash my face.

Wonderful. Apparently, I was getting baptized in my own bad decisions.

After a brief wrestling match with my phone, I finally managed to silence the alarm. Unfortunately, the ringing in my ears decided to stick around, because clearly the universe hadn’t finished torturing me.

I sat up, swung my legs over the side of the bed, and immediately stepped on a crushed plastic bottle. The sharp crack beneath my foot made me flinch, and I grabbed the edge of my nightstand before I could lose my balance.

“Fantastic,” I muttered, kicking the offending bottle aside. “We’re off to a great start.”

“Saige? Are you awake? You’re going to be late!” Jay shouted from downstairs, his voice carrying through the house with an enthusiasm I found deeply unnecessary.

I ignored him and reached for my phone, squinting at the screen.

7:15 AM.

I stared at the numbers, waiting for them to change into something less horrifying.

They didn’t.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” I groaned, throwing the blankets aside.

I scrambled out of bed, only for the room to tilt unpleasantly beneath my feet. My stomach lurched, and I grabbed at the dresser to steady myself. Unfortunately, my foot caught in the sheets I’d dragged halfway off the mattress, sending me sprawling onto the carpet.

For several seconds, I lay there, staring at the ceiling and reconsidering every decision that had led me to this moment.

“Ten out of ten,” I muttered into the carpet. “Absolutely thriving.”

Eventually, I managed to untangle myself and stagger toward the bathroom. My head throbbed with every step, and the fluorescent light above the mirror did absolutely nothing to improve my mood.

I grabbed my toothbrush and started brushing my teeth with considerably more aggression than necessary.

The reflection staring back at me was not encouraging.

My dark hair had apparently spent the night attempting to escape my skull, and the circles beneath my eyes suggested I hadn’t slept properly in approximately three business years. But the real masterpiece was the yellow-brown bruise spreading across my cheek.

I leaned closer to the mirror, examining it with a grimace.

Lovely. Nothing says healthy and well-adjusted teenager quite like showing up to school looking as though you’d lost a fight with a baseball bat.

I splashed cold water onto my face and immediately regretted it. Pain shot through my cheek, making me hiss and recoil from the sink.

“Okay,” I informed my reflection, pressing a towel carefully against my skin. “No touching the face. Excellent discovery.”

I considered covering the bruise with makeup, but one glance at the time convinced me otherwise. Concealer wasn’t going to fix this disaster, and I didn’t have the patience to spend ten minutes pretending it might.

Instead, I dragged my hair into a messy braid and hurried back to my bedroom.

Jeans, hoodie, battered Vans. The unofficial uniform of someone who had completely given up.

I grabbed my books from the desk and shoved my phone into my pocket, nearly tripping over another water bottle on my way out.

Downstairs, the kitchen smelled of burnt toast and yesterday’s coffee. Crumbs covered the counter, and someone had abandoned a half-empty mug beside the sink.

Jay stood near the kitchen island, arms crossed, watching me enter with a familiar smirk.

“Ah, Sleeping Beauty finally decided to grace us with her presence,” he remarked.

I grabbed a piece of toast from the counter, ignoring the fact that it was cold and slightly burnt. Breakfast was breakfast, and I wasn’t exactly in a position to be picky.

“Morning to you too,” I muttered around a mouthful.

“Your mom and sister already left,” Jay informed me, pushing away from the counter. “So you’re stuck with me.”

I adjusted the books against my chest and headed toward the garage.

“Stepsister,” I corrected automatically.

Jay’s expression changed.

It was subtle, but I’d gotten pretty good at recognizing the little shifts in his mood. The smirk remained, although something colder settled behind it.

“Heard that,” he replied, following me.

Of course he had. The man could apparently hear disrespect from three rooms away, yet somehow remained completely deaf whenever I asked him to leave me alone.

I reached for the garage door, hoping to escape before he decided we needed another discussion about my attitude.

His hand closed around my upper arm.

Hard.

Jay pulled me around to face him, his grip tightening enough to make me wince.

“What happened to your face?” he demanded, examining the bruise.

I tried to pull away, but he held on.

“Nothing,” I replied, glaring at him. “Can you let go?”

He ignored the question, lifting his free hand toward my cheek.

I jerked back before his fingers could touch it.

“Don’t,” I warned, my voice sharper than I’d intended.

Jay studied me for another moment, his expression difficult to read. His eyes lingered on the bruise before moving slowly over my face.

“Someone hit you?” he asked.

I gave him an incredulous look.

“Wow, detective,” I replied. “Nothing gets past you.”

His grip tightened briefly, and I immediately regretted opening my mouth.

“Watch your attitude, Saige,” Jay warned, lowering his voice.

I forced myself to remain still, refusing to give him the reaction he seemed to be waiting for.

“Then stop grabbing me,” I answered.

For a moment, I thought he might argue. Instead, he released my arm, his familiar smile returning as though nothing had happened.

“Always so dramatic,” he remarked.

I stepped away before he could change his mind.

“It’s a gift,” I muttered, pulling open the garage door.

I practically dove into the passenger seat, dropping my books onto the floor before slamming the door shut.

The satisfying click of the lock offered a small amount of comfort.

Jay had a remarkable talent for making every interaction feel like a competition I hadn’t agreed to participate in. He’d always been controlling, but lately, his behavior had become increasingly difficult to ignore.

And the worst part was how easily he could switch between being threatening and acting perfectly normal.

I reached into my pocket and retrieved my earbuds.

Music. My one reliable defense against conversations I had absolutely no interest in having.

I slipped them into my ears just as Jay climbed into the driver’s seat.

By the time he started the engine, my playlist was already playing loudly enough to drown out whatever commentary he might have prepared.

Outside, rain tapped against the garage door, gradually growing heavier as we backed into the driveway. The windshield wipers squeaked across the glass, struggling to keep up with the downpour.

I rested my forehead against the cool window and watched the familiar streets pass.

Another day in Salem.

Another glorious opportunity to spend eight hours pretending I enjoyed living in a town that seemed determined to make Halloween its entire personality.

We’d moved here when I was six, back when my greatest concern had been whether witches were real.

I’d watched Hocus Pocus far too many times as a kid, which probably explained why I’d spent an embarrassing amount of my childhood convinced that three witches were going to show up at my window and steal my soul.

To be fair, Salem hadn’t exactly discouraged that belief.

Take Mrs. Henderson, for example. She lived three houses down, wore long black dresses regardless of the weather, and owned a black cat that looked suspiciously like Binx’s evil cousin.

The weird part was that Mrs. Henderson wasn’t even old. She couldn’t have been much older than thirty, but she talked like she’d personally witnessed the Salem witch trials. Every conversation somehow turned into a lecture about how things were done in her day, which was especially suspicious considering her day couldn’t have been that long ago.

She also had an unsettling habit of appearing whenever someone mentioned her name. I once whispered to Alex that Mrs. Henderson was probably a witch, only to turn around and find her standing at the end of our driveway, smiling like she’d heard every word.

Coincidence? Probably. But six-year-old me wasn’t taking any chances.

For years, I’d been convinced she was secretly a Sanderson sister who lured unsuspecting children into her house with candy. I refused to go anywhere near her front porch, regardless of how many times Alex insisted I was being ridiculous.

Now, at eighteen, I was considerably more concerned about becoming her.

Not the witch part, obviously. The trapped-in-Salem-forever part.

I wanted to leave this town, go somewhere new, and experience a life that didn’t revolve around surviving one miserable day after another.

Preferably somewhere with fewer suspicious cats.

My phone vibrated against my thigh, interrupting my thoughts.

I pulled it out and immediately regretted looking at the screen.

Zach.

Of course.

He’d been calling and texting all weekend, apparently under the impression that persistence was an acceptable substitute for taking responsibility.

He’d shown up at our house Saturday night, looking terrible and smelling like he’d spent the evening making several questionable decisions. His eyes were bloodshot, his speech was slurred, and he’d offered enough apologies to fill an entire greeting-card aisle.

Alex had practically shoved him out the door.

Personally, I’d considered applauding.

I should’ve blocked his number days ago. Unfortunately, some small, incredibly stupid part of me still remembered who he’d been before everything went wrong.

Before that night.

Before I learned that trusting someone didn’t necessarily mean they deserved it.

I stared at his name until the screen went dark, then shoved my phone back into my pocket.

A tap against my arm made me look up.

Jay was watching me.

I pulled out one earbud, already annoyed.

“What?” I asked.

He gestured toward the road ahead, his expression wearing that particular brand of false patience I’d come to recognize.

“Your mother wanted me to remind you that she’s got meetings this afternoon,” Jay explained. “She won’t be able to pick you up.”

“Okay,” I replied, waiting for the inevitable catch.

“Alex has her basketball tournament tonight,” he continued. “Big game, apparently. I promised I’d record it for her.”

I looked back toward the window.

Alex had been talking about the tournament for weeks. She’d been practicing almost every evening, and I knew how much it meant to her.

Jay, naturally, had decided this was an excellent opportunity to remind me how impressive she was.

“She’s a natural, that girl,” he remarked proudly. “Wouldn’t surprise me if she went pro someday.”

“Yeah, she’s pretty good,” I agreed, keeping my voice neutral.

Alex was more than pretty good. She was talented, hardworking, and probably the only person I knew who could make running back and forth across a basketball court look enjoyable.

I was proud of her.

I just didn’t appreciate the way Jay always seemed to use her accomplishments as a measuring stick for everything I wasn’t.

He glanced at me, apparently disappointed that I hadn’t taken the bait.

“Anyway, the storm’s supposed to get worse around four,” he continued. “Your mom doesn’t want you walking home.”

“Then I’ll find a ride,” I replied.

Jay smiled faintly.

“Maybe your boyfriend can pick you up,” he suggested.

My jaw tightened.

“Zach isn’t my boyfriend,” I reminded him.

“Right,” Jay replied, sounding thoroughly unconvinced. “I keep forgetting.”

No, he didn’t.

He knew perfectly well that Zach and I weren’t together. He just enjoyed bringing him up because he knew it bothered me.

“Don’t worry about it,” I said, putting my earbud back in. “I’ll figure something out.”

Jay reached over and tapped my arm again.

I pulled the earbud free with considerably less patience.

“What now?” I demanded.

“I’m trying to have a conversation with you,” he replied, his expression hardening. “You could at least show a little respect.”

I stared at him.

Apparently, informing someone that I could arrange my own transportation was now considered a personal attack.

“I’m going to school, Jay,” I answered. “Not negotiating a peace treaty.”

His eyes narrowed.

“Watch yourself,” he warned quietly.

I looked away, my fingers tightening around my phone.

Things had been getting worse since my eighteenth birthday the previous Friday. His comments were sharper, his temper less predictable, and the way he watched me sometimes made my skin crawl.

I couldn’t explain exactly what had changed.

I only knew I didn’t like it.

Thankfully, the school finally came into view.

Jay pulled up near the entrance, stopping beside the curb as rain hammered against the windshield.

I gathered my books and reached for the door handle before he could find another reason to keep me there.

“Saige,” he called.

I paused, reluctantly turning toward him.

“What?” I asked.

His gaze drifted toward my bruised cheek again.

“You should really do something about that,” Jay remarked. “People are going to start asking questions.”

I stared at him for a moment, trying to decide whether the comment deserved a response.

In the end, I decided it didn’t.

“Have a great day, Jay,” I replied with enough sarcasm to make my feelings perfectly clear.

Then I shoved open the car door and stepped directly into the storm.

The rain hit me like a bucket of ice water.

Within seconds, my hoodie was soaked, my jeans were clinging to my legs, and the braid I’d spent an entire thirty seconds perfecting was plastered against my neck.

Fantastic.

I slammed the door behind me and hurried toward the school entrance, my shoes splashing through puddles as thunder rumbled overhead.

The concrete steps were slick beneath my feet, and I nearly lost my balance twice before reaching the awning.

By the time I stumbled beneath its shelter, I was thoroughly drenched.

Water dripped from my hair onto my shoulders, and my books had somehow managed to absorb enough rain to qualify as a small aquatic ecosystem.

I pushed my wet braid away from my face and glanced back toward the parking lot.

Jay’s car was already disappearing into traffic.

I watched it go, relieved to have a few hours before I’d have to think about him again.

Then I looked down at my soaked clothes and sighed.

“Perfect,” I muttered, wringing water from the end of my braid. “Just another beautiful day in paradise.”