So I'm new to the HSM fandom, but I've been reading so many amazing fanfics that I wanted to try to write one. I've had this idea in my head for about three months now but I never go down to writing it. This is just a prologue really, so It's not the first chapter but I'm calling it the first chapter be cause otherwise I'll confuse myself.
I really hope you all enjoy it and I'll try to make this story as unique and interesting as possible. It might get a little graphic, I'm not sure how much is a little though, nothing that requires me to change the rating from T to M that's for sure. If you like my story, thank you3
I'm not exactly sure how much I'll be updating this, I'll try my best to update at least once a week, but I'm not good with updating, my life is just way to hectic.
So without further adue, my new story/first ever HSM fanfic: Stolen.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything but my plot and maybe an original character or two.
Stolen
Chapter one: Hatred
Hatred: noun-the feeling of one who hates; intense dislike or extreme aversionor hostility
They hadn't seen each other in three years. Since she left for phoenix with her mother on whim, out to free themselves of the vise grip hold her father had had on their lives, holding them back, taking the innocence out of both of their lives. She had promised, promised with all of her heart and soul that neither of them would ever have to see him again, that those days were over and done, they were safe now and they would never go back, only accept that it happened and try to make their lives better. They weren't responsible for what had happened in Albuquerque, and there was no use in blaming themselves for it, the only thing her mother had asked of her was to move on and trust that they wouldn't have to go back to him.
But that's all gone now, every promise she'd ever made had been broken.
She hated her; she hated her with every fiber of her being and in every bone in her body. She hated her so much she had taken the small picture on her bed side table of the both of them and had taken the edges between her fingers, tearing, tearing, tearing, and tearing the photo of their smiling faces until all she was left with was pieces so small she couldn't hold a single glossy piece in between her four fingers long enough to tear it.
So she got a pair of scissors and started cutting those small pictures into even smaller pieces. Then she gathered them up and threw them in the burning fireplace.
She hates her. Oh, god, how she hates her with such a burning passion.
How could she do this? How could she leave her here with him? She said she loved her and then she leaves her with the likes of him.
What went so wrong that her life went from normal to hell in one night? It was all her fault, all of it, it was all her fault. What had she been thinking?
She hadn't been thinking that's what went wrong. She went out with her friends so she could "de-stress". What does that even mean, "de-stress", what stress? She never complained about stress, she was so happy and content with her life, all she did was talk about how happy she was that she was finally living the life she always felt that she should have been living, but was taken away. She lied, that was the only explanation; if she wanted to go out with her friends and have a drink or two, that was fine. She is- was- a mother for goddamn sake, not some reckless, horny teenager. She had promised she would be back home before she woke for school in the morning. But when she woke no one was home.
She missed her, and she hadn't been there that morning, she wasn't home and she would never be home, because she was up there. And that wasn't home.
Heaven, Gabriella was starting to believe, was just another made up story parents told their children, like Santa Clause, or the Tooth Fairy, something to just keep their children wondering just a little longer because they didn't want to tell their 6 year old Johnnie that Santa isn't real and it's all a lie, because you see Johnnie, adults are cowards when it comes to the truth. She hated all these people around her, clad in their black clothes, clutching tissues to the chests. Some were actually crying, as in openly. The gall these people had, acting like they knew her mother, like they actually felt bad for Gabriella, like they felt her pain. And oh god, if some old wrinkly lady with bluish grey hair pulled her in for another bone crushing hug, she was going to scream. And why were all these people telling her that her mother was in a better place now? Gabriella refused to believe it, because what place could be better than here, with her family alive and healthy. Living.
Because that body in the pristine white coffin was not living.
Her mother was dead.
And Gabriella missed her.
But she hated her more.
