I think I'm returning to writing fanfiction again. So here's a new story. Maybe I'll start on the other ones again soon. I read over them though, and I'm kinda lost myself.
But anyway, here's a little idea I came up with a while back. I've always had trouble imagining Chloe's parents and aunt to be nice people, and I don't quite know why. Even her mom. That's why they are the way they are.
I still don't know if I'm making the characters human or not. Let me know which one you'd rather have them be in the reviews if you'd like. Or don't. Whatever.
By the way, my pen name is 'You Probably Don't Care' because, I mean, who honestly cares what the pen name is of the person who is writing a fanfiction they're reading?
Chapter 1: Broken Home
I was the only child in my family. My parents had wanted, in fact yearned, for a boy, so they were extremely disappointed when they found out they were having a girl. But since my grandfather was so excited to have a granddaughter and my mother was afraid to disappoint him, they kept me.
My father didn't even want a child all that much in the first place. He hated anyone below the age of 21 and thought they were immature, disrespectful brats. He was an alcoholic, an angry man, and was only kind to my mother and his boss. He only tolerated other people.
My mom had a rough life. She loved her mother so much, and adored everything her mother did. But her mother despised her. She'd thought of her daughter as a failure because she had depression and was suicidal. My mother had seen several therapists, but it didn't seem to help her all that much. She stuffed herself with antidepressant pills most of the time.
I loved my mother. I knew how hard she tried, even with a severe case if depression, and wanted her to feel loved. But she pushed me and my dad away.
When I was 8, my parents had gone on a dinner date one night. On the way back home, their car was hit from the side, and my mother ended up dying in the accident. I'd been so crushed when I first received the news. I even went into shock. My mom was no longer going to be there to prevent my dad from taking his anger out on me when he was mad. She couldn't cut my sandwiches into stars anymore, couldn't read me stories. Nobody would be there to take me to the movies once a month.
After she died, my dad started to abuse me. He would get home from work, get drunk, and yell at me about how useless I was and how I ruined his life. His words got more angry, his swings more violent, as time grew on.
Because of his job, we had to move quite a lot, and so I usually didn't make any friends. I had nobody to talk to, and I rarely ever spoke. I became more afraid of men in general because of my father. I know, it's irrational to start fearing men because of one man's actions, but I couldn't help it.
I stuttered a lot. People at school made fun of me for being a pale, tiny little girl with a stutter and for not being too bright. I tried my hardest in school, I really did, but I had always failed to understand a lot of the things I was taught. The only class I had a low A in was English. I barely managed to go into the next grade each year. I had to ride the bus home, so I couldn't try tutoring.
Now, I'm 16 years old. My dad has been abusing me for 8 years, my mom is dead, my aunt despises me, I have one friend, I have a horrible future, I can't get a job because my father won't allow it, nobody loves me, and I'm starting to hate myself.
I'm 16, yet I'm barely 5'1, and I have the body of a 12 year old. I'm extremely pale and have eyes so blue people sometimes ask if I wear contacts. My eyes are too big, really. I don't like them. My hair is a light strawberry blonde color and goes to my shoulders. Back when I was 15, I'd gotten the 'scene kid' bangs because I had thought they were just SO cool, so I now had my hair almost in my eyes. At least I didn't have to poof up my hair constantly or anything. I don't have to even do that much with it.
Today was Friday, and we were having a pep rally at school. That meant I was going to attempt staying in a bathroom stall during the whole thing so I wouldn't have to worry about the whole sitting situation. I was worried people wouldn't let me sit next to them. I would rather sit in a stall than hear people make fun of me for an hour and a 30 minutes.
There was only one person in the school that was kind to me, and that was my English teacher. Mr. Howell. I was allowed to call him by his first name, though. Danny. This was his first year teaching. He was 22, and he was very nice to me. I wasn't used to people being so kind to me. We had formed a friendship over the past few months. We both had a passion for movies and loved all the same authors and directors.
Mr. Howell was my homeroom teacher, and on the first day, he immediately noticed how students treated me and my stutter. Mr. Howell sensed my fear of almost everyone. After homeroom ended, he walked up to me and told me that I could eat lunch with him if I wanted to. He didn't say anything else, simply walked back to his desk after giving me a warm smile.
He was 6'5, and if not for giving me a small smile when I had entered the room that day, I would've been quite fearful of him. He was obviously young, and rather attractive, too. Most girls checked him out and whispered to each other about how hot he was and how big his muscles were and how warm and gorgeous his dark brown eyes were. I just sat in my seat in the back corner, reading the book 'A Clockwork Orange' by Anthony Burgess (which I'd gotten from the bookshelf next to me, filled with rather interesting books I'd never heard of before).
I remembered our first lunch together so clearly. Him giving me a big genuine grin when he saw me enter his room with a lunch bag that caused the corners of my mouth to turn up into a small smile.
"Hey, Chloe! I'm glad you came. I figured you probably wouldn't want to eat in a huge crowd of annoying sweaty people, so I decided to invite you to eat with me. At least my room doesn't reek of perfume and Axe."
I smiled and shut the door, walking over to a desk in the front row. Before I could sit down, Mr. Howell says, "You can just bring a chair to my desk, if you'd like. You're so far away from me!" He added that last part playfully, reaching his hand out toward me. I gave another smile and pulled out a chair, bringing it to his desk.
As I unzipped my bag and took out my food, he studied me. I didn't feel uncomfortable, astonishingly. Mr. Howell finally asked, "You don't talk much, do you?"
"...N-No, not r-really," I replied softly. I rarely spoke to anyone. I only spoke when necessary. I opened my container filled with spaghetti because, obviously, people bring cold spaghetti to school as lunch and it's a completely normal thing, and got out my plastic fork. My water bottle,filled with sweet tea, was already on the table.
Mr. Howell then said,"Well, it's not like any of the students here I've seen so far are pleasant to talk to, so it's not a bad thing. Almost all my students have been disrespectful this year. And this is my first day on the job, so it's not a very nice way to start out."
"So this i-is your first day as a-a teach-ch-cher? I thought-t you were just t-transferred," I said quietly, jabbing my fork into the spaghetti.
"Yeah. I'm 22, but I'll be turning 23 next May. I'm going to guess you're still 16, right?"
I nodded. "I turn s-s-seventeen i-in March." It's gotten to the point where I no longer cared about my stutter. It had been there for so long I learned to not say anything about it.
"By the way, I hate being called Mr. Howell. It makes me feel old. Call me Danny." He gave a lovely smile that made him look like a model. I felt myself blushing at the thoughts I was having and gave him a small smile back.
"Well, Chloe, what's your schedule?" He inquired after a moment of silence. I unzipped my stained, ripped up, tattered old bag that I'd used since elementary school.
I saw his frown as he noticed the bruise on my wrist. I wore long sleeves everywhere to hide my bruised and scarred arms, no matter what the weather was like. I spent quite a bit of the money my grandparents gave me when I visited them at the senior home on makeup to hide my facial bruises.
He chose not to say anything about it and instead held out his hand to take my paper. He read over it and his face lit up when he saw my next class was with him. "Yay! I have you as a student!"
"Yeah," I muttered with a smile. He looked at me and grinned wider, causing my own smile to grow.
We'd had a conversation over the teachers, the students, his own teachers in the past, and why he wanted to teach. It felt weird. I hadn't had a conversation with someone for much longer than ten minutes in a long time. But I decided that he was my favorite teacher that I'd ever had pretty quickly.
Today, there was an assembly for the football game tonight against our biggest rival. I was tempted to ask Danny if we could just stay in his room the whole time. I'm sure he would be totally fine with it, knowing how I was treated by other students, but obviously, he had to bring the homeroom into the gym. We could sit anywhere, surprisingly, but the teachers had to sit together. Out of all the schools I'd attended, none of them had pep rallies like this.
We were one of the first homerooms to get to the gym, with only a few other homerooms there. Danny sat in the front row next to a couple other teachers. He looked back at me and gave me a sympathetic smile, looking tempted to get up and sit with me.
He was sitting at the end of the front column. I would've sat at the beginning of the column next to him, which would've been in the same row, but I hated being in the front. So I went to the very last row and sat at the beginning of the bench. I didn't want to be in the corner, either.
The large gym quickly filled, and soon, I could no longer see Danny over all the people. I sat still, looking at my shoes.
A voice caused me to jump. "Are these seats taken?"
I looked up into light brown eyes. In front of me stood an Asian boy about a half foot taller than me with blonde hair, accompanied by a tall, tan girl with short brown hair and a similar face, hinting at the possibility that they were related, and an incredibly tall boy -over a foot taller than me at the very least- with greasy, jet black hair that went to his shoulders, a face with lots of acne scars and still a trace of acne on it, and eyes a bright, seemingly growing green color that inspected me with a look that said he recognized me.
"N-no, you c-c-can sit there," I muttered to the one who spoke to me. He grinned and took a seat next to me, the boy sitting next to him and the girl looking for somewhere else to sit.
"I'm Simon. We just moved here, so we don't really know anyone yet," the blonde informed me.
"I-I'm Chloe," was all I managed to get out.
"That's Derek," Simon pointed to the guy who sat beside him. Derek's eyes lifted to meet mine, recognition clear in them. His eyes softened as he studied me. I felt uncomfortable under his intense gaze. Did he really recognize me?
Derek grunted before returning his eyes to the gym floor. I blushed slightly and glanced back to Danny. I could see him now that most students had sat down. As if he felt my eyes on the back of his head, he turned around and looked up.
His eyes soon found me, and although we were far apart, I could see his shoulders slump in relief, as if he had been worried that I would be surrounded by my bullies. He gave me a smile that I returned for a couple of seconds before I felt a stare that made my skin crawl. My eyes left Danny's and glance around before finding Brent Davis staring at me, a knowing look in his eyes. The stare he was sending my way was also a bit creepy.
He had caught Danny and me's interaction. He knew I ate lunch with him as well. I knew Brent suspected something between us.
Brent Davidson was the type of guy I would have developed a crush on my freshman year. He seemed innocent and nice and was really good looking and all, but he was just the opposite.
I'd observe him flirt with one girl, acting like a nice guy one day. The next day, I'd find him trying to make a girl feel uncomfortable with his words. It reminded me of Liam Malloy from the school I went to for my freshman year, and of Royce Banks from half of my sophomore year that I spent in a different city.
Although Liam Malloy never really targeted me, Royce had tried to play the nice guy on me. When he realized I had no interest, he started to try to make me feel uncomfortable. Every school had a Royce Banks, and at Buffalo High, the 'Royce Banks' was Brent.
Brent mouthed something to me, but I wasn't quite sure what. Fortunately, before I could do anything, all the power went out and thunder boomed louder than I'd ever heard it boom in my entire life.
Well, it's 4:12 in the morning. I think I'm done.
Although having Liam or Royce be the creepy dude in the story is always fun, I think it's something a lot of people do, so I decided to make the creepy dude in the story Brent. Remember Brent from the beginning of The Summoning? Yeah. I chose him.
I know I didn't put a disclaimer at the beginning but I think it's safe to say you guys know I don't own DP.
I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. Have a nice day. Or don't. Whatever.