Burn
One
New
"This will be our new start," my aunt says with a smile, her warm, pale-blue eyes accessing the sleek, isolated house in front of us.
Me?
I just duck my head and stare at my hands. My nails are long and the black nail polish is chipped.
Let me backtrack. My name is Chloe. That's all I want to say for now.
I wanted to dye my hair black, because I hated it before the move but Aunt Lauren said no. I also hate my eyes. They're a very distinct, very clear blue. That's what attracted him to me. He always said he loved my eyes.
"Chloe, come look at the backyard," Lauren says.
I drag myself out of the car and shuffle over to her, peeking out from underneath my hood.
The grass is bright green and there are lots of trees. Typical backyard.
I turn away and Aunt Lauren heaves this long sigh that makes me feel horrible.
"I know this is hard for you—" she begins but I interrupt her, angry.
"No, you don't," I say sharply. "I lost everything. You lost a brother. I lost my mother, my father, my house, everything I owned." I rub my hands, feeling the leathery skin. "So don't you dare try to tell me this is hard for me."
Trembling with anger, I turn and make my way into the woods. I can't be here right now, with her.
She doesn't understand. At all. She may have lost her brother but I lost everything. I lost my looks (which kept me close to her, not my aunt but the other woman in my life), my family, my everything.
The tree branches swipe against my clothes but I ignore it and continue forward; my hands are shaking with anger. My face feels hot as I hear Lauren call for me. My pace picks up. No, I think to myself.
I make a left and break into a sprint when I hear the trees behind me rustle—he's here. My feet pound noisily on the floor and my chest aches. The wind whips my hair away from my face and, abruptly, my foot catches on a root.
I lurch forward and the ground rushes to meet me; I end up tumbling into a dingy, dark clearing with logs and a canopy that swirls down light. It's cool and earthy here; my own little world away from the painful reality. It looks magical.
It looks isolated.
Isolated.
Just like me.
I'm all alone now.
My hands are bleeding from the fall and I suck in a breath. My face is throbbing. It feels sticky when I touch it and my hood's fallen off, my hair tangled with leaves and dirt.
In the middle of the clearing is a small pond. Clear water. Little fish swim circles in it. A frog scrambles out and hops into the underbrush.
I slowly pick out the mess from my hair as I walk to the water; I need to see how bad my face—my ugly, disgusting face—is scratched up.
When I kneel, I start. The scars aren't as bad as they are on the rest of me.
My reflection copies my movement as I brush my hair into a ponytail and let my hands run through the water.
My jeans are filthy and my hoodie is grass-stained.
Aunt Lauren will be angry that I ruined my new jeans already.
"Why?" I ask my reflection.
I hate you. You left me all alone. I'm so alone. You left me. You were supposed to die peacefully in your sleep with Mom. Now I'm stuck here without you. And he's still out there. I know he's going to find me. He always has and this time…no one can save me.
I jump when I hear dogs. Barking. Loud, excited. Their paws smack the earth. They whine.
turn around slowly, my stomach in knots, and my breath catches.
The guy holding the dogs' leashes is tall, massive, imposing. He's over six foot, towering. When the dogs keep tugging, he yanks them back, his muscles bulging and he plants his feet widely apart, yanking some of the dogs to sit.
A heavy sheen of sweat gleams on his bronze skin, smooth as silk. Clumps of dark hair, the same shade of ink, cling to his wide jaw, wet with sweat. I'm surprised to see the rough, angry patches of acne and abundance of popped-zit scars.
His eyes are interesting.
"Roxxie!"
One of the dogs is off her leash and is sprinting towards me, her tail going forty miles per hour.
I meet the dog's eyes. I crouch down as she slows, trotting up to me.
She's a big girl, an Australian sheep dog mix I think. Her eyes are big, round, and trusting; she isn't scared of me. She sniffs my outstretched hands.
His gaze is intense so it's hard to miss the heat as he stares at me, probably because of the burns.
"Good girl," I say softly as I run my burnt fingers through her soft, light fur.
She whines, pressing herself closer, and licks my face.
"Who are you?" he asks in a deep, gravelly voice.
My stomach flutters. I look at him.
He looks at me.
"Chloe!" calls my aunt.
I get to my feet and Roxxie butts her head against my legs. I lean down and stroke softly along her back.
He clears his throat.
I meet his eyes.
They're staring at me, trying to uncode me.
I can't think of anything to say, so I don't. Turn and walk away; I can hear him behind me.
"Derek."
I like the sound of his name. Derek. Derek. Green-eyed Derek. Chloe and Derek. Chlerek.
AuntLauren's ordering Mister Jim's when I get home.
She doesn't notice my grass-stained jeans and I go upstairs and hide the dirty clothes in the bottom of my hamper.