Chapter one. FogEdit

Blake livley--300x300


I expertly lift my tanned knees up to the driving wheel, and apply the mascara. Coming up in front of me is a traffic stop. "Yes a red light." I say to myself. I finish apply thing the mascara, and put the brush back in its potion in the slim cylinder. I pull up ahead of the line of cars behind me. My faves out song, drops of Jupiter plays on the radio, so I turn it up, and sing along.

I hate going to my parents house. For one, its so far away. And second they always look at me with there disapproving eyes. Like I failed them. I admit, moving out of home with a failing music career wasn't my best move. But, I had to do it. I needed to do it for me. For my music. It couldn't flourish there, there were so many rules and restrictions. So many pressures to peruse a career in medicine, that my music couldn't seem like I wanted it to. Like I needed it to.

I glance at the guitar taking its rightful position in the passenger seat. As I do, I notice a pair of dark eyes watching me. A man in a black jeep is sitting next to me at the lights. He has a interested smile. I guess he was watching me singing. He has dark raven eyes, and a dirty blond haircut. He jaw line was prominent and powerful. But he didn't twitch it in a threatening way.

I'm not sure what he wanted me to do, usually you just look away from someone looking at you at the lights. But he smiled at me like he expected me to do the same. So I did. I shot back a beaming smile. And a small wave. Maybe he's seen one of my performances, and I just don't recognize him. Although, he's so striking, I seriously doubt I would forget it. He nods back at me. I have no idea what to do, do I keep looking at him? Or turn away? But...well now it's awkward. He keeps his pleasant smile on me. He then brings his mouth to the window, and breaths fog. After that, he writes the words.

  • Juiles bar, 6:30. I'm buying* of course that's not what they really say, because he writes them backwards.

Wait.....does he want me to be there? The light turns green, and he beats back a smile, and drives off. Was I just asked out? Before I have a moment to comprehend what happened, I hear a beep from my phone. I look at the caller I'd, and its Maddison number. I flip it open, while hitting my foot on the peddle. "Dell! Are you at your rents yet? " I hear Maddison's voice from the phone. "No.'ll never guess what just happened."

Chapter 2. Skyes POVEdit

I slam the rusty door, and hook my guitar strap over my neck. My ragged, tethered sneakers squish in the freshly wet grass. Stupid sprinklers wasting water. I climb the never ending stars only to be met at an extra high tec touch pad intercom, with its own eye scanner, and camera. Who do they think they are? The CIA? I turn from it, fully aware the camera is watching me, and knock on the door. That's right, rebellion in every way possible. I give myself a sleigh smile, and wait for them to open the door. Of course they don't, our Spanish maid does. ..there. There Spanish maid does.

"Ahh, Stacey." She says in a think Spanish accent.

"Dorina! And remember, it's Delilah now." I say sweetly while giving her two kisses.

"Of course. Your mother is waiting in the parlor." She smiles. Ugh the parlor. Even that word sounds to fancy for me now. I take a step into the beautiful, classy, and sterile house. The white marble floors squeak when I walk on them, and the sharp sound reflects on the oak wood. I walk into the room, with patterned wall paper, velvet couches, a mini bar, and a patterned Curtain. There my mother wears her women's suit, with the hen line of her grey skirt falling just a above her knee, her jacket suited comfortably on her skinny waist. And her collar neatly resting on her neck. She hold the whiskey glass in her painted red nails, and skinny fingers, her ring finger bedazzled with her 16 carrot diamond wedding ring.

"Hello mother." I say formally, she looks up from the textiles she's looking at and stares at me as always.

"Stacey" she finally says with what her voice would sound like as excited, but to most people, it barely registers emotion.

"How was the trip?" She says walking up to me in her comfortable length heals with a pointy end.

"You know same as usually. Long, exhausting." I smile. Don't get me wrong i love my family. I mean there my family. But I just don't like them.

"What are you looking at?" I ask .

"Oh it's nothing. We're re-doing the kitchen. I'm trying to find the right color for the tiles." She's looks me up and down with the hint of disapproval, and a small bit of disgust in her eyes.

Ugh, this is going to be a long day.

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