Countdown to a Fresh Start

Danica's POV.

A shadow falls over my locker, blocking out the harsh fluorescent light of the hallway. Kael Vandergarde leans his large frame against the cold metal right next to mine. The space instantly feels too small. The scent of mint and something uniquely alpha invades my senses, putting my nerves on a razor's edge. We all have that one specific person who exists only to grate on our nerves, a constant thorn in the flesh that turns everyday life into a living nightmare. For me, that absolute tormentor is him.

A cocky, arrogant smirk spreads across his handsome face. He reaches out, catching a strand of my hair and twirling it around his finger. It is a gesture dripping with condescension.

"Look what the dog dragged in." Kael snickers.

His pack of equally cruel friends crowd around, their loud laughter bouncing off the row of closed lockers. They feed off his energy, waiting for the next punchline.

He drops the strand of hair and taps the thick rim of my glasses. "So what did you do yesterday, four eyes? Start the new season of Harry Potter?"

His mocking voice cuts right through the busy hallway chatter. The boys behind him erupt into howling laughter. Some lean against each other, wiping fake tears from their eyes. My knuckles turn white as I grip the edges of my open locker door.

I push my glasses back up the bridge of my nose and stare straight ahead. "Just go away, Kael."

One of the lackeys speaks up from the back, desperate for Kael's approval. "God, what a freaking nerd. Look at how big those glasses are."

I shut my eyes for a fraction of a second, willing myself to disappear. Kael opens his mouth to deliver another blow, but a pair of tanned arms slide around his neck. Brielle steps into his space and pulls his head down. The head cheerleader crashes her mouth against his, swallowing whatever insult he was about to hurl at me. They make a perfect match. Beautiful, athletic, and lacking in basic human empathy.

I use the narrow window of opportunity. I slam my locker shut, sidestep the wall of muscular jocks, and slip away down the corridor toward my Geometry class.

I walk briskly, keeping my head down to avoid any lingering stares. My chest aches with the familiar sting of cowardice. I am a wimp. I know it. When will I ever find the courage to tell Kael and his pack of hyenas to back off and defend myself? Sighing, I slip into the classroom and claim my usual seat by the window. The morning sun hits the edge of my glasses, casting a small golden halo on the scratched surface of my desk. I trace the ring of light with my index finger, my mind running a mile a minute.

It hardly matters anymore. A heavy, suffocating cloud of grief presses down on my chest, threatening to crush my lungs every time I let my mind wander. My dad passed away recently. The wound is still raw, a gaping hole in my life that makes the petty cruelty of high school feel like meaningless background noise. On top of the grief, my mom landed a new job promotion. We are moving out of this wretched town next month. Soon, I will be able to leave Kael, his relentless bullies, and these painful memories behind for a fresh start. No more annoying jocks shoving me into lockers. No more bitchy cheerleaders dissecting my outfits. Just a clean slate.

The front door clicks shut behind me. I drop my keys onto the entryway table. The house is silent. It is a thick, heavy quiet that suffocates me the second I step over the threshold.

I walk into the kitchen. A sticky note rests on the island counter, penned in my mom's hurried scrawl.

"Have to work overtime, sweetie. The pizza is in the microwave. Kept some money on the fridge for you in case you need to go out. Love you."

I run my thumb over her handwriting. Ever since her promotion came through, she has been working herself to the bone to ensure everything is sorted before we leave. Several crisp twenty-dollar bills are pinned under a generic magnet on the fridge door. I open the microwave, pull out the cold slices of pepperoni pizza, and hit the start button.

The mechanical hum of the appliance does nothing to drown out the oppressive atmosphere. The quiet in this empty house quickly becomes suffocating. It amplifies the agonizing, looping thoughts of my dad's death. I can picture him sitting at the head of the dining table, laughing at his own terrible jokes. The silence forces me to confront the reality that he is never coming back. I hate it. I hate the way my mind turns against me when there is no noise to distract me.

My phone vibrates on the counter, pulling me from the dark spiral. The screen lights up with a notification from the senior class group chat.

RYKER: Party at my house tonight. Everyone is invited.

Ryker is a massive jock, but he is one of the few who thankfully ignores my existence.

I finish eating my slice of pizza without tasting it. I drag myself upstairs and flop onto my bed, staring blankly at the intricate patterns on the ceiling. The silence creeps back into the bedroom. It weaves those painful memories back into my brain, feeding the overwhelming dread.

My phone buzzes a second time.

RYKER: The dress code is bikinis and swim trunks. It's going to be lit so don't even think of missing it.

I despise rowdy parties. I hate the smell of cheap beer, the sticky floors, and the chaotic energy of drunk teenagers. Mixing that with alcohol might just be my absolute worst nightmare. But staying in this dead, quiet house with the ghost of my father's memory is infinitely worse. Desperate to escape the deafening silence and my own mind, I make a split-second decision. I dig through my bottom drawer and pull out a white polka-dot bikini. I secure it on, pulling a baggy tank top and distressed denim shorts over the swimwear to keep myself covered.

The thumping bass vibrates through the steering wheel of my car. I park halfway down the street from Ryker's house. The front lawn is already a chaotic disaster zone. Red plastic cups litter the grass, and sweaty teenagers in various states of undress stumble around the porch. The music blasts from the open windows at an ear-splitting volume.

I take a deep breath to steady my racing heart. I push open my car door and step into the humid night air. Walking up the driveway, I narrowly dodge a drunk girl wearing nothing but a neon bikini bottom who staggers past me. I keep my head down and weave through the packed living room. The air inside is thick with the stench of sweat, cheap vodka, and weed. A mass of bodies grinds together in the center of the room. Thankfully, I do not spot any of my usual tormentors in the crowd.

I push my way into the kitchen. It is slightly less crowded. I spot an unopened bottle of beer resting on the counter. I grab it, pop the cap off, and take a long gulp. The bitter liquid burns my throat, making me wince, but I force it down. I take another swig, letting the alcohol warm my stomach.

I scan the area and spot the sliding glass doors leading to the back balcony. It looks empty. I slip outside and pull the door shut behind me, instantly muting the chaotic noise of the party. The cool, biting night air hits my flushed skin, offering a brief moment of comfort. I lean my forearms against the wooden railing and stare out at the dark sky. This fragile peace beats the deafening silence of my bedroom.

"Well, what do we have here?"

My blood turns to ice. The voice is unmistakable. Trent steps out from the dark shadows of the balcony corner. Kael might use psychological warfare to break me down, but Trent is different. He is my most physical tormentor. He is the one who derives sick joy from inflicting actual pain, shoving me into walls and leaving bruises on my arms.

He takes a step closer, his eyes raking over my body. "Damn. You clean up nicely. Almost didn't recognize you."

I grip the neck of my beer bottle. I fix my gaze on the dark tree line, desperate to ignore him. Maybe if I do not engage, he will take the hint and leave me alone.

"I'm talking to you, bitch."

Trent lunges. His thick hand shoots out and grips a thick fistful of my hair. He yanks my head back. A hot tear of pure terror spills over my eyelashes as he forces my face up to meet his cruel gaze.

I claw at his thick fingers, trying to pry them out of my scalp. "You're hurting me."

His eyes darken with sadistic pleasure as his gaze roams over my trembling body, making me feel dirty in every place he looks. "I've always wanted to have a taste of you. Guess today is my lucky day."

Panic explodes in my chest. He crushes his mouth over mine. I gag as his wet tongue forces its way between my lips, invading my mouth. The foul taste of stale alcohol chokes me. I thrash against him, but he uses his weight to pin me against the railing. His large, unwanted hand slides down my waist and grabs my butt, his fingers squeezing hard into my flesh.

"What the fuck!" A voice roars over the muffled music.

Within a millisecond, a massive force rips Trent away from me. Kael Vandergarde is there. He drags Trent by the collar of his shirt and throws him onto the deck. Kael straddles him and smashes his clenched fist directly into Trent's face. The sickening crack of bone echoes in the air.

Trent cries out, blood instantly gushing from his nose. Kael raises his fist to strike again.

I grab his broad shoulder, desperate not to draw a massive crowd to my humiliation. "Kael, stop."

I pull him backward with all my remaining strength. Kael stumbles off the boy. Trent scrambles to his feet. He wipes the blood from his mouth and scurries back through the sliding glass doors like a pathetic coward.

My brief wave of relief vanishes the second Kael turns his attention to me. His chest heaves with heavy, ragged breaths. His expression is harder and more lethal than I have ever seen it.

Kael barks, his voice dripping with pure fury. "Why the fuck did you come here, Danica? Did you show up for attention?"

I stare at him in disbelief. My lips are still bruised and stinging from Trent's assault, and Kael has the audacity to speak to me that way after acting like my savior. The gratitude I felt a second ago morphs into blinding rage.

I step to the side, attempting to storm off and escape this nightmare. "Thank you for helping me out, but you are not my boss. I can go wherever I want to."

His large hand shoots out. He grips my wrist like a vice, halting my escape. "Where do you think you're going? Are you going to look for Trent so he can finish what he started?"

The sheer rage overrides my brain before I can even process it. My free hand flies up. My open palm cracks hard across Kael's face. The sharp, stinging slap rings loudly through the still night air.

I freeze. My mouth falls open in absolute horror. I yank my hand back, my fingers trembling. An angry red handprint begins to bloom across his left cheek, standing out starkly against his skin.

Kael gapes at me in pure shock. His grip on my wrist loosens. He touches his cheek, staring at me as if I have just grown a second head.

"Did you just slap me?" he whispers.

Then, his head falls back. A dark, rumbling, terrifying laugh escapes his deep chest. The sound sends a fresh wave of terror crashing over me.

I stammer out a frantic apology. "Kael, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to."

I back up, my bare legs shaking with every step until my spine hits the cold metal railing of the balcony. There is nowhere left to run.

He cuts off my rambling by stepping into my space. He advances like a predator. He cages me in, gripping the metal railing on either side of my waist. His massive frame towers over me, trapping me in his shadow. He holds my terrified gaze in utter silence. Something hot, dark, and dangerous flashes deep in his blue eyes. He leans down. Before my brain can even register what is happening, his lips crash hard over mine.