Beautiful. One/?
Title: Beautiful. One/?
Author: hooray4irony
Rating: NC - 17
Pairing:Ryden. (OMGZ! NO MORE RYAN/PETE!)
POV: First. Ryan's POV.
Summary:
I whimpered as Pete stared down at me, his expression murderous.
I knew what he was going to do before he pulled out the knife.
"You're mine now, bitch," he ground out through clenched teeth. He raised the knife above my chest.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything apart from Kate and the plot line :P
Beta: xojemmaxo
Author Notes: The first part of Beautiful., which is in fact the sequel to MINE. as promised. I'm sorry for the very late update :P I hope you enjoy it!
Chapter One Chapter Two
Chapter Three Chapter Four
Chapter Five Chapter Six
Chapter Seven Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Epilogue
The loungeroom was dark except for the broken moonlight, pooling from the barred window.
I almost tripped over the coffee table but caught myself before my face hit the ground. I made it to the door without hearing a sound from Pete's bedroom.
As I shoved the key in the lock and turned it, my hopes were smothered by a sudden voice that rang in my ears.
"Ryan?"
Fuck.
It got louder and angrier.
"Ryan!"
I stood frozen to the spot; the door was unlocked. It just needed one push, one push and then I was surely free.
"Where do you fucking think you're going, Ryan?"
I swallowed. The voice was coming from the dark abyss behind me. He could be anywhere -- in the doorway leading down the hallway, the couch, the kitchen, right in front of me. The last thought made my stomach twist. What if Pete was about to lunge for me and tackle me to the ground, beating me until I couldn't move again?
I strained my ears and listened. I couldn't hear his breathing, so I took a wild chance.
I bolted out the front door, ignoring yells and curses from my uncle, and just ran.
I didn't turn back, I didn't look back. I also didn't know where Patrick's house was. All those times walking there, I was too busy looking at the world rather than where I was going.
The night air was cool and fresh on my face and bare chest and legs and the frantic beating of my heart in my ears drowned out the pounding of my feet hitting the pavement.
I was free?
No, it was too good to be true.
I ran through the park. My chest felt extremely tight, and my limbs started to ache from using them so much all of a sudden. I wasn't used to so much movement in one go.
I ignored the dizzyness and continued to run, pumping my arms and legs, and hopping over small bushes and shrubs.
Overhead I saw a low fence I could hide behind to catch my breath. But what if Pete was following me? What if he was running behind me? I ducked behind the low fence and almost collapsed.
I was having trouble breathing, but that didn't stop me from runnign again as a car slowly drove down the road. I instantly realized that it was Patrick's car.
It could be Pete -- it was Pete. He had the window rolled down and I'd recognize that scowl anywhere.
Fuck. He had a car, and I had legs.
I was about to leap out from behind the fence and run for it when I noticed that there was another person in the car with Pete.
Patrick was sitting next to him, holding a worried expression.
I still ran though.
Something about the look on Pete's face was enough to tell me that I was dead. It would be suicide to give up now.
Taking a few deep breaths, I bolted, heading for the opposite side of the park where another road was waiting, an escape, my salvation.
Behind me, the car sped up.
I ran as fast as I could carry myself, pumping my arms and legs as much as I was capable of.
The lights from the car shone behind me, illuminating the path in front of me.
I got a few sprinted steps before a dead weight tackled me to the hard ground. It pinned me on to my stomach, then rolled me over, grabbing hold of my shirt and hauling me to my feet.
I whimpered as Pete stared down at me, his expression murderous.
I knew what he was going to do before he pulled out the knife.
"You're mine now, bitch," he ground out through clenched teeth. He raised the knife above my chest.
I screamed and sat upright in bed, cold sweat pouring from my skin.
I clawed at the sheets beneath my fingertips and willed myself not to turn into a pile of tears.
"I'm not Pete's," I told myself, even though I knew I was just lying.
"Ryan?"
I started and backed myself against the wall. The whisper didn't sound like Pete, and I suddenly realised that this was not my bed I was sleeping in.
And then I remembered earlier that day; Pete leaving me stranded; the police finding me; then Patrick leaving me here. The urge to cry was again strong.
"Ryan, it's Brendon. Are you okay? You were having a nightmare, and I didn't know what to do," Brendon sounded desperate. On the brink of tears, even.
I attempted an intelligent word, but all that came out was a choked, "I'm not Pete's."
I cursed loudly in my head.
"Ryan, you're safe here. You don't belong to anyone, and no one will hurt you, I promise," whispered Brendon. His breath was close to my ear, but I ignored it. I was good at ignoring things like that.
I felt Brendon's arm slip around my shoulders and tug gently. I pulled away from him and crawled away from his body heat.
I didn't want anybody touching me. Brendon said so himself, I didn't belong to anybody. So no one was allowed to touch me, right?
I ignored William's sleepy groans of, "What's going on?" and ran to the bathroom, where I stayed for the rest of the night.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The next day, after I was made to get out of the bathroom for breakfast, I was forced to sit with William who was telling me that Patrick was never coming back.
"I'm telling you, Ryan. He's not coming back for you," William said, shoving another spoonful of cornflakes into his already full mouth.
I frowned at him. "Why not?"
"Because when you're left here, it's for good. No one comes back for you. Ever."
I shook my head and stared down at my unfinished breakfast.
"But -- he said he would visit on weekends and stuff."
"Well, he must have been --"
"Ryan, someone is here for you," Kate called from somewhere outside the dining room.
I couldn't help the smile that spread across my face. I gave William an 'I-told-you-so' look before jumping from my chair and running out of the dining room.
Patrick was standing near the front door, staring down at his feet. I didn't slow down, just kept running until I could jump and latch myself onto him.
Patrick laughed and hugged me tightly, pulling me off the ground. I loved Patrick's hugs. They were always so warm and comforting.
He then pulled me away at arms length, studying me intently.
"Hey, Ry. How are you doing?" he asked, his voice low and soft.
"I'm doing okay, but can we go home now, Patrick? Please?"
Patrick winced and studied his feet.
"Well, Ryan, that's kind of why I'm here. I have some good news and bad news for you. The good news is that they caught Pete. He won't be bothering you anymore. The bad news is that you have to stay here for at least one to two years. Also, the police don't really want me to visit you anymore. They say it's bad for you. They say I'll remind you of Pete."
I shook my head. Patrick shouldn't tell me so many things at once. It just made my head hurt.
"Um, how long is 'one to two years'?" He seemed to forget I couldn't count.
"Uh, shit. Right, well... two birthdays is two years, and one birthday would be one year...if that makes any sense?"
I only had a vague idea of how long that was. But I still didn't get it.
"Anyway, when you turn eighteen, then they can't force you to stay. But, Ryan," Patrick looked sad. I hated it when Patrick was sad.
"I can't see you again. I'm no allowed to visit you again," Patrick said.
"No. You said so yourself that you would be able to visit me on weekends and stuff."
"Ryan. The police said I am not allowed to visit you again because it would be bad for you. It would remind you too much of Pete."
I felt numb. I knew what Patrick was saying, but my mind refused to process it. It just kept denying it access.
"Ryan, do you understand what I'm telling you?"
"You're lying again. Just like that time at your house, you're lying. I know you are." I wanted to sound in control of myself, but we both knew I was failing.
"Ryan, I'm not lying. I can't see you anymore," Patrick's voice was firm but low, making sure that I was the only one to hear him.
I shook my head.
"No. You're just assuming shit, and you'll come back and get me out of here."
"I wish that was true, Ryan. I really do, but I can't do anything about it,"
Patrick went to pull me into a hug again, but I flinched away from his grip and took several steps backwards, shaking my head.
"No, no, no. You're a liar --"
"Ryan. don't make this any harder than it is." I flinched at the sudden volume of his voice. "I have to go, Ryan --"
I grabbed at his arm, clutching desperately to his jacket.
"No! Don't go, Patrick! Please! You -- you can't go!" I shouted, willing the tears to stay behind my eyes.
Patrick pulled his arm out of my grip and started towards the door.
I was desperate. I couldn't let him just walk out of my life like that.
"Fine!" I shouted even louder, causing Patrick to freeze.
I could hear the people in the dining room go quiet. They were all listening, but I didn't care.
"Be just like Pete! Just dump me somewhere and walk off! Are you going to cut me, too? Are you going to carve something else into my skin, just like he did? You once said that I could trust you, Patrick!" I knew these words were harsh, but I couldn't stop myself. Patrick was trying to get rid of me.
I could see Kate and a few of the other children come to stand in the doorway, watching the scene fold out before them.
"Well fucking leave then! See if I fucking care!"
I waited for Patrick to turn and slap me across the face. To punish me and beat me until I couldn't move. But he just started walking again. He was leaving and it was all my fault.
I looked on helplessly but furiously, tears streaming down my cheeks. I didn't hear Kate when she told me to come to her. I didn't feel her hand on my shoulder. I completely ignored it and ran upstairs.
Once in the bedroom, I started to search for scissors. I searched for a while -- in drawers and on shelves -- and found a pair under the bed, which I thought was pretty odd.
Then, I took all of my new clothes out of my drawer and started cutting. The plain, dark denim jeans were first. I cut them nearly to the crotch so they were short, like my old ones. Then a black shirt. I cut a big 'v' in the collar that ended in a point between the middle of the chest.
Once I had done this to all of my ugly clothes, I went to the bathroom and pulled a new razor from under the cupboard. I didn't bother to jump into the shower, but instead lathered soap onto my legs and began to remove the hair. I hadn't done this since I was at Pete's; a few days before yesterday. They were hairy and I didn't like it.
My underarms were next, and then I quickly shaved my face and pubes. No one had followed me upstairs, so I was left alone.
After washing off all of the soap, I then pulled on my newly cut shorts and top. I studied myself in the mirror. The shirt exposed the scabbing cuts on my chest, and also a bruise I had received yesterday from Pete for giving a shit blowjob.
I didn't do a such a bad job with the clothing, but something was missing.
My hair was starting to grow longer and wavy, and my eyes had dark rings around them. Pete always said I looked younger when I wore eyeliner, so I set out searching for some.
I found a black eyeliner pencil and a hair straightener in the cupboard and set to work on looking younger than 16. I only burnt myself four times with the straightener, but managed to apply the black makeup perfectly. I felt secure now.
Once I was done and had checked for any flaws (apart from the cuts and bruises on my chest that I couldn't cover up right now), I made my way downstairs.
I stepped into the dining room and everyone went silent.
I lifted my feet high, strutting my way to the chair next to William, and ignoring the stares and whispers of what, whys' and stifled giggles.
I sat next to William, and stared at my cereal. No way was I eating that. It wasn't even part of my diet.
The whole table was looking at me. They were judging me with their eyes, and whispering to each other. I didn't like it, but I was sure to hold my ground and act confident.
"What did you do to your clothes, Ryan?" William whispered in my ear.
I shrugged.
"I cut them," I said simply.
"Um, can I ask why?" William sounded hesitant, like all he wanted to do was get up and move away.
I kept my eyes on the table, saying, "No."
Like hell I was going to tell some stranger something so personal. If I told him, then he might use it later on to hurt me. So I wanted to keep it as secret as possible.
"Ryan? Can I please talk to you in private?" Kate's voice made me lift my head and look at her from across the big table.
Takling never really meant talking. Talking meant pain either way you go about it. Verbally or physically, it would hurt.
I was sick of following orders. I didn't care if I ended up getting hit or kicked, or forced on my knees. I'm not going to follow orders. But then again, my instinct to do as someone tells me is strong, so I ended up nodding my head and standing up, following Kate out of the dining room and away from the people's gaze.
"Ryan, what did you do to your clothes?" Kate asked as soon as we were out of sight.
I shrugged and said simply, "I cut them."
"How come?"
"Because."
"So, you cut them for no reason, then?" She put her hands on her hips and looked down at me. She seemed angry.
"No. I'm just not going to tell you why," I was really pushing my luck. I had talked back, and my first instinct now was to flinch away and bring my shoulders to my ears.
Kate just sighed and ran a hand through her hair.
"Alright then. You can go back now," said Kate.
I nodded and walked back into the dining room. Everyone had gone back to chatting and their food, and seemed to not notice when I entered. As I was about to sit down, a hand on my shoulder made me flinch.
It was Brendon.
"Do you want to go outside?" he asked, smiling sweetly.
"Outside?" My eyes widened and Brendon nodded.
"Okay," I said, following Brendon out of the dining room and into another, smaller one. We reached a glass door and he led me into the garden.
It was huge. There was a path that led around trees and bushes, winding through the green. I really thought it was beautiful.
Brendon laughed at my expression.
"Do you like it? I like to help out on it a lot," said Brendon. He began to walk forward, towards a small tree where little pink flowers dotted the green leaves.
I couldn't help but touch everything. Every leaf, bush, tree, flower, stem, stick. Everything was so pure and clean.
I was so into my surroundings, that I didn't notice Brendon laying down on the grass.
I raised my eyebrow and he just patted the space next to him.
I thought the act was rather harmless, so I walked over to him, and laid down on the green grass, looking up at the white, fluffy clouds and blue sky.
Author: hooray4irony
Rating: NC - 17
Pairing:Ryden. (OMGZ! NO MORE RYAN/PETE!)
POV: First. Ryan's POV.
Summary:
I whimpered as Pete stared down at me, his expression murderous.
I knew what he was going to do before he pulled out the knife.
"You're mine now, bitch," he ground out through clenched teeth. He raised the knife above my chest.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything apart from Kate and the plot line :P
Beta: xojemmaxo
Author Notes: The first part of Beautiful., which is in fact the sequel to MINE. as promised. I'm sorry for the very late update :P I hope you enjoy it!
Chapter One Chapter Two
Chapter Three Chapter Four
Chapter Five Chapter Six
Chapter Seven Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Epilogue
The loungeroom was dark except for the broken moonlight, pooling from the barred window.
I almost tripped over the coffee table but caught myself before my face hit the ground. I made it to the door without hearing a sound from Pete's bedroom.
As I shoved the key in the lock and turned it, my hopes were smothered by a sudden voice that rang in my ears.
"Ryan?"
Fuck.
It got louder and angrier.
"Ryan!"
I stood frozen to the spot; the door was unlocked. It just needed one push, one push and then I was surely free.
"Where do you fucking think you're going, Ryan?"
I swallowed. The voice was coming from the dark abyss behind me. He could be anywhere -- in the doorway leading down the hallway, the couch, the kitchen, right in front of me. The last thought made my stomach twist. What if Pete was about to lunge for me and tackle me to the ground, beating me until I couldn't move again?
I strained my ears and listened. I couldn't hear his breathing, so I took a wild chance.
I bolted out the front door, ignoring yells and curses from my uncle, and just ran.
I didn't turn back, I didn't look back. I also didn't know where Patrick's house was. All those times walking there, I was too busy looking at the world rather than where I was going.
The night air was cool and fresh on my face and bare chest and legs and the frantic beating of my heart in my ears drowned out the pounding of my feet hitting the pavement.
I was free?
No, it was too good to be true.
I ran through the park. My chest felt extremely tight, and my limbs started to ache from using them so much all of a sudden. I wasn't used to so much movement in one go.
I ignored the dizzyness and continued to run, pumping my arms and legs, and hopping over small bushes and shrubs.
Overhead I saw a low fence I could hide behind to catch my breath. But what if Pete was following me? What if he was running behind me? I ducked behind the low fence and almost collapsed.
I was having trouble breathing, but that didn't stop me from runnign again as a car slowly drove down the road. I instantly realized that it was Patrick's car.
It could be Pete -- it was Pete. He had the window rolled down and I'd recognize that scowl anywhere.
Fuck. He had a car, and I had legs.
I was about to leap out from behind the fence and run for it when I noticed that there was another person in the car with Pete.
Patrick was sitting next to him, holding a worried expression.
I still ran though.
Something about the look on Pete's face was enough to tell me that I was dead. It would be suicide to give up now.
Taking a few deep breaths, I bolted, heading for the opposite side of the park where another road was waiting, an escape, my salvation.
Behind me, the car sped up.
I ran as fast as I could carry myself, pumping my arms and legs as much as I was capable of.
The lights from the car shone behind me, illuminating the path in front of me.
I got a few sprinted steps before a dead weight tackled me to the hard ground. It pinned me on to my stomach, then rolled me over, grabbing hold of my shirt and hauling me to my feet.
I whimpered as Pete stared down at me, his expression murderous.
I knew what he was going to do before he pulled out the knife.
"You're mine now, bitch," he ground out through clenched teeth. He raised the knife above my chest.
I screamed and sat upright in bed, cold sweat pouring from my skin.
I clawed at the sheets beneath my fingertips and willed myself not to turn into a pile of tears.
"I'm not Pete's," I told myself, even though I knew I was just lying.
"Ryan?"
I started and backed myself against the wall. The whisper didn't sound like Pete, and I suddenly realised that this was not my bed I was sleeping in.
And then I remembered earlier that day; Pete leaving me stranded; the police finding me; then Patrick leaving me here. The urge to cry was again strong.
"Ryan, it's Brendon. Are you okay? You were having a nightmare, and I didn't know what to do," Brendon sounded desperate. On the brink of tears, even.
I attempted an intelligent word, but all that came out was a choked, "I'm not Pete's."
I cursed loudly in my head.
"Ryan, you're safe here. You don't belong to anyone, and no one will hurt you, I promise," whispered Brendon. His breath was close to my ear, but I ignored it. I was good at ignoring things like that.
I felt Brendon's arm slip around my shoulders and tug gently. I pulled away from him and crawled away from his body heat.
I didn't want anybody touching me. Brendon said so himself, I didn't belong to anybody. So no one was allowed to touch me, right?
I ignored William's sleepy groans of, "What's going on?" and ran to the bathroom, where I stayed for the rest of the night.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The next day, after I was made to get out of the bathroom for breakfast, I was forced to sit with William who was telling me that Patrick was never coming back.
"I'm telling you, Ryan. He's not coming back for you," William said, shoving another spoonful of cornflakes into his already full mouth.
I frowned at him. "Why not?"
"Because when you're left here, it's for good. No one comes back for you. Ever."
I shook my head and stared down at my unfinished breakfast.
"But -- he said he would visit on weekends and stuff."
"Well, he must have been --"
"Ryan, someone is here for you," Kate called from somewhere outside the dining room.
I couldn't help the smile that spread across my face. I gave William an 'I-told-you-so' look before jumping from my chair and running out of the dining room.
Patrick was standing near the front door, staring down at his feet. I didn't slow down, just kept running until I could jump and latch myself onto him.
Patrick laughed and hugged me tightly, pulling me off the ground. I loved Patrick's hugs. They were always so warm and comforting.
He then pulled me away at arms length, studying me intently.
"Hey, Ry. How are you doing?" he asked, his voice low and soft.
"I'm doing okay, but can we go home now, Patrick? Please?"
Patrick winced and studied his feet.
"Well, Ryan, that's kind of why I'm here. I have some good news and bad news for you. The good news is that they caught Pete. He won't be bothering you anymore. The bad news is that you have to stay here for at least one to two years. Also, the police don't really want me to visit you anymore. They say it's bad for you. They say I'll remind you of Pete."
I shook my head. Patrick shouldn't tell me so many things at once. It just made my head hurt.
"Um, how long is 'one to two years'?" He seemed to forget I couldn't count.
"Uh, shit. Right, well... two birthdays is two years, and one birthday would be one year...if that makes any sense?"
I only had a vague idea of how long that was. But I still didn't get it.
"Anyway, when you turn eighteen, then they can't force you to stay. But, Ryan," Patrick looked sad. I hated it when Patrick was sad.
"I can't see you again. I'm no allowed to visit you again," Patrick said.
"No. You said so yourself that you would be able to visit me on weekends and stuff."
"Ryan. The police said I am not allowed to visit you again because it would be bad for you. It would remind you too much of Pete."
I felt numb. I knew what Patrick was saying, but my mind refused to process it. It just kept denying it access.
"Ryan, do you understand what I'm telling you?"
"You're lying again. Just like that time at your house, you're lying. I know you are." I wanted to sound in control of myself, but we both knew I was failing.
"Ryan, I'm not lying. I can't see you anymore," Patrick's voice was firm but low, making sure that I was the only one to hear him.
I shook my head.
"No. You're just assuming shit, and you'll come back and get me out of here."
"I wish that was true, Ryan. I really do, but I can't do anything about it,"
Patrick went to pull me into a hug again, but I flinched away from his grip and took several steps backwards, shaking my head.
"No, no, no. You're a liar --"
"Ryan. don't make this any harder than it is." I flinched at the sudden volume of his voice. "I have to go, Ryan --"
I grabbed at his arm, clutching desperately to his jacket.
"No! Don't go, Patrick! Please! You -- you can't go!" I shouted, willing the tears to stay behind my eyes.
Patrick pulled his arm out of my grip and started towards the door.
I was desperate. I couldn't let him just walk out of my life like that.
"Fine!" I shouted even louder, causing Patrick to freeze.
I could hear the people in the dining room go quiet. They were all listening, but I didn't care.
"Be just like Pete! Just dump me somewhere and walk off! Are you going to cut me, too? Are you going to carve something else into my skin, just like he did? You once said that I could trust you, Patrick!" I knew these words were harsh, but I couldn't stop myself. Patrick was trying to get rid of me.
I could see Kate and a few of the other children come to stand in the doorway, watching the scene fold out before them.
"Well fucking leave then! See if I fucking care!"
I waited for Patrick to turn and slap me across the face. To punish me and beat me until I couldn't move. But he just started walking again. He was leaving and it was all my fault.
I looked on helplessly but furiously, tears streaming down my cheeks. I didn't hear Kate when she told me to come to her. I didn't feel her hand on my shoulder. I completely ignored it and ran upstairs.
Once in the bedroom, I started to search for scissors. I searched for a while -- in drawers and on shelves -- and found a pair under the bed, which I thought was pretty odd.
Then, I took all of my new clothes out of my drawer and started cutting. The plain, dark denim jeans were first. I cut them nearly to the crotch so they were short, like my old ones. Then a black shirt. I cut a big 'v' in the collar that ended in a point between the middle of the chest.
Once I had done this to all of my ugly clothes, I went to the bathroom and pulled a new razor from under the cupboard. I didn't bother to jump into the shower, but instead lathered soap onto my legs and began to remove the hair. I hadn't done this since I was at Pete's; a few days before yesterday. They were hairy and I didn't like it.
My underarms were next, and then I quickly shaved my face and pubes. No one had followed me upstairs, so I was left alone.
After washing off all of the soap, I then pulled on my newly cut shorts and top. I studied myself in the mirror. The shirt exposed the scabbing cuts on my chest, and also a bruise I had received yesterday from Pete for giving a shit blowjob.
I didn't do a such a bad job with the clothing, but something was missing.
My hair was starting to grow longer and wavy, and my eyes had dark rings around them. Pete always said I looked younger when I wore eyeliner, so I set out searching for some.
I found a black eyeliner pencil and a hair straightener in the cupboard and set to work on looking younger than 16. I only burnt myself four times with the straightener, but managed to apply the black makeup perfectly. I felt secure now.
Once I was done and had checked for any flaws (apart from the cuts and bruises on my chest that I couldn't cover up right now), I made my way downstairs.
I stepped into the dining room and everyone went silent.
I lifted my feet high, strutting my way to the chair next to William, and ignoring the stares and whispers of what, whys' and stifled giggles.
I sat next to William, and stared at my cereal. No way was I eating that. It wasn't even part of my diet.
The whole table was looking at me. They were judging me with their eyes, and whispering to each other. I didn't like it, but I was sure to hold my ground and act confident.
"What did you do to your clothes, Ryan?" William whispered in my ear.
I shrugged.
"I cut them," I said simply.
"Um, can I ask why?" William sounded hesitant, like all he wanted to do was get up and move away.
I kept my eyes on the table, saying, "No."
Like hell I was going to tell some stranger something so personal. If I told him, then he might use it later on to hurt me. So I wanted to keep it as secret as possible.
"Ryan? Can I please talk to you in private?" Kate's voice made me lift my head and look at her from across the big table.
Takling never really meant talking. Talking meant pain either way you go about it. Verbally or physically, it would hurt.
I was sick of following orders. I didn't care if I ended up getting hit or kicked, or forced on my knees. I'm not going to follow orders. But then again, my instinct to do as someone tells me is strong, so I ended up nodding my head and standing up, following Kate out of the dining room and away from the people's gaze.
"Ryan, what did you do to your clothes?" Kate asked as soon as we were out of sight.
I shrugged and said simply, "I cut them."
"How come?"
"Because."
"So, you cut them for no reason, then?" She put her hands on her hips and looked down at me. She seemed angry.
"No. I'm just not going to tell you why," I was really pushing my luck. I had talked back, and my first instinct now was to flinch away and bring my shoulders to my ears.
Kate just sighed and ran a hand through her hair.
"Alright then. You can go back now," said Kate.
I nodded and walked back into the dining room. Everyone had gone back to chatting and their food, and seemed to not notice when I entered. As I was about to sit down, a hand on my shoulder made me flinch.
It was Brendon.
"Do you want to go outside?" he asked, smiling sweetly.
"Outside?" My eyes widened and Brendon nodded.
"Okay," I said, following Brendon out of the dining room and into another, smaller one. We reached a glass door and he led me into the garden.
It was huge. There was a path that led around trees and bushes, winding through the green. I really thought it was beautiful.
Brendon laughed at my expression.
"Do you like it? I like to help out on it a lot," said Brendon. He began to walk forward, towards a small tree where little pink flowers dotted the green leaves.
I couldn't help but touch everything. Every leaf, bush, tree, flower, stem, stick. Everything was so pure and clean.
I was so into my surroundings, that I didn't notice Brendon laying down on the grass.
I raised my eyebrow and he just patted the space next to him.
I thought the act was rather harmless, so I walked over to him, and laid down on the green grass, looking up at the white, fluffy clouds and blue sky.