Chaotic Anger (The Seven #1) - A.R. Breck Page 0,1

to day, it’s like the atmosphere has become bipolar here in Ohio. This winter was mild, with snow not falling until after Christmas and leaving for good by March. The year before we had a foot of snow on Halloween and the last snow fell in April.

Like I said, bipolar.

I was born in the home that I currently live in and I know these neighborhoods like the back of my hand. Living in a small town in the center of Ohio, I've grown up playing on these streets. I know each one of these neighbors like family and our neighborhood block parties are one of my favorite times of year.

Katie lives ten minutes away on foot, so I speed walk, but don't run. The last thing I want is to walk into Greg's house a sweaty, smelly mess.

I turn the corner, and finally my house is out of sight. This neighborhood is quiet, with large, green sprawling lawns and quaint little ramblers and split-level homes decorating the street. We might not be the wealthiest of neighborhoods around, but every single house in the neighborhood is filled with good people. Perfectly manicured lawns, gardens with small fountains nestled between day lilies and hydrangeas, and kids' toys burst from every yard I walk past.

When I see headlights light me up from behind, my body tenses in fear of it being my parents. I hop off the street and walk through the grass. I don't even look behind me, I am too much of a chicken shit to see my dad's little white sedan trolling behind me. No one will mind me walking through their grass. Well, except Delores Meyer. She throws a fit whenever someone lets their dog go to the bathroom on her lawn. We forgive her and her eighty-year-old tendencies, choosing to nod in agreement while not promising it won't ever happen again. Shit, a dog needs to go when a dog needs to go.

The light from behind me grows larger, the glowing white circle of the headlight enveloping my entire body now. The car is obviously getting closer, but I can also hear that it's slowing down. I do a quick peek over my shoulder and see that it is most definitely not my parent's vehicles. I walk up the lawn a little bit more, pretending I’m getting close to home, hoping that they'll pass and be on their way.

When they don't, the bitter taste of regret starts to fill my mouth.

I never should have left home.

The car is going too slowly, I can hear the small pebbles and rocks from the road popping underneath the tires. I can hear the faint sound of the breaks squeaking as the car slows further. I can hear my heart stop mid-beat in my chest as realization hits me.

This is bad. Really bad.

I quicken my pace, choosing not to look back and keep my focus forward. Katie's house is only a few blocks away. When I hear the car stop, I almost sigh in relief until I hear the door open, and goosebumps erupt on my arms in terror.

I reach for my phone in my pocket as I speed up into a run. My feet pump as quick as they can, my cushioned Ugg’s suddenly the worst choice of footwear for the evening. I try to unlock my phone, but the shakiness of my hands and the bouncing from running makes me punch in my password—twice—incorrectly.

Once I’m finally able to unlock my phone, I go to my call history and my thumb presses the connect button as quickly as possible. Tears erupt in my eyes and trail down my cheeks as the phone rings. Just when I hear her annoyed, "Hello?" The phone is slapped from my hand. I watch as it flies onto the grass, the glow from my screen and a tiny picture of Katie in the center making me release a horrified cry.

A white-turned-gray cloth is pressed up against my face, and my eyes burn from the smell. It only takes moments for the drowsiness to hit me. Within seconds, my limbs fold in on each other as I tumble to the grass in a heap.

1

Ivy

Present

I jackknife out of bed, sweat trailing along my temples even as shivers rack my spine. Tears slide down my cheeks and my flimsy nightgown sticks to my back like tape. It’s uncomfortable, and I whimper as I peel it away from my skin. My body is bruised and beaten, and the pain is