Unlike Any Other
Shaelynne never thought she would see her father – the man who left her and her mother ten years ago – again, but when her mother is killed in a car accident, Shaelynne is sent to live with him. Shaelynne didn't expect anything good to come out of moving to Forks, leaving everything she had ever known behind and starting over. Wanting to lay low and make it through her senior year unscathed, Shaelynne tries not to make any interaction with the other students at her high school. Meeting Jasper was a twist of fate, something she hadn't planned for, and maybe that's exactly what she needed.
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“We're going out to dinner, would you like to come?” Lindsay asked from the doorway of my bedroom, her tone was sickeningly sweet. Fake. I had been doing my laundry all afternoon, washing, drying, folding and putting away my clothes into the correct drawers of my dresser, hanging some things up in the closet. I still had one load left to wash, and I wanted to get it done before seven o'clock. Of course, that didn't influence my answer, but gave me an excuse if I was asked.
“No,” I said, my tone flat with a hint of annoyance. I met Lindsay only four days ago, but I already despised her. My father left Mama and I ten years ago, and he left us for her. Lindsay is tall, taller than me, but shorter than my dad – even in stilettos. Her long, stick-straight hair is the purest shade of blonde that you can find in a bottle. Long, thick brown lashes frame her stunning baby blue eyes that always seem to sparkle when she looks at my dad. Her fit figure and large, perky breasts – along with her dyed blonde hair and blue eyes – make her appear to be a human Barbie doll of sorts. It's no wonder my father fell in love with her. Lindsay could reel in the richest man in the world, but she chose my father, and I will never understand that. I mean, her ex-husband is practically a millionaire, and while my father makes good money being a doctor, he's nowhere near as rich as the man that Lindsay was previously married to. I guess she goes for the wealthy men because no matter how dumb the bitch is, she's gorgeous, and every man dreams of having a trophy wife. I swear, the woman is as dull as a cardboard box; she has no personality. When my dad talks to her, she just nods and laughs as if she understands. It's pathetic.
I waited for Lindsay to leave, shutting my door behind her, before I continued folding the pair of jeans I had in my hands. Setting the jeans aside, I went to the window facing the front lawn, and watched as Dad drove off in the Lexus with his family. I used to be a part of his family, but now I'm just a burden he's stuck with. I walked back over to the neatly made bed where the hamper of my freshly dried clothes waited to be folded. I had to keep the pace, or I'd never finish. So I grabbed the plaid button down that laid on top of everything else, and began to fold.
After the hamper was empty, I shoved in the last load to be washed, and carried it down to the laundry room. I stuffed every last article of clothing into the machine, poured in a cap and a half of the detergent, and started it. Once the machine was started, I grabbed my clean and now dry clothes from the dryer and took them upstairs to be folded and put away.
I had put away that load of clothes, and now had to wait for the washer to stop so I could transfer the clothes to the dryer. While I waited, I decided to take a look around the house. I hadn't really been out of my room much, seeing as I had my own bathroom, so the only time I was actually around everyone was when I went down to the kitchen. I try to keep to myself, and only speak when spoken to. I don't want to be here, and everyone knows it, yet they still try to interact with me. Ignoring their mindless conversations about what happened on the job, who is sleeping with who at school, or what the baby learned to do, I do sometimes feel a twinge of guilt. They took me into their home, and they are trying to make me feel as comfortable as possible. I can see that none of them really care, but they fake it, and I guess that has to count for something.
I had been given a brief tour of the house – the living room, the kitchen, the laundry room, the downstairs and upstairs bathrooms, and my room. I've gotten to know my room pretty well, seeing as that's where I spend all of my time. Roaming the house, I noticed something I hadn't before. Pictures. I guess I had seen them, but never really looked at them. There were pictures all throughout the house, on every wall. Dad and Lindsay's wedding photos, pictures of Lindsay's two kids from her previous marriage, pictures of Lindsay when was pregnant each time, and Dad and Lindsay's four kids they have together. Each one represented the memory of a moment that they never wanted to forget - firsts, birthdays, various vacations and holidays. As I looked at each individual picture, I realized that I wasn't in any of them. That hurt. It was like Dad was trying to forget about me and Mama. I knew he wanted a different life than what he had with us, but I never once thought he would go so far as to act like we never even existed. The pain that I was feeling just then made the guilt I felt for shutting everyone out disappear completely, and I knew that I would never again feel bad for anything that I do, or don't do to them. They deserve everything they get from me.
Wandering into the kitchen, I rummaged through the cabinets and refrigerator for something to eat. Lindsay had gone to the grocery store yesterday, so there was plenty of food in the kitchen, but I didn't see anything I wanted. I was craving something sweet, something that's completely bad for you, but Lindsay doesn't allow junk food in the house. The closest thing to sweet in the pantry was a box of mixed berry breakfast bars, so I grabbed one and unwrapped it, biting a piece off. It was more tart than sweet, and it didn't satisfy my craving, but I ate it anyway. I washed it down with a cup of unsweetened almond milk, and went to check on my clothes. The washer had stopped, so I threw the clothes into the dryer, set the timer and walked away.
By the time I had the last load of laundry folded and put away, it was just past seven o'clock. Everyone was still gone, and I wondered if they were ever coming home. If they had a choice, they probably wouldn't. When eight rolled around and they still weren't home, I got a bit concerned. Just when I thought I was going to have to call the police, headlights shined through my front window. I peeked through the blinds and saw the family Lexus pulling into the driveway, which was somewhat a relief. I was relieved that they hadn't abandoned me, but I wasn't going to go downstairs and ask them how dinner was. It must have been wonderful, seeing as they were gone for two hours. I shut my door and sat on the edge of my bed, fighting back tears.
I can cope with the pain when the sun is up, but as soon as it goes down, my demons come out to play. Back in Georgia, I was seeing a therapist who was helping me work through my issues, and I was actually getting better. I hadn't harmed myself in over a year, and things were looking up. When Mama died, I seemed to forget everything I had been working on to get better. If I could have stayed there and gotten some more help, instead of being forced to move in with my father, I believe things would have turned out okay. Now I don't know what the outcome will be.
Looking over at my alarm clock, I saw that it was already almost nine o'clock, so I changed into a pair of old pajamas and crawled under the pink and black paisley duvet and heart printed sheet. I shoved the four decorative pillows in the floor, turned off the lamps that sat on either nightstand, and rolled onto my back to stare up at the ceiling. My first day of school, which isn't the first at all, is tomorrow. I started my senior year back in Georgia three weeks ago, with all of the people I had the privilege to call my friends. Now I have to start over, new classes, new teachers, new classmates. I'm not going to bother with making friends, no, I'm going to mind my own business and finish my senior year here in Forks, then I'm gone. There's no reason at all for me to stay here after graduation, when I'm not even wanted, let alone loved. As my eyelids got heavier, and I rolled onto my side to get comfortable, I did the math in my head. Nine months. It's going to seem like forever, but as soon as that diploma hits my hands, I'm gone. The thought of leaving this sad little town and going home caused the corners of my mouth to curve upwards into a smile, and for the first time since Mama's death, I didn't fall asleep with tears on my pillow.