Silas Wells.

That name is often whispered in my deepest conscience. Throughout all of French class, I've been waiting for him to confront me about this morning; to call me a creepy and obsessive stalker, or to even call the cops on me. I wouldn't be shocked if he does. Fortunately for me, that vision hasn't occurred yet. But it never hurts to think ahead.

After the bell rings, I hurriedly gather my belongings and quickly pace out of the classroom, leaving Taylor and Sam behind. Walking alone to my next class without my friends is a far better choice than being confronted by the guy whom I technically stalked for a good while, and I can always explain the situation to them later. For right now, it's best that I get as much distance between me and Silas as I can manage.

As I'm scurrying past the mobs of anxious and excited students, I cumbersomely drop one of my notebooks.
All I can do is watch impatiently as my poor French notebook is violently trampled by dozens of pairs of feet. Once the stampede of people dies down a bit and it's safe for me to crouch to the floor, I walk on over to retrieve it.

Just as my knees are in contact with the smooth floor, I'm greeted by yet another pair of shoes; black sneakers to be precise. "Need a hand with that?" A kind yet deep voice I now recognize asks from above me.

Looking up, my gaze registers with his and I find myself locked in his sight. His eyes are an unnatural shade of grey, like the color of gathering storm clouds or polished silver. Signs of blue swim in the edges of the grey, resembling raging storms that kiss the Atlantic Ocean. They're beautiful.

Finally I say, "No, I've got it." I clutch my notebook and get back on my feet, our eyes now in alignment. "Thanks anyway."

I turn my back to Silas, to his abnormally metallic eyes, but I don't walk three steps before his voice sounds behind me. "You know, I'd be lying if I said I just came over here to pick up your notebook."

Don't turn around. Don't turn around.

Ignoring my admonishing continence, I'm again face to face with Silas, his ghostly eyes scanning my expressions and movements. "Then why did you come over?" I ask bravely.

He leans against the row of crimson lockers, a questionable look painted on his face. "Don't think I don't know that you copied off my exam in chemistry the other day." I stand unflinchingly, not daring to move a muscle. How could he know?

"I don't know what you're talking about," I lie.

"You're a terrible liar."

"No, I'm serious."

"You're still a terrible liar," Silas insinuates once more.

My heart skips several beats. How did he find out? I'm sure I was careful, and I know for sure that he didn't turn around to face me at any point, so how could he possibly know? What scares me most is the consequences. Cheating is not and never will be tolerated at this school. If he were to tell someone about these recent events involving me, I'm fairly done for, and I can forget about attending a good collage.

"Rowen. That's your name right?" He asks, a look of confidence and stern still etched on his handsome face. I nod. "Well," he starts, "When you were passing in your paper, I saw the answers on the front sheet and they matched mine."

"So? That just means that we got the same answers." To my own dissent, I move in a little closer to him, with little space left between us. "How did you find out I cheated just by looking at the front page," I speak softly.

"I didn't until just now," he replies with a short grin with his arms now crossed.

My face now wears a puzzled look. But as I'm realizing I just walked right into a trap, I release a troubled sigh. My stomach heaves uncomfortably and a slight disturbance of anxiety tumbles through my body, my face paling. How can I be so stupid to fall for a trap so stupid? All I want to do is deny his claims until my lips bleed and my knuckles whiten. But I just can't cope with harboring another lie in my cage of a mind.

My lips quiver as I attempt to get the truth out. "Fine. You got me," I finally admit with such resolution and guilt. "So, when are you going to turn me in?"

I'm pretty sure I don't want to learn the answer to that. If anything, Silas probably already sold me out. His shoulder leaves the smooth surface of the locker and he now stands straightly. He has to be at least four or five inches taller than me, and I instantly feel like crouching in a corner with my head tucked between my knees where I can see no judgement in the eyes of anyone.

"I'm not," Silas states. "I'm not going to turn you in."

A glimmer of hope reflects casually in my eyes, along with inner shock. "Wait, you're not?"

"No, I'm not." His long lasting grin begins to disappear. "I'm not in the mood for filling out complaint paperwork, especially for an incident that can be easily dealt with."

"And how are you going to deal with this?" I ask, my lip still slightly trembling.

A strand of his hair fans across his forehead, fluttering freely in the air. "By forgetting that it ever happened," Silas replies with a more likeable smile, one that appears genuine and not overtaken by a smartass grin.

The hovering tension evaporates and my lungs fall loose. My lips remain still but my spirit is thankful; thankful that I have no reason to worry about Silas turning me in for cheating. "You'd really do that?"

"Sure. But these things aren't free."

Instantly, the haze of worry creeps in on me once more. "What do you mean?"

"I mean if you want me to stay silent, you have to do something for me," he explains intently. "It's called
supply and demand."

"So, what. You're gonna blackmail me?" I ask more loudly. Luckily, no one is around to hear.

"Blackmailing isn't something I like to call a solution. It's more like turmoil that just leads to future problems." There's something in his voice that sends me adrift; how each syllable smoothly vibrates off his lips. Such a luxurious tone that's hard to describe. It's like everything about Silas is completely unearthly - his pristine and frosted eyes, his melodic voice, his charming features. It scares me.

Wait, what the hell am I thinking?

I snap back into reality once Silas' short pause ends with the flow of a new sentence. "So let's just say, you owe me a favor."

"What kind of favor?" I question so meekly.
Another strange smirk pulls at a corner of his lips but it disappears speedily.

"That, we'll just have to see."

Suddenly, the pitch of the school bell rages in the air and I realize that I'm late for my next class. Without even a goodbye, I give Silas an angry and also pathetic scowl before rushing in the direction of my class. Though as I'm speeding down the halls, I can still feel him watching me, as if he is searching my deepest, inner thoughts and emotions. As if he is trying to rummage through my secrets. That very thought sends cold waves down my spine and freezes my bones.

~~~~~

Studying has been a challenge ever since school ended for the day. Sam and Taylor invited me to our favorite cafe for a pow-wow, and I reluctantly accepted their invitation. On any other day, I would've said yes in a heartbeat, but today is not one of those days.

We all sit at a table outside the cafe. Business is quiet so there's not many faces around. The brilliant blue sky stretches over the town in broad power. The relaxing breeze tousles my hair, loose strands swaying like untouched grass in a farout meadow.

I attempt to do my homework while my friends drink the lottes that they only just ordered. Every word in this damn textbook seems to blur together like a thick cloud of fog or illegible handwriting. Blinking rapidly doesn't do me any good either, nor does massaging my throbbing temples. My thoughts are jumbled into a compiled stack of blank emotions and confusion, each one as incoherent as the next.

Even though he promised he wouldn't, I can't trust Silas to remain quiet. He said that I owe him a favor, and that terrifies me more than being tattled on for cheating on some stupid test. I've only spoken to him once and he's already gnawing at my conscience like some child playing with unlit matches. That makes him both unpredictable and maybe even dangerous in my perspective.

There finally comes a point when I close my ginormous textbook with a loud thud, my mind groggy and mystified from focusing on the small printed words.

"Woah," Sam begins after taking a sip of her latte. "What did that book ever do to you?"

I stifle a yawn. "It's not the book that's making my mind a living hell."

"Then what is?" Taylor asks.

Pursing my lips together, I internally debate on whether to tell them about Silas and how I cheated on a test. Unlike him, I trust both Taylor and Sam to keep my secrets. At least the secrets I'm willing to share...

I decide to tell them about the confrontation with Silas Wells and their faces grow tense with concentration as I speak. Taylor is the first to speak up. "Hold on. You actually cheated off of a test?"

My head slumps back and then forward, an irritated gruff released from my mouth. "Unfortunately, yes. I cheated."

"Wow, she finally did it," Sam announces. "Welcome to the Dark side, Rowen. We've been expecting you."

Sam and Taylor both clink their glasses together as a form of "celebration". Although, I'm not in the celebrating mood. "Oh my God, I'm not joining your little cult of rebellious idiots, Sam. It was just that one time that I made a mistake."

"Once my ass," Taylor comments. "The minute you set down that first stone, that's when you start building off of it."

"Well what was I supposed to do?"

Sam chuckles. "Ah, not cheat?" Her words instantly engrave themselves within my memories and I'm suddenly reminded of the mistakes I've made in the past, and how much they've really altered my course of life. It's because of those mistakes that I'm practically an orphan; an orphan with a terrible burden plastered on her forehead for the whole world to witness. I push aside those feelings and try to keep up with the conversation at hand.

Taylor leaves the table to turn in her empty glass and returns to the table in a more jittery manor. "So what happened when Silas confronted you?"

"Oh, did he turn your ass in?" Sam jokes.

"Well, we sort of made a compromise. He said that he would keep his mouth shut if I did something for him."

Sam's eyebrows begin to dance upwards and then down, and her smile turns schemish. "You do realize that when a guy says that, it means he wants to get into your pants, right?"

"And that's what I'm worried about," I say. "He said that I owe him a favor, and there's something... just unsettling about oweing this guy something, especially since I have no idea what it is that he wants."

"Wait, what did you say his full name was?"
Taylor asks after wiping her lips with a napkin.

"Silas Wells. Why?"

Her eyes widen and her pink-coated lips part halfway at the confirmation of Silas' name. "Wait, you talked to Silas freaking Wells?!"

"Yes, Taylor. Try to keep up," Sam jokes.

"Why? Do you know him?" I ask.

"Not personally," Taylor explains, "but his name was big in middle school. It's funny because I haven't been paying attention to it until you brought him up."

"You knew him in Middle School?" I ask, and she nods. Taylor and I have only known one another since the ninth grade so I never really knew any of her friends from her earlier days.

For some reason, Silas doesn't strike me as the type of guy who would be easily noticed by his peers. Sure, he may be somewhat attractive, in an intimidating sort of way, but looks are just the tip of the iceberg. Whether I like it or not, we have something in common: the fact that we both find comfort in the shadows of others.

Changing the topic of conversation, I ask Taylor, "So what have you heard about Silas?"

"Not much. Only rumors, most of which are probably not true."

Sam giggles. "Like what?"

She looks at the both of us like we said something stupid. "Oh, c'mon. You guys know that I don't like to spread rumors," she clarifies harshly. "Besides, what good will it do?"

"Well for one, you're the one who reacted weirdly when I brought up his name, so what do you know about him that I don't?" I say in the form of a demand.

Taylor seems to get the picture as she releases a sigh and surrenders. "Okay, you win." She places her hands on the dated glass of the table, her palms face down on the dull, crystalline surface as she begins her tale. "A few years ago, there was this huge scandal going around the school involving this kid named Silas. I never spoke to him, but I've definitely heard things."

"What kind of things?" Sam asks, finally invested in what Taylor has to say.

"Apparently his mom and sister had just died but no one knew how. Most of the rumors I heard were about him and how could've had something to do with their deaths."

"And did he?" The fear sits quietly until I pin it down six feet in my gut.

Taylor shakes her head. "I don't think so. But no one ever found out what really happened. The only people that know for sure are Silas and his dad. And the cops, of course."

I sit completely still as if I'm solidified and I don't move. Sam seems appalled as well as her jaw is gaped open widely. As for Taylor, she just looks a bit rough and uncomfortable. Spreading rumors and gossip isn't something she's fond of doing, and when it's something this horrible, I don't blame her.

Sam suddenly starts giggling and laughing, her words almost muffled by her rapid gasps. "Are you freaking kidding me right now? That is the most retarded thing I've ever heard!"

"See? I told you it was nothing but a load of crap," Taylor exclaims. "This is why I don't like gossip."

"No kidding!" Sam hollers. "I mean, seriously. Whoever made that up must be pretty fucked up."

Taylor looks back to me with worry, as I still can't move a muscle. It is most likely some wild tale conjured up by some twisted minded person, but I can't help but imagine the worst. Reality attempts to tap its way back into my brain, but masking my new fear is fighting back with spears and swords that clash in my mind's eye. Am I actually afraid of Silas Wells now?

My best friend's fingers clutch my own, her hand giving me a reassuring squeeze. "Hey, don't worry too much about it. I'm sure it's nothing. Just, try to stay aware of him, okay?"

"I wasn't worrying as much until you said that," I say. Regardless, I squeeze back and nod, oblivious to the fact that a small smile has imprinted itself upon my face. Fear travels through my veins but it doesn't make it to my eyes where it may be visible. Over the years, I've reached mastery when it comes to masking my fears behind a translucent mask so delicate, it's a miracle no one has spotted the scared little girl cowering behind it.

~~~~~

We all departed from the cafe after Sam got a text from Danielle saying that the two of them needed to talk. In all honesty, I really wish they would just cut things off with one another. It would make things a hell of a lot easier for my friend to move on. She deserves so much better after the ways she's helped me over the last few years.

After hearing what Taylor had to say about the apparent rumors that went around about Silas, it's very unlikely that I'm gonna see him again. Forget about the favor I owe him. It's been made very clear that I can't trust him, and I only have so little of that trust left. Fifty percent of it has been broken, thirty percent is stolen and ten perfect is gone with the person I once was. As for the other ten, that's all I have left, and let's just say I'm saying that for a day when the stars don't shine.

As I'm walking up the weathered, stone steps of my house, I hear voices roaring from within the thin walls. Every word spoken sparks a hurricane of even louder words that sound even more unbearable. The voices I match to Dylan and my dad, and I rush into the house.

I'm instantly greeted with an eruption of horsed insults from both parties. Both my brother and father attempt to overpower the other's voice, the only weapon that can inflict the most damage on the opponent.

"No, no! You don't get to speak!" Dylan cries as he points a finger at my father while he two tries to dominate his voice. "You lost that privilege a long time ago!"

My dad sneers, followed by a laugh. "Don't you talk to me like that, I am your father and you do not get to talk to me like I'm one of the sluts you sleep with!"

"Oh, I don't?!" His fury rises to a higher boil. "Ever since she died, I have been the one to keep this family on top of water, not you! You have done nothing but sit on your ass, drinking a dozen bottles of alcohol a day with no concern for your children's well-being once or ever and I'm done with it!"

Dad moves in on Dylan, the hateful glares slicing through each other. "I loved your mother!"

"You're not getting it, are you! You're not capable of loving anymore! You can't even comprehend what love is! All you are is a piece of drunken shit... and I bet Mom would agree."

Wrath explodes and Dad lunges for Dylan, my brother attacking back. What once was a battle of words and who could insult the other more became a heated war in which blood is bound to be spilled. They look like savage dogs, both at each other's throats and fighting for the upper hand, but both withstands the other and none withdrawals.

All I can do is painfully witness my family try to kill one another; my father whom I once worshipped and my brother whom I looked up to. I don't have the strength to reach into my purse to grab my phone so I can dial 911, not on my own family. I just can't!

Fists fly and punches are thrown. I cry my brother's name multiple times but I'm fairly certain no words are coming out. The man whom I no longer think as my father inflicts a blow to Dylan's stomach, the air collapsing from his lungs as he scrunches downwards. Fire in the form of water burns my eyes as I realize I'm powerless in this war, and I can't even help my own brother.

Dylan gains strength in a matter of seconds and throws a punch so mighty, it sends Dad flying across room, his back making an impact with the wall. All becomes a holy silence and my breath releases with an audible tremble.

My brother glides toward him with exhausted fury in his step, and my mother's cruel mistake for a husband sat vulnerably in front of him. It's almost as if he's bowing to my brother and accepting defeat. Casually, my brother picks up a keychain with a few keys attached from the table near by and flings them at the man's face, hitting him just above the eyebrow. "Get the hell out," Dylan tells him without looking him in the eye.

But the man doesn't budge. Dylan's fists clench themselves into balls once more, but I can see it in his face that he's trying to suppress his rage. "I said get out and never come back or I swear to God, I'll kill you!" He screams with his back now fully turned.

The cockroach of a man finally nods his head and shakily climbs to his feet with the keys to his car in hand. Scraps and bruises paint his face, which will one day transition to scars; scars in which were created by his own son. But as he makes his way towards me and the door, I step to the side, reluctantly. He doesn't even eye me as he takes his last step out the door and towards his car. This is the last time I will ever see this man. My father died a long time ago, leaving nothing but an empty soul behind. I realize that now.

Dylan suddenly rushes toward an empty glass bottle that once contained beer and chucked it across the room with an angry and vengeful growl. I jump at the raging cry. The brown glass shattered on to the rug below, those bitter shards littering my mind violently.

What I see next is something I've never seen before. My beautiful, strong older brother slumps on the floor, his elbows resting on his thighs and his fingers tangling themselves in his hair as his sobs quietly. Dylan's hands shield his eyes to prevent me from seeing those tears but it does him no use. I walk towards my brother and wrap my arms around him as he does the same for me. Soon enough, we are both crying into each other's shoulders, both of us not knowing what we are going to tell our brother.

A/N
Don't forget to vote and leave feedback!!! XOXO