Page 8 of To Hell

“You are better than me, not a pro per se,” she highlights, and I grunt again.

“Let me win for once, please,” I huff. “A pro, okay?”

She chuckles, “Nope, but I will pick you over me, so you are in luck,” she moves around the camera to bring out the SD card.

“I will get you into the top contestants category,” I’m affirmative about it, “I promise.”

She clamps her lips to stifle her laughter, and I don’t blame her. Not that she doesn’t believe I know what to do with the pictures, but she generally likes to tease me. There is a way she stares at me, like I amuse her when I talk. It’s not offensive.

She hands me the SD card. “Do your thing, pro,” she smirks as I reach out, my thumb slightly brushing the side of her index finger, the usual warmth that stirs in my stomach from every slight contact with her whirring up.

“You will take that back when you see what I can do,” I take the SD card and carefully unzip my backpack to put it in the inner pocket.

I start walking beside her.

Knowing her these past weeks has been the highlight of my life. She has felt like a sneak of sunshine through the slit of thick curtains.

I value our friendship and everything she has become to me. That is why I want to do my best for her. I want to watch her achieve her dreams. I want to make sure they come true.

“Here,” she stops at a crossroad. “Your house is that way,” she points behind us.

“I know, I want to keep walking you,” I shrug.

“A girl needs her time alone,” she says, reaching into her cardigan to pull out her earphones. “I appreciate your chivalry, but I want to walk the remaining distance with my music while daydreaming about making it into Moore’s contest.”

She has a valid point there. I have always known her to love her music. But I would also love to keep spending time with her. Still, I need to respect her wishes.

I nod and take a step back. “Let me watch you go,” I say, pointing with my chin toward her house.

“I’m fine,” she gives me her reassuring smile.

“Alright,” I manage a smile for her, too. “See you,” I wink at her, and she catches her breath, then spins and pads down her way.

I stand, watching her as if she is walking to meet with the skyline.

I watch her silhouette take a turn in the distance, and only then do I spin back toward my house, my armor slipping back on.

Chapter Five

ZOE

Iknow this routine. Allowing the music to take me to places I’d rather be. Places I might someday be. Until I find myself here once again, in front of the one place I want to bolt from.

I tighten my hand around the straps of my backpack and stare at our house. The eeriness it evokes gives me goosebumps as I see the lights on, knowing my father is back and in there, which means trouble. For me.

I stagger on, shivering but trying not to show my weakness as I plod along, eyes fixed on the royal blue bungalowand sunflowers surrounding the porch that served as inspiration for my Moore contest entry.

This is the place where I first learned how to laugh, where I learned how to run around giggling with both parents and where I first learned how to dream freely. And somehow, it is now the place that has taught me how to cry deeply.

This place has taught me how to take a punch, how to dream only in secret, and how to never laugh or find anything that can evoke any emotion of joy.

I stalk as quietly as I can through the walkway. I have been living on the edge ever since I lost my mother and my father became a tyrant.

I climb the short stairs, counting them until I get to the porch. Just five stairs. I just have five seconds to catch my breath before I go into what awaits me.

My stomach locks and my heart rams as I step onto the porch and it creaks under my pressure, announcing my arrival.

I clutch my camera with one hand and then free the other from my backpack to reach for the doorknob.

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