Page 21 of Unspoken Truths

This is why I always check before moving. People are fucking idiots on the roads.

Blowing out a breath, I hit the gas as I blow through the intersection, shaking my head in annoyance.

My dad is probably still at work, while my mom is playing cards today with the neighbor moms. It seems like a cute little get together, but I know better than that. Empires rise and fall at those damn things, and my father sends her for the gossip. My mother is a very good wife, knows the stakes and the importance of playing the games.

She’s never once missed her mark.

Humming the chorus of a song that’s on, I find that I’m impressed with the quality of the lyrics. The lead singer cuts open her veins for her craft, the words raw and real. This is why I look for new music, my brain craving new patterns and dopamine hits.

In a normal world, I’d be diagnosed with ADHD, but my parents don’t think it’s real. So, that’s another reason why I study so hard, crave the words of different languages to hold my interests, and search for new music.

It keeps me whole and functional. It doesn’t make my neuro-spiciness any less real, I’ve simply learned how to manage it in a way that works for me.

Pulling into my drive after the gate allows me entry, I pick up my phone to see who the band is that I’m currently obsessing over. The words Darkest Nights light up on the screen, making me smirk. I have found my new hyper fixation, thank you very much.

Turning off the music, I pull the car into the garage and get out, making sure I have all of my things.There’s a motorcycle and three other vehicles in here, but none of them are ones that my parents typically drive, which means I’m the only one home.

The staff retreats to other parts of the house when I’m home, which means I fend for myself. I can cook so I won’t starve, and I prefer to be alone without people breathing down my neck.

Going into the house, I hit the button to ensure that the garage door also closes before shutting the door leading into the mud room. Taking a deep breath, my nose wrinkles at the scent of bleach and disinfectant.

The maids must have gone to town today. At least it’s all clean.

Roaming through the house, I make myself a sandwich with carrot sticks. I like the crunch they make, and they’re an easy snack to eat after my sandwich is gone. I need to work upstairs, away from the scent of bleach and cleaner.

My tech room is built off my bedroom, one that only I clean from top to bottom. I use a steam cleaner instead of bleach, so it’s easier on my senses. Climbing the stairs, I breathe a sigh of relief at the third floor as I push the door to my room open.

Flicking on the special lights that ensure that they’re not too bright, I nod in happiness as I shut the door behind me with my foot. There’s a bathroom connected to the suite on the right, but my tech room is on the left past the desk I use for schoolwork. Bypassing that, I use the code on the door to open it, ensuring only I can enter.

The one place that’s completely impenetrable in this house is my tech room. I built it out myself when my parents were out of town when I was twelve. After I was kidnapped the summer of freshman year, I slept on my cot in the tech room for almost a week before I could leave it.

I’ll never admit it out loud, but it fucked with my head. The tech room is almost the perfect safe room with a few keystrokes.

Stepping inside with my plate of food, I do what I need to do to ensure the locks are in place and then sit down at my computer set up. Taking a large bite of my sandwich, I power up the machine as I decide what direction I want to go in for the little mouse.

I want information that’s embarrassing, traumatizing, and will make her rethink attending my school. It’s only been two days, yet I’m already tired of seeing her face. She’s too damn pretty, her pouty mouth enticing. I’ve never seen Jared so worked up about someone. We’ve done a lot of fucked up shit over the years, but my dreams last night were deranged.

I want to fuck her, cut her skin, watch her cry. I haven’t even spoken to the little mouse, yet I’m afraid of getting caught in her web. My feelings are very conflicting, which means I need to focus on my work.

Flicking on the music again, I begin to sing the words, already having learned these lyrics from the first time I heard them on the way home. My fingers nimbly fly over the keys, pulling up different browsers over the three different screens that surround me. I put Rachelle Thomas and her mother’s names through different search engines to see if I can find anything interesting.

As things pop up, I learn that she’s lived most of her life in Cocoa, Florida, and her father made good money until he died in a car wreck when she was twelve.

“Drunk driver,” I mutter, crunching on a carrot. “That’s some shitty luck there, Chuck.”

I’m an insensitive ass, and I click my teeth as I find the addresses of trailers they rented over the years. One of the best things that ever happened to Julia Thomas was meeting Emil on a dating app. Pulling up photos of her, I have to admit that the old man could have done worse.

My food is long gone as I continue to run different searches, finding nothing of consequence outside of an eviction or two. It’s not enough for me to run with and I growl in frustration.

My phone buzzes with a text message and I look away after entering the keywords for any arrests that may have happened that are connected to either of them. Fuck, she can’t be this squeaky clean.

That’s boring. I’ll make shit up if necessary and make it look real, but I’d prefer for there to be a kernel of truth in things. It makes it hurt more.

Jared:

I’m done with practice. Anything good come up?

I hate telling him no,but as I begin to answer, a couple of pings sound on my computer. Glancing up, I frown as I see that it’s coming from a prison.

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