BloodOath

I've always been overly familiar with that emotion. It was a ticking time bomb to pain; similar to a melody woven within me, an entirely untamed one at that.

In a twist most predictable, saying I possessed merely a smidge of a temper was akin to mistaking a heavy rainstorm for a slight drizzle of rain. Even a ghost of offense perceived fueled the embers of my soul with an expressive fury. Through a haze of misconceptions, I saw the world stained in scarlet, as it was the only shade that matched my rage.

The fleeting illusion of being without dysfunction faded as the morning light broke through the cracks of the horizon, and I was overcome by the all-too-familiar burden of reality. Something constantly felt out of place the moment my eyes fluttered open each dew-kissed dawn, tethered to when insomnia would instigate the veil of uneasiness entwined with the midnight abyss.

Brrrriiiiinnnggggg!

A shrill cry originated from the bedside alarm clock I hadsmashed far too many times when I stirred awake with extreme anger. The deafening sound blaring in my ears was enough to reverberate the suffocating feeling of being overlooked by every college I had applied to, unlike my peerswho were already planning their futures in college, and their futures were looking much brighter than mine ever would. As unfair as it was, every college on my list lacked the decency to mail a proper rejection letter; adding concentrated salt to my exposed wounds.

Unluckily for me, I recently graduated from high school after four devastating years of literal imprisonment; only to be met with a bleak, inescapable reality where even a sliver of hope of admission into a college was non-existent, as my high school track record screamed out all the detentions andsuspensions you could imagine. I was always one expulsion away from being a full-fledged rebel, but that never stopped high school dummies from calling me One Punch Woman.

To cut the story short, I never experienced your typical teenage girl life. Instead of attending parties, I attended after-school detentions. Forget hanging out with friends, every four-cornered wall I was miserably bound to was that of a classroom and the place I grew to call home, but it never became one.

My parents were never big on the idea of freedom, as they would repeatedly use my violent tendencies as an excuse to manipulate me to stay locked up, frustrated by school, or keep busy by arguing with them about the thousand reasons why homeschooling was simply unnecessary, even though I would pick a fight with every living, breathing human that crossed me, from the neighbors' kids to schoolmates, and even random people on the streets.

While many my age had inborn talents, all I had to compensate for talents was the anger I always thought defined me right from birth.

"What do you mean this is addressed to Skylar?" The confused voice of my mother met my hearing.

It was always a mystery to me how I could tune in and out ofconversations from a significant distance. Nevertheless, I would frequently conclude on being a terrific eavesdropper.

"I was instructed to hand this to her personally. If you could ju-..." This time, it was a male who spoke with urgency, piquing my interest in this particular discussion.

As curiosity would have it, I went out looking as untidy as my room. Soon, I found myself tiptoeing downstairs with my feet barely making a sound against the wooden stairs, similar to the paws of my family's cat Cleo which strangely enough, my mother had kept around despite me being repulsed by cats. Not allergic, just repulsed.

When I eventually made it to the front door which was the source of the dialogue, I heard my mother retort from behind me, "I'm calling the cops."

Just on cue, the man laid a grim warning, "I'd strongly advise against that, Selene."

Selene?

"How did you-..." She paused, then turned around to meet my gaze, making me internally curse my heavy, dog breathing.

Staring directly at me was my mother with a dazed expression on her countenance, and by the threshold of our front door, stood an odd, pale, clean-shaven man with a long-sleeved attire antagonizing the sweltering weather of Letterfall Valley, California. His all-black suit, dark-colored shoes and sunglasses made him look like a character straight from Men in Black.

Assessing the Big Ben for a wristwatch, he took a branded envelope from his chest pocket and stretched it out in my direction, "I wish this was under better circumstances."

In response, I took two steps forward and walked right past my befuddled mother. The instant I seized the envelope off his preoccupied hand, he fled without a single word or a lingering look.

Shutting the door close, I spun around to face my mother, who had already retreated to the study room, which I wasn't often allowed to enter. But that was all going to change today.

Lowering my eyes to the envelope, I caught sight of an unfamiliar name written at the top in big, bold letters.

CORNERSTONE UNIVERSITY it read, ushering in the biggest shock of my life.

Prying open what seemed like a letter with my sweaty palms, I was hit with a wave of both excitement and nervousness, while fighting the pressing urge to shout from the rooftops, and fully suppressing the surprise from the fact that I had never applied to this school or knew it existed till this moment.

Dear Skylar Sinclair,

We are delighted to offer you admission to Cornerstone University for the upcoming academic year. To finalize your enrollment process into the Department of Psychology, please visit our admissions office by August 21st. Detailed information regarding the next step will be disclosed on that day.

We look forward to seeing you on campus on August 25th for orientation where you will learn more about our community. Also, our campus tour and meet-and-greet session will be arranged before then to welcome you properly.

We anticipate your arrival!

Sincerely,

The Board of Admissions

Cornerstone University

At first, I feigned apathy reading through the letter, but barely into the first paragraph, I could no longer contain my happiness, as everything about me was extra, my rage and joy alike; they were all uncontrollably heightened, making it easier to fly off the handle.

"Moooooooom!" I called out to her as I raced excitedly to her study room. Believing she was present in it, I barged through the door, not once minding that I would be scolded later for my actions.

"Mom, you won't believe what I-..." I paused my expression of pure glee when I noticed her absence in the room.

And in that particular moment, I went from smiling from ear to ear to having a confused scowl morph the look on my face, seeing as no one was in the unexpectedly cluttered room. Dazed, I took several steps forward and halted when my feet came in contact with my mother's strangely positioned laptop on the floor.

Odd.

Reaching down to grab the laptop, I noticed one Cornerstone University typed into the search bar; a university I had never applied for, but weirdly enough, they offered me admission. This miraculous occurrence only intensified my suspicions. Someone had to be pulling the strings from behind the scenes.

As my fingers danced on the keyboard, I dug deep into the details of this particular university. My findings only narrowed down to its year of establishment in 1903, and its location in Oregon, before my inquisitive nature would lead to me switching to different tabs on the screen, only to discover unsent college essays I had entrusted my mother of emailing.

At that moment, as my countenance fell, my anger immediately grew with every microsecond that passed. The air around me suddenly became thick, and every breath I huffed in and out became as pained as the feeling in my chest. Such built-up rage would be a terror to unleash, as there and then, every anger management class I had been forced to attend went out of the window in the blink of an eye.

Just about anyone in this situation would default to confronting their mothers on the reason behind their actions. But me? I desperately needed to break something.

And so, I did.

Bam!

The laptop collided with the floor; a loud, plummeting sound piercing through the quiet, as the pieces flew across the room.

In a failing attempt to quell the storm within, I stormed out of the room and then proceeded to escape the unhappiness of home. I desired to be anywhere else but here. But before I had the chance to do that, a bloodcurdling scream came from downstairs.

Without another thought, I rushed to the sitting room to see my mother profusely weeping on the floor beside my father's unconscious body.

"I think he's dead." Her words completely shattered my world.