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.

For as long as I could remember, I hated every major and minor detail about hospitals. The revolting smell of antiseptic drifting in the bloomy atmosphere constantly aggravated me. As silly as it sounded, the siren from the ambulance I rode in earlier erupted a certain feeling of nausea within me. To make matters worse, the unreadable look doctors wore destroyed every bit of hope mustered.

With a sharp inhale, I managed to elevate my shaky hands slightly above the unnaturally colder ones of my father. My eyes then wandered to the oxygen mask situated on his face,and there and then something died in me.

Defeated and ridden with devastation, I left his side to settle down on the two-seater just by his hospital bed. When I unconsciously redirected my line of vision to my mother, every memory of the past 12 hours began to flood in; instantly, I recalled the ride in the back of an ambulance with paramedics going back and forth trying to save the life of my father whose ears were deaf to my sobbing mother pleadingwith him to hold on to dear life.

And what was my reaction to seeing my father on a stretcher?

I was utterly traumatized but too frozen in place to show any of it, until we finally arrived at the hospital. The fear of being fatherless was briefly replaced by the need to keep up with the paramedics who rushed my father to the Emergency Room where he received instant treatment. At the same time, we waited outside for hours until my aversion toward hospitals deepened, if that was even possible.

Everything was happening too fast. The built-up anxiousnessfelt like we were waiting on a miracle at this point. The feeling of anger towards my mother's wrong against me hadnow been replaced by sadness and worrying about my father never waking up again.

"Nora Sinclair." The doctor called out as she came into the private room my father was later moved to. When that name rolled off her tongue, my mother rose instantly with tearsglistening in her eyes.

Looking over my shoulder, I found my mother and the doctor whispering indistinctly to each other. I could only make out a few uninteresting words they threw at each other. That was until they unexpectedly stared back at me and left the room afterward like they knew I was desperately trying to overhear their conversation.

Weird.

Shifting my attention to my father, a million thoughts began to fill my head and little by little, I grew restless, stirring left to right from discomfort until eventually, I drifted into a warped trance.

Like my current life situation, I hopelessly sought out a way to escape. One second, I was in a hospital ward the next I was consumed by fear so intense I had never felt so powerless in the face of an enemy whose bloodshot eyes I could see through, but I could barely make out the face of my stalker.

As faint whispers and an animalistic growl echoed throughout the eerie dark forest, I took to my heels, constantly looking back with dread-stricken eyes and an intuition that I was being hunted.

Gasping out loud, I drew in every painfilled breath of air to hasten the speed of my feet against the brittle layers of the forest floors. Soon enough, every pace forward became heavier and heavier until my feet finally gave out and I fell by the entrance of the ruins of a desolate, forgotten temple.

Failing to accept my defeat, I pushed my weak, unwilling body against the concrete stairs. I struggled to make it to my feet until the beast cornered me. Releasing a deep guttural noise, it launched itself at me, and at that moment, a shocking realization dawned on me...

It was all just a dream. One that had plagued my sleep for days now.

Vacantly staring at the phone in my palms, the time read 11:27PM when I eventually jolted awake from my nightmare which felt like it had lasted for a minute, but I was asleep for more than 3 hours. Mentally frustrated, I tugged at my hair, recalling the growls of the faceless beast and a single word being whispered in the dark.

Reawakening.

"Sky?" I heard a sore voice say. A voice I never thought I'd hear any time soon.

Hearing my name, a severe rush of relief and happiness hit me, and even I couldn't control what I did next, "DAD!"

Wasting no time, I lunged my whole body at him, and he groaned in response. Taking his pained expression as a sign to back off, I instinctively retracted myself from his embrace while flashing the huge smile plastered on my face.

"Careful. My insurance doesn't cover a bruised rib." He joked, clutching his chest tightly for added humor.

"Not funny, Dad." Adjusting my sitting position, I remarked at the same time playfully glaring at him, "How long have you been awake? And what did the doctor say?" I rushed these questions, my voice oozing with pure concern.

As if on command, my mother walked into the room with a tray of hospital food in her hands. In two giant strides, she reached us and placed the tray on my father's lap. Suddenly, she met my gaze with a stern look in her eyes, "Don't be a brat, Sky. He needs his rest."

Stunned and infuriated but mostly infuriated, I looked her straight in her eyes saying, "I was just-..."

"The doctor said he'll be out in a week's time. Isn't there somewhere else you need to be?" She spoke harshly, cutting me short.

Without uttering another word, I stormed out of the room and would've proceeded to leave the hospital until a thought hit me like a speeding school bus.

Wait! She had no right to kick me out of the room.

Realizing this, I pivoted my heels and made a U-turn back to the room, and just as I was about to enter, the audible voices of my parents came from within, halting my steps and making my hand freeze near the knob of the door I had furiously banged seconds ago.

"She's gone now. You can stop pretending." I heard my mother speak.

Then came the voice of my father, "How'd you like my performance?"

"6 out of 10. Wake up faster next time. I almost ran out of tears." She made a snide comment.

"How long do we have to keep this from her? She's gonna find out eventually." He was fuming at this point.

"We've got bigger problems on our hands. But for now, keep up the stroke patient act and keep her away from college." She said diplomatically, trying to subdue the brewing storm for a temper identical to mine.

"What bigger problems?" He quizzed in a confused tone.

I took a step back, too shocked and perplexed to eavesdrop deeper into their conversation. But that feeling only lasted for a millisecond before I reverted to my typical nature, fiercely burning with rage and looking for a way to escape. In no time, fury swallowed me whole, setting my core ablaze and turning my heart to stone.

Now more than ever, I needed to get out of here. And at last, I did what I should've done from the start. As I stomped out of the building, I felt betrayal pierce a hole in my heart. I was like dynamite primed to explode and spiraling beyond control.Rage had never cut me this deep.

Just when anger and pain had taken a toll on me and I desired to retaliate fast, a buzz came from my phone. Taking it out of my pocket, I paused to read a new email from an untraceable email address.

Dear Skylar Sinclair,

We are pleased to inform you that a dormitory room has been assigned to you at Cornerstone University. Please find the attached details concerning your housing assignment. Should you require assistance, we look forward to giving you just that on your resumption.

We anticipate welcoming you to campus.

Sincerely,

Cornerstone University

On an average day, I would be skeptical about this email, but today I ached for a way out of my dilemma, and I was being handed one right before my eyes, even if it meant swimming in student loans from lack of financial support from my so-called parents.

To me, this meant more than just an admission, it was a chance to be set free from the shackles that held me bound my entire life. This marked a sweet start to teenage rebellion.

I couldn't stay any longer. I wouldn't.

Heartbreak, misery, and rage; every torment life could offer had troubled me in a single day. The weight of it all was too suffocating for the heart to carry. By the time morning came, I'd be nothing but a ghost in their memories. Gone without a trace.

The night I discovered that my parents had been lying to me, I didn't scream, I didn't cry or unleash all my anger on a random person on the street; I acted. With the last of my savings, I booked a one-way bus ticket to Oregon. But I wasn't leaving empty-handed. No, I took my father'scheckbook as a parting gift. By the time they'd realize what I'd done, I would be long gone, a few thousand dollars richer. It was more than I needed, but just enough to sustain me and sever what bound me to them.

I was careful. Every move was calculated. With a heavy heart, I hurled my trackable iPhone into the depths of the river, letting the water consumed it.

It was done. There was no turning back now.

The cash I had stolen came from an ATM nowhere close to the bus stop, my house, or in Oregon. If my parents called the cops, there'd be no trail leading them to me. Thankfully, my mother had never seen the name of the university, so she wouldn't know where to start looking.

In the dead of night, I became a ghost cloaked in a black hoodie, a baseball cap and dark shades, nothing for the street cameras to recognize, no familiar silhouette to compromise my plans.

The bus ride stretched into hours, and with every mile that passed, I felt the chains around my life loosen as peace began to fill the air. When I eventually crossed the border to Oregon, the air was different. It was lighter, fresher, unburdened like the freedom I finally owned and hardly tasted.

When the bus came to a stop, I didn't go anywhere fancy. Fancy would be a mistake. It would be the first place they looked for me. Instead, I checked into a filthy, two-star roadside motel, the kind where the receptionists don't wearpants or ask questions, and the only witnesses were the rats running in the ceiling. They scratched and scurried all night as I lay awake trying to force myself to sleep, but I didn't care.

It was the one time I showed any level of indifference. I could have been sleeping on a hundred pieces of broken glass, and it still wouldn't have dulled the rush of freedom sending shockwaves through my very being.

Tomorrow, I'd settle into my dorm. Tomorrow, I'd become a new person, someone untouchable. A student, independent, but mostly unstoppable.

The stolen money would cover my start. A job would handle the rest. And when the time came, I'd apply for loans just like any other student, realistically carving my future with hands my parents could no longer control.

They thought they could trap me. They were dead wrong.

Once the morning light slashed through the sky, I stirredawake, my heart racing. My arms were still wrapped tightly around my luggage, the one carrying all the cash I had stolen. I clung to it all night, absolutely terrified that in my sleep, someone may have pried it from my grip. A wave of panic overwhelmed me as I checked the bag, my fingers tremblingas I panted.

"Still there. Whew!" I breathed.

Relief lasted only a second before the sheer filth of my surroundings slammed back into me. The motel room reeked of dampness and regret. Peeling myself off the rickety mattress, I scrambled to the shower, only to recoil at the sight-grime caked the tiles, the stench of mildew wrapped aroundthe air, and I was certain something moved in the corner.

Rats? Roaches? I didn't care to find out.

With a shudder, I abandoned the idea of showering. Rather, I tore open a half-crushed granola bar, shoving it into my mouth as I readjusted the same clothes from the day before. The fabric clung to me like a second layer of dirt, but staying in that room for another second felt like slow suffocation.

I grabbed my bag and bolted, my lungs filling with the crisp morning air the moment I shoved through the motel's rusted door. And just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, the strangest thing happened.

A taxi parked idly at the curb; the seats still warm from its last passengers. I didn't question it. Luck was a stranger to me, and when it did appear, I acted on it. Without so much as a second thought, I flung the door open and sank into the seat.

As the taxi driver pulled away from the curb, I caught sight of him in the mirror. He was extremely hairy and plump. The kind of man who blended well into the background of everyday life. Nothing about him was remarkable except for his eyes. The way he kept staring at me, sharp and assessing, sent a discomforting chill down my spine.

Looking out of the window, I ignored the stares. Today was not a day for paranoia.

The drive was long. The university wasn't in complete isolation, but Oregon's forests wrapped around the roads, swallowing everything whole. Trees blurred past in a quick motion, endless and dark, their towering figures casting shifting shadows under the rising sun. It was chillingly beautiful, setting my nerves on edge.

Finally, we pulled up to the university gate. I breathed nervously, dragging my stolen money and luggage onto the pavement. The driver expectantly watched me in all of this.

On impulse, maybe out of arrogance or out of guilt; I handed him an enormous tip. Too generous, perhaps, but I had no change, and I hadn't earned a dime of the money I was throwing away.

With that, I swiveled around to face my future. Stepping into the life that awaited me beyond the gates. This was only the beginning.

"Here goes nothing." I exhaled, anxiety seeping into my tone.

Just as I was about to take off, my hands tightly wrapped around the handles of my bags, I heard a male voice say, "Didn't think you'd make it."

Immediately, I turned my head in the direction of the voice. It was him. The man who came to my front door with my admission letter in hand. But he wasn't sporting the all-black attire that made him appear enigmatic. Today, he was easieron the eye, owning the pitch-dark casual wear that matched the shade of his hair and eyes.

I strained my eyes to examine him, "You!"

He had the appearance of an ordinary student, but there was nothing ordinary about him. He stood apart from the average male crowd, giving off a quiet confidence that commanded attention. His striking features and powerful physique only made his presence impossible to ignore.

"In the flesh." He was cocky, folding his arms above his chestas he stared down at me arrogantly; a smug smile lingering on his lips, the kind that practically begged to be slapped away.

"What?" Puzzled, I questioned him.

"May not look like it, but my folks were actually Japanese. The name's Jackson Yu by the way. Sophomore." jested Jackson, doing a silly bow at the mention of his name.

Taking a deep breath and dramatically letting it out, he finished, "Follow me."

Like a sheep, I let him lead the way, dragging all my luggage as I trailed closely behind him. He seemed to know his way around, as he swaggered on like he owned the place, and all I could do was awkwardly try to keep up with his pace, dodging the plethora of students that passed, oblivious to both their surroundings and my presence.

Perfect. I was invisible.

Being invisible, I slipped through the crowd unnoticed until we made it to the front of the Admissions Office. Inside, I meta self-absorbed attendant who checked herself in her mirror and adjusted her hair every 10 to 12 seconds. When she finally handed me my files and accommodation details after the obsessive assessing of her looks, I turned but then noticed Jackson had vanished.

Shaking my head in disbelief, I exited the office, looking bewildered as I attempted to pinpoint the location of my dorm. While in my confused state, I collided with someone, or at least someone collided with me. Unbothered, he took off without looking back or uttering a word of apology. While that baffled me, it also pissed me off. You see, if you had a temper like mine, anything and everything was upsetting;apathy wasn't exactly an option.

Cornerstone sure had unusual characters.

But he appeared to be the most unusual. I had trouble getting a good look at his face as I could only make out his denim-clad backside. The most unusual thing about him was the intoxicating, drug-like trace of his scent. His perfume clung to the air around me, making it even thicker.

Was it lavender? No. This was something else, something almost unnatural like a fragrance that didn't just linger but haunted. His aura was irresistibly strong.

And then, he turned.