One

*Reader Warning*

This story is about family and parental abuse, talks of suicide and rape, self-harm and substance abuse. If these are possible triggers for you, please be advised when reading and reach out to me if you ever need someone to talk to or discuss any harm my story might bring you that you feel needs to be addressed. I am not a victim of abuse of any kind and I am not speaking from experience, but I am aware that these situations take place in real life and will always offer my time and ears to anyone who needs someone to confide in. Thank you for reading, stay safe and happy reading <3

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"We find the defendant, Aiden Thomas, guilty on all charges."

Those are the words that ended my teenage life. They took away what little of my childhood I had left.

I was 15 when they sent me away, for stopping what I thought was an even worse crime.

I beat a man, for trying to rape an unconscious girl. Nobody in the court room could believe a 15-year-old boy, barely standing 5'11, was able to take down and beat the shit out of a grown ass man.

They couldn't believe it; until they saw the pictures from evidence. Of a badly beaten and battered face, hardly recognizable as a man or woman. He was barely alive after I was through with him, but yet they found me guilty.

The man is the son of a famed business man, who can bribe his way through any situation, or out. He bribed the family of the girl to stay quiet, giving no one to testify against me.

All they saw, was a deranged young boy, possibly on drugs, who almost killed a wealthy figure. That's all it took for them to find me guilty, and sentence me to two years in a juvenile detention center in California, uprooting me from my small hometown of Athens, Ohio, and basically pitching me to the dogs.

I barely made it through the two years. I didn't need to pick a fight like I always did in school, the fights came to me. Just looking at someone the wrong way, and they could go nuts on you. No one was stable, not even me.

After just a couple weeks, I was already jittery and on edge, looking over my shoulder every corner, barely sleeping. We're young boys, locked up like animals and treated almost as the same.

No, it's not like prison. We're given decent meals and comfortable beds to sleep on, we aren't beat or made to live in harsh conditions. But that doesn't mean we aren't harassed, talked down to, pushed around a little and given punishments or solitude for no reasons.

That can do a lot to a young kid. Some of the kids I met were in there because they got caught tagging, which they were only doing out of peer-pressure, and were left for dead. Other than that, they would never commit a crime.

Thankfully, my father was always tough on me, and taught me that life isn't always fair, and you have to fight back. He knows exactly what happened, and that I didn't deserve the sentence I got, but in the end, there was nothing either of us could do, except accept life or fight it.

So, that's exactly what I did. I fought my way through the two years, careful not to get it extended anymore, and came out a different person, but the all the same too. Though I lost a bit of my time, I'm more than eager to get it back.

Starting with my last year of high school, which took quite a lot of fighting as well. Luckily, they still taught us in juvey, and kept solid records of everything. It was enough for me to still attend my last year and graduate on time, instead of being 17 and going back to grade 9.

That would've been awkward.

Taking a deep breath, I push open the doors in front of me, striding out with confidence. I'm finally free.

I wave at my dad, already waiting for me against his car. He engulfs me in a bear hug, patting me on the back.

"I'm so glad to see you in one piece, son. My goodness, you've really grown." He pulls back to give me a good look, having not seen me in over a year. My shaggy blonde hair has been cut off, not as bright a color from the lack of sun I chose to get, my lanky figure has gained some muscles, from having nothing better to do inside, but work-out. Now, I also tower over my father's 5'11 frame, whereas before we were practically the same.

My father wanted to move out to Cali, to make is easier for him to visit me, instead of trying to get down from Ohio.

But he could never make it happen, not making enough working as a master mechanic. Though he makes good money, the places in Cali are way too expensive for a budget like his. He has raised me on my own since I was 13, after my parents divorced and my mother moved away.

I still see her from time to time, but only during holidays and birthdays. She has a new husband, and they are actually expecting a baby apparently. I only heard the news when I was finally given my mail on the way out. My last punishment for fighting was my desserts were taken away, one hour of solitude and no mail.

By the end, I enjoyed the solitude.

"I'm sure everyone at school is going to be glad to see you," my father says. He isn't the one for small talk, but what else would you do when you haven't seen your son in two years, and you just picked him up from juvie?

"I'm not exactly sure 'glad' is the word I would use."

"Why not? I remember you were always popular in school; you had many friends."

I scoff. "Yeah, I had friends. Not one of them wrote to me while I was in there, or even tried to visit."

"I can understand how hard it is to visit, and I'm the one with the steady paycheck. You can't be too hard on them, not everyone knows how to handle these kinds of situations, especially when it happens to someone else, someone they care about."

My father has never been the reasonable type.

What the hell is going on?

I guess a lot can change in two years, I'm not the only one. My father might not be the same man I knew when I went in there.

This is going to be an interesting long ride home.

***

Riding through our small town of Athens, I can't help but feel disappointed that nothing has changed. The buildings still look the same, there is still the same run-down Dairy Queen on the corner of Union Street, hell even with the same janitor sweeping dirt by the dumpsters.

I was hoping this place had changed for the better while I was gone, maybe they would add in a new video game store or build a skate park. Did any of my friends even like that shit anymore? Do I?

My father pulls into the driveway, the same old white brick house staring back at me. It looks like he might have touched up the paint on the red door, but that's all.

Everything is still the same.

I help my father bring my small number of things to my room, smiling proudly at me when he opens the door to reveal – surprise, it's the same too. Other than cleaning the floors and the top of my dresser a bit, he had left everything the way it was when I left.

This is becoming unbearable. I thank him and he leaves me to unpack, though all I really have is a duffle bag with the pair of clothes I had before I went in, a tooth brush and toothpaste, and a few other personal items.

I wasn't able to bring anything with me inside juvie. No cellphones, pictures, stuffed animals even. They took the clothes you had and gave you a uniform of a pair of black pants and a white t-shirt, or long sleeve depending on the weather.

The first thing I take out when I dump my bag on the bed is my phone. I fought the urge to turn it on the entire ride home, knowing the moment I do, I'm going to be disappointed and enraged at everyone who should've come to visit, or at least write to me.

I wasn't able to tell any of my friends personally that I was leaving, but it had to of been all over the news and papers. It's a small town, word travels fast. They should understand the reason for disappearing without a trace.

To my surprise, when I turn my phone on, it instantly blows up with messages and notifications. I try and skim through them all, amazed at how many people seemed confused as to why I wasn't responding to their messages or calls.

I skip over the angry messages from girls I flirted with and fooled around with a little in my younger days; I lost it young. Not proud, but not ashamed, just kind of neutral about it. Besides, I lost my virginity to one of the hottest girls, at least to our 15-year-old minds.

I lost it the year before I got locked away. We had been sending notes back and forth in class a bit, and flirting during lunch. We finally decided to meet up outside of class, and one thing led to another. Afterwards, I gloated to my friends, and I never spoke to her again.

But I did gain a sizeable reputation.

I wonder if that stuck after I left.

I'm going to find out tomorrow. I rush over to the bathroom to shower and shave, thankful to have my own private bathroom, with fluffy towels and as much hot water as I want. I take full advantage of that.

When my head hits my pillows, remembering how amazingly soft they are, I pass out within seconds.

The next morning, my father is already awake and cooking breakfast, another think he hasn't really done before. He is usually out the door by 7 AM latest, and that's around the time I have to wake up for school.

"What are you still doing here?" I ask him, almost tempted to just let it drop when the sweet smell of bacon hits my nose.

"I took the week off from the shop, or rather they gave it to me. I mentioned to Sean the manager that I was bringing you home, he thought I might want to spend some time catching up with you," he says with a nervous smile.

I raise a brow. "Does Sean know why I'm coming home?"

"Uh, yes, he does. He's the only one at the shop, though, and I know he will keep his word. I often went to him when I needed someone to talk to, help me understand why this was happening to you, to us."

I soften a little, not having thought about how my father must have felt while I was away. He fought for me, knowing I was innocent, but had to watch me prosecuted anyway, for trying to do the right thing, something he raised me to always do.

I put a hand on his shoulder, giving him a warm smile to let him know it's going to be alright. Or at least, we're going to try.

He gives me a smile back and turns to continue loading up my plate with steaming home fries, bacon and scrambled eggs. We chat a little while eating, he tells me about the cool jobs he's done at the shop, I told him the few friends I did manage to make when I was in juvie.

I rush off to catch the bus, envious knowing that everyone else in my grade probably has a license and a car by now. I could have the same, if things had been different. Instead, I'm stuck riding the smelly, loud bus with all the kids.

When the school comes into view and the bus stops along the curb, I glance out the window, hesitating to get off the bus to linger on the building. The brown bricks seem to have faded a little in color, and it looks like they added another portable section in the back.

As I'm waiting for the line of jabbering kids to get off the bus, something catches my eye, or instead someone. A girl with what looks like dark brown hair, covered by a black hood. It isn't her that catches my attention, rather her messenger bag.

It's a Pink Floyd bag, with one of the cover designs for their album The Brick. My father raised me on the old school rock, Pink Floyd especially, telling me of his rebellious stage once upon a time.

Not many people today appreciate the old art. So, seeing that was surprising.

I wonder who she is.

I race off the bus, trying to keep my eye on her through the windows, but I lose her in the sea of heads by the time I manage to get off. I push my way through, using my height as an advantage, but it's still hopeless.

Quickly giving up, I walk inside and straight to the main office. There is a different secretary behind the desk from the last one I remember. I give her my name and she gives me a bored look, before tapping away on her computer and prints out a few forms.

She hands them to me, briefly explaining which is which, then goes back to her computer, as if I was never here. I don't bother thanking her and walk out to look over the papers, which is a schedule and map of the school. I crumple up the map and toss it, knowing nothing has probably changed here that much.

I look over my schedule as I walk to my locker, the number and combination written at the top of the paper. I glance down the hall, doing a double take when I see the girl in the hood again. She is a few lockers down from mine, her head bent so her hair drapes over her face.

Someone pounces on me from behind, taking my eyes away from her to look at the intruder, fist cocked and ready.

"Whoa, Aiden! It's me, don't swing." I hear the familiar voice of my best friend, Scott Roberts. I hesitate when I see him, then punch him hard in the arm.

"Ow, man, what the hell was that for?" he cries.

"That's for not visiting me, asshole."

A look of pure guilt washes over his face, a look I have rarely ever seen.

"I'm sorry, Aiden, but none of us even knew where you went. We thought you skipped town or something, your dad wouldn't even tell us. I had to pry it out of him by showing up at your door every day when you wouldn't answer your phone."

They didn't know? How could they not know?

"It was all over the news and papers, don't give me that." I turn back to my locker, peeking down the hall, but the girl in the hood is gone again.

"It said that some kid was arrested for beating a guy, that's all it really said. There weren't any names mentioned until after the trial, and even then, it was only who the guy that got his ass kicked. You're a minor, they couldn't put your name in the reports," Scott says, almost pleading me to believe him.

"So, how did you find out?"

"At first, I tried asking the teachers, but they wouldn't tell me anything, saying if I wanted to know I should ask your dad. So, I did, but I got the same thing. He kept telling me not to worry, and that you would be back soon. I wasn't taking that as an answer, I knew something was up, so I continued to show up at your door every day after school, until he eventually let me in and told me everything."

"Everything?" I ask nervously.

Scott nods. "He told me you tried to save that girl, beat the guy and might have lost control. Trust me, man, I believed every word he said. I tried to visit, but I didn't have the money and I still don't have the car. I wanted to write, but every time I tried thinking of something to say, I chickened out."

"Why? You could've at least let me know you knew where I was, and that you cared even a little." I glare at him.

"I did care man, that's why I chickened out. You were stuck in juvie for basically being a hero to that girl, and I felt helpless. I still had my freedom, I was still able to go to the beach or to the arcade, hangout with the guys and hit on chicks. I didn't want to tell you all of that, knowing your stuck in there and there isn't anything I can do to get you out. I didn't know how to react."

He shoves his hands in his pockets and looks down at the ground, shuffling his feet. I haven't seen Scott act like this since we were kids, and he broke his mother's favorite China plate. It was an accident, he didn't mean too, but his mother was so upset she could barely yell through her tears. Scott felt terrible, and I know he still carries that guilt.

Which means he really feels guilty about this, it's not just empty words. It does also explain what my father was saying to me earlier. He knew at least one person would be happy to see me, and also how my friends might now know how to react, if they all even know what happened, or cared to find out like Scott.

I hold a hand out to him, and his face instantly brightens up. We hug for a split second, patting each other on the back.

"We're cool man, thanks for always having my back," I say.

Scott grins and wrestles an arm around my neck as we walk down the hall, the energy he always carries with him surging back after our depressing moment.

"Man, it's so awesome to have you back! These past couple years have majorly sucked without you, nothing has been fun."

"What does that mean?" I laugh.

"It means there was no point in chasing girls, or playing football anymore. It was always so boring without you," Scott says with a little pout. I punch him in the arm again, rolling my eyes.

"Stop getting all sappy on me, weirdo," I say.

We walk to first period, Scott explaining to me the few changes the school has made. They renovated one of the science labs into a home education class, equipped with stoves, counter tops, and enough food to make any stoner go wild.

Some classes switched around from their usual places, and the cafeteria got a little face-lift. My first period Advanced English class isn't in the same room as before, and thankfully Scott has the same class as me.

Though we portrayed ourselves as the goofballs and troublemakers of the school, Scott and I are actually pretty smart, and don't try and hide it like some of the too-cool jocks.

We pick seats at the back of the class, like we always did before. This is the first time where nothing has changed, and it feels good. I was so afraid of how much I changed, that nothing would be the same anymore, between me and anyone. It seems Scott is still the same, and the part of me that connects with him is still there.

Letting my thoughts wander, I look across the room, and my heart nearly leaps out of my chest.

Sitting directly across from me, is the girl in the hood. Her head is turned, staring out the window, once again not giving me a clear look of her face. I look down, and see the Pink Floyd bag sitting at her feet, the detail and color much more vibrant up close.

She turns her head, and I get a glimpse of pale skin, long lashes and plump, pink lips. She moves her hair, covering her face again. I rack my brain, trying to remember if I have seen her before, but I don't ever recall seeing that bag, or her in the halls before I had left.

Maybe I hadn't been paying that much attention. Why am I now?

I tap Scott on the arm, and point discreetly to the girl. "Who is that? I don't recognize her?" I ask.

He frowns, giving me an odd look. "She didn't go here when you attended, I think her family moved here last year."

That explains it. "What do you know about her?"

He shrugs. "Not much, no one really does. She started attending halfway through the first semester, never really speaks to anyone and hasn't tried to make friends. She mainly sits by herself in class, in the cafeteria, and she doesn't go to any school dances or even parties outside of school."

Wow, sounds like a hermit.

"Has anyone tried talking to her?" I ask.

Scott gives me a confused look. "I don't know, man. Why are you so interested in her? She is not the type of girl I've seen you into."

He's right, she really isn't. Even after what he says about her, before I wouldn't think twice, but for some reason now, it just makes me more intrigued.

Scott probably doesn't know a thing because he doesn't care, but I know someone who cares about everything that goes on at Ohio Valley High School. She would know anything about anyone, new or old.

At lunch, I seek her out, not being able to get the girl in the hood off my mind the entire morning. I don't have second period with her, but that didn't stop my mind from wondering constantly. Who is she? Where is she from? Why is she do distant?

What does she look like?

I only caught a glimpse, but something tells me she is attractive.

I spot the perky blonde sitting in the corner; I can hear her high pitch voice before I even approach her.

"Hey, Tammy, long time no see," I say and slide onto the bench next to her. Her blue eyes pop open, and the fork she's holding falls onto the table with a loud clang.

"Oh, my god. Aiden Thomas, as I live and breathe." She throws her arms around me in a tight hug. "Where the hell have you been?"

"It's a long story, I can tell you later. I was actually hoping we were still on good terms, so I can ask you a favor."

She shoves my chest and rolls her eyes, but smiles. "Why am I not surprised? What could you possibly need now, after disappearing for two years, without so much as a good-bye text?"

It's my turn to roll my eyes. "Like I said, Tammy, I'll explain all that after. Can you do me this solid?" I ask, pleading with my eyes.

"Ugh, fine. But you better tell me everything, I know when you're lying," she says and points a stern finger at me. "Now, what do you want?"

"I want information, on someone new at the school. I don't know her name, I just know she wears a hood–"

"Avery Reynolds," Tammy says confidently, turning back to her food.

"Wait, all I said was–"

"Aiden, you don't need to tell me anything more than that. Everyone knows who Avery Reynolds is, and at the same time no one has any clue who she is. Even I barely know anything about her, other than that she's a senior, moved here last year half-way through the first semester with her parents, only child I think."

"Is that really all you know about her?"

Tammy frowns. "Honestly, no one knows anything. I have every class with her, and she has never once raised her hand to answer a question, but she always seems to be the top of her classes. She was invited to a few parties when she first started, but always turned them down and never goes to any school dances. What else is there to know?"

"Why is she like that?" I ask.

She shrugs. "I don't know, maybe she's just really shy, or has bad social anxiety. Some people just never get over that stuff, but I'm surprised to see you so interested in her."

"Scott said the same thing," I mutter.

"Well, for once I agree with him. She really isn't the type of girl you're interested in."

"How do you know? No one knows anything about her, she might be my type but she's just quiet."

Tammy wrinkles her nose. "I don't know, I get this weird feeling from her."

I don't. Regardless of what anyone says, if no one knows anything about her, then I want to be the first.

"Thanks Tammy, catch you later," I say and walk back out of the cafeteria, already formulating a plan, and courage, to try and find out just who Avery Reynolds is.