Act 1 | Chapter 1

   It was an October morning, in the city of Bates County. The air was cool, and the wind was blowing gently, making the colored leaves dance around my front yard. They would go in circles, spiraling up into the sky before falling once the breeze had faded. Grey clouds above blocked out the warm sunlight, which at the moment, as the only thing providing any warmth, aside from my blankets of course. I was sitting at my window sill, on the small bench built into the wall. The covers I had buried myself under the night before, were sprawled out from my bed in the corner of the room to where I was now. Above it was four hands crafted letters, made from smooth oak wood. 'Z O E Y'. That's my name by the way if you didn't already know. It had only been a few minutes since the irritating sound of my phone's alarm had woken me up. I can have the most peaceful dreams, but the second that alarm goes off, they are shattered like glass, and I'm dragged back into reality feeling irritated.

I didn't want to unwrap myself from the warm cocoon I had made. It was too cold out, and the heater in my room isn't running. Though, if I didn't, I could be late for school, and that's something I never want to be. The best course of action would be to get dressed fast, right? Unwrap myself and quickly find the cleanest pair of clothes I have. That's probably what I'll do.

"Five, Four, Three, Two, One." I counted down with a whisper, before unraveling myself from the only warmth in my room. Despite the fact, my flooring was made of a soft, and beige colored carpet, my feet were still cold. There was only one part of my room that wasn't made from carpet, and that was a mat that I had placed over in the far corner, beside the window. It was there for one reason, and one reason only, which was to prevent any paint spilling from the big easel I had. I'm sure you can imagine how hard it is to get paint out of a rug, especially one as stainable as mine. My dresser was close by, so I quickly opened it and began searching for something to wear for the day.

Already, I could feel the goosebumps forming across my skin, as I scanned the drawer, eventually finding a pair of clean underwear, and socks. After pulling off the yellow shirt over my head, and folding it on my bedside. I took a quick minute to smell my underarms. They smelled fine for now, but what would I know. My nose was always stuffed up this time of year, so my sense of smell was off. They could have stank and I wouldn't be able to tell. To be safe, I grabbed the bottle of deodorant, sitting on my bedroom dresser, and applied it. The outfit chosen for that day consisted of my usual plain colored t-shirt, with a hoodie over it. As I got dressed, I glanced down to the pile of dirty clothes that had gathered up in the corner beside my bed over the last few days.

I made a mental note in my mind to wash them after I get back from school today, which I desperately needed to do. My drawers were practically empty and the clothes I had on was all that was left for the time being. That and one other outfit. I slid into a pair of folded skinny jeans, and put my socks on over my shivering bare feet. All that was left was to clean

Even with all the layers, I still felt the cold feeling in the air. The goosebumps up my leg didn't go away, and my body was still shivering. Nothing I could do about it though, aside from tough it out and move on with my day. Now that I was dressed, I could begin packing. Right next to my dresser, was a bookshelf, filled with several works of classic literature. I always found those stories to be the most interesting, before everything became oversaturated by the same genres and plot cliches. The good stories are the ones that were original at the time, in my opinion. My desk was right beside it, and I quickly noticed that my lamp was still on from the night before. Under its dim, and unmatched light to that of the outside was the algebra homework that I was finishing up, just before bed. Beside that, was the stack of homework I had in other classes, all of which I finished pretty quickly. It didn't take long to organize them all into their respective binders. There were only five classes I had to take, two of which were art classes. To make things easier, I only carried about three binders with me. One for each of my important classes. A used, and worn out sketchbook was open, and on one of the last pages. Before I even attempted my homework last night, I took the time to speed draw something. A simple prelim for an upcoming project.

Once my backpack was filled, and I was dressed, I stood up and made my way out of my room, but not before stopping in front of my mirror. It was a full-body mirror, so I just leaned it up against my wall, and haven't moved it scene. I couldn't help but look at myself every day. I'm not proud of my body, as I always felt as though my breasts were too small. There have been a few times when I could hear other girls talking about me in the halls, and nothing they said ever pleased me. I even reached a point where I felt like padding my chest, but that proved to be too uncomfortable for me and looked a bit too obvious. I was rather skinny, and slightly underweight, which made little sense with how much I ate, but my metabolism is pretty high, so that might explain it. If it wasn't for my long dirty blond hair and girlish clothing, anyone could mistake me for a boy. Every day I stare at myself for a moment, and every day I shake the feeling off. It wasn't something to get overly worked up about. They always say to accept who you are and to love your body and all that, but I don't believe it. I don't love my body, but there is someone who does. My mother. Now that sounds cheesy and corny like, "Yes, of course, your mom loves your body, she's your mom, she will support you in anything", but no, that's not the reason she likes my petite figure.

Quietly, I opened my bedroom door and slipped out into the hall. Just at the other end of it was my brother's room, and I have learned from past experience, that he doesn't like being woken up before his own alarm goes off. He value's sleepover his studies and I can't blame him. He's one of the Linebackers for Bate's University. I don't know exactly what that means, because I honestly couldn't give a shit about sports, but from what I hear, I think it's important. All I know is, he plays football for a fancy school. As for his grades, I haven't seen them, but for how little he says he studies, I'm assuming that they are rather low. During the time he 'claims' to be studying, I'm sure he's instead of having sex with that girlfriend of his. My parents and I haven't ever seen her, but my theory was confirmed when I found one of his used condoms in the bathroom we share. I should probably answer one question you might be asking, and that's if he goes to college, why is he still living here? Well, I actually think his idea is smart, and I might do it myself. It's cheaper to live at home then at the college dorms.

Anyways, I made my way further down the hall, and towards the stairs that led to the first floor of my house. Right next to them was a small table with my mother's old vase sitting on it. She always had a couple of white dendrobium orchids sitting inside it. Upon reaching the first floor, I was instantly able to spot my mother sitting on the couch in our family living room. It was connected to the kitchen, which is where the stairs led too. The TV was on, and she was watching the same channel she does every morning. It runs movies all day I think?

"Morning, Mom." I greeted her, speaking in a soft voice, but to no surprise, she didn't even bother giving me a glance. I should be used to it by now, but sadly, I'm not. My mom doesn't like me. Not even one bit. The only time she tolerates me is when she wants to use me. You see, the only reason my mother actually like me is because of my body. It's flat, and with how often the forces me to wash it, pretty smooth. It's not uncommon for her to drag me down to our basement and sit me down in a chair for hours on end, strip me naked, and use me as her own personal canvas for body painting. I hate it. I absolutely fucking hate it. It's embarrassing enough being naked in front of my mom, but being forced to hold still while she feels me up, and running the bristles of her brush against my skin is still irritating. Well, it depends on where she is running the bristles because if it's in the right spot, it could feel a bit pleasuring. Aside from that one small thing, I absolutely hate it. To make things worse, once she is done drenching me in paint and styling me up, she will bring me over to set up, and take pictures of me. I have to pose and look all pretty, and presentable. I honestly don't know what she does with the pictures, and I'm split between wanting to know, and not wanting too. I don't get a say in if I want to do this. It's either I comply, or she locks me in her closet for hours on end. I love my mom, but I just hate her at the same time.

Seeing as she wasn't at all making breakfast, that meant I had to scarf something down quickly, while I made my lunch. I'm not spending money on the school's cafeteria. The food there is horrible like it is with most schools. I tossed two pop tarts into the toaster and began putting together a sandwich. Peanut butter and jelly spread to the edges. I prefer to have white bread, but we were out, so I substituted with simple wheat bread instead. After grabbing some carrots, and other small snacks, I put them all into separate ziplock bags, before stuffing them into my lunch box with an ice pack to keep them nice and cold. As the toaster shot the pop tarts back up, the sound of my father's footsteps approached from behind.

He was already dressed up in his dress suit and tie and was only behind me to grab a bottle of water from the fridge. My dad worked for some big hotel in the city's center. Apparently, celebrities stop by every now and then, but I never get a chance to meet them, despite being the daughter of the hotel's owner. He cares little for me, like my mom. I have heard the two arguing about me before, usually with it consisting of complaints about their all A and artistically talented student. It hurts to listen to at times, to be honest.

"Morning Dad." I greeted him in the same tone of voice I did my mother. I'm sure you were able to guess that he said jackshit. My dad acted as though I wasn't there and walked over to his wife

"Good morning, Amber," He said, bending over and giving her a quick kiss on the top of her head.

"Good morning, Ethan." She replied and gave him a kiss back. After that, my dad just picked up an old and worn out black briefcase, as he left. Ah well. I scarfed down the first chocolate pop tart and popped the second one into my mouth as I clipped my lunchbox to my backpack and made my way outside. Slowly, I pushed open my front door, which had two windows of stained glass to look out of. If I had a car, I could just drive to school, but by now, you could probably tell my parents weren't ever getting me one. So instead I carpool with my best friend, Riley. Speaking of which, she was parked just outside my driveway and waiting for me.