Bloodshed (Order of the Unseen, #1)(8)

And I was stable.

If only I had known then what I know now.

All my life, I had avoided the medications I was prescribed for my mental illness because of the belief that they would change who I was as a person…

But that was never the case.

With the right medications, not only was I stabilized, but I was finally able to be my true authentic self, minus the guilt that came after the self-destruction.

And it felt incredible.

I felt invincible in the healthiest of ways.

When I was ready, I went back to school, and all of that immediately became threatened. The moment I walked through the doors and headed toward my locker, a group of kids, bullies, decided it was time to knock me back down.

Literally.

My school books scattered in every direction as I fell right onto my face.

“Fucking weirdo,” the one who just shoved me said, laughing. “Ready to get your ass beat?”

“What are you waiting for?” the other one taunted. “Stand up, pussy.”

Another threat came from behind me. “Leave him the fuck alone.”

That voice. I knew that voice.

I looked over my shoulder, and there he stood in my defense.

“Jensen,” I unthinkingly blurted out.

He stepped beside where I was kneeling on the floor, and offered me his hand, helping me back to my feet. For a brief moment, we locked eyes.

And it was as if nothing had changed.

“Or what?” the boy smugly asked, shoving Jensen next. “What are you going to do about it?”

His friend chuckled. “We’ll take you both.”

“Let’s fucking go,” Jensen shouted at them, holding up his fists.

A third friend of theirs appeared. “Looks like we’ve got you outnumbered,” he sneered, tossing me up against the nearest locker.

“I said leave him the fuck alone!” Jensen angrily shouted, while the other two kids caught him off guard and held him back. “Let him go!”

The kid punched me right in the gut, sending me crippling over.

Out of nowhere, a kid with disheveled, jet-black hair grabbed the kid by the throat and slammed him against the locker with a loud thud. He smashed my bully’s face into the metal frame, over and over, while blood poured from his nose.

He finally released him and stepped back, before staring down the two other bullies, daring them to make their move.

And they did.

Except, it was in the opposite direction.

They took off running down the hall, cursing and shouting, while their friend chased behind them. Bleeding. Crying.

It was a sight to see.

Jensen firmly planted his hand on my shoulder, bringing me back to reality. “Are you okay?” he asked, noticing my discomfort as I held the spot on my abdomen where I was sucker punched.

With a small breath, I nodded, “Yeah. I’m good.”

We both turned to the black-haired kid still standing beside us. He didn’t say anything at first. Just smirked, wiping off the blood from his hand with his shirt.

“Thanks, man,” Jensen said to him. “For having our back.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “Thanks.”

“I just wanted to make someone bleed,” he swiftly replied, letting out a cocky laugh once he looked over the aftermath on the lockers and floor. “After all, red’s my favorite color.”

Our eyebrows rose in response.

“Damien,” he offered his name.

“I’m Jensen.”

“I’m Micah,” I said.

“And I’m starving,” Damien finished, bending down to help Jensen scoop up the remainder of my books from the floor. “Now, what do you say we blow this popsicle stand and go grab some lunch?”

Since that day, the three of us have been great friends. We became inseparable. It all went up from there.

I ended up getting adopted by my foster parents within just a few short months. I never believed I would have a real home to call my own, but Joan and Bob quickly became role models to me. They were my parents, and I was grateful.

I felt so blessed that I almost felt guilty.

I felt unworthy of their kindness, and so utterly guilty that most of the other kids in the system would never get to experience something this incredible.

I vowed from that moment on to never take anything for granted.

Jensen stayed in the area, occasionally bouncing back and forth between foster homes when he wasn’t in short-term programs awaiting placements. This meant he was still able to attend the same school as us. I got him a cell phone for him to smuggle into the homes; that way we could always stay in contact.

A small gift to say thanks for being my friend and caring about me.

It was the least I could do for him.

Damien lived with his parents and never said anything about his life. Not one word. He was always secretive, yet after the insane amount of times he would come to school with broken bones and bruises, we suspected that something was going on. But we never pried.

Jensen and I just knew.

And Damien knew that we knew.

He didn’t have to say anything.

Until the night of his fifteenth birthday, when he had no other choice than to finally break his silence.





CHAPTER FOUR





DAMIEN