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EMBERLYNN

A t this point in my life, I’ve concluded that my existence is a curse. I’m not being overdramatic or metaphorical or anything like that. I genuinely believe I’m a walking curse—that what I can do is a curse. Maybe that’s why my life is shit. Perhaps that’s why every damn day I have to walk into this mundane world and get mocked, shoved, laughed at—bullied, basically.

It’s gotten to where I don’t speak to anyone. I just pop in a set of earbuds, crank up my music, and exist inside the lyrics and beats until I go to school and class starts. Then, when class ends, I repeat the cycle—day in and day out, over and over again, like a scratched record. Only, I’m more than scratched. I’m warped and chipped, and I can’t even play music.

I am broken .

People have tried to fix me. Well, my head, anyway. They believe that I’m a soon-to-be eighteen-year-old suffering from depression due to being abandoned by my parents when I was only five years old. And maybe that’s true. But those aren’t the only reasons why I wake up every day, throw on as many layers as I can, tuck my head underneath a hoodie, slip on some sunglasses, and let the screaming lyrics make my eardrums bleed.

That level of depression stems from the years after my parents decided they didn’t want me anymore when he had a hold of me and made me his prisoner. I don’t know his name, but when I was younger, I referred to him as Shadow Man, mostly because darkness always surrounded him. What knowledge I have of him is that he’s a total and complete sadist, wealthy, and inhuman. But his physical characteristics resemble a human. The things he can do, though …

I shove those thoughts out of my mind as my stomach burns with the idea of remembering things I don’t want to.

I collect my backpack, slip on my shoes, grab my phone, put on my sunglasses, and head downstairs to grab some breakfast before making the short walk to school.

When I enter the kitchen and see Eva, my foster mother for the past three months, and her son, Liam, I crank down the volume on my music.

Liam is a year younger than me, and he’s a real piece of work. At school, he’s the guy who slaps girls’ asses, shoves smaller kids into lockers, and struts around like he thinks he’s some sort of king. But he’s simply a creep and a bully who’s pissed off at the world because his dad bailed on him and his mom a couple of years ago. I knew it when I walked into this house and saw his aura.

Typically, auras vary between forest green and brown. I’ve learned that these colors usually mean the person is greedy, self-absorbed, jealous, and cruel.

I’ve been able to see auras for as long as I can remember, but it took me a while to figure out what the illuminated colors of light around people meant. Shadow Man wasn’t aware I could see them, and I’ve always felt glad that I at least have one part of me that he’s never been able to get his murderous hands on. But he’s aware of all my other “gifts.”

I use the term “gifts” lightly because they are part of why I call myself a walking curse.

Right now, some of those gifts are whispering in my chest, begging to be brought out as Liam glances at me and a smirk plays on his lips.

“Nice choice of clothes,” he sneers as he prepares a protein shake in a blender. He drinks one every morning, making the house stink of kale and beets. “Did you steal them from that homeless woman who hangs out near the school?”

I bite down on my tongue to avoid saying anything to him. It’s how I exist because speaking usually leads to something disastrous happening, like me getting hurt. Or worse—I’ve even hurt people.

Eva doesn’t even remove her gaze from the mixture of batter she’s stirring. “Liam, be nice.”

This is her normal reaction, as if she wants to pretend to play the role of a foster mother but doesn’t desire to be one. She probably does it for the extra money she gets for putting a roof over my head. This is pretty common for some parents. Not that all of them are bad. I’ve had a few who were okay. I’ve also had more than a few worse than Eva and Liam.

I grab a few granola bars from the pantry. Liam watches me the entire time, his aura flickering from brown to green to brown to green, back and forth, like he’s having an internal battle with how mean he wants to be. I think part of it stems from my living with him. I once overheard him talking to someone on the phone about how much he hated sharing his house with a loser who looks like she belongs in a trash can. Yeah, he’s really clever with his cruel remarks, let me tell you.

I pity the people at my school because Liam will be in complete asshole form today. The crappy part is that he’s good-looking, and he knows it, with blond hair, blue eyes. He’s tall, lean, a football star, and despite his assholery, he has a ton of friends and a different girlfriend each week.

I do my best to avoid his obsessive gaze as I stuff a granola bar in the pocket of my plaid jacket then unwrap another one before heading toward the doorway to leave.

“Don’t you want any pancakes, Emberlynn?” Eva calls out after me.

“No, thank you,” I tell her, my stomach grumbling in protest.

For a moment, I consider changing my mind, but she says, “That’s probably a good thing since I only made enough for Liam and me. ”

I walk away and out the front door to start the short mile walk to school. It’s raining, but only a drizzle, and I’m already wearing a hoodie, so it’s no big deal.

I trot down the front porch and onto the sidewalk, my clunky boots splashing in the puddles. Then I crank up the music and get lost in the lyrics as much as possible. It’s better this way—my solitude and isolation from others. If I don’t do this, people can get hurt.

I also want to avoid revealing my powers to anyone, not only because I could end up in some sort of government experiment but also because I worry that Shadow Man will find me.

The thought of him makes magical heat swelter inside my veins.

“Shit,” I mumble as raindrops splatter against my cheeks. “Stop thinking about him, Emberlynn. Just stop.”

I focus on that—making the heat go away because if I unleash it, it’ll be bad. Gradually, my body cools down, and I release a breath.

“Thank god,” I mutter.

I’m starting to relax when smack ; something hits me in the chest with so much force it knocks the wind out of me. Gasping for air, I glance down. A layer of chunky green liquid is covering the front of my jacket, and a mug is lying in a puddle near my feet.

Liam’s protein shake?

I look up and spot him hanging out of the passenger side window of his best friend’s Jeep, and he has a shirt-eating smirk on his face.

“Freak!” he shouts loud enough that I can hear him over the music. “Why don’t you do everyone a favor and just end yourself already? Only, this time, do a better job, loser!” With that, the Jeep peels away, the tires spinning against the asphalt.

Tears burn my eyes as I self-consciously touch my wrist, where my scars are hidden beneath my long-sleeved shirt. I put them there when I was fifteen and felt like I couldn’t take another heavy breath. I failed, though, and now I’m marked with the agony I carry inside.

I almost always cover the scars up. One time, though, when it was hot during the summer, I made the mistake of rolling up my sleeves. I didn’t think anyone was home and had left my bedroom to go to the bathroom but, apparently, Liam had returned home without me realizing it, and I crossed paths with him in the hallway.

When he saw the scars on my wrist, he laughed and said, “Seems about right.” Then he walked off.

As my gaze descends to the green protein shake on my clothes, any amount of control I had over the heat inside my chest dissolves. It’s been years since it overtook me, and when it happened, I vowed never to use it again. And for good reasons.

But right now, I can’t remember what those reasons are.

As the blazing sensation builds inside me, I almost surrender to what it craves and release it. But right at the brink, when I can feel it prickle at my fingertips, I rein it back.

I manage to get most of it tucked away, but some of the raging energy slips out. Then, as the ground starts to vibrate, panic sets in, and I run forward as the ground splits open.