Caddie's POV:
Lust.
It was a four letter word that meant a strong sexual desire, for me it was the reason I wanted to puke in the wastebasket.
The atmosphere stirred with multiple emotions stabbing at me for attention. There were the most simple of emotions like happiness, I thought as I stared at Sarah. She was the new employee who wore flowers in her hair and put 'special' mushrooms on her sandwiches. Then there were the harder emotions, like anger. My eyes shifted to Zach, he was seventeen and going through his 'I hate the world phase'. He took a knife out and started chopping at a ripe tomato aggressively. Seconds later pain erupted through my body. Glancing back at the kitchen, I saw that Zach had cut himself in the middle of his fight with the tomato.
Shaking off the pain I turned my thoughts back to lust. In front of me stood a six foot man who smelled like rotten cheese and had a pillow stuffed stomach. He stared at me as if I were the last cheeseburger at barbecue. I quickly jotted down his order and scampered away.
"Is Lonnie scaring you again kiddo?" Marcy asked across the counter. Her eyes darted behind me as she shot the lecherous customer a scathing glare.
I smiled kindly at her before reaching for the coffee pot in her hand. Marcy was a strong, independent woman with a sweet southern accent. Her long brown hair was swept into a messy bun, strands of loose hair framed her doe-like eyes. She had a round face with a button nose and thin lips, and carried a bit of extra weight on her hips. However, that was to be expected since she had just returned from having a baby.
"She's fine Marcy. Crazy scares the customers away, not the other way around." Bertha hollered from the kitchen and let out a loud cackle at the sour expression on my face.
Bertha stomped towards me and crushed me in a big bear hug. I immediately flinch away from the close contact, but that didn't stop her from squeezing the living daylights out of me. I despised the nickname she had given me even though I knew she was only joking. Bertha was a robust woman who loved to taste every meal she cooked. She used to say that a good cook always tastes the meal before the customer, to determine whether it was good or not. She hardly needed any reassurance though, everyone in town loves her food as much as they love her. She was a beautiful woman with skin as dark as the coffee in the pot I held in my hand.
Releasing me, she flashed her usual bright smile. I wonder how she's able to do it. Most people only pretend to be happy when in reality they feel sadness, anger and hurt, but not Bertha. It's always like a sunny day when I'm with her; everything feels happy.
"Her name is not Crazy. It's Caddie. Stop acting like she's crazy!" Marcy snapped and nudged the older woman's hip. She gave her a meaningful glare before leaving the confinements of the counter to take care of new customers who just walked in.
"Oh you know I'm jus' jokin," Bertha drawled before she stumbled back into the kitchen.
I sighed and walked begrudgingly back to the dining room. The problem is that I am looney, as Bertha so kindly put it. When I was only five years old, I was diagnosed with Reactive Attachment Disorder or RAD for short. Contrary to it's cool acronym, it was most certainly not rad at all. It meant my behavior and mood was deemed unstable to society. I won't dispute the fact that I act weird, but it's hard not to when I can feel the emotions of others. Ever since I was a young child I was sensitive to other people's emotions. My father already had a hard enough job trying to raise his daughter alone, it didn't help that I cried every time he hurt himself.
It wasn't until my kindergarten teacher, Ms. Phillips, called home one afternoon that my father realized how strange his daughter was. When a child was rewarded with a gold star, I would start to smile and laugh giddily. When someone fell, I would cry uncontrollably. In the first hour of school, I had managed to scare everyone off. Things got better after that though, I went to see my shrink every Tuesday and Thursday and learned to hide my oddness. I could never be normal but I could pretend to be for a little while.
As I passed through the rows of tables I stopped by a middle aged woman who was trying to calm her rambunctious child. I planted a fake smile on my face and refilled her cup with coffee. She shot me a grateful look before scolding the bratty child who was screaming at the top of their lungs. My left eye started to twitch from the storm of emotions that spewed from the toddler. I hurried away from their table and went to take more orders.
I had just started to calm down when I saw the two girls that were sitting in front of me. The first girl had tanned skin and a wide face and full lips . She was beautiful, but that was only on the outside. On the inside, she was disgusted and angered by the simplicity of her surroundings. She looked at everyone with disdain in her dark eyes. The other girl was tall in the way models were, with bleach-blonde hair and skin caked in makeup to hide her insecurities. She looked at her beautiful comrade with scorn and jealousy before returning her attention to me. When I clicked my pen she quirked her perfectly shaped brow, a coy smile spreading across her face.
"Look at this Char," The blonde girl cooed.
Char, the girl with distinct native features, glanced up at me before swiftly looking away. A grimace marred her beautiful features as she turned to talk to her friend.
"There is no way I'm letting Crazy touch our food," she hissed.
I rolled my eyes and took out my pad of paper and pen. Clicking the pen once, I gained the attention of the gossiping girls. When their whispers died down, they both gave me a foul look.
"We demand a new waitress. Right Tiffany?" Char seeked approval from her friend. The blonde girl quickly nodded, but I could tell that Char didn't need Tiffany's approval for anything. In a group of people, no matter how small, there is always a leader. From Char's controlling demeanor it was clear who the leader was out of the two.
"All the other waitresses are busy. Is there anything I can get you to drink?" I kept my eyes trained on the notepad in my trembling fingers.
Char's eyes narrowed and I cowered under her intense gaze.
"Listen you nut job. The customer is always right and if I say I want a new waitress-" she twisted her glossy lips into a snarl,. "I get a new waitress."
"I-I'm not a nut job," I whispered.
Char clenched her teeth, I could practically hear her grating the tips of her teeth. She pointed a long manicured nail at me.
"Now you listen here, you're crazy and everybody knows it. The only reason why you're not locked up is because your daddy is a good man. But, just because you're allowed to live a normal life doesn't mean you deserve it. You deserve to be in a padded cell with all the other crazies," She pounded her fist on the table.
Tears stung the corner of my eyes. I swallowed down the lump in my throat, but said nothing as she hit me with new insults. Her anger and hate was suffocating, I didn't understand why she hated me so much. I hardly knew her, she was an upperclassman and I was only fifteen. It felt like she was accusing me of murdering her children instead of asking to wait on her. The townsfolk never liked my odd behavior, but I couldn't imagine they hated me this much. Her anger was infectious and I knew that if I didn't leave soon I would blow up.
Please stop talking. Please, just stop.
I continued to whisper the same words in my head until the insults abruptly cut off. Char's mouth was forming words, but no sound was coming out. The diner was deadly silent, everyone was watching our odd exchange. Tiffany reached out and grabbed Char's hand. Char broke off in the middle of her wordless rant and mouthed a 'what' to Tiffany.
"Your voice is gone!" Tiffany exclaimed.
Char's brows furrowed in confusion until she tried to speak again. Her eyes widened in disbelief. She tried to say something, but it made no sound. My body was rooted in place, my eyes were wide and my shoulders were tensed. Once I managed to snap out of my state of shock, I dashed away from their table. I shoved my pad of paper and apron into Marcy's arms and ran out of the diner.
Outside of the diner, my heart pounded in my chest. My life had always been confusing; I learned a long time ago to stop looking for answers. Nobody could tell me what was really wrong with me, because truthfully I shouldn't exist. There was a huge difference from having messed up emotions and feeling other people's messed up emotions.
"You're confused," a female voice said with a German accent.
I turned around and saw a stunning, middle aged women standing behind me. Her dirty blonde hair pulled into a tight bun away from her face. She had almond shaped eyes covered with thick black glasses. I figured the glasses were used to distract people from her cold black eyes. Staring into her two dark orbs had me breaking into a cold sweat. Once I looked past her inhuman beauty, I realized that she reminded me of an older version of myself. But my hair was a paler shade of blonde, and instead of having black eyes mine were an aqua blue.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I lied.
Her eyes crinkled in the corners, a kind smile gracing her ruby red lips. I could practically taste the pity she was projecting towards me, it left a bad taste in my mouth. I detested that emotion, especially since it was often directed towards me.
"I know you do," she spoke softly, "I know this because I'm just like you."
My eyes bulged from their sockets. She couldn't actually mean that, could she? Don't be ridiculous, she doesn't even know you, a cynical voice in argued. That was a good point but I couldn't dispute the fact that I wanted it to be true.
"That's not possible," I said against my will.
"You don't have to believe me yet, we'll see each other again," she said cryptically, "And then you'll understand."
Her eyes sparkled with barely contained excitement, "Now hurry home, your father has to talk to you about something."
There was no way that she could possibly know that. She was probably just making fun of me. That could make sense, maybe she's new in town and thought it would be fun to mess with the crazy girl. I looked away from her and shook my head, and when I glanced back she was gone. Blinking rapidly, I stood in the middle of the diner parking lot and thought: I've officially cracked.
Kicking a loose pebble on the road, I made my way from the diner to home. The sweltering Virginian heat licked at my khaki covered legs as I walked home. Luckily, my house was no more than a few blocks away. I pulled at the collar of my white polo shirt as sweat started to form on my pale skin.
It was weird how the world felt when I was disconnected from other people. As I turned down my street, I noticed how appeased my mind was once I left the company of others. Familiar maple trees lined the suburban streets, and all the houses looked the same except for the three-story faded white house that sat at the end of the street. Compared to new model houses with white picket fences, my house stuck out like a sore thumb. But it was my home, it was the freak of the block, like me, and it had belonged to my mom.
She had died shortly after I was born. My dad doesn't talk about her, it's too painful. Through the years, I was able to pry a few things from him, but it wasn't much. All I knew was that her name was Nora: she was an orphan and had one sister- but they didn't stay in touch. I used to wonder if my dad even knew her. She was such a mystery that many of the townsfolk only heard of her from old stories.
I skipped up the creaky wooden steps. The chipping white paint and weak floor boards were key signs that it was time to sell the house. But I never wanted to. I fished a small golden key from my pocket and let myself into the house. The foyer was small with a single wooden table that held an antique vase and two dead flowers.
I frowned at the flowers. That's why dad wasn't a botanist, he didn't know a thing about taking care of anything alive. It was a miracle I survived as long as I did. I reached out to touch the wrinkly brown petals when I noticed a pamphlet lying on the table. I flipped the pamphlet open and glanced through the pages. Two seconds later the pamphlet fell to the floor and I raced down the hallway.
"Dad!" I called.
"In the study," his voice echoed through the thin walls.
I raced down the dark hallway until I found the room I was looking for. My dad sat behind his large desk, reading over a new case from his law firm. The study was fairly small. He only kept a desk with an ancient looking computer in the room. Dad would have been handsome back in his day. If it wasn't for his receding hairline and creases in his face, women would be falling on their knees for him. He gave me a warm smile when he looked up from his papers. Until he saw the broken expression on my face.
"Cads, what's wrong?" He asked, the creases in his forehead deepened with concern. That was ironic to me, he cared about me and yet he was sending me away.
"Why were you looking at a boarding school pamphlet?" I choked out.
Dad looked down at his papers as he tried to figure out what to say. It was an old habit of his. Whenever he tried to avoid awkward situations he would try to keep himself busy. I wouldn't let him ignore this awkward situation though, I needed to understand.
"You can't just look at them and not tell me!" My voice raised an octave as my blood boiled in my veins.
It was my life we were talking about. He surely wasn't looking at those pamphlets for himself. My dad put the papers down and gave me a wary look.
"I've decided to send you to Nox Haven Academy next year," he said bluntly.
"W-why? What have I done wrong?" I shook my head.Besides today, I had been doing well with my control. Unless my dad had hidden cameras everywhere I went, he couldn't have known what happened today.
"You haven't done anything wrong Caddie," his voice grew softer. Dad gave me a long sorrowful look.
"Then don't send me away," I pleaded.
He rubbed the scruff on his chin and leaned back on his leather chair. "This isn't a punishment. Only the elite are accepted into this school.,"
He said that as if that mattered to me. I swallowed the sob that threatened to rise and tried to keep my face stoic.
"Are these kids normal?" I asked slowly.
My dad hesitated for a minute before saying, "It's a school that will take care of your special needs."
He was sending me off to a nuthouse. Before he could say anything else I stormed out of the study and ran to my room. I slammed the door and locked it. I knew he would come after me, but I couldn't look at him right now. The tears burned in the back of my eyes. I swallowed harshly to stop them from flowing freely. I took my sleeve and wiped away the dampness on my cheeks.
My cat, Ebony, jumped onto my desk, accidentally turning on the computer. I sat on the computer chair and typed the name of the school. Pictures popped up of a dark Gothic castle. My face fell as I scrolled through tabs. Words like demonic, and sadism caught my eye. The school Nox Haven of Salem Massachusetts was supposed to be a sanctuary for special kids. It looked like a school for vampires. Ebony jumped onto my lap and rubbed her soft black head against my shoulders. I stroked her head and looked down into her innocent onyx eyes.
"Wish me good luck, Ebony," I whispered, "I'm going to live with the psychos."
**I hope you guys enjoyed the first chapter. Thank you for reading and I really hope you continue to read because Caddie's life is about to get a lot more interesting...
XOXO,
Ro.**
(Song: Control by Halsey)