Catching Feelings

Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Sophomore Year

(Slight abuse in chapter, if triggering skip chapter until the last few paragraphs.)

[ Trinity ]

The next morning, Trinity was awakened by her father barging in the room and dragging her out of bed by the ankles. Her head slammed to the ground, sending black spots over her vision. "Sam, please. No, don't."

Glancing back at his child from over his shoulder he smirked, proving that his intentions with her would be far from friendly. He usually didn't hit her in the morning, but he enjoyed watching her freak about how to cover the bruises he caused. "Shut up. What did I tell you to do when you got in the house yesterday?" He moved Trinity over to the stairs, standing behind her with his foot rested on the small of her back.

"I-I don't remember," As soon as the words left her lips she knew it was the wrong answer. He kicked her back, sending the small body rolling down the stairs, her face and arms smacking forcefully on the mahogany wood.

Sam slowly walked down each stair, one by one. He leant down to her face, using his pointer finger to collect some of the blood that was dripping from my lip. "I told you to do the laundry, my dress shirt for today was in that laundry bin." The brunette haired man allowed her to get off the floor, but as Trinity stood fully up to look him in the eye he smacked her, hard.

Her small, more petite body dropped to the ground again, cold hands clutching her cheek. "I-I thought you said you were taking it to the dry-cleaners."

"I would, but we aren't exactly from here, now are we? How would I have known where the dry-cleaners were Trinity?" She shrugged her shoulders softly. "Use your words dumbass, you were taught them for a reason!"

"I don't know," Trinity whimpered as Sam walked over to her again, griping onto her upper arm tightly—tight enough to bruise and pulled her along with him as he walked into the kitchen.

He sat down at the wrap around counter that they used as a table since there were bar stools under it. "Ok, since you were too stupid to remember to get my clothes I'll go a little easier on you. Alright sweet pea?" Her father smiled innocently, sending shivers up the teenagers spine.

Nicknames were never a good thing.

"T-Thank you, Sam."

"You know I hate it when you call me that, I'm your father and I'd like to be addressed as such." Sam absentmindedly shuffled around in one of the many cardboard boxes labeled 'kitchen items' looking for a coffee cup for the day. "Now make me breakfast, if you could."

"Sorry dad," Trinity forced out, the words coming out tasting like vinegar. "Is there anything in particular that you'd like?" She was already reaching for the eggs that had been picked up the day before on the way home.

"Everything you cook tastes like crap, so I'll take a safer route on my part and have some toast and vegemite." Rushing over to retrieve the toaster from the box beside the fridge, Trinity picked up the large cardboard package box up walking back over to the counter. She was so close to the counter, but her foot slipped on a stray piece of wrapping paper, dropping the toaster and her own body dropping on a box of coffee mugs that belonged to Sam.

While on the ground, her blue eyes widened, especially when she heard the barstool slowly screech, then the latter of footsteps coming her way. Sam lifted the box that was halfway under me from my weight. His hand reached in lifting a broken handle of a bright red mug with an intricately painted symbol on it. "This was my favorite mug,Trinity." Her dad overturned the entire box of broken glass by her body, the little pieces embedding in her hands and feet as she tried to scramble away. "Pick it up, you useless piece of filth!" He sneered, his eyes flaring up with visible hatred.

Trinity hurried to pick up each of the pieces that dropped to the ground. The smaller pieces embedded themselves in her knees, toes and fingers. "After you finish cleaning your mess, take a shower. Don't need you looking like some street rat. I have a reputation to uphold."

Thirty minutes later, Trinity had every piece of glass picked up and thrown away. She quietly raced upstairs, running past Sam's door when she got close to it. The blonde had made it in her room and immediately got clothes and entered the bathroom. She grabbed the first-aid kit, taking out the tweezers and pulled out each piece of glass out of her skin, some pieces hurting more than others.

When she finally finished, she got in the shower, washing her hair and body. The soap stinging the fresh wounds, the bruised already showing up on her tan skin. They were only a blue color now, but most of them were bound to turn purple throughout the day. After she got out of the soothing shower, dried, and put the clothes on she did her hair. While applying makeup, she did her best to cover the facial bruises as much as possible. The split lip was impossible to cover, so she let it be.

Trinity got in the Rover, and grove to the school with the help of her GPS and a few cars that were driving in the same direction. The school, Beacon Hills High, was fairly large in size. A large field for a sport, as she was sightseeing she'd bumped into a pretty girl with dark brown hair. "I'm so sorry," Trinity rushed out, dropping to her knees to retrieve the girls books. She piled them up neatly, the way Sam preferred when she accidentally dropped his items. "I swear I didn't mean to, I wasn't watching where I was going." Trinity stopped rambling when she noticed the girl was staring at her in wonder.

The brunette took her books from Trinity's hands, not breaking eye contact and out of embarrassment by her staring, her hands flew up to touch her cheeks. "Is there something on my face?"

"No, your accent just took me by surprise. It's really thick." Trinity blushed brightly, the heat in her face causing her to look down at the black vans she was wearing. "I like it, it's pretty."

"I like your accent too." Trinity compliments sheepishly, her fingers fiddling with the bottom of the shirt she was wearing. She looked back up, noticing that the girl was looking at the boy steadily walking towards the two. "I'm sorry to keep you waiting, I must go though. I don't want to be late for class."

"We could show you around, if you like." Trinity glanced back at the boy walking towards up, he was very tall and seemed nice, but she was nervous. The blonde never hung around guys, Sam always forbade it. The guy from the woods, Derek, was the first male she'd ever openly talked to.

"That won't be necessary." She started walking away. "Thanks though—"

"Allison," She spoke, the brown haired boy standing behind her, love in his eyes as he looked at Allison.

"Trinity." She walking into the building, instantly being greeted by the principal.

"Right this way, I'm assuming you're Trinity."

"How could you tell?"

"Well I can now, your accent is kind of prominent compared to ours."

She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear out of nervousness. "Right, sorry."

"Don't apologize, it's not a problem." The principal handed her a schedule, the classes and locker number printed there as well. "I'll take you to your first class. I've gotten a map for you, and your classes are highlighted to help you."

With a nod she took the paper from his hands, neatly placing it in her backpack. He walked her into the class a few minutes after the bell rung, deeming them being a little late. "Class this is our new student, Trinity Mitchell. I expect you to treat her like one of your friends. Would you like to introduce yourself?"

You already have, she thought in her head. She'd never verbalize it though.

Instead, Trinity nodded yes. Sam always nagged about how introduction was key, he liked when he got compliments about how well behaved she was. It helped keep up his facade as a "good parent". "Hello, I'm Trinity and I'm from Melbourne, Australia."

Gasps from around the room had Trinity looking at the principal shyly. "I'm feeling your accent, new girl." A boy flirted from the front row.

"What?"

"I'm saying your accent is hot." A bright blush spread across her cheeks.

"May I sit down now please?" The teacher nods and points to the only empty desk beside a twitchy boy, with a buzz-cut hairstyle.

"Welcome to sophomore year, new girl."

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Please comment your opinion, I'm all in for constructive criticism. Thanks for reading.

~CeCe