The harsh, metallic rattle of the public transit bus was a brutal reminder of the world I actually belonged to.
It was barely 6:30 AM on Wednesday morning, and the sky over Oakridge was wrapped in a heavy, suffocating grey mist. I sat by the scratched window, my knees pulled tight against the seat in front of me. I was wearing a dark charcoal oversized crewneck sweater that completely engulfed my tall frame, paired with wide-leg chocolate brown corduroy pants and my favorite worn-out leather boots. My copper waves were claw-clipped securely at the back, but I felt entirely exposed.
I had slipped out of the estate’s guest cottage before the main mansion had even begun to wake up, deliberately dodging the sleek sports car that usually waited near the gates. I wasn't just avoiding Mike i
