Corrupted

The Beginning

The first rays of the morning sun filtered through the blinds, casting a warm, golden hue across my small, cluttered bedroom. I lay there for a moment, nestled under the cocoon of my Star Wars-themed blanket, my eyes tracing the familiar posters of far-off galaxies and mythical creatures that adorned my walls. I'd always found solace in these fantasies, these escapes from the mundanity of my own existence.

My room was a chaotic mix of who I was and who I dreamed to be. Heavily used paperbacks were stacked in haphazard towers on my nightstand, their spines creased from frequent visits to worlds that sparkled with magic and adventure. My desk was buried under a mountain of sketchbooks and pencils, each page a testament to my love for drawing, for bringing to life the characters that danced the ballrooms of my imagination.

I stretched lazily, my body heavy with sleep, and glanced at the alarm clock. It was earlier than I usually woke… but today felt different. There was a subtle shift in the air, a sense of anticipation that I couldn't quite place. I swung my legs over the side of the bed, my feet touching the cold wooden floor. The sensation sent a shiver up my spine, a reminder that reality was waiting just beyond the safety of my room.

I shuffled to the window, pushing the blinds aside to gaze out at the neighborhood. It was a typical suburban scene: rows of houses with well-manicured lawns, cars parked in driveways, and the occasional jogger taking advantage of the cool morning air. But my eyes were drawn to the house next door, where our new neighbor, Damien, had moved in a few weeks ago.

There was something about Damien that intrigued me. I had only seen glimpses of him - a shadow moving behind a curtain, the briefest encounter as he collected his mail. But each time, I felt a pull, an unexplainable curiosity that gnawed at my insides. He was shrouded in mystery, his house emanating a vibe that was both alluring and slightly unnerving.

I turned away from the window, deciding to start my day. My morning routine was simple: a quick shower, a haphazard attempt at taming my unruly brown hair, and a comfortable outfit that usually consisted of a graphic tee and jeans. I wasn't one for makeup or fancy clothes; I preferred to blend into the background, unnoticed and unremarkable.

As I made my way downstairs, the smells of breakfast filled the air. My parents were already in the kitchen, a symphony of clattering dishes and sizzling bacon creating a familiar soundtrack. They were chatting about their plans for the day, their voices a comfortable hum in the background.

"Morning, Mia," my mom greeted me with a warm smile as I entered the kitchen. "You're up early today."

"Yeah, couldn't sleep," I mumbled, pouring myself a cup of coffee. The rich aroma was comforting, a small pleasure that I savored each morning.

My dad looked up from his newspaper, his eyes crinkling with a smile. "Big day today, huh? Last day of senior year."

I nodded, taking a sip of the hot coffee. "Yeah, it's kind of surreal. Feels like just yesterday I was a freshman, scared and clueless."

"You've grown so much since then, Mia," my mom said, her eyes filled with that mix of pride and nostalgia that parents often had. "We're so proud of you."

I smiled, feeling a warmth spread through me that had nothing to do with the coffee. My parents had always been my rock, their support unwavering even when I felt lost in the chaos of growing up.

After breakfast, I grabbed my backpack and headed out the door. The air was crisp, the sky a brilliant shade of blue that promised a day filled with possibilities. I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with the fresh morning air, and began my walk to school.

As I passed the neighbor’s house, however, I couldn't help but glance over. The curtains were drawn, the house silent and still. But I felt a shiver run through me, a sense of something lurking just beneath the surface. I shook my head, trying to dispel the odd feeling. It was just a house, after all. Just a neighbor I barely knew.

Damien.

Dark, brooding, leather jacket and blue jeans-wearing Damien. With thick dark hair and muscles and… and… and way more years under his belt than I had.

It was silly. This crush. I knew it. But that didn’t stop me from fantasizing about feeling his lips all over my body, his black stubble grazing my trembling flesh.

Yeah, right. Like he would ever want a short, puny, shapeless girl like me.

But as I continued on my way, the sensation from his home stayed with me, a whisper in the back of my mind that something lay within. Something that had the power to change my life forever.