So maybe this story doesn't have a cool, descriptive title. Who cares? Most titles don't even fit the damn story no a-days. Mine might not even be any different than most teen stories out there. I can say this though, what happened, just happened.
I won't say "I knew that if I hadn't done this, then this wouldn't have happened" because I didn't know. I would have never known. It's not my problem if you feel I was an idiot for making an idiot decision here or there, but that isn't my problem now is it? Never was, never will be.
My name is Mac. Well, technically, it's McKenna Meyers, but I go by Mac. Always had, always will. It won't make a difference if you call me McKenna; I will just make a...subtle change to your face so you wouldn't do it again though.
Let's start with how I met him I guess, just to stick to the story. I have a terrible habit of tangents, so bear with me...
December 13, 2000
Of course, it's my 16th birthday. And on my 16th birthday, I have to bear the same bullcrap I bear from my parents every single birthday. They aren't my real parents, those two died in a car accident. I don't normally refer to them as 'mom' and 'dad' either. I refer to them as Mr. and Msr. Barnum. Why should I call them 'mom' or 'dad'. They aren't blood related. There's no special blood connection to them. Hell, I barely even speak with them. Still, Mrs. Barnum takes me shopping every year anyway for my birthday at whatever store I like. I usually pick a place that would scare the crap out of her, mainly Hot Topic or The Rave, but she would drag me down to one of her girly shops once in a while.
You see, they got me when I was 6, so I've lived with them for twelve years. I had to see my dead parents wheeled in on stretchers to the hospital all bloodied up, so I didn't really act like the stereo typical, barbie loving 6 year old. No, I was usually alone in my room, bawling my eyes out until one day I decided to stop caring. That was probably what changed me so much at first. I didn't mind that though. They took a big issue with it. Not my problem. If Mrs. Barnum wanted some ditzy, blonde, barbie loving girl, she got the wrong child then. I hated barbies. I burned my barbies. (I went through a terrible Pyromanica phase when I was 13).
Still, they woke me up on Saturday and dragged me to the store and Mrs. Barnum had me try on dresses that I didn't really like. Whatever. Didn't matter to me. When I finally got home about 2 hours later after shopping, I bolted from the home, ditching the nearly hated clothes. I hadn't even had time to get myself ready for the day. My wavy, firey red curls were all down and wild, and I had no eye liner on, and I was dressed in only a pair of baggy black jeans and a black t-shirt and my favorite hoodie. I sat in the cold, shivering at the park.
I was the middle of December after all, so I was freezing in the snow.
Still, I was about halfway across the street, ready to head back home when a car bolted around the corner and headed straight for me. Of course, I was stuck, paralyzed with fear.
I could see the head lights, and then a massive force bumped into me and shoved me all the way across the street. Whoever the hell it was, I almost freaked out.
I stared at the person who had saved me, eyes wide as hell. Terrified as shit. Her blinked and let me go, laughing a little with relief.
"Mac," he said while he chuckled. "Learn to look both ways." Wait a second! Did he just say my name? My nickname!?
"Who in the fuck are you!?" I hissed. He seemed to look confused before realization hit him. He just turned and ran off. No, he bolted off faster than any kind of human I had ever seen.
I stood up, and walked home. I should have forgotten him, but I spent my walk hom trying to memorize his features. He had black, chin length, feathery hair. Dark, strawberry red eyes. He was tall, and average built to the human eyes. So, when would I meet him again? I wondered. That answer came closer than I thought.