Scarlet Hayden wasn’t a very optimistic, seventeen-year-old Chicago girl. She used to be before the nightmares emerged into her life. After one bloodcurdling event, she couldn’t ignore the fact that there was something wrong; the fact that made her afraid to look people in the face.

Scarlet wasn’t crazy, against other’s assumptions, and she wasn’t afraid of people in general, either. No, that wasn’t why she caged herself within the protection of the sturdy walls of her home.

Once, she constantly dreamed of running away, as most teenagers do. But now the crimson haired, unusual golden-eyed teenager locked herself within her room as often as she could, wanting nothing more than to hide from the dark thoughts that polluted her mind.

Scarlet listened to music to distract her, slunk out of her room when her parents had left for work, and took two sleeping pills each night to get at least a few hours of sleep before wrenching herself out of nightmares, drenched in sweat.

Although Scarlet would never admit it, she occasionally wished that someone would come and protect her. A lover, a bodyguard, anyone with the strength and comfort she needed. But Scarlet had to face it: she was alone and would stay alone, as long as she stayed in her bedroom. Maybe things had changed outside; she didn’t know.

However, there was one thing she was vaguely aware of: her parents were determined to get her out of her room. It wasn’t healthy and their daughter needed help.

When Mr. and Mrs. Hayden found a solution to deal with Scarlet’s seclusion from the world, she assumed that it would be an insane asylum.

But who could blame her? She encountered the most unbelievable phenomenon and ended up paying a price for it with tax.

Death.

Such a simple and scary word. Scarlet never had to think about it because she never thought that it would have happened to her or anyone she knew. But death could happen to anyone anytime for any reason.

Scarlet found it hard to face the reason for this death. The tragedy pointed out that she was strong, but she was afraid. In consequence to her action, she was comfortable yet now alone.

To be honest, Scarlet wanted out of this box. To breathe fresh, cool air again. And a distraction, any distraction, would be good for her.

...

There are many traits Scarlet could barely tolerate both by personality and by appearance.

When she was introduced to Dr. Hawthorne, she could feel disdain bubbling inside her. If Dr. Hawthorne hadn’t worn the same look of pity as everyone else, Scarlet might have liked her. But Dr. Hawthorne was no different than the rest of society, who regarded her as a tragic child.

Dr. Hawthorne had short curls of auburn hair that did not compliment her absurdly bony face. The only makeup she wore was thick and dry red lipstick that clashed against her entire outfit; a pioneer length flowered skirt, weathered sandals and a flowy, bright olive blouse.

Her beady brown eyes smirked at Scarlet through her thick rimmed glasses attached to beads locked around her neck.

They looked plastic. Scarlet wouldn’t be surprised if they were. Many people wear artificial glasses to appear smarter which Dr. Hawthorne, clearly, was not.

Scarlet’s solution was to sit through all of their sessions with tolerance until she was released and could move on with her life. But after a few weeks dragged by, her patience was wearing thin.

“Scarlet,” Dr. Hawthorne began with her soft voice, “will you please sit down?”

It had only been a few meeting sessions and the teenager already felt suffocated. The therapist had not once confronted Scarlet on the situation as to why she was there in the first place. All she did was question Scarlet’s hobbies, friends, opinions; total irrelevant things, in the patient’s opinion.

Scarlet wavered by the door. Although she already knew it wasn’t there, her eyes scanned the pale room for the time.

Hawthorne didn’t believe in having a clock. She claimed it interfered with her connecting with her patients. But with or without the clock, she would never connect with Scarlet.

In Scarlet’s gut she knew she had at least an hour there, so she slugged to the peach leathered couch in defeat.

Dr. Hawthorne sent a polite smile. “Thank you. Now, how are you feeling lately?”

The teenager tensed defensively, though only a little. Ever since that incident, the reason Scarlet was there, the girl had been questioned about her feelings at the beginning of every session.

And every time Scarlet gave the same answer. “Fine.”

“Just fine? Nothing else?”

Scarlet shrugged.

“I have been informed that you have still been staying home. Why is that?”

“I would leave,” the patient protested lightly. “There’s just nothing to do.”

“No friends to call?”

Scarlet did have friends, despite how few there were, but right now she wasn’t sure she was ready to see them. “No.”

It was silent as Dr. Hawthorne scribbled on her clipboard. Scarlet wondered what she was saying. No doubt twisting her words around, miscalculating her silence as a human-hater, gradually stepping outside the line of sanity. If Scarlet was sent to an insane asylum, it would be Hawthorne’s doing.

“Have you been taking your medication?” Dr. Hawthorne slipped in, failing to be casual.

Pills for the mentally ill. For the psychotic, depressed, and suicidal. Which Scarlet Hayden was not. Of course no one believes that.

“Yes,” she lied.

“Twice a day?”

“Twice a day.”

Yes, twice a day Scarlet popped pills through their pouch of paper and watched them bounce into her personal trashcan.

“Listen,” Scarlet clapped her hands together. “We both know why I’m here, but you haven’t brought it up once. Isn’t that what you quacks do?”

Hawthorne removed her glasses, slightly intrigued. “Do you want to talk about what happened?”

“If it’ll help me get out of this place.”

The irritating therapist placed her hands delicately on top of her guarded clipboard. “Scarlet,” she began slowly, “why did you jump in front of that car?”

…

There’s beauty in everything, everywhere, every day. And on February 14th people seem to notice, or appreciate, it more than usual.

That is, if they’re in love.

Which Scarlet was not. And that was alright because she didn’t need a guy, or romance, or flowers and chocolate. For all she cared Cupid could shove his flimsy arrows up his powdered baby bum and let her die a spinster.

What she didn’t think was fair was that Valentine’s Day is dedicated to making singles feel like a loser for not having someone. It grabs them by the head, shoves their face in melted chocolate mud and laughs. That’s what happens to losers.

Last Valentine’s Scarlet wasn’t just a loser with a chocolate muddy face, she was a livid loser with a chocolate muddy face.

Her dad was busy, as usual, with work, and forgot to get her mother a gift representing love and affection and being the dear mother that she is, she vented on Scarlet.

Her daughter listened patiently, as good daughters do, until Mrs. Hayden made it sound as if it was Scarlet’s fault. Her mother picked at Scarlet’s ratty hair, dirty jeans, freakish gold eyes, and her tacky friends that were influencing her negatively. Pick, pick, pick.

If Mrs. Hayden had to have a daughter, she would have preferred it to be a cheerleader who dated the football captain with a four point o. The perfect daughter.

To her, Scarlet wasn’t her daughter. Not now. Not with her grades, not with her appearance, and not with her life. Not for a long time. It didn’t so much as hurt as it ticked Scarlet off.

So when Mrs. Hayden sent her daughter to her room, Scarlet rolled up her bedroom window and slipped out into freedom.

She knew it was a stupid decision. It was practically the law: Single people do not go out on V-Day. Especially to public places.

But did she care at that moment? No.

Scarlet needed something to take her mind off of everything, and what better place than the outside mall? It was practically a zoo of humans and she needed the noise.

She walked around, dazed, not looking at but rather through the throngs of people she passed. Scarlet could almost see the cartoon hearts bobbing above the couples’ heads.

Suddenly, she spotted someone in the distance: Carter Berkley, the most attractive guy in her grade, just down the street.

His dirty blonde hair glinted under the sunlight and his smile melted all of her bottled anger. That is, until she saw who he was with: Sally Gardner. The strawberry blonde, beautiful, intelligent tennis captain of the school team; Mrs. Hayden’s ideal daughter.

But Sally was the kind of person the more someone tried to hate, the more they ended up liking; No matter how perfect Sally may be it was impossible for Scarlet to hold a grudge against her.

Carter slowly looked in Scarlet’s direction and she dodged a few people as she aimed to hide behind a trashcan. From the redhead’s knowledge, Carter and Sally hadn’t seen her.

The peculiar eyed teen stayed behind the trash for a while, receiving skeptical glances from strangers.

After a few minutes of putrid solitude, Scarlet slipped around the can. It had been long enough for her to calm down and she was almost positive she was ready to face her mother again. And if she wasn’t, her dad ought to be home by now.

Scarlet began pushing through people, muttering dozens of “Sorry’s”, until she noticed someone: a boy with shaggy dark blue hair.

He appeared a few years older than her and was stunningly attractive; more so than Carter. The stranger wore a navy and white striped t-shirt and faded jeans with a silver chain swinging smoothly across his chest.

He slowly looked up, locked his indigo eyes with Scarlet’s, and she was instantly hypnotized. That is until he reached her side, and everything froze.

Scarlet felt like she was in a movie and someone hit pause. Kids running were immobile, birds were awkwardly glued to the motionless air, and the sickeningly affectionate couples were statues.

There was only one color: Blue. It was as if a bucketful of navy paint was chucked all over the buildings, people, litter, cars, even the sky.

Scarlet was immediately soaked in despair. The intoxicating kind; a kind she never wanted to stop feeling. And she panicked.

It wasn’t just the feeling that made her so hysteric but how familiar it felt. Like she had experienced this emotional connection before.

Scarlet turned to her side and saw the mysterious boy was not frozen. His eyes locked directly onto her, a warning with a hint of recognition.

Before she could react, he passed her and everything returned to normal. Movement, color, scent, sound, everything.

It was so surreal.

Scarlet looked back and to the boy disappearing into the crowd.

She didn’t do it because of what happened. She did it because she was merely curious. That’s all. That feeling wasn’t one you could easily describe. Scarlet doubted if she went home and pulled out a thesaurus there would be a definition for it. And she knew, just knew, this stranger could give her an answer.

So she followed.

Scarlet shoved through people, this time not bothering to apologize, and caught up to him with ease.

Until he jaywalked across the road.

Scarlet admitted that she had never jaywalked. Ever. The idea of illegally crossing a street and possibly dying was not on her bucket list. But if she took a detour, she’d lose him completely.

Scarlet took a deep breath and kept her eyes locked on him as she stepped off the curb, which led to her demise.

Because Scarlet stepped right in front of a car.