“Time will lead you home.”

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Her pink colored lips were trembling while her enchanting hazel eyes were assessing me. I espied her eyes glisten when they met mine. I felt an unfamiliar entrancement toward the girl and  I couldn’t move from my spot. I had never deliberated about a stranger before, all I cared about was myself.

“Are you okay?” For the first time, I asked a stranger how they felt. Whenever I see someone tearing up, I would just mumble to myself that they were having a crocodile-tear moment. Somehow, I was convinced that the world was all about me and other people feigned their feelings. 

Don’t blame me, I had seen many people who had done that in my old middle school and high school. We’re all surrounded by actors and actresses. I never had a friend other than Henry, everyone else wasn’t faithful to his friend. For my stroke of luck, I was pretty lonely, so all my thoughts became about me, Daisy Emerson.

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be?” She put on a smile on her face but I didn’t believe that smile as if I knew that girl from before and knew all of her smiles. I stared into her eyes, determined to see what’s hidden under that smile. I saw pain--abnormal pain--in her eyes that I understood immediately. For an inconclusive reason, I could read her, it was preternatural for me especially with a stranger.

“Lying,” I stated the fact, narrowing my eyes on her as if I was narrowing them at myself. She licked her lips and moved her eyes away from mine. She could leave if I made her feel uncomfortable, but she didn’t. She was stuck to the ground just like me.

“Here for Peter or his son?” Manifestly, she changed the topic. Who was I to her to succor her? Plainly no one, just a stranger she met on the street.

“Peter, and it seems like you are too.” 

“You call him Peter too, impressive.” Her eyebrows raised, and her eyes were full of amazement as if it was a peculiar thing. She glanced over at the house and then again looked at me. I arched an eyebrow as her words made me dubious and perplexed. 

“Impressive? Why? He is the one who made me call him that.”

“Then you are someone special to him or someone who he owns apology to. The Peter Graham that I know is a formal person, especially to his patients.” She explained her reaction, but if no one called him Peter, then was it because he was a friend of my parents, or did he owe me an apology? She played with my mind and it was obvious when I caught the left side of her pink lips tug upwards, creating a sinister smirk on her breathtaking face.

I sensed that she was scanning my reaction as if she was able to read my mind, as much as I felt comfortable with her, there was something dicey about her. “Then does he owe you an apology or are you someone special to him?” I attempted to focus on her more than she could focus on me. 

“He owes me an apology, but I ain’t sure if I could forgive him,” she edged closer to me before she continued her mind games on me. “What would you do if you were in my place? Would you forgive him or not?” Her hazel eyes were tracking mine while tilting her head a little to the right. Her eyes were filled with anomalous detestation that made me swallow my words. My heart was racing, and I wasn’t able to breathe, almost as if she was choking me. I felt that her indignation was toward me and not him, but the theory was that she was putting her rage on a stranger.

“D--depends on the situation.” The intrepid Daisy stuttered in front of a stranger, who was I? To be more specific with my mindful question, who was she to withdraw the mask off my face? 

She disorientated my mind and I was struggling to not lose it in front of her. “Terrified of your sins, sweetheart?” The voice echoed again in my head. I heard his scornful laugh demonstrably that it reached a deafening level.

My breaths came out gasped and I felt an invisible hand clamp over my mouth. Adrenaline floods my system like it's on an intravenous drip--right into my blood at full speed. My heart was pumping in my chest; it was hard to disregard it. It happened again, that attack happened again. I felt the world spinning around me in rotation. 

I used to hear those voices a lot, but it never enervated me like in those days. “Are you okay?” The girl’s eyes widened as she understood just how frightful my condition was. I was trying to stay standing and not descend to the grass as I did in the hospital. For an undivulged reason, I wanted to look sublime in front of her. 

Her eyes gave me a ghostly look that I couldn’t define, it was like her eyes were speaking a million sentences in one second. ‘Be fine please,’ in a beg form and ‘you deserve it,’. I didn't know what was wrong with me, how could I sense that from a silent person? I never knew. However, I did feel love-hate toward me. It disturbed me and I didn’t credence what I sensed.

I coped with my attack while clenching on my fist to seem like a normal person. I wasn’t ordinary, I admitted it since the day I cut my hair. The day where the sun never rose to me, I admitted it. 

I nodded at her calmly. A relieved sigh left her mouth, she craved me to be fine. I didn't expect her to desire that for me. It wasn't like I knew her, but I felt hatred from her when she spoke with me a moment ago. Maybe I was wrong. 

I desired to be wrong. I desired it was only her mental health issue, or that she was only putting her anger on me and not something else. I pushed away what I had sensed as if it was just overthinking, and not an inkling, or anything significant. 

“Good, stay that way.” Her lips were pressed together as I heeded over her shaking hands, they were shaking in an anomalous way. I held it to calm her. 

“It's fine,” I smiled at her softly. I wasn't fine either, we weren't fine and that's why we were in front of this house.

“Who are you?” I finally had the courage to ask her about her identity, her eyes were glossy again. 

“Someone you’ll wish you never met.” She sounded bitter in her murmur. I knew how to be nice to strangers, but there was something about her that kept me petrified as much as I was comfortable.

“I don't think so. If what you were saying is true, then why would I still be here standing with you?” I replied with a question and glanced at our hands that were holding each other. Her eyes were tracking mine as if they were asking what shall I do? Shall I tell her who am I? 

“Just tell me,” I begged as my eagerness for the knowledge of that mystery girl’s name meant much more than expected. 

“Mackenzie Finley,” 

Her name was a familiar name for me, it was like I’d heard it before but didn't have a clue where or when from. “I'm Daisy Emerson.” I introduced myself to her and she repeated my last name in a question form before she chuckled about it. 

“I’m sorry, that name is…what can I say? Umm, nasty?” She apologized but her apology didn’t mean much when she called my last name ‘nasty’. 

My eyes burned with ferocity while my jaw clenched. The anger was written all over my face and her eyes lit up as if it was what she desired for, she wasn't normal. But am I? 

She guffawed while gazing at my reaction. “Chill, it was a joke.”

I wished someone could tell her she didn't have a sense of humor as she was creepy. My fake laugh was bitter, I couldn't fake it and I didn't have a clue about my real laugh. As I told you before, she and I weren't normal and probably wouldn’t be ever.

“Daisy!” I heard a disembodied voice calling my name. The voice was coming from behind my back and sounded familiar. I felt it was Mr. Blake's voice and I did guess right. 

His facial expression was different, he used to have that appealing face whenever I saw him, even in his rough days he used to force a smile whenever he saw me or his kids. This time, he couldn't even fabricate that smile, his glare was black as his face screwed up. He bounced towards us and clasped my wrist as he pulled me closer to him. 

Mackenzie’s lips suddenly were shaped like a devil's smirk. An unpleasant and heavy sensation sat on my heart when I saw that smirk. “Oh, Daisy, you seem like you have a protective father,” her gaze cruised his figure in a way that made me have an uncomfortable premonition of fear of her.

“Yes,” Mr. Blake replied immediately not giving himself time to think about it. Actually, it was his first time claiming me as his daughter. When I was a child, people used to ask him and Mrs. Blake if I was their daughter, their answers were always ‘I wish’ or ‘like my daughter’. but they never responded with yes.

At first, when I found out about my mom, I did want them to claim me as their daughter. Whenever they say I wasn't, I become gloomy but of course, without showing it. However, now it was different, I didn't want him to claim me anymore. I wasn't ashamed of my mother as much as I was back then. Peter Graham opened my eyes a little about my mom, maybe if he could tell me more I would be able to forgive her. 

Speaking of Peter Graham, the door opened and he walked out, all while I was bathed in a sense of awkwardness after Mr. Blake’s claimant. The moment I saw his face, I felt relieved. His arms were rested on his hips while his forehead was puckered. His eyes tracked each one of us. “What’s going on here?” His tone was harsh this time, I bet he wasn't fine with all of our actions.

“Kenzie what are you still doing here?” He asked gimlet-eyed. No one was gleeful about her presence, it made me chary to find out who she really was and if she knew Mr. Blake before now or not. Their interaction and the way they were staring at each other didn’t tell me they just met, but what confused me was that she looked around my age. What will she do with an old man like him? 

“Mackenzie. Who are you to call me Kenzie? My father? My uncle? My friend? Keep taking care of your special girl.” She shot him a loathing glance while clenching her fist. She execrated the way he called her with nicknames, his presence, and everything related to him.

I kept pondering about the reason for all that abhorrence that filled her toward the eldritch man. He didn't seem parlous at all to me, but why her? Did she know something I didn’t?

“Kenzie, please…” Again he called her Kenzie, why was that man so obsessed with calling her nicknames? Was she someone special to him? Questions, questions, and questions. My head was filled with extraneous questions.

“Why are you strong-willed?” She murmured bitterly, her eyes were glossy again like the time she first saw me. She wasn't disastrous actually or I didn't know, but the way she was looking at him wasn't full of contempt but screaming for remedy. 

What's her relationship with Peter? I wondered as I saw how deep their gazes were toward each other. Their eyes were talking, but with different views. I couldn't tell what they were saying, who am I to understand eye language? 

However, I assumed that he was either desiring for leniency on him or wanting her to have remission.

What did you do Peter Graham? Who are you, Mackenzie Finley? They both were bizarre and I was voracious to know about them.

She trotted toward me with eyes blazing with resentment toward Mr. Blake who was clutching my arm, not wanting her near me. She leaned to my ears not minding the ones who didn't want her close to me. “Ask Peter where his wife is.” She whispered the order to me with an accusing tone as if he did something to her. My face turned blank when I heard her order and I started to remember what had Liam told me in the car a week ago. 

A  smirk filled her face while turning to Peter, it was like she was defeating him. Was I a game to them? Maybe, but not only to them. I’ve been an exciting game to others since the day I was born and it wasn't only about me, there were additional games of people that were played with.

However, the game I was being played with took a break when Mackenzie decided to leave after disturbing my mind. But the storm never stopped by that moment, there was someone there holding me as if she was an adversary to him.

“What was she doing here?” Mr. Blake exclaimed at Peter after finally releasing my arm. 

“Why are you upset with her presence?” Peter, of course, responded to the question with another question, but this time he didn't give any expression in his face and was relaxed unlike a minute ago. He knew how to manage his expressions and put on that soothed mask on his face as if nothing was happening.

“As if you don't know,” Mr. Blake’s jaw clenched after seeing Peter's soothed reaction.

“We still ain't sure, Weston. Stop assuming things without evidence.” I watched as a deadly serious expression formed on Peter's face.

“Why are you defending her? Is there something I don't know?” Mr. Blake arched his eyebrow with his narrowed eyes. 

“Can we go inside and talk?” He requested to talk with Mr. Blake inside. “Daisy, what brought you here?” Peter's eyes drifted back to me, it seemed like he didn't think I wouldn't have the bravery to come to him. If he reckoned so, then he knew me well.

“Didn't you tell me to come?” I asked in a ‘duh’ tone that caused his mouth to curve into a smile, a warm smile that you could tell was based on satisfaction. 

He let us inside his house, Mr. Blake glanced sideways as we walked through the house, checking every piece of furniture while Peter led us to his office. However, Mr. Blake paused when he glimpsed the bicycle clock antique set on the shelf. 

“You still have it?” He gawked at it. He made me wonder about it, it came across to be something personal and outstanding for Peter. 

“Of course,” Peter's eyes were sparkling at the antique. I craved to ask but I preferred staying muted, Peter turned to me and studied with piercing scrutiny. “You won't ask?” He gave me a baffled stare, it was common for anyone to ask. 

“Will you tell me if I asked or just reply with a question like usual?” I crossed my arms over my chest arching my brow while squinting.

“Will I?” He chuckled when he noticed that he replied with a question, I shook my head let out a sigh.

“This is an old present from Sienna, your mother.” He retorted to my wondering  thoughts, “It has a meaning too, want to know it?” He asked me but I stayed mute, my eyes were drifting around the room, looking at everything but him or the antique. I didn't want to know anything related to my mom, I couldn't forgive her still. However, I couldn't say no since I was inquisitive about the meaning. “Time is like a bicycle, moving around places, but it never goes too far from home.” His tone became soft and appealing, his hazel eyes were fixed on me--on my bitter face.

[A/N]: I apologize for the late chapter, I was sick and busy. Anyways, I am back and I will try my best to update constantly. Thanks for waiting and I hope you enjoyed the chapter.

Don't forget to comment and vote for the new chapters! Also for the good news, Hamilton High Blood won the first place of Writer's glory awards! I would like to thank justBetty25 for judging and reading my book.❤

Q.O.C: Your opinion on Mackenzie? What do you think about the relationship between Peter and Mackenzie? And what caused that much hatred?