Chapter 1

Cody wiped the blood off the side of his face. He pulled away the rag, let the wound bubble over and trickle down again, and then wiped it again. Cody decided it was best to take out his eyebrow piercing, which would surely become rusted from the wetness, as well as the hole infected from the blood. He dropped his wet rag on the floor and took out his piercing, placing it onto his night stand. He picked the rag and pressed it against his throbbing forehead, then sat back up on his bed, leaning against the frame. From his bed he could see his reflection in the mirror on the door opposite from him that was there more for his sister – who slept in the bunk above him. The hair that he had perfectly styled to sweep across his face had become scuffled, the fringe on the right side of his face, which had always covered his face, was damp. The blood was unnoticeable in his raven black hair, and was only noticeable by how it made his hair clump together. Blood tracks ran down his cheek, around his hazel-gray eyes, down to the corner of his mouth, which he thought had tasted a bit like red skittles. Cody put his rag beside him, hoping to let his wound oxidize and harden, to stop bleeding. He also took out his snake bite piercings, and put them adjacent to his eyebrow ring. Without bothering to change out of his plaid button down shirt, which had a few blood splatters on it, and jeans, he climbed under his sheets and dozed off to sleep.

Cody awoke early the next morning, before his sister, mum, and dad could. Even the dog, which had a habit of being the first up and last asleep, wasn't up yet. Outside the moon was still visible, and the only sign of the sun was the faint light in the silver-grey sky. It was foggy outside, almost impossible to see. Cody changed his shirt and pants, throwing them in the corner of his closet. He slipped on a tee and another pair of skinny jeans, then put on an over-sized hoodie. He took his cloth from his bed and poured water over it, soaking it with his water bottle. The dabbed the rag across his face, removing the access blood. Then he put in his piercings in the holes they were supposed to go into. He first ran his fingers through his hair, unbinding where the blood had clumped his hair, then took a brush and tried to form it into its original, teased took- I difficult task without hairspray.

The only thing he took with him before he left the house was his converse, his mobile, and an apple for his breakfast. It was 5:45 when he had left. Only 5 hours and 30 minutes of sleep. Even so, he didn't have the usual groggy feeling he got when he woke up. What had happened last night was still in his head, knocking at his brain. It kept him wide awake; probably the only way he'd gotten sleep the night before was because of the loss of blood from when he was clobbered with a beer bottle when he'd gotten into the fight.

The fight. That's what had changed everything for him. Cody remembered it all clearly- the concert, the drinking, having the time of his life with his friends. Then came the tipsy guy, the knife, the fight that broke out in the crowd, turning it into a something resembling a bar fight. How would he explain it to his parents? To his sister? How would he be able to continue his daily life as before, as a normal seventeen-year old? There had been a lot of secrets that he kept from his parents - how he was bi, his cutting, even his virginity. But this was too big a secret, and to many people knew about him. He had two accomplishes, and a significant amount of witnesses. Maybe they wouldn't be able to recognize him, because of the low lighting, the large crowd, and how the majority of them was probably tipsy.

But there was no way to hard the hard, cold truth, no matter how much you tried to hide it. Cody Bringham was a murderer. And though it wasn't intentional, and it was done in self defense, there was no way to deny that he killed a guy. His two best friends were right beside him when it happened- they watched the drunken man walk up and fall on Cody. Cody had pushed him aside, and the man took a swing and clobbered Cody's head with a beer bottle. Cody had thrown a punch back at him, probably crushing a rib as he nailed him hard in the chest. Then the knife came out. The guy brought up the control to be able to take out a switchblade from his pocket, which he had pointed and swung at Cody. The guy had lunged towards him, and the two hand started struggling which turned into a fight. And in the brawl, then the man had fallen onto Cody, Cody had grabbed the knife and drove it into the man.

Cody had known that he was a violent kid with issues. Ever since he was eight years old, when he had punched his four year old sister in the stomach for teasing him, and his parents told him he'd gone too far, he'd known he was a problem child. It was something he never forgot. This just proved it, and while Cody walked down the street t meet up with his two friends that were with him yesterday, he wondered what was going to happen to him. Because no matter how many layers of clothing he put on, Cody knew that the truth was colder then the early February- morning air that surrounded him, and could get a lot colder.

Blake and John were the two kids standing at the curb about a block away. The street they were standing on was only a few lefts and rights away from where the concert was. These were probably the most easily recognizable boys in all of North-ended Boston. Blake always spiked up his bleached blond hair, and kept a bandana folded around his upped forehead. And John was the one with dip-dyed purple hair that clashed with his black hair, and shaded his plugs in his ears.

It was Sunday now. There wasn't anything to do today, besides aimlessly wonder around the city like we usually do. But today was going to be different; all three of them knew that. "Well," Cody said, walking up to them. "What now?"