More Than: More Than This Part 1

More Than.

More Than This.

Jay McLean.

To my very own Knight in s.h.i.+ning Armor, and our two little Princes.

Thank you for making me your Queen, and giving me my own happily ever after.

More Than This.

Prologue.

*Mikayla*

He was right. It made no difference whether it was 6 months or 6 years.

I couldn't undo what had been done. I couldn't change the future. I couldn't even predict it.

It was one night.

One night when everything changed.

It was so much more than just the betrayal.

It was the tragedy.

The deaths.

The Murders.

But it was also that feeling.

That feeling of falling.

Chapter 1.

*Mikayla*

I finish getting ready with 15 minutes to spare. I look in the mirror to make sure everything's in place. I'm nothing special to look at. I'm definitely no Megan, my best friend. I have naturally olive skin from being quarter Filipino on my mom's side, slightly almond shaped eyes from that side too. Everything else is from Dads Irish/Scottish side. My dad's 6 foot, my mom's a tiny 5 foot nothing. Luckily, I'm a good in between.

I'm not naive in thinking that I'm popular based on looks, or extra curricular activity. I'm book smart, but not so much so that I'm socially awkward. I've made the popular list by a.s.sociation. My best friend is the head cheerleader, and my hot boyfriend is captain of our basketball team.

I take one more look in the mirror, I'm good to go.

I open my bedroom door and virtually run into my parents who are standing just outside. They have that look on their face, like whatever they're about to say is imperative and has to be taken seriously. My dad's arm is wrapped around Mom's shoulders. Emily, my 9 year old little sister, is nowhere to be seen. They take a step forward, united, causing me to take a step back.

I'm officially worried.

They keep taking steps forward until I'm forced to sit on the edge of my bed. I look up at my parents. They finally let go of each other and sit on either side of me.

Dad blows a big breath out and shakes his head. "Honey, your mother and I have something we need to tell you."

I look at my mom, she looks away. She's nervous.

s.h.i.+t.

Dad continues, "We figure since you're graduating in two weeks, and you've been 18 for a few months now... well, I guess we both decided it was about time we tell you something very important."

I'm mentally scanning my brain for what the f.u.c.k this could be.

Im adopted.

I knew it. I was always different, less asian looking than I should be, and I don't know where my nose comes from. No one in my family has this nose. Oh, G.o.d. Who are my birth parents? And Emily, what about her... is she adopted too?

"Mikayla?" Dad interrupts my raging thoughts.

s.h.i.+t.

I close my eyes, hoping that by doing so, it might take away the sting of what he's about to tell me. "Are you listening to me?"

I nod once, eyes still closed.

"Mikayla..." long pause. "...boys have a p.e.n.i.s..."

My eyes dart open. My dad's stifling a laugh, my mom's face is beet red with held in laughter. I'm glaring at them with narrowed eyes, waiting for my pulse rate to decrease.

I would have bet a million fricken dollars they were about to tell me something life altering.

I want to junk punch my own dad.

I know he's behind this s.h.i.+t. This is totally something he would do. My mom, she doesn't have it in her to think of something like this.

As I'm about to stand so I can turn and face them both, Emily comes running into the room with her life size Justin Bieber card board cut out. She's hiding behind it, cackling to herself. Then she breaks out in song, waving the cut out in front of her.

"And I was like p.e.n.i.s, p.e.n.i.s, p.e.n.i.s, ohhhhh Like p.e.n.i.s, p.e.n.i.s, p.e.n.i.s, nooooo Like p.e.n.i.s, p.e.n.i.s, p.e.n.i.s, ohhhh I thought you'd always be mine, mine..."

I'm trying so hard to hold in my laughter, in case this is one of those situations where it's funny for us, but inappropriate for a 9 year old girl.

I look to my parents and wait for their reaction.

Mom giggles and Dad breaks out in a weird dance, which I'm pretty sure is supposed to be something resembling The Dougie', and starts to belt out... "You know you love me, I know you caaaare..."

I can't help but laugh. I start down the stairs to wait for Megan and James, shaking my head at their craziness. Of course, they all follow, Justin Bieber cut out and all, and keep singing, at the top of their lungs, mom included...

"And I was like p.e.n.i.s, p.e.n.i.s, p.e.n.i.s, ohhhhh Like p.e.n.i.s, p.e.n.i.s, p.e.n.i.s, nooooo Like p.e.n.i.s, p.e.n.i.s, ..."

The front door swings open...

"What the fuhhhhhh..." Megan's words die in the air when she sees Emily (and the Beibs) behind me.

James scratches his head, "Are you guys singing about p.e.n.i.ses?... to Justin Bieber?"

They all start laughing and snorting. I love my insane family.

After a good ten minutes of photos, and my dad retelling the humiliation of the s.h.i.+t they just pulled on me, we're out of the house and on our way to Bistro's. It's an Italian restaurant downtown that's famous for loud atmosphere and big tables for large groups. Perfect for pre-prom dinner.

When we get to the restaurant we notice a few other tables with kids our age all dressed up. We don't recognize them, they must go to different schools. The place reeks of new garments, cheap cologne, overpowering perfume, hair product and s.e.xual tension. It's everything prom should be.

We find our table and sit with Andrew and Sean, two of James' friends from his Basketball team, and their girlfriends.

Megan decided to go stag. It wasn't like she hadn't been asked, about a trillion different guys asked her. She said she wanted to keep her options open. She didn't want to go with some guy because he was hot, only to find out he was a d.i.c.k throughout the night and then have to put out at the end, her words.

We make small talk until the waiter comes and takes our order. The place is loud with conversation, like you would expect with a bunch of teenagers in the room. Once we've all placed our order, James stands up, "Where's the toilet in this place? I need to take a leak, that champagne from the limo's gone straight through me," charming as always.

"I'll show you, I need to use the ladies to re-adjust my underwear. It's riding up my a.s.s," Megan states loudly.

They walk away towards the back of the restaurant, where the restrooms are.

I'm in the middle of talking to Andrew about the new gym they're building at the school, when I feel something wet trickle down my back. Im frozen for a second, then turn to find some dude in a tux looking at me wide eyed, half a gla.s.s of beer in his hand. The other half, I'm sure, is down my back.

"s.h.i.+t, babe. I'm sorry," wide eyed douche bag says. Babe? Really? This guy has to be a joke.

"Jesus Christ, Logan. Turn down the a.s.shole a little, would ya?" his friend behind him says. He has an accent, like English or South African or Australian or something.

Logan, I a.s.sume, turns around to face him so quickly, his hand holding the remains of his beer slams against accent boys broad chest. Beer spills on the crispy white s.h.i.+rt under his open tux jacket.

Logan stifles a laugh. Accent boy groans and pushes Logan to the side, heading to the back of the restaurant, towards the restrooms I presume. "Naw, don't be like that, Jakey," Logan coos.

I stand up to go to the restroom to see if this night/dress is worth salvaging. Douchebag Logan blocks my way. He eyes me up and down, and walks a slow circle around me. He comes to a stop in front of me and a small smirk pulls at his lips, "Well, h.e.l.lo there, little lady," he drawls.

I physically push him out of the way and head towards the restroom. I'm wearing a backless dress. It's halter style, all black, it reconnects just above my a.s.s, so close to it that there's no room for underwear just in case. Because of this, I'm hoping, fingers crossed, that the beer has just spilt on my back and not the dress. I'll be able to clean my bare back at least. More than I can say for the kid with the accent.

As I turn into the hallway where the restrooms are, I stop in my tracks. Megan is halfway out the door of the ladies room. She's adjusting her dress slightly, her hair is in shambles and her lipstick is smeared all around her lips. She's giggling and her hands come up slowly, most likely to the face of some random guy she's just hooked up with.

Megan is every guys walking wet dream. She's your typical tall, leggy, blond haired, blue eyed, s.e.x on legs. And she loves s.e.x, and has s.e.x, so much s.e.x.

So, it doesn't surprise me at all that we've been here all of fifteen minutes and she's been doing G.o.d knows what, with some random dude, in a public bathroom. What does surprise me though, as I get closer to her, is that it's not some random guy her hands are on, it's James, my boyfriend. Her hands are on his face, cleaning the smeared lipstick from around his mouth. My eyes are drawn to his hands, which are at the front of his pants. He tucks himself' back in and does his fly up.

I feel the vomit creeping up my throat and make a noise trying to keep it down. The noise must be loud enough to distract them. It almost feels like slow motion, they both turn to face me at the same time, their eyes huge, mouths hanging open.

Like they're surprised I'm intruding on their intimate f.u.c.king moment.

Chapter 2.

*Jake*

f.u.c.k, Logan can be an a.s.shole sometimes.

I'm in the bathroom doing everything I can to save this beer stained s.h.i.+rt that's clinging to my body. There's nothing I can do about it, it's dunzo.

I take off my tux jacket and start undoing the b.u.t.tons of the s.h.i.+rt, hoping the tank I have on underneath will be okay. I'll have to run home and grab a new s.h.i.+rt. Luckily, Mom is always prepared for this kind of stuff and has a spare ready to go.

I can't believe Logan did that, and all to get that girl's attention. I mean, I get it, I noticed her the minute she walked in the door, smiling up at the kid who's hand she was holding. She walked in with another guy, you'd think that was enough of a sign to call the game off. But not for Logan. The minute her boyfriend, or whatever, left her side it was game on. I followed him for a laugh, I wasn't supposed to end up here.

I roll my eyes at myself in the mirror. I'm gonna look like an ultra douche walking out in suit pants and a wife beater. f.u.c.k Logan.

I open the door and stop in my tracks when I see her, but it's not the same girl that walked in. Her eyes are br.i.m.m.i.n.g with unshed tears and she's fuming. I've only opened the door enough so I can just see her, I haven't stepped into the hallway yet. She's staring daggers into something, or someone. I take a tentative step forward and see her glaring at a couple standing in front of the women's restroom. It's like the couple are frozen in time, the blond girl's hair is messed up and her dress is all twisted, her hands are on the guy's face. I can't see him properly. His back is to me. I can however, see that his hands are adjusting himself. It's obvious this couple just screwed in the bathroom. At least their prom will be memorable.

I almost turn to leave when I hear her strained voice. "How long?" she says, her tone flat.

What? The guy turns to face her and it's then I realize who this a.s.shole is. It's her boyfriend, I a.s.sume. Well, it's the d.i.c.k she walked in with.

"How long?" she asks again, a little louder, but still the same even tone.

"Baby..." a.s.shole says reaching out for her.

"Two years," the blond says, at the same time.

f.u.c.k.

I look over at the cute brunette and wait for a reaction.

I feel like I should leave, like what I'm witnessing is too intimate, too personal. But my feet are locked to the floor. I have no idea why, but I can't look away. I can't walk away. I want to punch this a.s.shole square in the face. If for nothing else but causing the pained look on this girl's face. No way anyone deserves to be treated like that, especially this girl. I feel the need to protect her. I don't even know her.

Two f.u.c.king years, what the h.e.l.l?

a.s.shole steps forward so his back is to the blond. The blond glares at the back of his head. "Baby..." he says. I ball my fists. "I love you, Mikayla."