My heart was pounding. I tried desperately to take deep breaths and calm down, but it felt impossible. It was too hard, and I was too nauseous. The phantom pain still gripped my body, but it felt slightly more distant. It was no longer quite so suffocating. I could breathe without the world spinning around me at a dizzying pace.
I hadn’t noticed how bad it was or how desperately my lungs had been crying out for oxygen before then. It had been drowned out by the unignorable agony, but I could feel it receding. It seemed to drain from my body slowly, leaving my fingertips last, and I rubbed my chest as I breathed, my mind drifting back to the other world.
What the hell was going on there? Who was that girl who’d been torturing me, and what had I done to deserve it? Who was I in that world? I knew her. I knew her and the boy I’d killed, but I had no clue how I knew them, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know. It scared me, terrified me. Maybe it would be better if I just ignored it and pretended I’d never been to that world. Then, I might be able to convince myself I didn’t know how it felt to have my fingers snapped like twigs or my nails plucked from their beds.
A shudder slipped down my spine, and bile burned my throat. I pressed a hand against my mouth, trying to force it back down, but the images and memories kept flashing through my mind. Henry loomed before me, holding a knife. His smile grew as he pressed it slowly into my leg, his eyes fixed on my face as he drank in my pain.
The image disappeared, being replaced by Anya as she delivered a brutal punch to my jaw. My head had snapped to the side, and my vision clouded as unconsciousness refused to take me. The sound of loose teeth clattering onto the gravel refused to leave my mind, but I’d spat them out intentionally. It was better than keeping them in my mouth. Another hit, and I could have choked on them. The splintered shards would have shredded my throat as I swallowed, and I didn’t want to die choking on my own blood. It wouldn’t be a quick death, and that was what I wanted.
No. I didn’t want to die. That was just how I felt in that world, and it wasn’t real; that world might not have even been real. Maybe it was just a dream or a nightmare. That made me feel a bit better. I didn’t need to worry about nightmares or what happened in them. They were just my mind being cruel, and that was normal.
A blaring noise sounded, identical to the one from the other world. My eyes snapped open again, and I threw myself out of bed, my head snapping from side to side. I scanned the dim room, frantically searching for the disc. It had to be around here somewhere, but I couldn’t see it. Where was it?
They’re coming. That’s what the noise meant. They knew where I was, and they were coming for me. My heart pounded, and my breathing came in sharp, painful gasps as I looked around, trying desperately to find the item that haunted me. If I found it, I might be able to disable it. That wouldn’t stop them; they would have already received the signal, and I knew that, but it might slow them down a little.
The disc was too valuable, even when broken. They’d want to retrieve it. The team might be split; some people sent after it, and some after me. That would be good. It would even the odds a little. I was good; I could fend off a few but not an entire squad.
How did they even manage to get the device on me? I’d been so careful. I didn’t pick up anything new and searched my bag every single day to make sure nothing I didn’t recognise had been slipped into it. I checked the lining and every single nook and cranny. There was no way they’d done it.
My eyes landed on my bedside table, and I staggered forward, half-falling onto my bed as relief made my knees weak. It was just my phone. My alarm was going off. I wasn’t being caught or captured by anyone. It was just time to get up.
A high-pitched, slightly frantic-sounding giggle escaped my mouth as I switched off my alarm and sat on my bed. I was being stupid and panicking about nothing because of that silly nightmare, and it wasn’t necessary. I didn’t need to worry about it anymore; the only thing I had to worry about was…
My head snapped up again, my eyes fixed on the door. Footsteps were stomping up the stairs, moving towards my room. Quickly, I stood again, my body tensing. What should I do? That was my mother. I recognised the sound of her footsteps, and she didn’t sound happy. Her steps were too loud, more forceful than normal. She’d probably had to put up with her parents being horrible to her, and that would have made her mood awful, which meant I had to be careful.
My gaze darted around as I tried to work out what to do. I was just standing in the middle of the room and doing nothing, and that was weird. I had to make it seem like I was doing something when my mom came in. Either getting dressed or just waking up were the best options. But if I got back into bed, she’d call me lazy.
Fear flickered in my heart as I threw my phone onto the bed and lunged towards the pile of clothes I’d left out the night before. I didn’t have time to actually get changed, but I had to make it look like I was about to. Then, it would be better. She’d know I was actually doing something and would be ready soon, and maybe that would make her less mad.
I dropped the clothes onto the mattress and reached towards the hem of my shirt before stopping. I waited, trying to steady my breathing, for my mom to reach my room. The moment the door started to move, I let go of my shirt and turned around, trying to plaster a surprised expression on my face.
“Oh, morning,” I said awkwardly, trying not to wince at the undercurrent of panic in my voice.
Mom was already dressed. Her hair was perfectly styled, and her makeup carefully applied. She looked as though she’d been awake for hours, and I wouldn’t have been surprised if she had.
“Are you only just getting up?” she demanded, a scowl twisting her features.
I hesitated before speaking, unsure how to respond.
“Um… yes?”
That had not been the right answer, and I looked away from my mom, trying to make the movement subtle as I glanced towards my phone, which lay face up on my bed. Surprise flared within me, and I had to fight not to let it show on my face. It was ten minutes to seven, and I thought it was earlier. I’d set earlier alarms; I was certain of it. There was one at half six and another at six forty. I wanted to make sure I wasn’t late, so I didn’t anger my mom anymore, but it hadn’t worked.
I didn’t even remember the first two alarms going off. The only one I could recall was the latest one, but I’d definitely set others. I knew I had. I’d checked them before I went to sleep, and I could remember seeing them, so I must have just slept through my alarms or turned them off in my sleep. I had no memory of that happening, which caused unease to bubble in my stomach, but I pushed it aside. I did that sometimes. Especially before school. It was normal enough for me to turn them off in my sleep.
“We need to go out in less than ten minutes!”
“I know. I’ll be ready,” I promised my mom, trying to appease her. “I’m all ready to go. I just need to get changed and brush my teeth.”
My mom stared at me, her anger barely concealed. A hint of fear sparked within me, and I felt myself hold my breath, waiting for her wrath.
“I told you to be at the front door and ready to leave at seven,” she started, her tone dangerously quiet.
“And I will be,” I said before she could continue. “I just need a couple of minutes.”
It was a risky strategy, and I knew that. If I stopped her before her fury had the chance to finish blossoming, it might interrupt it. That worked sometimes. It never fixed the situation, but occasionally, it made things less bad. Then I’d be able to start getting ready, and maybe I could actually get downstairs before seven.
My mom seemed to be considering how to react. She appeared torn between surprise and anger, and I waited anxiously to see which one she would settle on. Anger would be more satisfying for her. Lashing out at me would probably make her feel better about her parents and how they were treating her, but then they might overhear, and that could be worse. They might judge her parenting skills, as if they had any right to.
“We’ll see,” was all my mom said before turning and stalking away without even bothering to shut the door.
A silent sigh of relief slipped from my lips, and I started to reach for my clothes before hesitating and changing my mind. I grabbed my phone again before hurrying out of my room towards the bathroom. It made more sense to brush my teeth first. I’d already packed all my clothes, and if I spilt some toothpaste on my shirt, I’d either have to try and wash it off and then deal with the wet patch, or there would be a stain.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
Both would be bad, I decided, as I used the toilet as quickly as I could. My grandparents weren’t the type of people to ignore something like that. If I had anything on my shirt, they would specifically point it out, and that would annoy my mom. I’d get a rant in the car about how I was clumsy and childish and how no man would ever want to be with someone like me. That was a classic one she repeated fairly often, and I knew I could always grab a different top from my suitcase to avoid that happening, but that was risky too. It would take a little longer, and my mom might walk in whilst I was rifling through it and assume I hadn’t actually finished packing the night before like I’d told her.
I glanced at the time as I brushed my teeth, and panic surged within me. I was taking too long. Somehow, four minutes had passed since I’d checked last, and I spat out my toothpaste, not bothering with mouthwash. Normally, I used it. I felt gross when I didn’t, but it was fine. It would have to be, anyway.
Shoving my things into my wash bag, I looked around the bathroom, checking to make sure I’d got everything. My shampoo and conditioner were already in my suitcase, and I couldn’t see anything else, but still, I hesitated, wanting to be certain.
I didn’t have time, though. Irritation bristled within me as I threw the door open and hurried back into my room. My eyes darted towards my phone again as I threw my stuff down onto the bed and stripped as quickly as I could, pulling on my other clothes before grabbing my backpack from the floor.
My eyes darted around the room, and I barely paid any attention as I thrust my pyjamas into the bag. I’d been careful with my packing. I knew that, but I was still worried about forgetting anything. If I did, I’d never see it again. My grandparents would bin whatever I’d left. I knew that from past experience.
A couple of years ago, I’d left a pair of shoes in the bottom of the wardrobe. Or at least, I was pretty sure that was where I’d seen them last. They weren’t really expensive or anything, but my dad had gotten them for me. Mom didn’t like them; she said they looked cheap, but they were the first pair of heels I’d ever worn, even though they barely counted as heels. They were only a couple of centimetres.
When we got home and I unpacked, I couldn’t find them. Mom heard me searching my room and noticed I was crying. It was silly. I shouldn’t have been crying over something as unimportant as shoes, just like she said, and I should have known better than to mention it to her. I did, but it just slipped out, and I can still remember the smugness in her voice.
She made me call my grandparents to ask them if they’d seen the shoes. I didn’t want to do it, but she dialled their number and held the phone out to me, so I had to speak. They seemed surprised to hear from me, and obviously, they said they hadn’t seen anything. They didn’t even go up to the room I stayed in to check. They just dismissed it immediately, and when I went back the next year, I checked the wardrobe, but they were gone.
Mom refused to replace them. I didn’t ask her to, but she made a point to tell me she wouldn’t do it. It would be a waste of money, according to my mom. I’d just lose them again. She’d laughed when she said that, unable to hide her enjoyment for any longer. She seemed to delight in how miserable she’d made me, and I tried to hold back the tears until she left, but it was impossible.
Dad had offered to take me shopping for another pair. He didn’t even hesitate to suggest that when my mom brought up that I’d lost them at dinner, her voice quivering with suppressed mirth. The guilt was too much for me, though. I’d refused, which also made me feel bad. It was better, though. I didn’t want my dad to waste money on me, and it would have caused a fight between my parents if he had. Him offering caused one, but it would have been worse if I’d accepted.
The room was empty, though. Only my charging cable remained, but I was already winding it up. I shoved it into my bag, chewing my lower lip as I searched the room one final time. I threw the wardrobe doors open, checked under the bed and everywhere I could think of, but I didn’t see anything else of mine.
Two minutes. I had two minutes to get downstairs. That was manageable. I could do that. Triumph roared within me as I slipped my phone into my pocket and fluffed the duvet, smoothing it out so it looked neater. The housekeeper would change the bedding later, so there was no real point in me doing anything to it, but Mom would get annoyed if I didn’t.
Finally, I moved towards the door, grabbed my bags and sent one last look over my shoulder. There was nothing else there, though. Nothing stood out to me as being obviously forgotten or out of place, but I knew if I didn’t check, it would make me panic.
My mom’s suitcases were waiting next to the front door, but she was nowhere to be seen, I realised as I descended the stairs. I’d expected to see her standing there, her eyes on her phone and her expression irritated, but the foyer was empty.
The house was strangely quiet. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end as I placed my bags next to Mom’s and straightened up. Normally, in the mornings, I’d be able to hear the radio in the kitchen and the television blaring in the lounge, but neither were on. It was silent, and that felt wrong.
My heart thumped as fear loomed closer. I looked around, peering along the corridor as I tried to work out what to do. It was seven. My mom should have been at the front door, and maybe she wanted me to wait there. Perhaps she was trying to prove a point or something by having me wait around. But that didn’t explain why the rest of the house was silent.
I padded towards the lounge, my feet making no sound. Holding my breath, I peeked around the door, my eyes scanning the room. Empty. There was no coffee cup on the table next to my grandfather’s chair, no plate with the remnants of breakfast sitting next to it. There was no sign he’d even set foot in the room all morning, and he always did. I’d never seen him do anything else in the morning.
Unease crept over me as I started to walk along the long hallway towards the kitchen. My breathing felt too fast, and my hands formed loose fists as I drew closer. My gaze moved constantly. It flitted from side to side, searching every room I passed and settling on each of the windows for a little too long, but I saw nothing. My grandparents and mom were nowhere to be seen.
I stopped a metre away from the kitchen door, cursing whoever designed the house in my head. From where I was standing, I could barely see into the room. It made me feel unprepared and in danger, and the room was too large. So many assailants could be lying in wait there, and the openness of the room meant they could all attack me at once. I’d be overpowered too easily. I needed a weapon.
Confusion washed over me, drowning out some of my fear. Where did that thought come from? Why was I thinking about assailants? I wasn’t sure I’d ever used that word before. It was a weird one, mostly reserved for crime television shows, and I couldn’t recall ever hearing anyone use it in real life.
The only people waiting for me in the kitchen were probably just my grandparents and mom. I was probably about to walk in and find them sitting around the table, drinking coffee in silence. That was much more likely than a squad of highly armed people dressed entirely in black.
Still, I had to take a deep breath before squaring my shoulders and marching forward. My eyes flitted around, and I tried to act normal as I continued to scan the room surreptitiously.
“There you are,” my mom sighed without looking up at me from the table where she sat alone. “I thought you were going to be down on time?”
It was a rhetorical question, and I knew that, but an answer escaped before I could stop it.
“I was at the front door at seven. I thought that’s what you wanted.”
Regret crashed into me as my mother’s eyebrows rose. The surprise of me talking back to her was enough to make her look away from her phone, and the expression on her face made panic leap within me. I needed to apologise. I should have bitten my tongue and stayed silent. That would have been so much better, but instead, I was stupid and impulsive.
“Oh, you’re still here?”
I had never been so grateful to hear my grandmother’s uncaring tone. My mother shut her mouth immediately, and her icy expression thawed. A forced smile appeared on her lips.
“I think we’re just about to leave,” I said, causing my grandmother to huff dismissively and walk past me towards the coffee machine.
My mom’s eyes followed her as she moved, and I could see the indecision on her face.
“We were,” she said after a couple of seconds. “I was worried we weren’t going to see you guys before we left. Did you and Dad have a lie-in?”
“No,” my grandmother replied as she fiddled with the machine, slamming parts into place loudly. “I read the newspaper upstairs, and your father is doing the gardening.”
Mom hesitated, and I glanced between her and my grandmother, trying to work out what was going on. Mom looked so uncertain, and that made her look younger. I could almost see the person she was as a kid, trying desperately to get even just an ounce of her parents’ love, and that made me feel so bad for her.
“Oh, I didn’t see him outside,” Mom said, her tone polite and cheery still.
“He’s probably in the shed.”
“Ah… I didn’t think to look there.”
The noise of the coffee machine filled the room, and I glanced at Mom again. She was lying, I realised. The disappointment on her face made that clear. My granddad spent a fair bit of time in the building in the garden. It wasn’t really a shed. It was too big to be counted as one, and it was too nice. I’d only been in it a couple of times; my grandfather usually shooed me away so he could watch television in silence.
Mom must have looked there. She knew he hid in there often, which meant he’d probably locked the door from the inside and ignored her knocking. And my grandmother never read the paper upstairs. She must have had a reason for doing it, and I realised what it was immediately. They didn’t want to see Mom.
Or maybe they did. Surely, my grandmother would have just stayed upstairs if she didn’t want to see us. They probably just wanted to get one final dig in, one last reminder that they didn’t really care about my mother.
“So, you’re leaving now?” my grandmother asked as she turned towards the table, a mug held in her hands.
It was a pointed question, and even my mother couldn’t pretend not to have noticed. She lifted her own cup to her lips and drained it quickly before standing.
“Yes, we are. Have you got everything, Grace?”