Evelyn.
The problem with being held captive by an FBI agent is that they know all the tricks to disorienting you.
1. No clocks.
Preventing someone from seeing the time makes them lose their internal clock. I don't know when is what. Up or down.
And Luke knows that.
He knows that very well.
Something as simple as this could cause a myriad of things.
An inability to focus attention.
Being slow and uncertain.
Agitation and being upset.
Believing you can see things that aren't really there.
All from not knowing the time.
And while I'm stronger than the average person, the white walls surrounding me has worn me down.
I have not spoken a word to anyone in the past three days.
Just sat silently.
Luke came in with some of my stuff from the hotel on the first day.
He got me my books, shampoo, and an empty notebook with a pen.
"To write your poetry," He had said.
Right.
I have a lot to write about now in this empty room.
Niall and Ashton take turns bringing me meals, though I barely touched them.
What's the point anyway?
Which brings us to now.
I stared at the TV, the only channel that came in. Reruns of Friends.
I fucking hate this man.
It was teasing. Taunting. Torture in the very form. Letting my mind rot with the same sounds of the sit com laughter.
I'd been held before, but not by someone who knew me better than I knew myself.
Luke Hemmings.
Patrick Mendoza.
Their names have been intertwined in my head for days. All I could think about was how he was always right in front of me. Right under my nose.
I heard the door shift, the chain being released and the locks being turned.
I stared straight ahead at the TV, not paying attention.
It didn't matter to me.
"Eve?" Luke knocked on the open door, something that almost made me want to laugh.
"Someone is here to see you."
I looked down at the table, my hands more interesting than anything else. Whoever it was, Ashton, Niall, whoever else here, it was not someone worth my time.
"Eve?"
I paused, froze in my place.
Turning my head, I met the eyes of my father.
"Dad?"
"It's me honey, " He stepped closer, smiling tentatively.
I stood up quickly, the chair squealing at the movement as I stepped back, away from him. He raised his hands as a show of surrender, peace of some sort.
He looked so much older than I remembered him.
His otherwise bald and mottled scalp saved a sparse fringe of white. His eyes were so heavily lidded and weighed down with wrinkled folds that it was almost like talking to someone asleep, yet he was quite alert.
YOU ARE READING
fbi- lrh
Fanfiction"Agent Hemmings?" I looked over the man in the frame of my door. He was currently out of his usual, formal work suit and in a black leather jacket. His whole getup, in fact, was black, dark, brooding. And it was very strange. "Luke," he corrected...
