Hostage (a One Direction story)

Chapter Four

My name is Jae Rivers.

I'm fifteen years old.

My parents died in a car accident when I was a baby and I almost went with them.

I was saved.

Since then, I have skipped between foster families.

I never had any friends, any connections.

I've been kidnapped.

My captors want money from One Direction.

They want to kill them.

They're going to kill me.

Holy shit.

I need to wake up!

I jerk myself awake, wincing as pain shoots through my raw and burnt back. I'm alone in the first room I was ever in - the one with the stone table - in a crumpled heap on the floor. They probably thought I was dead, I think, and didn't bother to tie me up. I sit up and almost scream in pain. Hell, I can't blame them. I feel dead.

The pain can't be put into words. It's everywhere, it's everything. It's indescribable. I stay, curled in a ball, on the floor, wishing I was dead.

I suppose I know now why Mark and Nate didn't kill me yet. It's worse this way. Tears drip down my nose, forming a tiny puddle on the cement. Hours pass and I don't move, until finally, I'm numb.

I can hardly feel my fingers. Not much of an improvement, but better than nothing. I stand, staggering slightly, and catch myself on the wall. I manage to hobble slowly to the door, locked securely with a padlock. I stare at it for a minute, and then fumble with my belt, unbuckling it and pulling it off. I take the thin metal rod and slowly insert it into the keyhole, wiggling it around to test the lock. Nothing. I reach up and unhook an earring before jamming that as well into the lock I grip the belt and the earring, easing them into the lock and swirling them around.

You dirty child, whispers a poisonous voice in the back of my head, you shouldn't know how to pick locks. That's a talent of criminals. I freeze. No. No. I won't give in to the bitch hiding in the corner of my mind. I've stolen food before, when so-called 'loving' foster families refuse to allow me any of theirs. I hate myself for it, but at the time my lock-picking skills had been necessary to survive.

I block it out with thoughts of food. Chocolate cake, and bacon, pasta, pizza, steak, french fries, salad, soda...My stomach rumbles and I sigh. I can't remember the last time I ate.

Click.

A simple sound.

A sound most people would dismiss.

A sound that, to me, means freedom.

I pull the padlock off the chain and slowly, ever so slowly open the door, poking my head out to observe the hallway. Empty.

I breathe a sigh of relief and walk out into the hall, moving as quickly as I can before awaking the pain dormant within me. My heart beats fast with anticipation. I know if they find me, they won't hesitate to kill me.

So they can't find me. I creep down the hall, satisfying myself by imagining Mark's face when he sees the door, wide open. I stop at the split in the hallway and go right, sending Nate a silent thank you.

He didn't know he was giving me valuable information when he said that I had gone the wrong way, poor dear, I thought patronizingly. If only I could stick around to see their faces...

I almost cried with joy when I saw the door, unlocked, leading outside into a dark night. Without hesitation, I opened the door and slipped out, smiling happily.

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! An alarm sounded loudly, startling me. I cursed and started to run as shouts started up behind me and yet another chase began between me and my captors.

Before a few steps, I could see I wasn't in D.C. anymore. The streets are longer, the buildings more ornate.

"JAE YOU BITCH GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE OR I'LL FUCKING RIP YOU TO PIECES!"

"IF YOU STOP RUNNING I WON'T BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF YOU WHEN I CATCH YOU!!"

I block them out, focusing on the pounding of my feet, the light and sounds of civilization ahead, anything but them. Anything but the pain, the pain which has woken up inside my chest, the pain which is roaring around my body wreaking havoc, the pain which is making it awfully difficult not to collapse into a sobbing ball on the ground. I grit my teeth, and I run.

Thinking back, I can't remember how long I ran. Hours, minutes, seconds? I round a sharp bend and think, this is it, I have to hide now.

I sprint faster and jump a simple white fence into some house's garden. I spare a moment to turn around and see Nate, his face red with fury, following.

"No," I whisper, struggling to run faster. But I can't. My abused body is finally giving in. I trip over nothing and hit the ground hard, but I can hardly feel this new source of pain, so intense is the burning consuming the rest of my body.

"You're dead, bitch. Dead," whispers Nate in my ear. His hands close around my arm and I scream. I scream bloody murder, praying to the gods that somebody will hear me.

"Help! Please! Help! He's going to ki-" Nate's gloved hands wraps around my throat, choking off my air supply and, with it, my voice.

"Hey!" yells a voice, and I nearly faint with relief as Nate quickly drops me into a crumpled heap on the ground. "Hey, what're you doing to her?" asks the voice. It's a boy, a teenager, with a cute British accent.

"Fuck off, man," growls Nate, turning away from my limp body. "It's none of your business."

"It sure as hell is!" retorts the voice. I really would like to lift my head so I could see who this was, defending me so valiantly. "If there's a girl screaming for help outside my house, it sure as fucking hell is my business."

"Fuck," hisses Nate, and I hear pounding footsteps. The goddamn coward ran away. Ass, I think.

"Holy shit, are you alright, love?" asked a voice. I tried to say 'Yeah, I'm fine,' but it came out as a soft moan.

A hand on my shoulder slowly turned my over until I was facing upward, staring into my savior's green eyes.

Green eyes.

Curly hair.

British accent.

Holy fucking shit, Harry Styles just saved my life.