Remember Me

One

I spin around my room happily. This is where I’ll live for the next year.

I better get used to it.

Once I’ve finished admiring the bedroom, I brush my teeth and get into my bed.

It was the same duvet as the one I had at home, so I wasn’t nervous or anything. It felt as if my parents are downstairs, like my annoying cat is meowing its way into the kitchen.

But they aren’t. I’m on my own.

Hazel and I thought that we’d be sharing an apartment for college; but apparently it’s in course order.

Hazel is doing hair styling and I’m not – so obviously we aren’t in the same apartment.

I’m doing photography, so our courses are very different!

I move to my right side and close my eyes. Soon, I drop into a deep slumber full of thoughts of photography and friends.

***

Click. Chink. Click. Chink.

It sounded like someone was twisting a key in the door.

... but that’s impossible. Only I have a key, I think.

Does the principal have a key? Maybe she has a large skeleton one. I’m sure I’m just imagining it. I slap the side of my ear – yet the sound still existed.

Now I’m scared.

I sit up in bed and swing my legs to the ground. My bedroom was pitch black, and I could only see a vague outline of everything.

I pick up my tennis racket that was laying against the side of my bed.

It was the only thing I could both hit someone with and guard myself with that I didn’t have to go rummaging for.

I hold out the racket and slowly make my way to the living room, where the entrance was.

There, standing as if he owned the place was a boy.

He had flopped himself down on the couch and he was flipping through the Sky channels.

I scream, running towards this boy in an attacking position.

“Wow.” The boy grabs me and throws me over his shoulder.

I scream again, so he cups his hand over my mouth.

What do I do now? I think I should just accept the fact that this is my goodbye.

He’ll knock me out in a minute, and then he’ll gorge on my brains before dumping me in a common somewhere like Lucy Beale from Eastenders.

This is where I die.

I decide to just do one more thing. I bite the boy’s hand. He doesn’t move, but he winces, making a shuddering noise.

I whack the boy’s back with the racket, and then I lick his hand. This time he lets go, and practically throws me on the ground.

I hold out the racket like it’s one of those Star Wars light-savers, shaking.

“What are you doing here?” the boy asks, wiping his hand down his band t-shirt.

He looked around the same age as me. He had big hazel eyes and brown hair.

“I could ask the same thing to you,” I reply, not lowering my tennis racket.

“I live here.” He flatly announces. I gasp. He’s such a liar.

Either he wants to murder me, or he doesn’t have as many Sky programmes as me so he wants to watch television.

“No. Listen – I think you have the wrong apartment. I moved here yesterday morning. I’m doing a course here and this is my apartment.”

The boy shakes his head. He holds up the keys he used to get in and shakes them too. “No. It’s the other way round. Now please; get out!”

“No way.” I get back up. “I’ve un-packed and everything!”

“That’s great for you – but you’re going to have to pack up again.”

“Nuh-uh. Over my dead body.” I think that was the wrong thing to say, considering that I thought that I actually was going to die just five minutes ago.

“Right. Well I’m going to bed, so you can stay here tonight and then in the morning we can call the person in charge here.”

“Fine then.” I pout, practically sprinting back to my bedroom.

That night, I sleep with the tennis racket in my arms.

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Hello Dreamers :) My first chapter! Woop-woop! I hope you liked it.

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Love you lots, ~ Belle x