Mentally Deranged (a.i.)

Chapter 4

"Reese!" she called emotionally before the door started to open.

By the time the door was all the way opened, Ashton had managed to slide into my small closet. My mum didn't see or suspect a thing.

"Reese! I missed you so much! Don't ever worry me like that again!" My mum, Sherry cried.

I smiled, as she pulled me into a hug. When she pulled away, I saw her tears running down her cheeks with eyeliner coated in them. Her makeup was starting to smudge.

"Why did you go into the tunnel? You know you're not allowed!" My mum yelled, suddenly angry rather than happy. "Your friends said you went in and never came out."

"I, uh, I'm 18 I can do what I want. They dared me to go in so I did. I tripped and knocked myself out. I'm okay now," I told her, looking at my feet. It wasn't a complete lie.

"Clean up, then come down stairs. You must be starving," she told me, leaving my room.

I stood in my room looking at the door, frozen in place. If I had to leave again, it would kill her. But I knew I had no choice. The tunnel has a hold over me unlike anything else.

"Is she gone?" Ashton whispered.

"Ya, she's gone," I sighed, as I found a pair of black skinny jeans from my closet, and a white tank top, with a grey cardigan.

"What's wrong?" Ashton asked.

"I'm going to shower. Stay here," I avoided his question as I walked down the hall to the bathroom.

Once I had stepped under the scorching water, I allowed my mind to think. I thought about the things in the tunnel. I thought about the power they possess, and their level of authority. I thought about what a life inside the tunnel may be, for I knew I must return. And last, I thought about Ashton.

He's a boy from Australia. He ha(d)s a mum, and two younger siblings. He was thrown into an insane asylum, and escaped by burning it down. Everything about him tells you to run away; not get involved in his life. Yet every bone in my body is telling me to follow this man, to trust him, and feel safe with him. I am lost with my feelings towards him, and confused on what to do.

I almost fell to the ground at the sound of a knock on the door.

"Who is it?" I called.

There was no answer. It worried me to know that there was no answer to the knock. Anything could have happened. Anyone could be in the house at this point in time.

I quickly dried off and got dressed, leaving my soaking wet hair to air dry. I prepared myself for the worst.

I walked slowly down the stairs to the living room. Reruns of F.R.I.E.N.D.S were playing, and my dad was asleep on the couch. Mum was in the kitchen making dinner. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

I ran up the stairs to my room. When I opened the door, Ashton was standing there. He had removed his shirt, and was examining the cuts and scars on his torso and chest.

I shut the door behind me and slowly walked towards him. He had stopped moving at this point, letting his hands drop down to his sides. His whole body was trembling.

On his back, there was a large tattoo of two angel wings, that spread from his shoulder to lower back, just stoping short of the waistband of his pants. With each breath he took, the muscles in his back contracted. His tattoo was breathtaking.

I walked closer to him, and slowly pressed the palm of my hand to the top of the tattoo, where the wing arches over. I ran my hand over it, then letting my finger tips trace down over the feathers. I examined all the little details that were put in my the artist.

"When did you get this?" I asked him, as I walked around to see his face, but he turned away from me. He was hiding his face.

"I got it the day of my 18th birthday," he told me, in a low, monotone voice.

"Hey, look at me," I told him, placing a hand on each side of his face and turning his face to look at me. "Talk to me."

"You must think that I'm some sort of freak, someone who's weak, hateful," he whispered the last part, as tears rolled down his cheeks, and he pulled away from my hands.

"Hateful, maybe. But not weak, and not a freak. The scars on your body prove that you're a survivor," I told him.

"You shouldn't be in my life. You should be out with your friends, having fun," he told me, as he sat down on the bed.

"Ya, well without my friends I wouldn't be here with you right now," I sighed, and sat down on the floor. "They dared me to go inside."

"Why did you do it?" He asked me, looking at me like I was crazy.

"Because I didn't believe, I didn't think anything was gonna happen to me," I told him truthfully.

"I leave you every day, for about two hours," he whispered.

"I know, what does that have to do with anything?" I asked him, confused.

"I leave you, so that I can go and get people to pull into the tunnel. If I don't, They will eat you, even turn on me if I don't get anyone," he told me in a hushed voice.

I didn't know what to say. He practically murders people to keep me safe. He's a murderer. Suddenly I had a bad feeling about him. All the comfort and safety I felt when I was with him drained from my body, and fear took over. I pushed myself to the wall, and stared at him wide eyed.

"You're, you, uh, no," I stuttered trying to find the right words.

He looked up from his hands and looked at me. Tears started to roll down his cheeks, and he once again looked young and innocent. I didn't know what to do.

"Reese, I would never hurt you," he told me, getting up and walking towards me.

I stood up from my spot, and took a side step. The feeling I had felt when I had first met him was back. I didn't feel the trust I had one felt for him anymore.

"Please, Reese. I don't trust or love many things or people. I don't care for anyone, and I hate the company of others. I don't know much, but what I do know is that I care about you, I trust you, I enjoy your company. I promise you that I will do everything in my power to keep you safe," he told me as he grabbed my wrists and pulled me close to him.

"And I promise to never let anyone get in the way of that," he spoke softly and quiet, yet his words held so much power to them.

He leaned down, and pressed his warm, chapped lips lightly to mine.