We're Getting There // A.I

Chapter 22 // Zap

Hey guys, just a fair warning for those who have trouble with these things, this chapter briefly touches on the issue of domestic violence and it could trigger someone if they are sensitive to it. I hope it doesn't, but if the scene makes you uncomfortable you can skip past it and you should still be able to read the rest of the chapter

~*~

August 8 : 88 days till due

~Ashton~

I wake up to a smash.

I sit up in bed and pull the covers up to my chin, looking around. Everything in my room is still upright, and nothing's on the floor in pieces. My bedside clock says 3:17 am, and I'm so not in the mood to go out and check what fell. It was probably a picture frame anyway, or a glass I left sitting around. I'll clean it up in the morning.

My head settles back onto the pillow, and then I hear it. It could be excused as the neighbours talking late, or as my imagination, but I hear murmuring, faint, like someone swearing under their breath.

My arms freeze, but numbly I force myself to sit up. Looking around my room, I search for something I could hit someone with. The electric guitar? No, too valuable. A shoe? No. Just go at them fists flying? Absolutely no.

"Shit"

I jump. The sound of someone definitely swearing makes me grab the lamp on my bedside table and yank the cord out of the wall, and I decide that it shall be my weapon of choice.

Side stepping towards my closed bedroom door, I press my ear against the wood. Clumsy feet drag along my floorboards and then a crunch tells me they stepped on whatever they broke. They swear again, and my hand inches towards the doorknob.

I take a deep breath, excitement and terror running high through my blood. No one has ever broken into my house before, I don't think I've even ever known someone who's house has been broken into. The only thing I know to do is what they do in movies, but they usually end up being shot or stabbed or worse.

"One..." I whisper, squeezing my eyes shut and resting the palm of my hand on the cold metal of the knob. "Two...."

I turn it with a small creak. "Three!"

The door flys open, my strength surprising me, and I remember I'm in my pyjamas (which is underwear, basically) and instantly become embarrassed. What if it's a really built robber, and they think I'm scrawny and that they can steal all my stuff?

Instead though, I'm met with a round face of acne covered in a beanie and a long red floppy fringe. The kid standing in front of me is likely about 16, maybe 17 years old, holding a crowbar and wearing all black and a camo beanie.

I drop the lamp as the teenager sizes me up, scared, crowbar raised above one of his shoulders.

"Alright, what the hell?" I ask, and then the kid smashes the crowbar down onto my thigh.

I yell out as pain arcs up my leg into my hip, and I reach out and grab the hood of the robber's grimy jacket and yank him backwards.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" I demand, grabbing the crowbar and throwing the kid down on the floor. "Get the fuck out of my house!!"

The robber's eyes go round, big and blue and scared, and he's shaking. I can see he's stuffed my change that I left on the counter into his breast pocket and my car keys are peaking out of his sweatpants.

"Oi, put my fucking shit back and then piss off out of my flat" I snarl, anger boiling in me. I'm not getting good sleep lately, and the last thing I need is my car stolen.