Lacy

9 ~ dna test

LACY

I stare at the little device in my hand. 

It's heavy and flat. Black and metallic. It's cold in my hand, and I almost think about dropping it on the floor. I wonder how loud it would be. 

Of course, I won't do that. It's make a clatter and that would cause a disturbance, and I know from living with Dad is that it's best to keep quiet at home. 

At home, if I kept quiet, then I couldn't make any mistakes in front of Dad. There would be no possible way for me to mess up. 

I sit on the bed in the bedroom I've been put in, cross-legged on the baby blue flowery comforter. The phone lays in front of me. 

Dad never would've given me my belongings back just like that. I'd at least get a backhanding before I'd be able to whatever that was taken away from me to begin with. 

I reach for my phone and open it, and see numerous texts and calls from my extensive list of friends from Mayfair, all asking where I am and how I'm doing. 

I scroll through the missed messages I have, from all my friends at school, and on the street I lived on. A smile graces my lips at my friends' concern for me. 

Outside of my home, away from my father, I became a different person. At first, I was just friendly and nice to everyone because my parents told me to be. 

But then, I began to flourish. My personality struck out of its confined shell I had to shove it into at home and I grew to just love being out, in social places. 

At school, at events. Even at the public park or in a shop. I could befriend everyone. All I had to do was smile, and then everyone would adore me. 

It was so different from my home life that I completely submerged myself in everyone and everything around me. Soon enough, I was no longer acting. 

I had become the bright and cheerful poster child my mother and father desperately wanted. I was so desperately hoping that I'd be given the praise I had earned.

But I never did.

Of course, there was always something wrong with me. 

I smiled too much. I frowned too much.

I was fat. I was anorexic. 

I was a show-off. I wasn't good at anything. 

Every single day in that house, I tried with every being in my body to impress my father. Just once, I wanted to hear him praise me. 

That day never arrived.

Never once in my life had I been praised by anyone except my teachers for high marks at school. And now, I'm being praised daily by these people called my brothers. 

Praised for my ability to French braid my hair. 

Praised for my eye color. 

Praised for my fashion sense and clothes. 

It's so odd. I thought that your kidnappers are supposed to be mean and cruel. I've seen plenty of movies which show smart girls being able to escape their horrid abductors. 

But my kidnappers have been anything but. I'm able to roam around freely— albeit, I can't leave the property— and I'm given warm food and now I have my mobile. 

What possessed Adam to give this thing back to me? How does he trust me enough to think that I won't call the cops on them? 

Any sane person, especially a young girl like myself, would be calling the police by now. So why am I not?