Blood Ties (NaNoWriMo 2015)

Eleven

That was how the first two weeks of my time at Lockwood Prison (my name for the place for that time) was spent. Ife would come in around early evening (which was when life started around here) brought me some breakfast as well as stayed around for a bit to chat with me and ask how I was.

Then one of two things would happen after she left. I'd either shower and slip on some sweats from my now fully stocked closet. Ife and my unknown donor from earlier had figured out my sizes and stocked it. I'd not even bothered to do more than glance at the items. All I ever wore were the sweats or the silk PJs. Then I'd curl up on the couch and watch either musicals, romantic comedies or Disney-Pixar films. All the while I'd lay there either crying for what I'd lost or fuming at what happened. I'd curse and blame everyone, Johnathan for not figuring this out sooner, Damon for even biting me in the first place and dragging me into this mess. The unknown vampires who put too much into a random act of kindness.

But this morning something stopped me. I woke up, this time before Ife came and saw some pictures added to my nightstand. Martha Hawthorn, my mother looked ten years younger in the silver frame. Her long hair had no grey in it, a small baby, otherwise known as me, was being held in her arms and looking confused at the camera. Next to that was one more picture, the one of my dad. He was wearing his police dress uniform and in his hand was small black and white picture, an ultrasound to be more exact. Mom had given that to him the day she told him she was pregnant, and according to his partner, he kept that in his shirt pocket every time he had to work. It had been wrecked when the bullet went through his chest.

Their smiles, hopeful and full of love tore my heart into shreds. I grabbed them both off the stand and held them to my chest, shaking as I cried. This time not just from fear and sorrow, but shame. I hadn't known my father, but I was pretty sure he'd been a tough fella. He'd been a police officer for five years, worked up from a low-income immigrant family. His parents had come from Poland with next to nothing in terms of money, the jobs they were able to work didn't pay much and their struggle with English didn't help them climb the latter either. Dad had worked to make them proud of him, same as I had been doing for my mom.

And Mom, she always told me that I was a miracle, a fighter and that I was going to do great things someday. Well what kind of things was I going to accomplish moping around in bed all day?

I returned the pictures to the nightstand and got up. I was not going to keep this up. I was not going to lay around all day, moping and crying about how unfair my situation was. That was a waste of time and energy. Johnathan said they were working at resolving the problem and when they did, I was free to go home and back to my life. Part of that life was college, how could I hope to attend if I feel behind in my studies? How could I try and get some level of normal and help time pass if I locked myself up and shut people out of my life?

I jumped into the shower, blood boiling with disgust at how I'd been handling things. This situation was awful, but I still had some control over it. I couldn't control those freaks that thought I was important to Damon, I couldn't control that they were coming after me hoping to get to get to him and I couldn't control that there was nothing in the human sphere that could protect me. But I could control some things.

I could control that I stayed on top of my last year of high school. If and when this got fixed, I wanted to be able to go to law school without any trouble. I need top grades to do that. And this room, it was still plain as hell. I could customize the space like Ife suggested two weeks prior. Make it something that I could call home. I could find out what the manor had to offer for recreation, maybe meet some people outside of the ones that were forced to come here.

I could make my parents proud of me.

I turned off the water and braved my closet. I opened the doors and this time, rather than focusing on the far wall where my comfy clothes rested along with my bras and panties. I looked at the other shelves, drawers and hangers, and I gasped. Everything inside was new, I could still see tags attached and from what I saw, they'd covered every possible thing I'd need. I saw a section of jeans, leggings, and pantyhose. There was a rack of dresses, varying in styles and colors but all looked lovely. Rows of shoes, ranging from sandals, to flats to converse to heels. I even saw some fancy-looking winter coats in the section they'd devoted to jackets.

I browsed slowly through the clothes, and settled on a pair of light-washed skinny jeans from...I flipped the tag over and my jaw nearly dropped. Nordstorm and this lovely piece came in at a hefty two-hundred and twenty bucks. Goodness! I nearly dropped the jeans as I started at the tag.

"Holy shit," I gasped. "This is too much." My instincts about people buying me expensive stuff reared up. I liked everything I saw, and I understood the thought behind it, perhaps guilt drove them to it. This much however, just seemed...extravagant. No one was made of money and with the cash they spent here I was certain it might have equaled a down-payment on a house. Or a first semester at college.

When I slipped into them though I quickly found out why their price was so high. The material was smooth and soft against my shaved legs, they fit onto my body like they were made for me. I searched through the racks again, and found a soft and well-tailored black sweater. I pulled it on and pulled a pair of red flats over my feet. This time I was careful not to look at the tags lest I have heart failure.

I dug through a few more of the drawers out of curiosity and discovered one devoted to jewelry. I tried not to think about whether the gold or silver was real or fake as I selected a simple pair of gold hoops and necklace to match.

I heard a knock at my door and exited the closet to see Ife entering again, dressed in a pantsuit and heels, a breakfast tray with bowl of fruit resting on it. Her large brown eyes widen at seeing me up and dressed.

"Do you have time to take me on that tour today?" I asked.

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Ember is trying to live some sort of life again, who else is proud of her? I don't know about you guys, but writing that scene with her looking at her parents pictures was tough. What did you make of it? I'd love to hear what you think so please do COMMENT and VOTE if you enjoyed it!

Write on! =D