Castaway ➳ cth [EDITING/HIATUS]

Chapter 25

(A/N): Warning. This is the beginning of the shit going down. Here we go.

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June's P.O.V.

"Come on, Michael, answer me."

I repeatedly tapped the ground with the ball of my left foot up and down, impatiently waiting for Michael to pick up my call. The sky has become darker than ever, I couldn't see Ashton nor Calum through the darkness and the dimmed street lamps wouldn't contribute any help at all.

While my eyes traced a swarm of birds flying hectically out of the woods, Michael's mailbox came on and I hang up in frustration.

Unknowing of whether he would read my message or not, I texted him that I'll be right back home, he just shouldn't tell my mom about anything. I was sick of being yelled at.

The icy temperature made me shiver and I head into the small, dark room that was now illuminated by the standing lamp I ignited.

I've never been in Calum's room. The first time I visited him, I spend a night in the eerie doll room his mother, according to him, cared about loads.

There was something intriguing about his bedroom; the small, single bed leaned against the wall next to the entrance to the balcony, bedsheets not made as I expected. Posters of bands and artists plastered on the walls, making it impossible to recognize the actual wall's color.

My eyes scanned his desk, the closet, an antique armchair whose caramel color was tattered by blue stains, creating an odd pattern.

A huge bass leaned against the armchair, but I didn't dare to lay a finger on it. It was shiny and deep blue. I never knew Calum played an instrument.

Resting on the chair, I remembered my blood pouring wound. Should I go search for the bathroom that is somewhere on the second floor? But he clearly announced I shouldn't leave his room in any circumstance, I made the assumptions his mother was downstairs, not knowing I was hanging out in his room.

Scoffing, I wiped the remaining blood with my shirtsleeve and lay my head onto the back support, trying to stay conscious.

Five minutes passed. Ten minutes. Fifteen.

Where was Calum? I dearly hoped he didn't get into any further trouble; I couldn't be in his house for such a long period of time, getting back home as soon as possible was my current priority.

Last year, my mother gave me the advice to constantly carry a pack of Advil for pain relief, so I scrambled all the things out of my bag I had strapped around my shoulders, in search of the drug.

Advil was nowhere to be found, instead, the doll I took weeks ago out of the sinister guest bed room caught my eye. The one with the light, blonde hair and the big, icy blue eyes.

A doll that reminded me of my little sister.

I wiped the tears that escaped my eyes with the back of my hand; I was bothered by my bipolar traits and the sudden fit of rages that overcame me in the most random moments. A plan crossed my mind; returning the doll without going through the hallway, otherwise I'll get caught.

Nevertheless I peeked outside in caution, motioning my head left and right.

As I intended to locate the guest bedroom with my eyes, I hear faint footsteps ascending the staircase. Panicking, I shut the door and lock it, leaning against the hard wood and holding my breath.

The best idea might be to put it somewhere in the room where it's not that obvious, yet he will notice it and won't assume that I was the one carrying the doll for weeks. His mother is perhaps not gonna realize anyway, I grinned, with the amount of dolls.

I trailed my eyes along his room and stopped right at his desk. The drawers.

My fingers smoothly wrapped around the wooden knob and pulled the drawer open. No space, everything full of rubbish such as wrappers, pencils, guitar picks and bookmarks.

Second drawer; no success. He couldn't be any messier.

The third drawer was unable to open, maybe the hinge was damaged.

I finally arrived at the fourth and last drawer, opening it.

To my surprise, there was no useless trash inside. I gripped the doll tighter in anxiety, not knowing what exactly I was facing.

The only thing laying in the drawer, besides flasks of spirits was a binder. And of course, any curious person would look inside.

So I did.

The black binder was filled with papers, I presumed the papers where from a police station, due to the sign that was prominently displayed on the top right corner.

A police report.

I carefully scanned the whole paper. Victim: Juniper S. Bellatore. Sex, race, date of birth. Home address.

I continued, pondering about what I'm now going to confront.

Offender: Calum T. Hood. Status, unknown. Sex, race, date of birth. All of the information that was needed to file a concrete police report were given.

Narrative: On Friday July 19th 2013 11:43 pm, Calum T. Hood was placed under arrest at 120 Wellington Street, after several witnesses accused an attempt of rape and exhibiting loud and aggressive behavior. These actions on the behalf of Calum T. Hood served no legitimate purpose, furthermore, case's conclusion will be drawn in court.

The first thought in my head was pulling out my phone and scrolling through the messages I've been sending over these past few years.

I drew a conclusion. The night of the party at Luke's house. Luke's house was 120 Wellington Street, when I exited the party, it was around 12 am, according to the clock on my mom's car dash panel.

I found the chat with the girl Elisabeth, the one who accompanied me to the event and pushed me to steal my mom's car. I read the last message I sent.

I be right back! Don't look for me! J

- read at 11:39 pm.

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(A/N): Ladies and gentlemen, you just witnessed how bad I write police reports, yet I've never written one so please please please don't bash me I literally tried my best!