Her Secret| ✓

03

Yestertnite―Motoboy

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☩ Journal Entry

A HAND GRIPPED DIANA'S fiercely in the dark and she drew a sharp breath in surprise, they had hurried from their room in the dead of night, smooth dusty wood beneath their feet as they padded off down the narrow hall in a rush, making their silent escape.

"Don't worry," Came a hushed voice from ahead. "He won't catch us, but you have to keep up, even if it's just a little," Emma's voice came like birdsong in the blackness. It was cold and stark, lonely, where were their parents?

Diana and Emma, linked like chains, interlocked their fingers, and felt with their free hands: chipped wallpaper, cracked doorframes, sharp table edges. Emma felt a tug of delight.

"Good, found it. He won't find us in here," Diana said, tugging Emma down to the floor where she dug her fingers into a grate under the table.

No sound too slight to be heard, the girls jumped as the wind threw the shudders against the window.

Emma helped Diana pry the grate off and waited for her to climb in, dread ate the lining of her stomach, anticipation made her head swim as they both turned to the dark hall where heavy footsteps were coming from.

Emma climbed in beside Diana and replaced the grate, her heart in her throat, Diana felt for Emma in the dark and pulled her sisters' head under her chin. They watched in silence as a pair of man's boots walked quietly, purposefully up to the table and stopped.

The girls clung to each other, hair tangled between their quivering fingers, they watched the boots in the dim light that the solitary window cast.

Don't get too close, please, don't come any closer. The girls held their breath shakily, after a beat, the boots turned down the hall and continued out of view. Something is coming. I can feel it.

Morning

My name is lost in a sea of broken waves, do I know who I am? Long, deep breaths streamed in and out, warm air smoothly slid down her lip, she consciously made a point to remain completely still on the mattress so as not to arouse suspicion.

Where is this? When in time am I, how long have I been unconscious? She felt like she had been in some sort of coma or drugged. Was that the reason she had seen someone in the yard that night or had she merely been dreaming? She mentally forced her conscious to the present, was he real? Was she imagining it‒taunting herself?

Her fingertips gently grazed against her throat protectively, the vivid dream dripped into her memory like acid rain, eroding any semblance of calm that waking from the nightmare had given her. It could not have been a dream; it had felt all too real. Was she going mad like her mother?

The lit fireplace gave the dull ceiling a wash of colour, its crackles delicately hanging in the air; everything seemed to ebb out of focus. Her arm itched where the IV line was.

Reality has a funny little way of announcing itself, and all the things that she had done along with the lies came, crashing back into her subconscious.

It was at that moment that she knew she would not be sleeping again. Cool, stiff air circulated the room, the windows must have been fastened shut for some time.

With a sharp inhale, she realised that she could feel her bare skin flush against sheets. With a sudden gesture, Diana pushed herself up, blankets crinkling softly, feeling the mattress give a little under her with the weight and she frowned feebly.