Jigsaw (NaNoWriMo13)

Twenty Nine

So, wow. It's nearly done! Only about six or seven chapters to go! That's just amazing. This will actually be the first novel I've completed. If anybody is actually reading this, I would love some recommendations for published books. Preferably Teen Fiction, but I'll also take horror (paranormal) and romance! As usual, please vote/comment/follow/share if you liked it! 

I stare at the damage in horror. Not an inch of my flat has been left unturned. The sofa lays on its side, the stuffing strung across the carpet like a sinister version of trail mix. My stomach turns over as my trainers graze over the broken glass that crunches under my foot. Paint has been splashed on the walls, a terrifying testament to what I am dealing with; a message to warn me perhaps. The coffee table is smashed to pieces, hence the glass and as I near my bedroom door, I am taken over with a huge sense of foreboding. Whatever I find in there; I know I'm not going to like it. A hiss escapes through my teeth as the bedroom door swings open and I survey the damage done to my bedroom. The bed has been completely stripped of the covers, which sit in a tight ball in the middle of the room. Yellow paint has been splattered all over my mattress, splashing up the frame and wall like some sinister type of decorating show. There are no threatening messages daubed on the walls this time. No, it is much worse.

My shrine; the wall I had dedicated to my parents has been completely desiccated. The photos torn from the wall, lay at my feet, torn to pieces like confetti. My – no mums daisy chain is now nothing more than dandelion fluff trod into the carpet. The shaky words of mums letters and birthday cards are doused in paint, completely ruined. A sob bubbles up in my throat and I drop to my knees, but the tears don't fall. Horror struck, I bring a hand up to my mouth, suddenly feeling violently sick.

Whatever this was. This thing that has been hounding me for months, it has suddenly taken a sick turn. It is now much bigger than I ever could have contemplated. These people. Tanya, whoever it is, are not playing around. On instinct, my hand dives for my pocket where my mobile phone sits, heavy and silent but then I stop myself. Evan isn't talking to me – he wouldn't care.

Instead, my fingers dial Leahs number. Leah, who in such a short space of time has become nothing short of my best friend. She picks up after the third ring, sounding groggy from sleep. “'Lo, Leah speaking?”

“Leah,” I croak out, trying to generate enough spit to get out my short sentence. “it's me.”

I feel Leah pause on the other end of the line, a shuffle and click as she checks the caller I.D. “Lily, are you okay?”

She sounds concerned and I almost break apart at the sincerity in her voice. “Um. Not really. Someone's broken into my flat.”

She swears quietly. “Are you hurt? Do you need me to come round?”

I nod before realizing that she cannot see me. Mentally slapping myself I speak: “I'd prefer if you didn't. They could still be hanging round.”

Another pregnant pause. If it wasn't for her heavy breathing on the other side of the line, I would have thought that she had hung up on me. “What do you mean by that?” she sounds angry and I instinctively flinch back.

“It's a long story,” I sigh and run my fingers through my hair.

My hands are shaking.

“Listen, Lily. Here's what we're going to do. You're going to get out of that flat and find a cheap hotel. Have you got any money?” I tell her that I have. “right, good. Find a cheap hotel and then give me a ring. We're going to talk about this and you're going to be honest, got that?”

It's not hard to see the thinly veiled threat for what it is. Sighing wearily, I agree and hang up the phone. A chill goes through me as I survey the damage to my flat; my safe haven. It now lays in ruins before me, the last vestiges of my past scattered at my feet like confetti. I am angry too, more angry than I could have ever thought possible. It is the sort of anger that is ugly to bear, the burden you don't want to hoist on your shoulders. It is the sort of anger that clouds all rational judgment and leaves the mere shell of you behind.