Taken

Chapter 10

Tuesday 11th January 2014

"Dad! NO!" I see the car before him and scream out but he can't hear me. Time is moving in slow motion as the shiny black porche speeds round the corner towards my oblivious father. I've got to stop him, got to get to him before something happens.

"MOVE godamnit! Can't you fucking move?" It seems like the crowd is purposely not letting me through. He still hasn't seen the car and I realise, in that second, that he is going to be hit. There's nothing I can do and the car is going at least 60mph.

"NOOOOOO!" His body is thrown through the air like a rag doll as the monstrous car collides with his fragile body. I can't breath; it feels like all the oxygen has been sucked out of the air. My legs give way beneath me and I crumple to the pavement, screaming and crying. This can't be happening.

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"Hey I said wake up!" A hand grabs my wrist and yanks me from my nightmares and I sleepily open my eyes, resulting in me being blinded by the morning sunlight.

"Why are you shaking?" It's Liam, and he doesn't sound at all sympathetic. He's angry, like its my fault. I didn't even realise that I was shaking like a leaf until he said this, I haven't had that nightmare for nearly a year now and I'd thought that it was gone forever. After my father's death, I dreamt about it every night without fail until, one day, it just went, with no apparent reason. But now I guess it's back, which means no more sleep for me again.

"You know what, I don't actually care. Just get up and get dressed, someone's coming to see you" I sigh as he leaves the room at the lack of emotion in his voice, it's like he doesn't even here about me. THAT WOULD BE BECAUSE HE DOESN'T, the little voice in the back of my head reminds me and I sigh again. What did I expect really? I mean, he's my kidnapper, of course we're not going to turn out to be best buddies.

I put Liam from my mind for now and think about what he actually said: "someone's here to see you". I hope it's not the man from yesterday who was trying to get to me, he didn't sound particularly nice. Maybe it's mum? A smile fills my face as I think of this. Oh I really hope it's her, or maybe even Jack, if he's decided that I'm more important than this 'cause' thing. No, it's far more likely to be mum than him, and with this thought in mind I hurry to get showered and dressed.

On the way out of my room I unfortunately catch a glance of myself in the mirror again and I'm not surprised to see that I look just as terrible as yesterday. At least now some of my cuts and bruises are hidden by these jogging bottoms and my t shirt. My hair is still a mess though, along with my face since there's no sign of girl's shampoo/hairbrush/hairdryer anywhere. There's also no makeup, which I wouldn't usually mind since I don't wear much anyway, but it would be nice to have a little concealer to hide these dreadful bruises. I've never been happy with my body and now I feel even worse. I swear, it should be illegal for someone to be cursed with an ugly face AND an awful body! It should be one or the other, right?

I turn away from my mangled reflection and make my way down to the kitchen, suddenly nervous. What if they hurt me or abuse me in any way? I'm so pathetically weak that I couldn't even fight off a kitten, let alone a fully grown man. If one of them, or even all of them, tried to hurt me, they would overpower me easily, I wouldn't be able to do anything. I hover outside the kitchen trying to come up with a plan of what to do if it goes wrong, but nothing comes to mind. I bite my lip nervously and just decide to wing it as I step into the kitchen.

To my surprise, it's only Harry in there and he doesn't look remotely intimidating, in fact it looks like he has just woken up. His hair is all ruffled and he's dressed in just a pair of jogging bottoms, which are hanging rather low on his hips, I might add. I hover by the doorway, taking in his muscular chest and arms, and admiring the inkwork painted over his body. I've always loved tattoos on guys and have planned to get lots myself someday, as soon as I stop being such a wimp when it comes to pain. He's currently sat at the table, hunched over a book. He's really into whatever he's reading, I can tell by the speed his eyes dart across the page and the small crease in between his furrowed eyebrows. Suddenly, with no warning he slams the book shut and throws it across the room, yelling as he does so. What the hell? I let out a gasp, which Harry obviously hears since he spins round to face me, a glare present on his face.