Broken (Twilight Fanfiction)

Chapter 25

Mirrors.

I woke up to find myself in a room full of mirrors. The wall in front of me was covered in spotless mirrors and the golden bar ran along it. The floor was covered with polished, smooth wood and four pillars held the ceiling up. There was an emergency exit on the other side of the room, but it had rusted chains on it, locking it from being used. This room looked like it hasn't seen a working day for years and the lights were broken.

I knew I was inside a ballet studio. It obviously was an abandoned ballet studio, kept here for a couple of years and hasn't been demolished yet for something better to come along.

But where the ballet studio was located was beyond me. I could be anywhere in the States. I might not even be in the States. Highly unlikely, but not impossible.

I tried to stand up and I frowned when my arms didn't move from behind me. I twisted my body a bit and looked in the mirror to see my hands tied with rope. My legs were free and nothing was holding me down to the ground. I tried to get onto my knees but I grunted as I fell painfully onto my front.

Groaning, I brought my knees into my chest and pushed up, one leg up and the other still kneeling. I leaned forward and pushed up, stumbling a little before standing up straight. I scanned the ballet studio and saw two doors; one being the emergency exit and the other looked like it led to a foyer and to the front entrance.

I tiptoed over to the emergency exit and, as expected, the chains were locked and the door wouldn't even budge. I signed lowly and I glanced at the other door before sneaking over to it, trying to keep my footsteps light.

I made it to the open door and peeked around it, searching the foyer. It was completely empty, only a stack of chairs covered in thick cobwebs was sat in the far corner. The front entrance was directly in front of me and I cautiously stepped towards it, waiting for something to jump out at me. But nothing jumped out on me and I turned round so I could use my fingers to hold the door handle. I pressed down on it and pulled but it didn't move. It was locked and I faced it and lashed out with my leg.

The door shuddered in reaction, but it stayed closed. I reared my leg up to hit it again, when I heard whistling.

My muscles froze as the whistling continued, sounding oddly nonchalant. Slowly, I placed my foot back onto the ground and I winced when I heard the whistling halting and a loud dark curse in the voice of the man of my nightmares. I felt my muscles tense, spinning on my heels as I heard fast footsteps coming towards me.

The first thing I saw were his eyes; his angry, merciless brown eyes. I inherited his eyes, but I didn't have the cold murderous tint he had in his irises. His eyes were staring at me, while mine were wide with fear and utter terror. But they looked in control, not having the usual glaziness he has when he's drunk. He was sober, and being sober means his strikes will be harder and more logical.

He was merely inches from me as he lifted his finger slowly and gentle touched my cheek. His fingertip travelled down it, curving around my hollow cheek and ending at my chin, but stayed there. I gulped and froze, wide-eyed as my breath hitched and my heart was hammering in fear. I'd expected him to hit me, hell, even kill me. Yet he strokes my cheek? I think I prefer drunk Charlie to sober Charlie; drunk Charlie is predictable, while sober Charlie scared me the most as he could do anything, and I was too weak to protest.

"You look so much like your mother," he said as his breath washed over my face, his breath not smelling of alcohol.

I didn't say anything as I couldn't form the energy or the effort to move my jaw muscles. I was scared stiff on what he was doing, his finger on my chin causing disgusted shudders down my back.