Save Me

Chapter 7

I blindly stumble around, knocking everything down as I go. Chairs fall to the floor, glasses smash on the ground, and yet I keep going. I finally lock myself into the bathroom and crouch on the floor, my back against the cool tub. I hear footsteps, and two voices yelling my name. I’m too weak and I don’t care about whoever is trying to contact me. Everything in my life will be taken away. I feel worthless, like I don’t even need to do anything. My passion and my skill have disappeared, I don’t care anymore. It feels as if my life is over. The things I’ve worked towards for years are just going to disappear-poof. Eventually, someone begins knocking on the door. I gather the emotional and physical strength to stand myself up, using the toilet and the edge of the bathtub as props to help me. I slowly take a few steps towards the door, and I turn the lock gradually. I lean against the edge of the sink. The bare skin where my t-shirt and cardigan have ridden up feels icy against the sink.

I crack the door open and peer through the open slit. My dad is waiting for me to open up, standing there patiently. He sees my red eyes and pulls me into a hug. I lean into his arms and find comfort in his hug. My dad feels distant, even though I am in his arms.

He stands there, silent, even though I’d love to hear words of comfort from him. I want someone to tell me that it’s going to be okay, and that things will work out. I don’t want a distant kind of relief from my dad, and I don’t want a random hug. I push him away, and I walk back into the dining room. I calmly sit down in my chair, and grab my mother’s plate. I dish some salad onto it, ignoring her questioning eyes. She sighs, and looks at me, disappointed. My eyes must be red, and my hair is falling in front of my face, knotted from my angry tugging on it.

“Keira,” my mother’s eyes drop to her salad, “we can talk about this later, if you’d rather.” I roll my eyes.

“What, am I supposed to ask you to tell me that my life is basically over? Just get it over with. You’ve already dropped enough bombs, and now you’re insulting my appearance too? I need support, and encouragement. I need Claire, I need friends. But most importantly, right now, I need a mother. Continue.”

            “You can’t continue photography because Bill Covack got away. We thought we’d captured him, but one of the men we’d hired was a mole. He told Bill the plan, and helped him escape. There can be no links between you and your life before the kidnapping. You can’t have a Facebook, a twitter, or any social networking.” She looks disappointed; like it’s my fault I got kidnapped. Yeah right.

“Is that all? Can I have a new cell phone, though? I mean, isn’t this a little extreme? I’m living in a safe house; there are bodyguards and security cameras everywhere. No-one will be able to know where I am, so why all the precautions?” I start eating my salad just as my father walks back into the room. My mother and dad share a glance, and he pulls out a slim, white box.

“You won’t be able to have the same number, but you can have an iPhone again, sweetie.” I exhale in relief, and I greedily reach over and pull the box from his hands. I open the box up and pull the iPhone out of it. I peel the clear protective layer off the screen, and turn it on. A boring, gray background greets me. I’m going to have to fix that, I think to myself while scrolling through the typical, boring apps.

“Could I change my name? Like in public? Make it…” I start pondering the question while adding Claire as a contact. “Kate. Kate…Walsh. I like the sound of that. Plus, it’s the same as my initials, Keira Wilson. And my friends can just call me K in public! I could dye my hair too, maybe black. Or strawberry blonde. What do you think?” I look to my parents eagerly, wanting their approval. 

“I think that would work. You will also need a haircut. Of course, you will do this by yourself, clear? I’ve never seen you as a blonde. Also, you should get coloured contacts. Your eyes aren’t as pretty as they used to be, not quite a sparkling blue. You can wear green contacts in public.” Although her approval is laced with criticism, it makes me happy nonetheless. Both my parents stand up, without ever touching their salads.

“Bye, Keira. We’ll keep in touch, and the contacts and hair dye will arrive by tomorrow. We have your contact prescription still from middle school, we’ll use that.” They walk out the door, and leave. I follow them wordlessly, not saying goodbye when they leave. I shut the door behind them, and turn on my heel. I skip back into the dining room, singing happily. I stack the plates, one on top of another, and I refrain from skipping as I amble back into the kitchen. I whip back around, and giddily bounce into the dining room. I stack the remainder of the dishes onto the tray, and slowly make my way into the open space of the kitchen. My feet contact the cool tile, and I trip up on my own feet. I go sprawling across the floor, my hands painfully landing against the hard tile ground. Hesitantly, I stand back up. I rotate my wrists, checking for bruises and other injuries. After confirming that I am physically fine, I yawn.

Through this morning’s events and drama, I’d forgotten about my constant fatigue. I cautiously bend down to pick up the salad bowl. Luckily for me, I’d kept a grip on it the entire way down, so it didn’t drop far. Because of that, it didn’t break either, and had landed upright. The cutlery lays a metre or two away from me, so I cross the gap in three steps and bend down to pick it up. I put the fallen items on the counter, and move the three, full plates over to next to the sink. I unsanitarily scrape the uneaten salad back into the serving bowl, and start digging through drawers. I finally locate the cling film, and cover the salad with it. I trudge through the kitchen duties, finally finishing at about 2 o’clock. Once I finish, I am so tired that I have the incentive to just go take a nap right now. Instead, I suffer through my tiredness, and climb back to my room.

Each step is physically challenging, each lift of my leg sends an ache throughout my entire body. I finally crumple at the top of the stairs. I am physically in a worse condition than I ever have been in my life. A dizzy spell shoots through my head, and I tip lower onto the floor. I start to black out, and everything fades to black. I feel my head smack against the wooden floors, but no pain spikes in any part of my body. Every bone, every muscle, every joint and every body part twinges, but despite the pain, I slither into the darkness of unconsciousness.

“Keira? Keira? Come on, Keira, wake up!” Multiple male voices cry to me after what seems like seconds later.

“Mate, back off. I’m going to dump a bucket of cold water on her head, ‘kay?” This voice sounds slightly different to the rest, like a different accent but from the same country. Now I’ve gotten myself confused. What am I doing with boys brok  A new voice starts speaking, but I am unable to connect and name and face to the voice. Words in that sentence stir a worrying feeling in me, like I should be expecting pain or shock. instead, I ignore the sentiment and start fighting to open my eyelids against the imaginary force pinning them down.

I open my eyes and unclench my fists. A panicked, “No, she’s awake,” greets me back into consciousness, along with a helping of ice-cold water. I jerk upright, fuming. My teeth are clamped shut, not letting out the stream of expletives I so desire to release right now. 5 tones of laughter greet me, and I finally take the time to look around. I am at the top of the stairs in One Direction’s house, surrounded by the 5 of them. I roll my eyes and sigh, while mutely stomping back to my room.

*****

A/N

will upload twice before monday if i get 3 votes! k? xoxo