A World of our Own | K.TH *COMPLETED*

Mistake

Fine.

Whatever.

The cold ring of keys is still gripped tightly against the sweaty palm of my hand as I crane my neck in futile attempt to catch the topmost apartment. Supposedly my house is one of the two apartments there, at the very very top of this entire structure.

I can do this— all by myself.

I blink my peculiar eyes— that my mother had once loved but was so hated by the others. She'd always told me that they were jealous of them, that they pretended that they did not like them because they wished eyes like mine.

I don't think so.

My eye color is split in half, the right one a forest green, the other a deep, ocean blue. My one green eye is ringed with a double eyelid, while the other is a mono. So yes, I have uneven eyelids. Which also meant that I had slightly uneven eye sizes.

Face flushed pink from the cold, I finger the dark eye patch that my stepmother had given me for my seventeenth birthday. It was a wonder that she even got me something— and then I realized that she was just deadly embarrassed of my two separate colors, and wanted me to hide one so it would at least seem normal to the others.

It was a good gift. I'd always wanted to hide the vibrant green iris I possessed, since the blue could be mistaken as the typical dark brown once I was in shadows. But the story changed when I stepped into the sunlight— it flowed and sparkled like the ocean itself, which was why I always nearly stayed in darkness. I didn't want people to notice me, to realize my true, unique eye color.

It always led to bullying, anyway.

I remember the last time I actually attended school. My father had finally pulled me out after I was pushed purposely down the stairs, left with two broken ribs and a severe concussion. That had taken months to heal— and of course, my stepmother blamed me for the hospital costs.

My father's solution to this problem was online courses. Believe me, it's not like he cared whether his daughter got hurt or not. All he and his pathetic excuse of a wife cared about was the money that came after. Money always ruled over their only daughter, and that wasn't sarcasm. It was the truth.

Drawing my thin jacket tighter around my delicately sculptured shoulders, I press a few elevator buttons that I hope leads to the top. I've never been out much, and the last time I'd utilized an elevator was when my real mother had taken me out to visit our grandmother.

And now our grandmother's dead. So is her daughter, and that was exactly fifteen years ago.

So forgive me if I don't know how to use an elevator that a four year old probably could with ease.

It takes a couple tries and a truckload of patience, but I finally get to the top floor. When the elevator doors slide open, a massive window immediately fills my vision. The view is absolutely stunning, the maze of buildings and other apartments outside mapped into a still picture on a transparent canvas.

And on the opposite sides of the huge window are two doors, each labeled with a number on its doors. When I glance over the key, it reads 1241.

Okay. So the door to the right.

Slinging the duffel bag further over my shoulder, I advance towards the door without a second thought. All I'm hoping is that my parents had at least bought me the basic furnitures when I twist the doorknob.

The door swings open, and my eyes go wide in surprise.

Why was it open already?

Maybe they just left purchased houses unlocked here? Thinking it wasn't such a big deal, I push open the door fully and step into the apartment.

The minute I do, a beautiful, enchanting fragrance ripples my hair, sending bolts of pleasure up my nose. While I breathe it in deeply, I struggle to put labels on the intoxicating scent.

A field of wildflowers, with just the faintest touch of mint and honey.

Perfect than perfect.

Still relishing the aroma, I look around my new home. I'm pleased to find that there's a couch and a coffee table, even a flatscreen TV in front of the couch.

My lips split into the biggest smile I'd ever made in a while at the sight of the sleek television, my grin growing wider with every passing second as I find more objects around the house.

A desk and a chair, a kitchen— fully set up with all the necessities with a small dining table that looked undeniably expensive.

Gosh, no way. All of this for me? This was too good to be true— was I in a dream?

Suddenly, something cold and very much real presses onto my temple. Not even a millisecond after, a strong arm snakes around my shoulders.

My entire body freezes with shock and panic as I slowly realize what that thing against my head is—

It's a gun.

A gun, against my head.

The only word that blares warning in my head screams intruder, and I squeeze both of my eyes shut. I'm going to die, aren't I? I'm actually going to die like this, murdered by a person that I'll never even get to see. What a pointless, pathetic death.

A pathetic death for a pathetic life.

My tensed body slumps tiredly into the unknown intruder's arms, but the moment of stupor is broken when he presses the gun harder against my temple.

"What in the world are you doing in my house?"