Raine Walker

Chapter Five*

        The sound of the door opening shakes me back to life. I sit up quickly, watching as the door opening reveals the guy with the chocolate brown apologetic eyes. He holds a tray with some type of food on it and a glass of what I suppose is water. He's oddly quiet. He walks over, placing the tray on the end table beside my bed. He stands there for a minute, wiping his hands on his dark blue jeans. He glances up at me, soon taking off towards the door.

        I had something to say.

        "Wait," my voice comes out tired and beat. To be honest, I've been up all night. From dusk until dawn. I couldn't sleep. How could I sleep when I'm in a situation like this? I watch as the guy turns and glances at me. I quickly glance over his facial features, that puzzled me. There was this abnormality in his jaw that made it settle a little crooked. I followed up his defined cheekbones to find his chocolate eyes. There was this look on his face, a look that made me believe he had no intention on hurting me. Do I trust my instincts? "Why?"

        He glances down at the floor. I suppose it was a difficult question for him to answer. I wanted answers though, no matter the cost of them. I can't just sit in here and be uninformed as to why I'm in the situation I'm in. He sighs. "It's complicated."

        "Of course it's complicated!" my voice raises instantly.

        I clench my eyes closed, tossing myself onto the bed. I sit there, wallowing in my tears the found their way down my cheeks. I couldn't stop myself. 

        "It's not my story to tell," I hear him respond, without tone. Without expression. I hear the door close slowly. The door snapped shut, leaving me to drown in my tears. 

          It's not my story to tell. His words echoed in my mind. Whose story is it, then?

        I finally open my eyes, catching my glance out the window at the morning sun shining brightly upon me. What's so complicated in answering a question that involves me? I clench my fists, wanting to lurch out and punch something. Or even shove the things off of a dresser that normal teenagers do when they're frustrated. I can't do that anymore. 

        The morning is starting. I want to think my mom is questioning where I've been all night. I hope she realizes that there is something wrong. She most likely thinks I spent the night at Holland's. At this moment, I wish that was the case. I hope my mom is worried. I hope she realizes that I've completely disappeared in a blink of an eye in the hands of two complete strangers to me - ones that have a "complicated" reason as to why I had to be the one to be kidnapped.

        Maybe they don't have an real reason for kidnapping me. Maybe it was a spur-of-the-moment type of situation. Then, it's all on me. I kind of hope for them to have an actual reason. Having an actual reason will stop the spinning option in my mind.

        "What happened?" I hear a voice echo, filled with worried and anxiety. The voice echoed from somewhere within my room. I turn quickly around, searching for a vent that could possibly be supplying the feedback anonymously. In the corner, I found the culprit. 

        I walk closer, hearing a response from the guy that was previously in my room. "Nothing. And if you're so worried, why don't you go up there yourself?"

        "I can't. Not yet," the first voice responds. There was this little sigh of disappointment.

        "What? Why?"

        "Not this soon. It's too soon to do this to her," the man's voice comes out softly, almost somewhat concerned. There was this blip of guilt that rose in his voice.

        "When, then? Because Lacey is probably aware of what's happening."

        My mom? And why are they talking about me as if they knew me all their lives?

        "I know that. It's about time she realizes what's happening."

        "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

        "Scott, we've already talked about this," the first man's voice echoes again. 

        Scott.

        "I'm just not sure. I mean, you told me that Lacey is a powerful woman. That meaning we should be scared," Scott's voice sounded very unsure.

        "I'm not scared of her. She's a liar."

        My mom is a liar? What the hell are they talking about? They're acting like they know her personally. I run my fingers through my hair, which is in a desperate need of washing. What the hell is going on? What the hell is this all about? My mom is not a liar.

        I want to scream at the top of my lungs, but that would only stir more bad than good.

        "She's going to pay for lying this entire time. The truth is going to be revealed, soon enough."