DONT KNOW YET

Chapter 1.

I'm walking down the street. It's eleven o clock on a monday night. I'm walking home from a late movie with my friends. It's a short walk from the mall to my house, so I'm not worried or scared at all.

Just as I round the corner to my block, an excruciating pain shoots through my left leg, causing me to fall to my knees, which only increases the pain. I cry out and clutch my leg, bend over it and take deeps gasping breaths. The pain slowly eases away, and I lean back against the low stone wall that runs along sidewalk.

My breaths slow and I swallow hard, rubbing my leg. 'What the heck WAS that?!'

Honestly though, I'm just glad it's over. Bracing myself, I slowly stand, and cautiously putting my weight on the leg. As I do, I'm happy to find no trace of the pain I felt only about 20 seconds ago. wierd. Though it does feel a bit heavy and stiff. I continue home, with a slight limp.

I unlock the door as quietly as I can and tiptoe (with a limp still) through the dark house to my room. Pushing open the door I take one step into my room when suddenly a hand wraps around my mouth pressing something wet against my lips. I'm faintly aware of a dark figure above before I pass out.

I wake up in my bed. I hit the snooze button on my alarm and roll over. Then I freeze. My mouth falls open as I recall the incidents of the night before. I slowly rise and hug myself against the chilly november morning air. My window's open. I stare at it for a while trying to remember if I opened it last night. Wait - there was a man - a figure, someone. They must have... put me in my bed? And... climbed out the window? It's the only explanation I can come up with. Unless whoever it was just decided to leave the window open to make me THINK they climbed out the window. But what would be the point of that?

I shake my head and try to focus. Someone grabbed me from behind. They must have been hiding behind my door. How did they even get in!? I'm suddenly overtaken by fear and I hug my knees.

Wait. They knocked me out with whatever that wet stuff was. Wouldn't it make more sense if I had woken up tied to a chair in an abandoned warehouse? What's the point in knocking me out if you're just going to put me in my bed?! Suddenly the thought of "his" hands on my body grosses me out and I shudder.

Pushing the covers off, I swing my legs onto the floor and stand. I gasp as my leg gives out in extreme pain and I fall to all fours. I groan loudly in pain, and again, I guide myself through the pain with deep breaths. I fall to my side as the pain ebbs away and let out a sigh of relief.

'What is wrong with my leg!?'

Just then, dad appears in the doorway, eyes wide.

"Delilah - oh! Are you ok? I heard you moan!" He crouches down next to me. "Are you ok? What's wrong? Why are you on the floor? Are you in pain?" He starts patting me all over checking for cuts or blood, I guess.

"Dad - DAD. I'm fine." I take his hand as he helps me up and smooth down my pyjama shirt. "I just.. tripped getting out of bed. Foot got caught in the sheets. Stubbed my toe." I sit on the bed and start rubbing my toe. Again, the pain in my leg is gone as fast as it came.

"Oh. Alright. Well, get ready for school, I can't take you today - I have an interview, so you'll have to walk".

I nod. Caught up in my own thoughts. My dad raises an eyebrow. "What- no "can't you drop me off on your way? No complaining and whining?"

I shrug, still lost in my head. "I gotta get dressed dad good luck in your interview." I offer a small smile and turn to start getting dressed.

He snorts "It's an interview for banking by the way, thanks for asking". He leaves.

I stumble backwards and fall back onto my bed. I sit ther for 5 minutes straight, just thinking. That's something I do. Sometimes, when I'm overwhelmed with emotions - when I'm scared or nervous, I need to be alone and just think through my feelings and figure out the best way to handle the situation.

At 7:20 I get up and dress. When I reach for my deodorant on my desk I notice a folded piece of paper sitting next to it. The window is till open and it blows my hair into my face as I slowly lift the note with a trembling hand.

I slide my thumb and forefinger along its length, as if I was opening a sealed letter, although it's just a folded loose leaf paper. I inhale as I open it, and fall into my desk chair to read it.

(Her name), I know you don't know who I am. I know you must be scared. Despite this, you must be strong. You must help me. I'm sorry about knocking you out last night - I had no choice. Recently you may have been having pains in your left leg. This has to do with your mother. I can explain everything. Meet me behind the froyo joint tonight at 8. I promise I won't knock you out again.

My mother?! I sit stunned for a minute, taking in the bits of information I have been given, trying to piece together whatever I can. The pains in my leg and someone knocking me out in my house then leaving me there - has to do with my crazy mother. She started showing symptoms when I was 6, I hardly remember. I remember snippets - her face, pulled taught with fear and grief - pulling me into her bony embrace. Always hugging me, and patting my head. I remember my dad, pulling me out of her arms one night when she crawled into my bed and held me. I didn't really mind - But now I realize it was strange. Her being so overprotective of me. My dad says she was paranoid. He says it's good I didn't grow up with her. He says she was a sick sick woman, and she's better off in the hospital where she is now.

Sometimes I do miss her though. But it also scares me to think of her. Was her love for me real? Should I love her and miss her? Was it all sheathed in her craziness? Was any of it real?? I ask these questions to myself whenever I think of her.

I pull open the drawer of my desk and carefully lift my jewelry box. I place my hand below where it sat and find that it's still there. I place the card on my desk and read it again. Saint Mary's Hospital for the Mentally Insane, Buckroot court, 4113. I slip it into my skirt pocket and head downstairs.

By the time I make it to the kitchen to grab a cereal bar, my dad's already gone. I feel bad for not being considerate this morning but I'm just so scared. I should have told him. I don't know why I didn't. I guess that's another part of me. I like to exhaust all possible solutions before I ask for help. And it often gets me into trouble.

I grab my phone, stick it in my sweatshirt pocket and lock the door. It's cold and drizzly outside - a tipical October day in (place she lives). I stick my hands in my pockets and pull my hood up over my short wavy bob. So far, all I know is that the pain in my leg isn't because I pulled a muscle and it somehow connects to my crazy sick mother. And my attacker of last night wants to meet me behind Froyo tonight at 8. I Consider the options. Go, and possible get killed/raped or if I'm lucky, mugged. Or, don't go, and tell my dad and the police what happened and show the the letter. Of course I'm dying to figure this out on my own. How can I just pass on something so personal to the police to figure out, while I just sit and watch?!

I decide I'll bring my mace. Amd maybe a kitchen knife just in case.

Better safe then dead, right?

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