My Little Decoy

♪ She Lives in a Fairy Tale ♪ {13}

"She lives in a fairy tale
Somewhere too far for us to find
Forgotten the taste and smell
Of a world that she's left behind." -Brick By Boring Brick

"I'm home!" I shout cheerfully into the large two-story house, jumping a bit as the mahogany door shuts behind me with a loud thud.

"Lacey, honey, is that you?" I hear Marco's voice from the kitchen and on cue, my stomach growls as the scent of spaghetti wafts through the hallways and into my nose. Honestly, Marco is one of the best cooks in the world.

"Yeah." I shout back, kicking off my Converse and setting my backpack on one of the love seats in the living room, just to my right. "Are you cooking spaghetti?"

"Why, yes, I am! I know it's your favorite." Following his voice, I make my way to the kitchen, past the pale white walls that glistened in the afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows.

As always, there is a stack of letters on the island, all unopened and scattered around the smooth marble. "You really should clean before we all drown in letters, get papercuts and die." I grin at my step-father, sneaking a piece of garlic bread of the tray he carried towards my direction.

Eyeing me with a teasing scowl, Marco shoves the tray away from my direction before I can steal another. He grins when I pout, patting my head. "Since when do I clean?"

"Uh, never."

"Then why do you keep asking?" He sticks his tongue out childlishly, placing the tray of bread on the dining table, and then returning to the stove to get the pasta.

I watch his retreating figure, admiring his ageless features, tousled black hair with just the hints of gray, and his bizarre sense of fashion style: involving plaid, plaid, and more plaid. Mom finally made a good choice in life.

"Marco, you have a very good point." I pretend to muse, tapping my chin.

He tsks, setting down the pan and turning to me, wagging his fingers. "No, no, no, no. It's not Marco, remember?"

"Right," I smile adoringly at him, making a face as he ruffles my chocolate brown locks. "Dad."

"Good." Marco beams, turning back to the table to set up the plates and utensils. "Now be a good little girl and go wake up your mother. She wasn't feeling well today so she went and took a nap."

"Ma- Dad, I'm thirteen! I'm not a little girl anymore!" I scowl, crossing my arms.

"You'll always be to your mother and I. I know I wasn't there to watch you grow up, Lace, but you know that I love as if you were my very own, right?" He replies, putting down a fork and giving me a serious expression.

I cock my head to one side and smile ever so slightly, "I know, Dad. I know."

"Great. Now go and get your mother alright? I'm starving." Marco pats his already growing belly and I laugh, nodding.

With a wink from my step-father, I rush up the stairs, taking two at a time until I reach the master bedroom. "Mom! Mom, wake up! It's dinner time!" I shout, banging on the door loudly.

"Wake her up gently!" I hear Marco yell from downstairs. Rolling my eyes, I push the door open slowly as it creaks, peaking my head inside.

The window blinds were all shut closed, making no light from the outside world stream in at all. Flicking the lights on, I make my way to the slight bulge in the comforters, showing my mother's slim figure.

"Mom?" I ask, shaking the lump gently. "Mom, wake up now."

There was no reply and I frown, shaking her harder. Mom isn't a heavy sleeper... but she is a heavy snorer.

Then why isn't she snoring?

"Mom?" I ask again, my voice rising a little as I shook her more rapidly and roughly. There is still no response.

Feeling my heart start to accelerate, I bend over her form and throw the comforters over her, revealing a petite, beautiful woman in her mid-thirties. Her eyes were closed gently, a small smile on her face. Amelia's dark brown hair cascades down her face, covering her nose and right eye, and she is still dressed in her pajamas from this morning as she waved me off to the school bus.

She reminds me of Sleeping Beauty. Now if only she would wake up.

"Mom!" I shout into her ear, but she doesn't stir. Only then I notice that her right hand is not empty. I take a step forward to

examine the container when I hear a crunch below my feet.

Raising my left foot up to see what I had broken, all that was left was a small mound of white dust; remnants of a pill.

My mother, Amelia's, depression pills.

Swallowing saliva that lodged in my throat, I continue to unfurl her hand until the empty container falls to the ground. There were still at least twelve left in there this morning.

"M-mom!" I scream, my voice cracking on the syllable.

"Lacey, what's wrong?" Marco's voice shouts from below but I don't answer him.

Pressing my ears to her heart, I knew it was over as soon as I realized that there was no heartbeat to hear. Another bloodcurdling scream leaves my body. Tears drip down my cheeks as I sob, shaking my mother harder and harder.

"Mom, wake up! Just wake up already, this isn't funny! Wake up! Wake up!!! WAKE UP!"

--

With a gasp, my eyes snapped open and I clawed at my shirt, feeling as if I was burning alive. The heat was too much and sweat dripped down my forehead, falling into my eyes. Eyes that were still blurry from sleep and tears.

My child-like voice continued screaming in my ears; the memory continued as if I were still in the dream. Wake up! I had shouted. Wake up!

Breathing heavily, my eyes finally adjusted to my surroundings and I was met with with bright, white walls surrounding me, and the smell of medication and death in the air. There was a single window that streamed golden light into the room. A bird chirped outside.

The room wasn't empty. There was a chair and table in front of me and a television set overneath the uncomfortable bed I was in. My eyes drifted to my body, and I threw off the blankets to reveal me in a dapper sea foam green hospital gown.

Wait, hospital?

Already, I started feeling nauseous as my heartbeat sped up, causing the heart moniter beside me to go insane. That jolted me even more as I escaped into memories that I wanted to keep locked up forever.

She was brought here. She died in one of these hell-holes! I was panicking and I couldn't stop; the room was spinning. I had never stepped foot in a hospital since that day. The only reason why these institutes were here were for people to die.

Was I going to die?

The thought numbed all sense of panic for a few seconds.

Wincing, I realized there was a needle in my arm that stung whenever I jostled it. Eyes widening, I started hyperventilating again and I reached forward to pull the needle out of my arm.

But a warm, comforting hand grabbed my hand and stopped me before I could.

"Sturm, just calm down." Blake murmured gently, returning my hand to my lap. He didn't let go of my hand though and I was thankful; otherwise I would've done something I'd probably regret later.

I turned to face him with a mixture of surprise and confusion. Blake was sitting on a chair beside my bed, looking like it was pulled from the table. His emerald eyes searched mine, and his black hair drifted in wavy tendrils, curling adorably on his forehead. Small grey bags circled under his eyes.

"I... I am calm." I choked out, my chest rising and falling rapidly with every breath I inhaled. The acrid scent of hospitals filled my nostrils and I gagged a little; still swarmed from the memories of my mother's death, and the faces of Carter and Olivia filled with pain and anger. All towards me.

"Breathe slower and deeper." He advised, stroking small circles into my palm.

Taking his advice, I squeezed my eyes shut and breathed in, releasing the breath after a few seconds. The heart moniter beeped beside me, mimicking my movements. After a few mintes, my heart rate was back to normal.

"Better?" Blake asked, giving my hand a small squeeze.

I nodded weakly, gripping his hand tighter. "H-How long was I out?"

"A day." He replied, giving me a concerned look. "I was waiting for you to come out so we could socialize, but instead you had this- this pained look on your face. You were pale, you were so pale and it scared me. And then when you fainted, I picked you up and brought you here."

I stayed quiet as the events of yesterday were returned to my brain. There was a question I was dying to ask though. "Which hospital is this?" I whispered.

"St. Allen's." Blake replied slowly. My hand squeezed his even tighter. This was the hospital. The hospital.

"Hey... do you maybe want to talk about this?" He murmured hesitantly. My eyes blanked and I felt my expression turn stoic once more. My hand tugged at his until I managed to wrench it away. Instantly, my hand craved the warmth of his own, making the hairs on my arm stand.

Everyone asked that question. But no one ever meant it.

"No." I snapped, shifting my gaze to the heart moniter. The lines moved up and down, keeping me distracted from Blake's expression. I could almost sense his surprise at my sudden turn in mood.

He lightly touched my shoulder, making me flinch and glare at him. But what I saw in his emerald gaze confused me. It wasn't sympathy or pity... It was understanding. I felt myself relax a little and my gaze softened into its usual indifferent mask.

"No, I just- No," I sighed, playing with the strings on my gown. "I don't want to talk about it."

When no reponse came from him, I sank deeper into the mattress, staring out the window. Instantly, a piece of notepad paper was waved in front of my eyes.

"Sturm, I know that whatever's troubling you, it's something serious. I'm giving you a fair warning now that I can be very persistant but if you ever need to talk; well, here." Blake smiled, waving the paper even more.

Snatching out of his hand, I scanned his number and let out a humorless chuckle.

"What?" He asked, amused by my amusement.

"I don't have a phone, dumb one." I smirked, waving the note in his face.

"You don't?" He asked, surprised. Pushing my hand away from his face lightly, Blake looked astonished.

"Not everyone can afford an iPhone 5, you know?" I scoffed, but then mentally facepalmed as I realized I just told him that I was basically poor.

"Huh." He murmured with a thoughtful expression.

"Now don't be getting any ideas- Wait."

"What?"

"How am I going to pay for the bill for this place?!" I exclaimed, my voice going hoarse. Oh, no. Marco's not going to like this. How expensive were medical costs again?

"Relax, relax, Miss Billionare." Blake snorted at my fretting, and I scowled at him. "I already paid the bill for you."

"You- You what? But how much was it?" My scowl vanished, replaced by a small line of shock.

"It was only a few thousand dollars. Chill out." Blake rolled his eyes teasingly, poking my nose.

"Only a few thousand dollars? You idiot-"

"Miss Carson?" A gruff voice asked, making Blake and I turn towards the door. A stout and short man with unruly facial hair stood in the doorway. He had a clipboard in one hand and a stethoscope around his neck.

"Oh, look. The orthodontist is finally here." I muttered sarcastically under my breath. I jumped when Blake laughed, sending warm feelings through my body. What the heck?

"Sorry to disrupt, Miss Carson, but I'm here to give you your diagnosis." He spoke with just a hint of an Italian accent.

"Well, who's stopping you?" I asked without thinking, and Blake nudged me gently.

"Be nice." He said; I made a face.

"Right." The doctor said awkwardly, walking over to my side. He examined his clipboard and spoke up again, sounding all sophisticated. "Well, the good news is that your ribs are not broken. But they were severely bruised in the process. In order for it to heal, you need to rest for a few days and ice it regularly. I'll gove you some painkillers for the meantime, and you can pick them up at the recption desk when you are discharged later today."

"Got it, El Capatino." I saluted mockingly and the doctor gave a me a stern look.

"She means thank you." Blake interjected from my side, flashing a dazzling smile at him.

"Sure, sure. It's my pleasure." The doctor waved off Blake's comment, not at all looking like it was his pleasure. "Oh, and young man?"

"Blake."

"Ah, well, Blake. Would you please leave momentarily while I speak to Miss Carson?"

"Oh, uhm sure." Blake frowned a bit, getting up from his spot. He gave my knee a pat before nodding curtly to the doctor and leaving the room.

Well, that's not a good sign.

"Miss Carson," The doctor spoke up again, taking Blake's seat onthe chair. "I would like to speak to you on behalf of your bruised ribs.

"But you said they were fine and that I just needed to rest." I narrowed my eyes.

"They are, but that's not what I meant. You came in unconscious yesterday and Blake told us that it was your stomach area that was injured when you fell out of a tree, correct? But when we examined you, we discovered,"

Oh, God.

"That you had multiple signs of past bruisings all over your body, along with a numerous amount of scars. Something that falling out of a tree cannot cause."

"That doesn't mean anything." I said with an icy tone, my voice clipped.

"Yes, it does. Tell me, Miss Carson, who do you live with at home?"

"My step-father..."

"And does he... does he hurt you in any way or form?" The doctor clicked his pen, preparing to write down notes on his board.

My body tensed and I went rigid all over. I glanced at my arm, wondering how many injuries they found underneath the sea foam color and on the rich vanilla white.

When I said nothing, the doctor cleared his throat and continued, "We have some pyscologists in the pyschiatric ward if you feel-"

"No."

"I beg your pardon?"

"No, my step-father does not hurt me in any way or form." I lied, sounding like a monotonous robot. "I'm very accident prone and I bruise easily, got it?"

"Miss Car-"

"It's Lacey." I snapped.

"Lacey, dear, we're only doing what's best for you-" And here we go again. How many people have said that? How many people have tried to help me?

How many have succeeded?

"Please, Doctor. I'm telling the truth. Honest." Another lie.

He didn't speak and merely stared at me as he tried to figure me out. Much like Carter did.

...Carter. A pang of guilt washed over me and I winced.

"Does it hurt anywhere?" The doctor asked and I lied for the third time in a row, "Yeah, my stomach's killing me."

"Alright, well you're free to go anytime now. And don't forget to pick up your medication." He said, rising from his position. With another glance my way, I noticed he didn't press the other topic further as he nodded and left the room.

Letting out a sigh I hadn't realized I was holding, it was only a few seconds before the door opened and I heard footsteps remerge. And then I waited for Blake to ask, me the infamous question, 'Are you ok-'

"Do you prefer Italian or Japanese?" He asked with a grin on his face.

What.

"What?" I asked incredulously, arching an eyebrow.

"Japanese food or Italian?" Blake repeated, sitting down on the side of my bed.

"Uhm... I guess Italian, why?" I replied hesitantly, eyeballing him.

"It's about noon right now. I figured you might be hungry." And right on cue, my stomach grumbled, making me blush and scowl. Blake laughed his charming laugh and I couldn't help but half-smile in response.

"As long as there's spaghetti, I'm good. It's my favorite." I added, trying to force down thoughts of Marco's infamous recipe and memories of that fateful day.

Blake grinned, "Mine too."

"Hey, Harnage...?" I asked after a while of him just smiling at me and me just awkwardly sitting there in an ugly hospital gown.

"Yeah, Sturm?"

"This isn't a... date, right?"

He cocked his head to one side, thinking. I froze, unsure of how to be reacting. Why did I ask that stupid question?

"Nope," Blake winked at me, ignoring my poker face. "It most certainly is a date."

--

Dedication: pokemania. She's an amazing friend, and a fantastic writer. I love her to death. Go check out her story, "Through the Eyes of the Dragon."

Stay lovely,
Isabelle