My Little Decoy

♪ All We Know ♪ {28}

"Now we can follow you back home but we won't.
Is this what you had waited for?
Just to be alone?" -All We Know

I stood in front of the mirror with a grim expression, biting the inner part of my lip nervously. My hair was pulled up into a high ponytail minus the few tendrils that escaped onto my face. I flicked the bangs out of my eyes in order to see the crystal blue. I was dressed in a white polo with the sleeves rolled up to my elbows; a cotton, black vest was placed on top of it, complete with a clashing red tie. My pants were just a simple pair of dark skinny jeans I managed to find in the depths of my closet, and as always I had on my trusty combat boots.

Yesterday after we met up with Tilted Reality, Gabriel discussed our attire and how we all had to deck out on casual formal- a way to intimidate opponents while gain respect from the judges and television viewers. He specifically said no other colors besides black and white, so I decided to be a prick and add some color into my outfit.

I pulled at the hem of the polo, rembering fondly who it used to belong to. I found it at the bottom of my dresser, and immediately decided to wear it. Today was a big day, and mental support from Mom brought a huge wave of calm onto my shoulders. Wearing her blouse, I blinked at my reflection, cracking a small smile as I whispered to myself, "You look just like her."

Memories of my mother getting ready for work in the morning overcame me as I envisioned her wearing the same exact shirt and flashing her warm smile. Quickly, I shook my head. I didn't want to work myself up before the round started. I grabbed my drumsticks from the nightstand, gripping them tightly before walking across my room to the bed.

Taking several pillows, I stuffed them under the comforter, trying to recreate a sleeping figure under the blankets. It was better safe than sorry. Feeling satisfied, I straightened my back and cracked my knuckles, trying to psych myself up for the competition. Who knows how many people will tune in to watch the broadcast? Just imagining the large crowd at the arena added with the viewers at home made me feel queasy. I didn't like people or attention.

Quietly, I began to walk the remaining few inches from the bed to the window. I smirked, cracking it open and immediately being hit with the cool, Seattle breeze. Just as I managed to lift one leg over the windowsill, the door to my room slammed open, making me jump and crack my neck as I instantly turned towards the noise.

Mentally slapping myself for forgetting to lock the door, I felt my grip on the sill tighten as I gritted my teeth at being caught. My eyes squeezed shut as his hands found the collar of my vest, forcibly hauling me back into the room and throwing me onto the floor.

Not even managing a groan, I put both hands on the floor and started to pull myself up when he stopped me. Grabbing me again, he forced me to my feet and glared as I attempted to push him away. My struggles were futile as he demanded, "And where do you think you're going, Lacey?"

I said nothing, feeling my cold exterior beginning to frost. Suddenly, I was back to my old self, without the warmth my band provided for me by my side. My eyes narrowed as I gripped his fists which were still holding me up.

"Answer me." Marco ground out, his jaw clenching. I spit in his face, which was a major mistake as his expression contorted instantly from disgust to anger. He forced me backwards until my back hit the coolness of the wall, making me grunt.

"What are you doing in my room, Marco? I told you never to come in here." I said instead, keeping my voice low and steady despite the erratic beating of my heart.

"I wanted to check up on you, and I'm glad I did. Just because I lack sobrierty most of the time doesn't mean I don't notice you constantly leaving the house or coming back in the dead of night. Where do you go, Lacey? Why are you keeping secrets from your father?"