A month later, after hundreds of gruelling hours of working out, training and learning, they finally thought about moving me on to the identity I was to take. Within that month, I guess you could say that I had calmed down for a bit. Lay low and just done what I was told because as I soon found out, resisting is dangerous. Hey, they’ve knocked me out 3 times already… I think…
Anyway they had me doing stuff for about 17 hours before letting me have 6 hours sleep and then the routine would just start all over again. Every day. Joey was right; I’ve already had one blood transfusion after an unfortunate event that I refuse to re-live ever again. He had me doing everything from push-ups to de-fusing bombs. Not only was the pain he inflicted upon me physical; it was mental. I’m almost sure that I have had several mental breakdowns during this past month.
Sitting down in my ‘room’, the white sterile walls evoked no emotion whatsoever. It didn’t give anything away; nothing of its past, nothing of its potential future. The lamp allowed a dim light to illuminate the small corner of the room I had decided to huddle in. Still in the sweaty pants and vest I had trained in for the past umpteen hours, I struggled to find a sense of sanity. I did everything.
Breathing deeply.
Yoga.
Meditation.
It didn’t work of course. I still sat there in the corner, in this state that was neither conscious nor unconscious. My mind was jumbled with so many thoughts. My safety, the safety of my parents and so much more. But one thing that grated on me more than anything was the one question that seemed to constantly pop up;
Why did I give up?
Have I given up?
I mean, I just complied so easily with them and what they wanted. Like a mindless fool. A knock on the door snapped me back to reality and instinctively, I jumped back up. I didn’t want them to see me looking so… weak. Swiping one grimy hand through my flat ginger hair, I watched as Joey waltzed in. His blue eyes glinted at me before he gave me something that resembled a smile. My face however, ignored it.
“Just wanted to reward you with an extra hours sleep for your impressive work today” he said, his eyes shining a little more than usual.
I blinked before scoffing. I studied one dirty nail before looking at him from under my lashes.
“An extra hour sleep? Oh, that’s amazing I wouldn’t expect anything less” I bit, sarcasm lacing my voice like poison.
He raised an eyebrow and I turned away from him. Even though my back was turned I still felt the intensity of his glare burning into my back. I shuffled on the spot in discomfort before taking a deep breath and grabbing a fresh towel.
“No need to be so ungrateful” he dripped. Whipping around to face him, a playful grin was plastered on his face.
“You really irritate me sometimes” I said straight up, refusing to pull any more punches.
What’s the point? From a number of hushed conversations I’ve heard these past 2 weeks, I’m very close to never having to see him again. He walked towards me slowly, a look on his face that dared me to go against him. I stood my ground but before long, he was painstakingly close.
Too close for comfort and involuntarily, I backed away from him until something cold and solid hit my back. Without even looking, I knew it was the stupid wall. Shoot. He smiled at me before bending his face to mine. I could feel his body heat emanating off of him in waves, his scar more prominent now than before. His dirty blonde hair flopped down lazily onto his forehead as those eyes glowed.
“I know what you’re thinking and I know what you know. Don’t think I haven’t seen you lurking in the corridors after hours. You’re almost learning too much from my lessons” he said, smirking at me.
I glared up at him before flexing my fingers. Knock me out again I don’t care, this guy needs to learn something called personal space from my friend the fist.
Without expecting it he banged the wall next to my head and my fingers immediately un-flexed.
"Don’t even try it, I know you Megan-“
“HANNAH!”
"Who gives a crap?! You are Megan Chivonsky now! And I know many things about you! The tiny miniscule movements you make when you’re about to kick or punch something. The way your eyes change slightly when you’re exhibiting any emotion. You’re blood type. I know you more than you know yourself and that is a major weakness! FIX up!” he whispered menacingly before removing his hand. I stared past his shoulder into space, still feeling the aftermath of his speech.
Worry set in deep and I refused to look at him. Is that what has become of me? Being predictable? Readable? That isn't what I have been training for! I have bee training to be the complete opposite, to blend into the background and the somewhat natural state of things. A chameleon, they said. Unknown. Unidentifiable.
Unreadable.
That familiar stinging sensation in my eyes came back with a vengeance and to my horror, a tear slid down my cheek. Look at me, I thought critically to myself. Dressed in damp, sweaty clothes, my hair is damp and lifeless, my nails look disgusting and I am in a dire need of a shower. And I’m crying. These pitiful thoughts only caused more tears to flood down my cheek and I sniffed in self-pity.
Before I knew it, Joey pulled me into a quick hug before steeping away from me. It was only instantaneous but it was nice. That fact that this gesture was so random and kind only made it better. Frowning mentally, I considered what had just happened. He hugged me? And I enjoyed it?
"Look, I apologise. Go shower or something and go to sleep because tomorrow morning, you undergo the final stage.”
I stared at him blankly for a moment. What? After several seconds of silence, he sighed before shaking his head and chuckling slightly.
“Megan doesn’t have red hair does she?”
YOU ARE READING
Stolen Identity
Mystery / Thriller'You'd like to think you are sure of yourself. You know who you are, what you like, your interests and your dislikes. Your identity is more than just what it says it is. It's your token to life and acceptance in some cases. And then that's taken awa...
