Numbness.
That’s all I feel. If you can say you can feel the feeling of nothing. Well… that’s my point. As I lay in my bed the next morning, a replay of yesterday’s events came to mind. The dome, that stupid task.
Joey’s near death. A pang of guilt started to eat away at me as I rolled over in my bed. I was so caught up in everything that had happened that I hadn’t even given much thought to my bedroom. It was large, I can tell you that.
The whole room was like the epitome of art. The white walls were splashed with paint, spray-painted on and drawn on, intricate designs of any and everything covering most of the white space. The doors and chest of drawers were a white wood, with diamond handles. They’re probably not real but they still looked amazing. My bedside table was decorated with a deep purple lamp, the lampshade having little diamante swirls making their way up one corner. My PDA was charging all night, and seeing the flashing pink light, I grunted before swinging my legs out of my bed.
Squinting at the glowing screen, I scanned through all the messages before selecting the one I hadn’t opened yet.
Be ready for 9. That’s when you’re parents come back today. And by 9, I mean 9AM!
Sleepily, I looked at my pink vintage alarm clock.
10.25 am.
I shrugged, chucking my PDA onto my bed and practically crawled into my ensuite bathroom. I’m already late, might as well look good whilst I’m doing it. After showering and various other tasks, I changed into a bright pink crop top, jean shorts and some rainbow socks with converses. Reflecting on what was in the wardrobe, these seemed to be the only things I wore. Before opening my bedroom door, I stopped myself.
Okay. This is a big moment. These are my parents for at least 2 more years, if they intend on keeping me here this long, until I’m officially an adult and I can leave back to the UK. Mother and Father.
I need to pull out all the acting stops in the book in order to convince them of all people that I am who they think I am. Megan Chivonsky. Closing my eyes, I tried to ignore the guilt that threatened to invade my insides. I am essentially toying with people’s emotions. Messing with their hearts only to turn away and break their hearts again. Do I have a choice?
Theoretically, yes.
In reality, no.
Sighing, I opened the door and plastered the smile on my face that could fool anybody. I stroll down the stairs, the white marble hallway looming into view. I felt like the crystal chandelier above me was illuminating my every flaw and I bound down the stairs quicker in order to escape its glare. Taking one last deep breath, I entered the Kitchen, to find two of the most beautiful people in the world staring back at me with hope shining in their eyes.
My breath caught in my throat as the woman stood up, and made her way towards me. Her long dark hair fell down in waves to her waist, and her grey eyes sparkled. She was wearing a designer business dress that hugged her curves and shoes that physically made me feel pain to look at. They were higher than the Empire State Building. She smiled at me before enveloping me into a massive hug. Closing my eyes, I revelled quite selfishly in her warmth, the sweet smell of her perfume lightening my mood.
“You’re home Megs” she whispered into my hair, her voice breaking every so often. Hugging me tighter, I felt a trickle of wetness dampen my hair. “You’re finally home.”
“Yeah… mum” I replied awkwardly, patting her back slowly. A thousand messages of guilt swamped me and it seemed as if I had to physically fight them off.
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...
