Blue Jay

Her Guilty Little Secret

A/N: OK, FIRSTLY, THIS CHAPTER IS DEDICATED TO Emilyn50 and jordynyarker, BECAUSE THEY WERE THE ACTUAL PEOPLE WHOSE COMMENTS REALLY MADE ME WANT TO WRITE MORE OF THIS, EVEN WHEN I HAD GIVEN UP. SO THANK YOU!

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I wake up in my little attic room, in my old, creaky bed, in my underwear, the heavy duvet smothering me. My bones ache badly, like they have not been used in years. My tongue is dry, and my lips are chapped. My stomach growls. How long have I been out? I try to sit up, to collect myself. My bones shriek in protest, but I do it. I sit up, look around my room--at the old, battered window looking out onto the woods, covered by scruffy scraps of cloth for curtains; at the old wardrobe that was once my great grandmother's; at the red cloak hanging on the doorknob, slightly creased, and muddy. The little tears in the fabric remind me of something, but I can't quite put my finger on it. I feel a sharp, stabbing pain on my left hand as I grasp the old blanket I use for a duvet, preparing to yank it off and swing myself out of bed. 

"Ouch!" I exclaim, looking at my left hand reproachfully. I see it is wrapped in a dirty bandage, and frown. What happened? Carefully, not wanting to cause any more pain, I unwrap the bandage from my hand, and gasp as it falls away to reveal a puckered white scar, stretching across the width of my hand. The raised bit is white, but enclosing it on either sides is an angry pink colour. The cut, the cloak ... they both have something in common.  

"What the ...?"  

A knock on the door stops my curses in their tracks, and Rena pushes her way inside, "are you ok?" 

"Um ... I think so." I mumble.  

She busies herself laying breakfast across my legs. Breakfast in bed? We never get this, not unless we're ill.  

"Rena?" 

She ignores me, concentrating on smoothing my duvet unnecessarily. 

"Rena!?" 

At last she looks up at me, "what?" her voice is quiet. Sad. Immediately I want to hug her, and I do. I squeeze her tightly in my arms, and bury my face in her blonde hair. 

"What happened?" I whisper. 

She sighs, and sits on the edge of my bed solemnly. 

"Don't freak out." 

"I won't." I say immediately, adamantly. 

"You got ... Taken." 

My brain does not at first register this, and I have to think for some time in order to discern it.  

"Say that again." I order slowly. 

Rena looks at me helplessly, "you got Taken, Mona! We don't know how or why ... but you were." 

"Oh." I say abruptly. I know on the outside I seem calm, and this is exactly what I want. I definitely don't want to appear weak. Inside, however, I am a mess. I want to scream and cry, I want to smash and break things, I want to tear down my curtains and barricade the door. Not out of anger. Out of fear. I am terrified, of what this will bring. Why did the Blue Jay pick me? I have brown eyes ... it doesn't want me. It wanted my sister. 

It doesn't want me. 

So will it kill me? No, I don't think so. It's too cold-blooded and cruel for that. It won't give me the contentment or the bliss of death. 

"Why did it pick me?" I whisper fearfully, more to myself than to anyone else.

Rena answers anyway, "I don't know ..."