That night, Bailey is treated like king. After a huge bowl of her favourite beef and lamb flavoured dog mix she is then allowed a generous portion of Mum's homemade chicken stew and half a packet of digestive biscuits.
Mum relaxes the rules and lets her sit on the sofa with us while we watch TV, where she's showered with endless pats and kisses.
For the first time ever, Bailey is even given permission to stay in my room overnight.
We decide to bed down early and get a decent nights sleep after our hectic week. Around half past 9, I hug my parents goodnight and head upstairs, with a tired but happy Bailey trailing after me.
My suitcase lies on my bed, as of yet unopened. Not having the energy to unpack tonight, I pull out my pyjamas and washbag, before moving the case into my wardrobe to be dealt with another day. When the space is clear, Bailey jumps onto my duvet, curls up and falls asleep within twenty seconds.
I am just brushing my teeth in my bathroom when something catches my eye.
A scrap of paper is wedged in the crack between two wall tiles.
Part of me wants to ignore the note. Pretend it's not there. Avoid getting sucked into any more trouble.
But curiosity takes over.
I reach over and dislodge the paper.
Taking a deep breath to steady my trembling hands, I unfold it.
It's like one of those ransom notes you see in films; the ones where each letter is cut and stuck from a different magasine.
'Kaitlyn', it reads, 'Wasn't I kind to return your precious puppy to you unharmed? There's no catch, honest. Well actually, I tell a lie. There is a small price to pay. But I'm not telling you what it is. You'll find out soon enough. Haha. Have a nice day."
The letter flutters from my grip. I can't get away from him anywhere. The scary thought is the fact that somehow he'd got into my house.
Been in my room.
Touched my things.
It's a sickening idea.
*
"Good morning Kaitlyn. How are you feeling? Ah, not great I see."
Every session starts the same way. Issy plays the concerned psychiatrist, asks questions, gets no answers, puts words into my mouth, makes assumptions about the way I'm feeling.
To begin with it really used to irritate me, but by now I'm kind of used to it.
"So Kaitlyn, anything new to tell me? No? Well I have news for you."
As usual, I've already zoned out. I begin to analyse the room. For some reason today, my senses seem enhanced. I'm more in tune with the world around me.
The walls seem a more vibrant blue. The floor tiles gleam as they reflect the white glare from the overhead striplight. The ticking of the clock on the desk magnifies until it becomes a rhythmic drum beat in my head. I watch as the hands spiral their way from number to number. 1,2,3...
I can smell Issy's fake tan and it's even stronger than usual. The scent of burnt coffee is choking. Her usual mildly bronzed skin has been replaced by a wrinkled layer of blackened-orange flesh, meaning she resembles not the tanned beach babe she was hoping for, but rather an overcooked jacket potato.
Her hair looks especially bad. It hangs in matted clumps, thick with grease. Combined with her acne-infested cheeks and shapeless face, she is more suited to being a lazy teenager than a professional psychiatrist.
YOU ARE READING
Lost for words (COMPLETE)
Teen FictionKaitlyn Mackenzie has a secret. A dark, disturbing secret that has scarred her for life. Her way of coping is to stay silent. For almost 5 months, she hasn't spoken, not a word, even to her family or friends. Because if she does, she might pay wi...
