Dead End|| #Wattys2017

Chair Forty-seven

         A pitiful groan reverberates off the wooden walls, and Bryce's pounding head couldn't even tell whether it was him who released the pitiful noise or someone else. Sore and weak, Bryce grunts as he pushes himself to a sitting position, and groggily examines his surroundings.

       "Andrew? Aiden? Ajax?" Bryce calls out, voice hoarse and scratchy from disuse. 'How long have I been here?'

       "Paislee?" He tries again, raising his voice, only to end up in a coughing fit.

      Shoulders slouching in disappointment when he receives no answer, he rubs his aching eyes and looks around again, squinting. He notices that the room is completely bare. No windows. No furniture. Nothing. Only him and empty space. He turns carefully, wincing, to inspect what is behind him, and finds himself face-to-face with a door. A door that isn't fully closed.

      The boy's droopy eyes widen, and his exhaustion fades and replaces with awareness. He shakily scrambles to his feet, and hurries to the jarred door. He flings open the door, nearly ripping it from its hinges, screaming at the top of his lungs while ignoring the rawness of his throat, "Paislee! Andrew! Aja-!"

      Before Bryce can finish his shouts, or step foot out of the room, he is thrown backwards by a sudden force. He cries out, as he slams into the floor with a loud thud. Dazed and confused, the black-haired boy raises his head to see the offending object that tossed him like a rag doll.

      "My, my, foolish aren't we?" Bryce's breath hitches as his brown eyes lock with green ones, sparkling with amusement. A woman with light, blonde hair stalks toward the sprawled out boy. The woman's cheek bones prominent, skin a caramel shade, nose narrow and sharp, and smile laced with malice. Apart from her facial features, her build is fit and muscular. The teen can make out the bulge of her biceps, and muscles in her legs through her navy blue jumper. If that isn't enough to startle him, her height definitely does. She has to be at least six feet tall. She is a frightening sight, and Bryce can't help but shrink away as she approaches him.

      "What's with that look? Huh? Am I intimidating?" The woman asks, with a cruel smirk.

       Bryce swallows, nervously, as his gaze darts around so he doesn't have to create eye contact with the woman. However, his wish is not granted when a strong hand fists the fabric of his shirt, and yanks him harshly to his feet.

      "Look at my eyes and answer me, child. It's rude not to," she snaps, as the hand not gripping his shirt snatches his chin and forces Bryce to stare into her cold eyes.

      "Y-yes ma'am," Bryce croaks, every part of him begging to break the eye contact.

      "Good," she shoves him away roughly, "remain this obedient and we will get along nicely, Bryce."

       After the boy regains his footing, he tilts his head at her, "how...how do you know my name?"

      "Oh, Bryce. Not even going to ask what my name is? Not going to bother exchanging pleasantries?" She asks, feigning hurt, as she circles the boy like a hawk who just spotted a possible juicy meal.

      Bryce furrows his brows together, as he keeps an eye on her suspicious movements, "what's your name then?"

      "Diana Stewart-Everett," she answers, halting her pacing with a cocky smirk on her face.

      "How do you know my name?" Bryce repeats his earlier question, relieved at how steady his voice is.

      Diana laughs. Her laugh is not a light, melodic laugh. Not deep and breathy like his brothers' laughs. The blonde's eyes didn't light up, and her nose didn't wrinkle adorably like Paislee when she used to giggle at his stupid antics. It's not even a laugh, but similar to an evil cackle. "Your friends, of course," she states, matter-of-factly, "they, however, weren't as accepting of their current situation as you are. It took a lot longer to get them to talk to me."