Chapter 9 - Here We Go Again

She'd long come to terms with the fact that she'd been so wrong in the previous memory; that she'd been standing on nothing more than grass in a field that day. She'd mourned for nothing. She was crazy in this memory. But she was being handed a baby girl to keep, about six months old, so that made it better.

The baby girl had beautiful green eyes just like Rebecca's. Tufts of dark, cotton-candy hair were beginning to sprout from her head.

Mary's restless hands refused to settle. Beads of perspiration glistened upon her forehead, causing the hair on her head to stick to the sweat.

She'd been here before.

The last time she'd been handed a baby had been... nearly 17 years ago.

This baby was not a newborn. This baby was about six months old. Her young eyes were gleeful and hard to not look at. Her dark tufts of hair were like cotton wool upon the baby's head.

“I'll call her...Rebecca,” Mary proudly announced.

“No,” Blake said, more firmly than she'd ever heard him before. His voice had been a rock; refusing to crumble under pressure. “No.” he repeated for further clarification. “This is not Rebecca. She is a new child. A different child. You can't pretend she's Rebecca, love. You know you can't pretend she's the same child �" the same baby. Now, what was that nice name we read about the other day?”

“April,” Mary muttered, stroking the baby's forehead affectionately, and staring lovingly into Baby's eyes instead of meeting the judging glare of her husband. He didn't understand what it was like to be a mother reunited with her daughter. To hold her baby again after so long...

“But that's not her name,” Mary insisted. “Her name has to be Rebecca.”

“Treat her like Rebecca's sibling, Mary. She will not be named Rebecca �" that wouldn't be fair on her. Now, what other names are there?”

“Fine.” Mary gave up. She was too tired to argue. She felt like she'd given birth all over again. 16 years had gone so fast. Her baby may be called anything on paper, but she would always be Rebecca in heart. “Call her what you wish. April is a lovely name.”

“April it is then.” Blake concluded. Mary disliked the tone of his voice, and how it seemed so final. She responded with a vague murmur.

A male voice from the other end of the room chimed in to the conversation. It was deep and growly.

“Good choice,” it said.

Xavier pushed his glasses up to the top of his nose.

* * *

“It's happening again.”

Mary exclaimed the last in a distressed cry of despair. Blake looked up from his paper, and grumbled, “What is?” in the opposite tone of voice: calm, unaltered, neutral. A tone that was not hiding the fact that it was most certainly not mutual to Mary's exasperated sighs.

“You know what I'm talking about, Blake! Don't act so clueless. You've always had to do this: ignore the obvious. Make every situation have an elephant-in-the-room. You always have to pretend everything's okay, cover it all up, hide the blinding fact that it's not the same.”

He replied bluntly. “You're one to talk,” he said, referring back to a time around around 15 years ago, when Mary had gotten obsessed with the new baby, being overprotective, being paranoid, being sure that everyone was set out to kill her, ignoring the fact that she was a different child.

They'd always disagreed on that part.

Marilyn had even once considered putting a tracking device in the child, but luckily he'd been able to convince her otherwise so they'd never gone through with that. But she nearly had. She'd nearly done it. She'd been inches away.

Close.

Mary shot him a look of daggers, her ageing eyes taking aim and firing. The bags underneath them sat comfortably, and the wrinkles darkened as if clenching their fists.

He'd meant every word when he'd promised to always love her. He'd intended to keep his promise every time he'd sworn he would grow old with her. They were both getting on a bit now, old enough to be grandparents to young April. He had meant to stay in love with her forever.

But not like this.

They both lived on a timer, forever fearing the dreaded alarm. It would be coming soon. They were both guilty of ignoring this part. Neither ever wanting to bring it up, neither were sure of what would happen when the time ran out. They only had a little less than half a year left with her. After 15 years, that would be as much of a shock to the system as lemon juice in the morning. Blake had started to prepare. He'd taken to distancing himself from her recently, so he could be the one to pull it all together when the time finally came. Mary would be a wreck. She had been the first time, but again? He wasn't sure how she would cope. Maybe she wouldn't cope...

Someone had to keep things going. He'd started by doing �" or rather not doing �" little things, like busying himself instead of offering to pick April up from school. Not asking her how her day was. By cutting these pleasant routinely interactions from his life now, like they were no more important than having the hair cut from his head, he was ensuring that he would be able to handle it when she would finally have to leave.

As hard as it would be and as much as he would miss her, someone had to keep things going.

Rebecca's transient life had at least endured jubilation. Had April lived the same way?

“Look, I'm sorry,” Blake said, levelling with her. “But, can you blame the girl for wanting a bit of freedom? We never let her do anything �" I'd have run away a long time ago. She's probably just out with some friends �" which we should be thankful for as I didn't think she had any. She'll just be out with her harmless friends, being a normal teenage girl, and she'll be home soon. And, we know the procedure better than anyone! If she's not home by morning, we'll call the police. I'm sure they'll be happy to see us after all these years,” he ventured, dangerously.

Here we go again, Blake moaned to himself as he awaited his wife's complaints.

“What if she doesn't come back? What if they can't find her? What are we supposed to do then? Hey? You're the one with all the answers. You seem to be mighty sure about what to do. So, this is on you. Fix it, Blake, or I swear on God's name that I'll fix you.”

“She'll come home. Rebecca always did, eventually.”

“I thought you said we weren't to compare her with Rebecca?”

“My apologies,” he acquiesced. But, my point is, that we shouldn't get ourselves worked up prematurely. We both know that April is an incredibly obedient girl. Have we ever had any problems with her before, apart from that night a few moths ago? Not one. Not from when she was first given to us. She's always been good, and there's no reason why she wouldn't come back. For lack of anywhere better to go, if nothing else. Now, do you need any help with that ironing? I have two shirts in our room that need doing too, so leave it out for me when you're done so I can take over...”

Mary said nothing, and simply continued pressing the iron against the material and allowing the steam to arise from the device like the product of a cigarette.

Outside the window, she could see the grey sky showering over the Earth like a tsunami. It was one of those days towards the end of winter when it wasn't raining, but the pavements were still wet so everything seemed to be darker and more depressing. Everything was a statue; still, silent, unchangeable. The theme presented from the typical view was boredom, or blandness.

Everyone was bored of winter. Though nearing the end now, it had been a very long winter. No one could wait until stores started to sell swimwear again, until school kids sat on the fields again, until flip-flops came back into fashion, until their entire outfit didn't have to be made up of a thick coat, until they could hear the familiar jingle of the ice cream van, until supermarkets put out barbecue food once more.

That grey winter sky had been watching over her for so long now. She felt as if it was her fault it was so sad; following her around all day, keeping her memories, knowing her secrets would be enough to turn anyone grey.

She was crazy in this memory. But she was being handed a baby girl to keep, about six months old, so that made it better.

Mary wondered how much longer of this torture she had left. Her life was an indefinite prison sentence. When would she be free? When would she be rid of all these secrets that ate her alive like insects feasting on her flesh from the inside out? Soon they would have to get out. Soon they would slip out of her.

Free.

But then, all the work she'd ever done to protect everyone would be a waste. A lifetime gone to waste. A lifetime of strictly non-fiction books, no TV and most of all: no friends. No clues. No attachments.

Like this winter, her life had dragged.

She couldn't wait until death offered his hand to dance with her. Have his turn with this wreck of a lady. She would be glad of a partner after all these years.

She would be glad of any partner after all these unhappy years.

“Gemma,” a feeble voice whispered.

Gemma, though awake, had not yet decided it was time to open her eyes and face the world. Passengers on the train had come and gone: men with briefcases who'd sat awkwardly in their suits on the edges of their seats, enlightened kids with coloured hair coming home from Uni who's spent the duration of the journey listening Fake Plastic Trees by Radiohead to be alternative, and even a group of adults who looked too old to be wearing dress up clothes on their way to Comic-Con.

“Gemma?” the voice whispered more hoarsely this time.

“What?” Gemma replied, moodily. Still confused about her sleep, still hearing that constant tap, tap, tapping, still seeing those keys being pushed one after the other, she wasn't in a good way. As April informed her that they should get off at the next stop and she attempted to stand, her dizziness mixed with the confusing motion of the vehicle caused her to nearly lose her footing, despite the strength of her red DMs holding her in place.

April had made the decision that they would pull their cash together to spend a night in a hotel before continuing their search. It shouldn't be too hard to find: how many research labs in that small area could there be? They just needed directions, but even that seemed like too much for tonight. It was getting late, and as she often did recently, April could feel herself losing energy. Gemma may have already slept, but that didn't mean she was any more aware, April thought, as she watched Gemma nearly fall over as they neared the automatic doors.

She'd stolen a few twenties from her dad's wallet before school that morning when he'd been engrossed in his paper which was all he ever seemed to be engrossed in these days �" he seemed to have stopped being interested in her �" and Gemma always seemed to have more cash than necessary in her pockets, so she was sure they could manage something.

April pointed her thin finger towards the round button that lit up green when she touched it, signalling that the doors would open when they reached the stop. She continued to impatiently harass the button for lack of anything better to do. She pressed it again and again and again.

Tap, tap, tap...

“Stop it!” Gemma screamed at her, a deep frown confusion on her face. Instantly, April removed her fingers from the button. She withdrew her hands and positioned them firmly by herself after composing herself.

People were looking at them.

She'd never been more thankful when the train had pulled up and �" as commanded �" the doors had opened up, allowing April to drag herself and Gemma away from the public.

“Won't Sue and Jim be worried about you?” April wondered to Gemma as they stepped in unison down the steps leading down from the station.

“No, they'll be fine. I'm often out quite late. But they'll be freaking out in the morning,” she giggled, as if the idea of worrying her parents was somehow exciting. “You know I've never done this? Run away?” Gemma gasped. “I feel so rebellious.”

“Well, apparently I have lots of times. Apparently it was all I did when I was little: try to get away. It paints quite a picture, doesn't it? A little girl, trying to escape before she has a reason to. I must have been psychic or something.”

“Are you really that unhappy at home?”

“No, not really. My parents love me and all. They're just really weird about stuff, and I guess I know why now. I just don't really see them as parents any more. Not after what they did. But, I'm just moaning. Ignore me.”

“Wish I could,” Gemma teased.

April smiled back affectionately, glad she had someone around to lighten the mood whenever things got serious. She didn't want to waste any more of her life being serious.

She felt like she was due a meltdown. She didn't understand how she was able to even half-cope with the news she'd had. She felt like she needed to be more dramatic about the fact that she was a clone. A clone. Was she even real? It didn't seem real to her. It hadn't yet sunk in how huge it really was, and months had passed. The way Gemma had told her so calmly and acted as though it was no big deal had sucked all the tension from the conversation, and obviously her parents had acted no differently. Life had just gone on, like that song by Noah and the Whale.

She found herself obtaining more of an interest in music since she'd met Gemma. No matter what she'd discovered, songs could be weirder. And Gemma took it upon herself to educate anyone who showed the slightest bit of interest in her music taste, and April seemed to have made the cut.

Either way, she felt like learning she had basically been a lab rat her whole life and that she wasn't her own person, though shocking, didn't feel like it was as massive as it should.

What was more worrying was how ill she was feeling recently. She was fine the majority of the time, but every so often she would have these moments that would come on like lightning. One minute she'd be singing along to a song by one of Gemma's grunge bands she'd only slightly be able to hear as a result of only having one earphone (Gemma keeping the other for herself), and the next she'd be excusing herself and hyperventilating round a corner, trying to hold her insides in their intended positions. Her vision would cloud and fade and zoom like all the features of a camera lens merged into one messy riddle. Her throat would dry up like it had been deprived of water for several days. She would start to choke, and there wouldn't be enough air, and she would be sinking...

And then it would go away again.

But she would be able to hear it threatening to come back even worse, warning her and ordering her to beware.

As the girls approached a Premier Inn they'd been directed to by a passer by, she felt Gemma's hands enclose around hers. She looked down to see four fingernails and one thumb�" each coated in thick black varnish �" caught up in her own hand.

April had never had a sister. She'd always wanted one: someone to teach her about make-up, and giggle about boys with, and cry to when things go wrong.

She could picture herself now, being handed an eye pencil by Gemma and being shown how to gently pull the skin around her eye down, then to run the edge along the waterline. She could remember laughing at Gemma denying her red cheeks when a boy in the year above had winked at her. Most of all, she could remember Gemma comforting her on the nights her mum had driven her mad, and feeling instantly better as a result of just knowing that Gemma cared.

She was so glad she'd misbehaved and broken the rules that night, or else she would never have met Gemma.

Gemma was her sister.

Or just as good as.

The reception area was cleaner and more flashy than April had first expected (she'd heard rumours about cheap hotels). The desk was large and made of shiny laminate material. It curved around the room, projecting itself from the purple feature wall like a painting. The woman behind it stood in front of a pushy advertisement of the logo, the little white moon happily sleeping beneath the watchful stars. She was either in the early days of pregnancy or simply fat.

The name badge pinned proudly to her bright purple shirt read Norah. Norah smiled welcomingly at them, then less so once she saw that neither girl would be able to book a room.

“Sorry girls, but unfortunately you have to be over 18 to get a room.” she said, no longer interested in them.

“But we are eighteen? No need to discriminate just because we're small.” Gemma boldly stated. April nervously nudged her, and hissed, “What are you doing?” in a panicked tone of voice. Gemma informed her to 'just play along'.

The receptionist �" Norah �" sighed, as if too tired to play at this game. But, as April had to, she played along.

“Then I'm going to need to see some ID?” she posed with boredom, seeing in advance that this would catch them out.

April contributed to the act.

“What ID do you expect us to have? We're not exactly going to walk around with our passports, and neither of us can drive?”

“It's okay, April. Here,” Gemma said, whilst handing out a small card which she'd pulled casually from her purse. Norah studied this for longer than she could possibly need to read all the information on it.

“What's that?” April asked, from both real life and their pretend identities.

“It's my student card. You should learn to never travel anywhere without some ID, sis,” she gloated, then winked at April to assure her it would be fake �" allowing April's inhibitions to safely slip away �" when Norah had turned her back. She tucked the card neatly back into its pocket in her purse, and said, cheekily, “So, are you gonna let us have a room or what? It's getting pretty late...”

“Not so fast. What about her?” Norah said, whilst tilting her head towards April and nodding at her.

“It's quite obvious we're twins. We're identical. The thing about twins is that they're born at the same time, in case you didn't know. Meaning: if I'm eighteen, she's eighteen.” Gemma insisted, getting cocky and rude but enjoying the attention.

“I have a name, you know,” April butted in.

“I really shouldn't be doing this, but we're pretty empty tonight, so fine. But, if I hear anything about you two...any trouble and you'll pay. Big time. I ain't losing my job over two little teenagers playing grown-ups. You hear?”

“Cheers,” Gemma nodded. “Twin room for us, okay?”

“That's £53 altogether. How will you be paying?” Norah said, back to her well rehearsed bright-and-happy voice with a too-many-teeth smile on top. Now they were customers again, she knew how to treat them.

Neither 15 year old answered her question; they simply responded by pushing a pile of notes across the counter. Norah turned her nose up at them while she counted the money twice, to make sure they weren't messing with her.

She begrudgingly handed over the key-card, and wished them an enjoyable stay through gritted teeth.

The many flights of stairs followed by winding corridors eventually lead them to their room, which opened with a satisfying green light and a click.

They collapsed in unison onto the first bed, coated in white bedding with a strip of the iconic matching purple silk.

“Since when did you have fake ID?” April laughed.

Gemma shrugged. “You never know when you may need it!” she said, gleefully.

“Well, if you don't mind, I'm going to hop straight in the shower. I need to wash the day off me.”

“Fine by me,” Gemma said, whilst kicking off her shoes and flicking on the TV. It took April a minute to draw her eyes away from the screen, lit up with colourful images all coming from that tiny box behind it. She'd seen plenty of TVs before, but this would be her first experience watching one properly. But, that could wait until she was clean once more.

“Don't leave the room, will you? We've had enough drama for today.” April warned, reverting back to her cautious and timid old ways.

Gemma blew her a kiss before April shut the bathroom door and started the water a few minutes later after undressing.

The water was warm, and each droplet rested upon her delicate skin like dew on a leaf.

She hummed a tune to herself as she lathered the soap over her arms. She lifted sections of her hair and repeatedly pushed her fringe back from her forehead to avoid getting water into her fragile eyes.

From the other room, she could hear the faint buzzing of the television. The voices sounded slightly automated and muffled as expected. She couldn't make out any words, but she could hear the gentle mumbling of sentences.

S**t.

It was happening again. It was coming back.

She felt her legs begin to shake, showing their instability beneath her. Her breathing became ten times heavier. The air had moulded into a thick solution that her lungs couldn't cope with that felt like it had the consistency of syrup. Every inhalation felt like a slug had began to sliver down her tight throat. She was choking, choking, choking...

Here we go again, she thought regretfully.

Her legs gave way. She knelt on the non-slip tiles covering the surface of the bath tub, her naked skin clinging on to her rattled bones. Whilst trying to make herself as small as possible and firmly gripping the abnormally non-existent folds of skin surrounding her stomach at the same time, she somehow managed to form a similar position to that of a homeless person when begging for money and preying to God. The water felt colder from down there, and it pattered on her feeble skin more bitterly than it had done previously.

The shower head scowled at her.

She could feel a liquid-like substance rising inside of her. After gagging and squeezing her weak stomach muscles like a stress-ball, she could finally work up enough force to bring it up.

She was surprised to see it was not the usual colour. It was red, like the red on Gemma's boots but darker.

It was blood.

Exhausted and sweating after all that hard work, she rested her head against the tiled wall, allowing the water to seep through her. She was still empty from the motion of her stomach churning around: backwards, forwards, backwards, forwards.

She watched the substance swirl around the plughole before finally disappearing forever, taking any evidence of its existence with it, and closed her eyes to escape the vision. Her sealed lips which were still hospitalising a trail of pitiful dribble quavered uncontrollably.

She would get help. She would go to hospital, because she was unwell. Something was very wrong with her. So she would get help.

But, she thought as she let the water run into her eyes �" she no longer had the energy to stop it �" not tonight.

Tonight she had to finish what someone else had started 16 years ago.

* * *

Mia had forgotten about the horrors of the girl she used to laugh at. And, she'd been glad to forget about her.

She didn't ever intend to be unkind, but sometimes thoughts she couldn't help thinking just seemed to tumble out of her clumsy mouth. Then people would laugh, and it would feel good being the funny one. She would get popular, and she would do it again to please people.

To conclude, it was everyone else's fault really.

But, tonight, no one could dampen her high spirits.

She was going to another house party tonight, which she'd been looking forward to for ages. It was her friend Jess' birthday. Her and Jake had, of course, been invited. He'd been a little distant recently, but he'd offered to take her out over the weekend to make up for it. Nearly the whole year had been invited, excluding the nerds. But she was sure a few of them would turn up either way in an attempt to grasp a thread of popularity.

She'd had her whole outfit planned (those shorts with that cropped top and those trainers) but then Franki had posted a picture of herself wearing a dress for tonight, so Mia had gone to town again to see if there was something more hot than that. She would not let herself be out-staged by Franki, of all people.

It was then �" when she'd been gaping and gawking at a cute outfit in the Topshop window display a mannequin had been showing off �" that she'd been scouted by a modelling agency. How perfect? They'd said she would be perfect for some jobs they had lined up, and that she should give them a call and they'd sort something out. She'd call them tomorrow though, as she had too much getting ready to do tonight.

She'd heard about scams and stuff and knew that it wasn't always 100% genuine when someone is scouted from the streets, but she was gullible enough to believe that this company was different and that this company wasn't just after her money.

Either way, she'd found a gorgeous little number with clingy fabric and a lacy back that she'd fallen in love with after discovering it was 50% off. She rotated in the mirror, loving how the dress hid away those few extra pounds she'd gained recently. She still had an amazing figure, but the horrific sight of seeing an anorexic child in real life had warned her off all diets for a while.

So she'd had a pretty good day, and she had a potentially pretty good night ahead of her.

Jake would be round to walk her to Jess' any minute. She'd at first been horrified at the idea of having to walk a longer distance than across a room to the plastic cups in her clunky heels, but getting to walk with Jake seemed consolation enough, and Jess' house was only a few roads down from hers anyway. Her aversion had lost on this count.

Ding, dong!

That would be him. She fixed her hair for the last time then rushed (but not so quickly as to trip in her brave choice of footwear) to the door.

“Hey,” Jake greeted her. His eyes scrolled down to her feet like credits at the end of a film. “You're going to walk.”

“Yes.”

“To Jess' house.”

“Yes.”

“In those.”

“Correct.”

“Bloody hell, I'll never understand women,” Jake said, trying to swallow his laughter. He instead gave her a peck on the cheek and gestured for them to leave.

“Come on then, my lady,” he joked, whilst holding out his hand for her to cling on to in attempt to avoid tripping over and make up for the fact that she wouldn't be able to walk. No matter what the situation, he always considered it to be far less humiliating to waddle next to a caring boyfriend than to waddle alone.

“Why, thank you,” she laughed, taking his arm and making her way down the porch steps, one at a time.

“God, at this rate we'll be well late!” Jake exclaimed.

“Haven't you ever heard the saying 'fashionably late'? That will be us. Besides, parties are boring when they're just starting up anyway. The good part is when it's proper late and everyone's pissed. That's when the fun starts.”

“Well, mum's relying on me to be home before 1 tonight, and I intend to stick to that. Wouldn't want to argue with her again. So, no drinking for me.”

“Boring,” Mia drawled, feigning a yawn as a visual aid to her opinion.

“That's me,” Jake shrugged, causing the sleeves on his iconic leather jacket to rise a few inches.

“Pa! You're anything but boring. You're edgy.”

“Is that a good thing?” Jake asked, doubting himself.

“Maybe...” Mia said, deviously, whilst tucking up close to him, so much so that his arm wrapped itself around the laced material on her waist, and her head could rest comfortably on his chest.

“Well, your edgy boyfriend was sensible enough to bring a jacket. Here �" you look freezing in that dress, if it counts as that,” he said, in an kind tone so she wouldn't be offended. It was a very nice dress after all.

“Shush, you. But thanks,” she said, taking his leather jacket and hugging it loosely around her shoulders like a cape. It actually went quite well with the fabric of the dress.

“So weren't we supposed to get Jess a present or something? It is her 16^th right?”

“Yeah,” Mia said. “I've got her a charm bracelet from the both of us. It looks expensive but it wasn't, so before you offer to contribute, don't bother. I think she'll like it though because her other bracelet broke last week.”

“Sounds nice. I wouldn't have had a clue what to get her.”

“You should by now. She's always hanging around with us.”

“It's not that, I'm just crap at thinking of present ideas. Especially with women. People say that there's loads of ideas to choose from, but that's the problem: how do I know which one to pick? How do I know whether they'd prefer chocolates or perfume or... I don't know... vouchers? Too difficult.”

“Well,” Mia started. “Everyone loves chocolate. But that can sometimes be a bit cheap depending on who it's for. Perfume is too difficult �" everyone has their own taste. Vouchers are good but the person can see how much you've spent, which isn't always a good idea. So to conclude I'd go with jewellery...”

Jake shook his head. “Damn it, jewellery. I knew there was one I'd forgotten. Chocolates, perfume, jewellery. Those are my go-to options.”

“I'll keep that in mind when opening my birthday present,” Mia giggled.

They approached Jess' house; the familiar sprawling ranch-style hacienda with its circular drive. Some were content to linger outside chatting to each other in order to escape the thrilling amplitude of the music.

Mia was now limping as a blister had formed on her left foot, and she wanted to avoid it getting any bigger before they'd even arrived.

The four-on-the-floor techno beat resonated in her ears along with the sizzle of soda cans opening as the door opened to reveal a smoky hallway crammed with activity: a take-away pizza box being handed around and a boy trying to impress some older girls by performing the dance routine from the Inbetweeners movie.

It was already quite late �" people were already lounged across the furniture when her and Jake were welcomed inside. Mia dragged him across the crowded room to find some people she knew.

Condemning themselves to hours of small talk, they moved further into the depths of the party. The picnic-style kitchen table was strewn with cards and poker chips, and the only thing that seemed to be missing was a poker face on the players, as everyone cracked up whenever they were dealt a remotely

decent hand. The people on the coach were convulsed in laughter, and one was feeding another. The others were bobbing their heads and running around raucously, engaging in friendly innuendo and introductions forgotten on the spot.

The air was alive with chatter and motion everywhere you looked.

“I'll go get you a drink,” Jake informed her, wriggling between two kids making out in the slim corridor.

“Thanks, I'll wait here,” Mia shouted, to be heard over the loud music that had already driven Jake mad, whereas Mia had started to sing along. That song was playing that she'd listened to when she'd bumped into April. That encounter had nearly ruined that song for her, but luckily the ambient mood and atmosphere of the party brought it back to life.

In the distance, she saw Franki and Jess making their way over to her.

Here we go again, Mia thought, bracing herself for the inevitable annoyance that followed Franki around much like Franki followed others.

“Hi Mia!” Franki shouted, giddily. If Franki sober was irritating, Franki drunk would be reason enough for Mia to kill herself. Mia ignored Franki and went straight for Jess, to whom she handed the little parcel wrapped in lilac tissue paper containing the charm bracelet.

Jess looked nice. Jess' birthday was the only time of year Mia would allow Jess to look nicer than her.

Jess adorned platinum blonde hair that had been straightened so subsequently looked especially long. Though it had lost its shape a little as the evening had progressed into night, it still draped elegantly across her shoulders.

The make-up Jess had on involved natural lips, dark foundation, and lots of mascara. The combination wasn't too dissimilar to what Mia had on, so she had no choice but to approve.

Jess had on a coral bandeau top, followed a few inches afterwards by a black midi skirt that packed her thighs tightly together like sardines in a tin. The combination made her look amazingly slender. The strip of bare skin visible above her hip bone between her chest and the top of the skirt was smooth and evenly tanned.

Mia complimented her friend out of sheer politeness. Jake returned and handed her a red plastic cup containing something she couldn't wait to get down her.

“Aren't you just so jealous of Jess' figure?” Franki gulped, followed by, “Gosh, you've put on a few Mia!”

Mia shot her a look of ice, then tipped her cup to her lips. Seconds later, she handed the empty container to Jake again.

“Refill please,” she said, whilst pulling her Grandma's 'pissed-off' face.

It was going to be a long night.

The victim could feel the coldness of the metal bars around her ankles and wrists.

She had, by now, accepted that they would always be there, holding her back.

Trapping her.

She'd succumbed to their strength a long time a go. Struggling would be no use. She would only hurt herself more by trying to escape, as she'd discovered that the metal rubbing against her skin created an unpleasant friction between her nerve cells and the material. So, she'd taken to simply lying back on the metal slide, like something to be looked over through a microscope.

Just an experiment.

A test.

She could feel the sharp tip of the needle indenting into her arm, and then jabbing through the muscle tissue. The process was familiar by now. She would be jabbed, then she would feel the sting in her upper arm, then her whole body would begin to ache, then her arm would go numb, then she would drift of into an unshakeable sleep.

Unable to turn her head �" the restrictions of the bars holding her in place restrained her, in addition to the fact that this was not unusual so she had no reason to waste energy to look �" she was limited to hearing the syringe be forcefully pressed, causing the liquid inside it seep from the injection equipment into her blood stream.

Here we go again, she thought, as the first side effect began.

It stung instantly �" as expected. Like the liquid was somehow toxic or unnatural and was reacting with her. Like it was a chemical, wrongly entered inside her.

She felt the aching in her feet first. As one of her toes twitched accidentally, she winced from her pain. She felt like her bones had been bruised and battered and beaten, and that her muscles had been squeezed like a lemon for juice.

The aching was steam, rising inside of her so smoothly and secretly. It reached her ankles, then her legs, then her stomach, then her chest, then her arms, and her neck, then finally her head.

At this point, she spasmed convulsively, her body jumping and moving at jerky angles. She could feel her pulse wasting away, giving up so getting its last beats out in unpredictable time slots of rage.

At last, the pain stopped, and was instead replaced with the numbness that seemed to elongate from her arm. It was as if someone had cut off all her reflexes so she couldn't feel a thing. Like her neurones had been trimmed with sheers so the connection between her brain and her reaction to a stimulus snapped like a twig in the woods.

And then the next stage of the procedure that she would always be grateful for: the sleep. The sleep allowing her to sink into a carefree world, where no needles or injections or metal bars were allowed unless she brought them in herself.

When she was put to sleep, she would dream of beautiful things. There were such beautiful things her imagination could conjure up, like beautiful grand pianos, the keys moving in turn, tap, tap, tap...

Nothing.

Nothing happened this time. Where was her sleep? Where was her reward?

She began to panic. Consternation bubbled in her mind like a potion, being stirred and added to every second with more ingredients to scare.

Paralysed.

Blind.

Afraid.

She lay there, unable to move. Her eyes were shut and her body motionless, still like the surface of water when there's no wind to blow it out of place.

The scalpel touched the wary, tired skin upon her forehead, that was sweating under the circumstances and the harsh desk light that had been directed straight at her head. She could feel its beam, exposing her, even with closed eyes that she was unable to open. Likewise her mouth, refusing to let her talk or scream. It was like she was asleep �" experiencing the inability to control her actions �" but she wasn't; an element of consciousness still remained. She could still think and feel, but she could do nothing about it. She couldn't warn her father that whatever he did would hurt her.

And her was okay with hurting her.

He did it often. He would burn her, cut her, pinch her, slice bits from her regularly for his tests. So, if he felt the need to put her to sleep over something, it had to be worthy. It had to be especially painful.

She lay helplessly, awaiting the pain she was no doubt yet to endure. She could imagine him, peering over her, pushing his glasses up to his nose before beginning. He would have such a steady hand when he would examine her. He would not feel any sort of human emotion when he would scrape neatly at her lining with that medically obtained pen knife of his.

She felt him first stroke her forehead, as if attempting to soothe it before cutting it up. There was no need for him to hold her hair back �" she didn't have any. As a result of an experiment a few years ago, her hair had fallen out and never grown back, leaving a shy scalp to be revealed to him after her immune system had attacked her hair follicles, now bare and naked.

He did it slowly and with precision. He had no reason to follow through the band-aid effect, because he didn't know he had a reason to.

He dragged the delicate knife along her forehead in a straight vertical line. It wasn't a deep cut, but one deep enough to be dangerously close to her vital organs. She could picture him concentrating, and frowning as he did so.

Once the line reached the top of her left eyebrow, he rotated the knife and continued in a perpendicular fashion, running horizontally above her nose.

It hurt so much. She just wanted to shake it off, protest, but her weakness stopped her. All she could do was wait for it to end.

The worst was yet to come.

Once he'd finished cutting a square U-shape over her head, he proceeded to pinch the top layer of skin from the bottom of the shape, and peel it upwards like peeling a price sticker from a purchase, or lifting a month in a calender upwards to reveal yet another.

Amazingly, it peeled up in one piece, not breaking like she expected it to. He carefully folded it back to make a perfect square window of red, raw flesh where the skin had been.

He then dabbed it slightly with some antiseptic tissue, and then took a photo of it. Using some fine crafted tools like tweezers and fish hooks, he looked around at his findings for a bit. He took another photo using his scientific camera, then simply folded the skin back down, into place, and patted it.

“We'll stitch you back up tomorrow,” he announced to no one. He kissed his first two fingers then placed them directly in the middle of her forehead, of which the unattached skin wrinkled then unwrinkled. “You'll wake up in approximately 4 hours,” he informed her, completely unaware that she could actually hear him. “Until then, sweet dreams, 5650.”

She heard the door swing shut.

She had four hours of this agony before she would be able to move again. But what use was that? What use was having the ability to move when the furthest she would be able to go would be to flex her toes again, thanks to these constricting metal bars?

She may be physically paralysed for only four antagonising hours.

But she would be as good as paralysed for her whole life on this table with these bars and that father. But, it was okay. She didn't mind because she wasn't exactly missing out. You can't miss out when you don't know what you're missing.

She'd never known any different.

The party was now in full swing. Mia had her arms in the air and was screaming 'woo' at every break in the lyrics. You'd never have guessed so many people could fit into the one room. Jess was on a table somewhere �" most likely the one that had started off hosting a poker game which had turned into strip poker which had turned into making out in the bedrooms upstairs �" dancing without her top on. Everyone had their skin on show; clammy and sweaty as the temperature had increased with the population of the party and with the drunkenness of the population.

Jake had left to get drinks a while ago, and hadn't returned since. Probably lost in the crowd. It was hard to avoid. The house was a sea of bobbing heads rippling like a Mexican wave through every room, with every other hand in the air as if about to start an uprising or some form of revolution. The floor beneath each shoe sole was light as the teen wearing it jumped wildly up and down out of time to the song playing, yet also sticky from drink spillages and general unidentified substances.

Franki had gone somewhere too. Thank God. She had some time alone from her. Not exactly alone though, because she was currently sandwiched between two shirtless college guys who she'd found playing pool on the floor above when she'd gone on a bathroom hunt. She was in a relationship, yes, but everyone knows relationships are momentarily suspended at parties, and it's not like she'd do anything with them.

Somehow though, she managed to squeeze herself out from between them and wriggle over to the hallway for some air. She instead found cigarette smoke (and worse), but it seemed to be an improvement so she leant against the staircase and inhaled.

The Inbetweeners fan from earlier was still there, chatting up a different girl to the one he'd danced over to previously. He'd now rolled up the sleeves on his checked shirt and kept running his hands through his hair, then proceeding to wipe them on his jeans to be rid of the gel and sweat that had set up camp in his alternative side fringe.

“Mia, right?” someone else she hadn't even noticed said to her. She turned her attention away from the Inbetweeners fan and onto the speaker.

This person was staring at her intensely. His incredibly dark eyes were upon her. There wasn't much space, and she found herself pressed up against him, unable to escape his gaze.

He was good looking, but in a scary way. He looked older than the guys she'd been hanging around with before, and had darker hair too. He looked to Mia like someone who lived with his door locked and for the scary music like protest songs and screamo stuff that Mia had never wanted to understand.

“Depends who's asking,” she replied hesitantly, trying and failing to break eye contact with him. She could feel herself flush.

“I'm Damon,” he said, in a deep voice.

“Damon?”

“Albarn.”

“As in Gorillaz?”

“As in Blur. My parents were big fans. Still are. Gorillaz weren't until 1998, by which time I was a kid.”

“Oh right,” she concluded, unsure of what to say to end the conversation in the least obvious way. She instead settled by shifting to the left and stepping back to put more space between her. However, this backfired, as by backing up she'd trapped herself in the alcove behind the staircase intended for a small table or some artwork.

“So, you hiding out here?” he joked. At least, she thought he'd been joking, but he didn't smile or laugh when he spoke, so she wasn't so sure. His expression was serious and solemn, like he was frowning at her through his eyes. His body language was superior yet closed, like he was used to getting what he wanted. Like he didn't even have to try.

“Yeah, I guess. It got pretty crazy out there...”

Damon said nothing. He just kept staring at her.

“I was actually just looking for someone-” she began, when he put a finger to her lips, silencing her.

“You won't find anyone round here,” he said, gently pushing her further into the alcove �" into the darkness �" which she wouldn't have noticed if she hadn't been on guard, full alert (or as alerted as she could be after so many beers).

“Which was why I was just leaving,” she continued feebly, her hands feeling through the dark for the wall at the back. She discreetly glanced back out to the corridor, in search of help. Where had everyone gone?

He advanced further. Then, to her horror, she heard the jingle of a zip being fumbled for, then the whisper of it being tugged down.

“What are you doing?” she gasped through a tight breath, because she already knew the answer.

She heard him move his jeans around, then felt his cold hands against her waist.

“Stop it,” she said as he moved his hands lower down her body. “I said stop!” she said, louder and more urgently this time. Using all her efforts, she managed to push him hard enough to give her a few seconds �" long enough to run away. She just wanted to find Jake then go home. She could feel herself about to cry, and couldn't face the humiliation, so she just wanted to get out.

Jake ducked and hid in a dark cloak cupboard. He'd never been to a house party so wild before. He'd hidden before he'd gotten eaten alive.

His mission had been to get drinks, which seemed to be his role tonight �" though in all honesty, both him and Mia had had more than enough. On his way, he'd been sucked into a crowd and had agreed to sit through one round of spin the bottle before he 'really must be going now'. The bottle had landed on him, but luckily he'd managed to escape before the girl who appeared to be wearing a bathing suit had gotten her way.

Now he had the drinks, but was finding it difficult to navigate through the swarms of hot, sweaty kids back to Mia.

“Who's there?” a female voice asked.

“Oh, sorry. Didn't realise anyone else was in here,” Jake mumbled, turning to leave.

“No, it's okay. Honestly. Who is it?”

“Erm, it's Jake,” he said. “Who are you?”

“Come closer and find out,” the female voice dared him.

“I'd probably be getting back to Mia now �" she'll be worried,” he informed the mystery girl. He felt uncomfortable and tentative so had to compensate by giving away too much information. “I was only supposed to get drinks.”

Jake heard the distinctive sound of coats ruffling about.

He felt his shirt being tugged on, and before he could stop it, he was making out with this girl. He felt a liquid trickle down the outer side of his jeans and realised he'd dropped the drinks. He could hear her soft breaths between kisses.

He tried to pull away, but he'd never been good at that.

Suddenly, the light switch flicked on. The girl who'd kissed him retreated in surprise.

It was Franki.

Jake's eyes widened, then turned to the girl stood in the doorway with her hand on the light switch. Her mouth dropped to an 'O'.

Mia had seen them.

“What's going on?” she said, too kindly. Snidely.

“Nothing,” Jake quickly murmered.

“Yeah, nothing,” Franki giggled, making it obvious that something had gone on. Jake sighed, and ran his hands through his hair: a nervous trait.

This was bad.

“Honestly,” Jake assured Mia. “Honestly I didn't know who it was...”

“Oh, and that makes it better? I'm supposed to forgive you for making out with someone because you didn't know who it was?” Mia cried, appalled.

“She grabbed me!” he protested.

“Yeah, sure,” Mia said. She would have rolled her eyes if they hadn't been filled with tears.

“Honestly, Mia,” Franki chipped in, whilst biting her lip provocatively, disproving her point.

Jake took a deep breath. Mia turned to run away.

“What the hell was that?” Jake said bitterly to Franki before running after Mia: not looking for an answer, but an apology sided with a promise to come clean.

He pushed through the crowd, more motivated than he had been before. He'd left Franki alone, swaying slightly to one side. Even drunk, her behaviour had disgusted Jake. He should have pulled away. He should have stopped it sooner. But he knew deep down that it wasn't his fault, and that Franki had been the one to kiss him first.

He found Mia sitting on a step in the front garden, hugging her knees to her chest. The contrast in temperature was chilling; he could see goosebumps appearing on her bare arms.

“Hey,” he said.

She looked at him coldly, then turned away again, staring at the ground like it was a captivating film.

“I know I'm the last person you want to see,” he started. “But we're all tired, and pretty drunk, so I can't leave you to get home alone. She just grabbed me, Mia. I wasn't completely blameless �" I should have pushed her off sooner �" but I would never set out to do that. I'm not a cheater. And I really like you, Mia.”

She remained silent, but he could see the tension dropping from her shoulders. He risked placing an arm around her, and pulling her closer to him.

The last thing he said to her before wrapping his leather jacket around her shoulders for the second time that night was: “I'm sorry.”

Because he was. He hated being the jerk. And he did really care about Mia now.

She gave in, and snuggled into him, embracing his body warmth. She rested her head on his shoulder.

“God, tonight's been a disaster,” she sighed. She contemplated telling him about her encounter with Damon, then decided against it.

Some things were better never mentioned.

“Want to get out of here?” Jake offered.

“Yes please,” Mia said, snuffling. She'd never felt so small, but it felt fine being so small, because she had her Jake to protect her. She jerked away from him and threw up in the grass. She wiped her mouth and then let Jake lift her from the ground and hold her upright. She could never stay mad at him for too long.

They weaved through the crowd, pushing past all sorts of mad teens, making their way to the front of the house. They passed Jess, who was now sat on some guy Mia had never seen before, stroking his stubble. They passed the Inbetweeners fan, who had managed to get the girl he'd been chatting up to dance with him, after a night long of rejections, which made Mia smile because after his efforts, he deserved someone to dance with. They passed the college guys who were now deep in discussion, debating something that sounded anything but political on the coach with the wallflowers.

And finally, when they were so close to leaving, they passed Franki. She did the worst thing she could possibly do: wink cheekily at Jake. Mia saw this, and in a moment of rage, walked up to Mia.

Here we go again, Jake thought, awaiting the outburst that would no doubt follow.

When it didn't come, Jake tried to figure out what was happening.

Mia was simply stood in front of Franki. Just looking at her.

And then she did it.

Mia reached out and slapped Franki hard in the face, across her air-brushed cheek.

The music stopped for the first time that night, and everyone seemed to have gathered round, as if Franki would strike back. Instead, she sneered and said, “Feel better now?” then giggled that annoying, high-pitched giggle of hers.

Mia raised her fists a second time, but this time Jake saw it coming, and grabbed her wrists. He pulled her away from the scene, out through the front door, past the kids who were stood outside the house, and home.

Home had never felt so far away.