Page 11 of Where We Began

“No,” I whisper. “I'm ahostage.”

She throws the jeans at me; I catch them. “Who called you that?”

I jut out my chin. “It doesn't matter.”

Annie moves closer. She's wearing heels again, red ones today. “Was it a maid?” she asks. I say nothing. “Or was it my reckless son?”

I'm exposed under her hard eyes. Her tiny smile fills me with guilt. Sheknows.

Sighing, she turns away. “There's a bathroom with a shower. Use it.” Then she leaves, the door swinging whisper-shut. I don't hear it click; there's no lock. This fills me with dread—no locks means they're confident I can't escape.

Even if I could, so what? I don't know my way back home. And if I leave, they might do something to Dad. Or Mom... or Kara. Or Dean.Shivering, I glance at the jeans in my hands. They're brand new. I don't know much about fashion, but looking at this place, I guess these pants are expensive.

Kicking the blanket off, I rise.She acted like I haven't explored this room.It was the first thing I'd done after Annie had shoved me inside. It was the rest of the house I hadn't seen; I'd been brought directly here once the helicopter landed.

Then Emma and her friend had arrived with the scissors.

Pushing down a wave of unease from the memory, I enter the bathroom. The walls are some kind of hard ceramic, uniformly flat, consistently white. Nothing like the uneven log walls of my cabin. The shower is different too, but I figure it out quickly. The pelting water steals my soreness away. It's hot enough that it distracts me from my situation.

There are too many different kinds of soaps inside the niches of the shower wall. One is shaped like a pink shell. I've never been to the ocean, so I use that one. It smells like roses, the steam weighs the scent down, and together, they make me dizzy.

Gasping for air, I turn off the spray and climb out. The huge oval mirror on the back of the bathroom door is fogged up. Running my hand down it, I create rows that drip. I see myself in the lines—my skin glows pink.

I feel a little bit better. Just a little.

Dressing in the jeans, I shift my hips back and forth to break them in. The motion reminds me of Dominic; how he fidgeted last night the longer we spoke. I hope I've found an ally in that lean boy.Not a boy,I remind myself, smirking.Or that's what he thinks.My eyes work fine—I know he's a kid like me. That’s why I think I can give him a chance.

There are bras in the closet arranged like fine china on a tiny dresser. I finger the lace of one; heat spreads over my cheeks. Mom has talked to me about starting to wear one of these, but I told her I thought they were dumb. Also, when I tried one out, it dug in weirdly.

I didn't need one while running in the woods. I don't need one now.

Sliding on the plainest looking shirt I can find—a robin's egg blue tee—I spot a parade of sneakers, flats and heels that are just like Annie's. They are all in my size. I ignore them and put on my own dirty shoes.

There are marks on the back of my shirt from my wet hair. Quickly, I stick it into a loose ponytail. When I slide my fingers down to the frayed ends, I think of Kara. That makes my eyes ache. Inhaling, I exit the bedroom.

The long hallways are less scary during the daytime. Tall windows allow vibrant light to spread over the red rugs that run along the floors. I'm not sure why no one is waiting for me. Annie said I'm not a prisoner, but I know better. Even if running is impossible, do they think I won't try? Are they not worried about me at all?

Inching my way to my left, back where I remember we came into the house, I glance at the walls. The paint is a calming fern green with white accents. Bits of red show up in the form of flowers. I want to hate this whole place... but I'm too busy marveling at it.

We had rugs back home. They weren't as soft as the ones under my sneakers. Struck by a desire to feel the texture on my feet, I balance on one leg. Off comes my left shoe...with it goes my sock. Eagerly, I set my toes on the crimson rug.

“Oh,” I say. My toes wriggle with pleasure. Its like rabbit fur but firmer, thicker. Before I think it over, I kick off my other shoe. Smiling in delight, I stroll down the hallway, pretending I'm walking on a path of fresh flowers - or the back of a furry snake - either way, I love it.

“What are youdoing?”a feminine voice squeals. A woman in the same stiff gray and tan maid uniform gawks at me; she's standing in an open doorway. In her hands is a pitcher of water.

My sneakers are hooked on my fingers. I show them to her, shrugging. “I'm going to get breakfast. Is this the right way?”

“Put something on yourfeet!”She's seriously aghast. The color of her whole face matches the rugs.

Judging her distance, then the fact she's burdened by a jug of water, I smile. “No thanks.” My calves tense, sending me sprinting down the hallway. The maid shouts after me, which makes me jog harder. I can't hear her now but I keep going because I adore running.

A corner rises up; I think I can take it without slowing down. But I'm not used to the rugs. When I pivot, my heels glide on the smooth fibers. Without any control I fly around the corner and slam into something hard. My shoes go flying from my grip.

“Ouch!” Dominic hisses, staring up at me. He probably didn't see me until it was too late to dodge. I sure didn't see him. But now I'm straddling his stomach, our faces inches apart. I can taste my own beating heart.

“Sorry!” I say, jumping to my feet. I reach down to help him, but he stays where he is.

“What were you running from?” he asks, pushing himself up to sit.

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