A/N – My dear readers! Thank you to everyone who has emailed me with your praise, encouragement and ideas! I love you all dearly and you keep me writing whenever I feel like throwing my laptop away. It is because of you that I present in all its ten thousand word glory; PART SEVEN!! As always PLEASE rate, comment and email me! I love hearing from you guys and I will reply to every email. Happy New Year!
Cheers,
Steelkat
My bed is much too hot, burning my skin through the soft material of my pyjama bottoms and making my feet sweat. I kick at the covers and free my tortured legs, allowing them to dangle off the side of the bed. Fresh air caresses my feet, but the relief isn't enough to cool my bothered flesh. Huffing with frustration but reluctant to open my eyes, I kick at the flannel pants and manage to get them off.
Sighing with sleepy content, I snuggle into the covers further, my feet still sticking out from under the duvet. Just as the irresistible weight of sleep settles over my eyes again, something wet and rough scratches against my big toe. The sensation is so unusual that I jolt awake only to find the golden eyes of Nala, my tabby cat, staring back innocently, as she is caught in the act of licking me. With a soft purr, she jumps onto the bed, kneading her claws into the duvet. I feel the pressure of her paws on my thigh beneath the covers and, startled, I sit up so quickly that she bolts, flying off the bed and through a white door.
A strangled gasp escapes my tense lungs and my heart races as I take in the beautiful familiarity of my bedroom. I feel as if I have been on a perilous odyssey, journeying to lands afar, for years unknown. This room should be forgotten, yet it is exactly as I remember it, with my bookshelf in the corner, stuffed full of romance and fantasy novels. How I'd wished to be a part of those worlds. The DVD rack stands beside it, displaying rows of blockbusters and TV shows. Empty canvases lie beside a wooden easel, just waiting for me to breathe life into them. Completed works colour the walls, claiming this space theirs, claiming it
mine.
I'm home!
I spring out of bed, tugging my pants back on, then chase my skittish cat down the hall and scoop her up into my arms. I give her a little squeeze, hugging her tightly but mindful that I do not hurt her. When she voices a muffled meow of protest I laugh delightedly and drop her onto the soft carpet.
No more hard earth and falling rocks! No rapists or demons! No magic or power! Just the wonderful regularity of the human world. Boring, predicable and safe.
I shriek my joy!
It isn't long before the lights flicker on and my father steps out from his bedroom, tattered baseball bat held tightly, my mother clutching his arm in her fear. I'm so ridiculously happy that I pounce on them, hugging them both as if they'd disappear the moment I let go. The bat thumps softly against the carpet floor and my dad pushes at my vice-like grip, trying to look at my face.
When I finally give in and let him hold me at arm's length, he stares at me with a concerned expression, reading my face.
"Selena?" he asks, looking slightly alarmed.
"I'm back," I croak, the words rushing out with a river of tears.
Mum steps past the protective shoulders of her husband and pulls me into her embrace, holding me the way she used to when I was a child. The nostalgic comfort this brings me only increases my tears.
"What's wrong Lena?" she asks desperately and I hear tears thicken her own voice, "Tell us what's wrong so we can help you my baby."
I don't understand her reaction. I'd expected relieved sobs and frantic questions regarding my disappearance, not puzzled looks and reassuring hugs. My confusion crescendos when mum asks me if I'm feeling sick. Unsure how to respond, my tongue locks and I look back at her stupidly, grasping for an explanation for this bizarre encounter. Surely they would have noticed that I was gone for five days?
My father seems to have gathered his wits by this point and he pulls my mother away.
"What do you mean you're 'back'?" he asks, looking as confused as I feel.
Realisation dawns on me as I process the implications of such a question. My parents have absolutely no knowledge of my disappearance. Could it be true? Could it all have been a dream?
"A dream," I whisper.
"What was that babe?" my dad asks, suspicion colours his tone.
"I'm so sorry dad; it was just a dream."
"Then why were you crying?"
"It was an awful nightmare, I'm sorry I woke you two up."
"What are you
doing?
" a male voice whines at my back.
"What's with all the noise?" calls another, female this time.
I twist my body toward them slightly, throwing a quick glance at the fatigued figures of my older sister and younger brother.
"It's nothing," I tell them, "Go back to sleep."
I hear a gasp from my mother and turn back to her horrified face. My father's face has drained of colour but as I watch it surges back, an angry purple flooding his cheeks as his eyes harden. His hand strikes out and clamps onto my arm, squeezing so tight that my eyes water.
"Ow, dad! What are you doing?! Let go!"
"Shut up!" he roars, "Who have you been seeing?!"
My mother cries silently behind him, eyes wide and jaw slack.
"What are you talking about?!" I scream back, frightened at how quickly this situation has changed.
"You know damn well what I mean! Stop acting stupid and answer the question!"
"Dad, I really don't know what you're talking about! I woke you up because of a nightmare, I swear!"
But he isn't listening, he's still firing questions at me; where have I been? Who was I with? How long have I known? They all blur together and my mind reels from the assault.
A few questions slip through the haze though and I catch them from the endless stream.
"Who have you been seeing?" he asks again, "Who's the father?"
The father? The question falls like a stone to the pit of my stomach. Of their own accord, my hands drift toward my belly. I press them down, hoping to feel a soft, yet flat abdomen but begin to realise with a sinking certainly, that hope is not always fulfilled. I run my hands gently over the bump there and fall to my knees before the eyes of my family, sorrow closing my throat.
My father is still questioning me but I tune him out again and rake my nails against the threads of the carpet, needing to feel something,
anything
, to awaken me from this hollowness which grows as I think my next thought.
It wasn't a dream.
* * * * *
My own sobbing wakes me and the tears burn my cheeks. I am enveloped by strong arms, pressed against the hot body behind mine but this brings me little comfort. I want to feel the warmth of my father's hugs, not the heat of my lover's. Just when I think that I have finally accepted my place here, a single, crushingly vivid dream crashes through my fragile tolerance and I feel my heart ache to be safe and sound at home. I cling to Asmodeus' steely forearm, needing to be held, even if it is by the wrong person.
"I want to go home!" I moan, burying my face into his shoulder.
"You cannot, my Selena," is his impassive response.
"Why?!" I shriek, shoving at his arm, hopping off the bed and turning to glare at him furiously, "Why not?! Why did you choose
me
?!"
He is silent while I continue my rant.
