Light spilled across my eyelids. Not blinding, just… present. Enough to pull me from whatever dark place I’d been drifting in.
I knew I wasn’t on the ground anymore. The air felt warmer, the sheets softer. I wasn’t cold and shivering.
My eyes snapped open. Blinking, I sat up slowly, testing my limbs. I was in a bed. Still wearing yesterday’s clothes. Or what *felt* like yesterday. How long had I been here?
The room was small, but… open. I scanned it, trying to take it all in. Dark blue walls. A dark brown wooden door, leading… somewhere. A small table beside the bed, also dark wood, with a clock on it. I glanced at the time: 10 AM. I looked down at the bed – black sheets, a matching pillowcase and blankets.
Somehow, despite everything, a sliver of comfort settled over me. But how had I gotten here?
I slid off the edge of the bed, listening. Voices drifted up from downstairs.
Who was down there? Why was I in their house?
I glanced towards a small window above the bed. Carefully, I climbed onto the bed and looked out.
A small clearing surrounded the house, ringed by towering trees that swallowed the sunlight.
Woods. I was in the woods. I needed to get out. I didn’t want to know who was downstairs. Didn’t want to care.
Then the memory of yesterday slammed into me – the wolf. The attack.
I pulled my shirt up, checking for wounds. Nothing. Someone had found me. But why hadn’t the wolf just… finished me?
Maybe it would have been better if it had. Tears prickled my eyes. I squeezed them back. *No*. I wouldn’t cry.
I climbed down from the bed, moving quietly. I made my way towards what I thought was the door. I grabbed the knob, turning it slowly. The voices downstairs grew louder.
I peeked out into the hallway. It was long and empty, rooms spaced far apart. Four doors, all closed. Two opened into bathrooms. My room was at the end, furthest from everything.
I moved carefully down the hallway, keeping my breathing steady. Surprisingly calm, considering I might have been kidnapped.
I stopped at the edge of the stairs. I looked down. The kitchen was right in front of me, separated by a bar that led to the living room.
And the voices were coming from there. I stood still, heart hammering, listening.
“Louis, you messed up bringing him here,” a voice growled. My stomach twisted.
“Calm down, Liam! I told you why I brought him,” another snapped back. This voice… it was light, airy, almost feminine, yet masculine at the same time. It perked my ears.
I’d eavesdropped enough. I crept down the stairs, quiet as a ghost. My assumption was right: the living room was spacious, dominated by two dark brown couches and a black loveseat facing a TV stand loaded with games and DVDs.
The talking stopped. I whipped my head towards the sound. Four pairs of eyes locked onto me. I took a moment to study them.
The man who’d been yelling had chocolate brown eyes and chestnut hair. Tattoos snaked down one arm, and muscles bulged beneath his shirt.
My eyes moved to the two people on the couch. One had obviously bleached blonde hair and icy blue eyes. He looked short, but his muscles were visible even from here.
The man next to him had midnight black hair and honey-brown eyes. He was leaner than the others, but I figured he was just as strong.
Finally, my gaze landed on the man on the loveseat. He was stunning. I forced myself not to stare. He was short, too, with a sleeve of tattoos. His coffee-colored hair was swept into a fringe that suited him perfectly. Deep, ocean-blue eyes sparkled.
A cough broke the silence. The man who’d been yelling stepped forward.
“Um… hi,” he said, his voice softer now. “I guess we should introduce ourselves. I’m Liam.”
“I’m Zayn,” the midnight-haired one said.
“I’m Niall,” the fake blonde said, a thick Irish accent coloring his words.
“I’m Louis. I know waking up in a strange house with strangers is nerve-wracking. What’s your name?” The man with the fringe looked at me expectantly. I stared at each of them in turn, then turned towards the door.
“Don’t do it,” Louis warned. I whipped my head back. How dare he tell me what I couldn’t do? They had to have kidnapped me.
“Don’t tell me what to do,” I spat, my voice raw and unfamiliar. He flinched. I turned back to the door.
The air felt thick, my breathing ragged. My thoughts whirled. This was too much. I needed to run. The walls were closing in. Flashes of yesterday night – before everything went black – surfaced. I tugged at my arm, tears welling up. I let them come.
“Hey, are you alright?” Niall’s Irish accent cut through my haze. I heard movement. They were all standing now, staring at me. I took a step towards the door, feeling overwhelmed.
My vision blurred with tears. I broke eye contact, and they all stumbled back. I sprinted towards the door, flinging it open and running straight into the trees.
I ran until my lungs burned. I slowed to a stop, hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath. Tears stained my cheeks.
When I finally managed to breathe normally, I took in my surroundings. I was next to a huge oak tree. Birds chirped. The sun was high – noon, maybe.
I sat against the oak tree, letting tears stream down my face. I was kidnapped.
But maybe being kidnapped wasn’t so bad. Maybe it was the escape I needed.
Maybe it was the escape *I* needed.
I sat there for a while, staring up at the sky, lost in thought when a branch snapped. I didn’t bother looking up. Let a serial killer or a wild animal kill me. I wouldn’t fight.
Footsteps approached.
“Hey lads, I found him!” Niall’s voice. His blonde hair came into view as he stood in front of me. I looked at him through my tear-filled eyes. He looked at me, at my tears, with an expression I hadn’t seen in a long time: concern, sadness, confusion.
More footsteps. His friends joined him. They stood in front of me, silent.
“If you guys kidnapped me, I don’t care. I’ll go with you,” I said, my voice shaky and hoarse.
“Why?” Zayn asked. I looked back at them. They all stared at me.
“I should be asking *you* that. Why? Why kidnap me? Don’t answer. I don’t care enough to know.” I pushed myself up, my legs wobbly. Liam stepped forward to help, but I glared at him. He backed away. I wiped my eyes.
“Are we going or what?” I asked. They looked at each other, then nodded. They started walking, and I followed behind.
They kept looking back, checking on me.
As if they actually cared.
A familiar voice whispered in my head. *They don’t care.*
I agreed with it. The voice was always right. And sometimes, it was hell.
Sometimes, it told me I deserved hell. Maybe.
I hoped, as I walked behind my captors, that maybe being kidnapped from my hellhole would save me. But was there anything left to save?