Authors Note- Hello! I'm not a new writer, nor at all new to Skins fan fiction, but I have never written anything for this site. I had written the premise of this story for a creative writing class. I didn't get the change to expand it, because the class ended. My girlfriend, who is an avid avid reader of stories here, suggested I flip and reverse it into something she could read on here. So...I'm appeasing her mostly, BUT I would by lying if I said I wasn't curious as to how it would be taken. It's very AU, and pretty different. I'd like to know your thoughts and what ever, and if you'd like, I'll most certainly continue it. Consider this a trial run. : )

Skins isn't mine at all, it's just something fun to play around with.

Turning Slowly: Chapter 1

"Afternoon food!" I heard an abrupt voice from a locked door chime out. I set down my book and rose from my position on the bed. Following my every day routine, I walked to the door, and knocked on it three times, alerting the person on the other side of the door I had heard them. Then, as I had every day for the last three months, I backed up to the corner farthest from the door and sat down facing the wall, nose to corner. I positioned myself to sit on my hands and closed my eyes.

Behind me I heard the large metal door unlock and open, the sound of a tray gliding across the floor filled the air. I scrunched my eyes waiting for something more, but praying there wasn't. The door shut with a loud bang.

I sat in tense fear for another couple minutes before turning around and eyeing the tray. A mix of anguished relief flooded me as I spotted my typical meal: two slices of bread with peanut butter, an apple and a protein bar. After so much time, I've passed savoring the food and have resorted to something of a human vacuum. I hoover my food in seconds and down it with my bottle of water. Every meal is the same thing- nothing ever changes around here.

I suppose you're wondering where here is, huh? Well, to tell you the truth, I'm not quite sure. My name is Emily Fitch and I am 18 years old. I've decided to start recounting my life in a journal because three months, 19 days and what i've guessed to be around 10 hours ago, I was abducted from my bed in the middle of the night.

I had just finished up college and was preparing to travel around Europe for a while. I faintly recall the strange sense someone was following me. My twin sister, Katie, told me to "buck up" and "stop imagining things." I always listened to Katie. Irony, at it's finest.

The day started out normal. I had gone to my part-time job as a grocery clerk early in the day. It was there I got the odd feeling. I remember staring around the grocery store, expecting to meet some weird person's gaze, but there wasn't anyone. After work I had gone to meet Katie.

"Hey Katie," I had said, after ordering my hot chocolate. Katie sat with her extra foamy latte' that just about made me want to hurl. I couldn't stand coffee, or the smell of it.

"You're late," she blurted, not looking pleased.

"I'm never late," I said right back.

"But you are today."

I sighed. Katie could be exhausting at times.

"Sorry, I kept double checking things. I sort of feel like someone is following me," I admitted. The look on Katie's face told me I should have just kept quiet.

"Someone...is...following you?" Katie asked slowly.

"No, I FEEL like someone is following me," I said, exasperated.

"Fucks sake Emily. Don't give yourself so much credit, you're not that interesting," Katie said with a snort. I slumped back in my seat. She had a point.

"I know, I was just saying."

"Well, buck up soldier, no one's following you. Now stop imagining things so we can have a proper coffee date. I NEED to tell you about my date with Andy..."

The coffee date had droned on far longer than I would have liked otherwise, but Katie will be Katie. She went off to meet Andy and I went home.

I should mention home. I used to be normal. My whole family used to be normal. Then my dad accidentally, in his futile attempts to invent a work-out machine, ended up inventing a different sort of cushion for people who have hernia's removed or any other surgeries...down there, which require a sitting pad. Don't ask me how he managed it, but he did. Some big investor discovered him at a convention, and bought it off of him. With a generous contract. Four years and quite a few million dollars later, we were no longer a normal family.

We moved into this massive excuse for a house. I was thrilled because it meant I no longer had to share a room with Katie, but the space was too much. I never saw my family. My dad was always busy, my mum, a newly-dubbed house wife with a house to decorate, was always busy. James was always...well I'm pretty sure he was always lost, but I hardly saw him too. The only person I saw on a frequent basis was my twin, and I think it's because she can't breath unless I'm following her like a little puppy dog.

That being said, I arrived home that night to hear three TV's blaring through the house. Dad, mum and James, clearly. I walked to my bedroom, pulled out my yoga mat and started to do my nightly routine. I was halfway through when I thought I heard something in my bathroom. I had my own bathroom connected to my room. I had interrupted my movement, to inspect my bathroom top to bottom. When I was fully convinced I was losing it, I finally turned in for bed.

The next thing I know, I feel like I had been given a straight IV of tequila. My body was swooshy, my mind even worse. I thought I felt myself being lifted, but I couldn't form a proper thought. However long later, I came to. In a brightly lit, stark white room with nothing but a bed, an empty bookshelf, a toilet and a large sink. That's when the panic set in.

Seems catastrophic, and trust me, it was. It also seems horrible, but it actually hasn't been entirely horrific.

I've never physically seen my captors. In fact, i've never physically seen anyone the entire time i've been here. I've only been yelled at through this big metal door that is currently separating me from them. Been verbally abused at times. When I first arrived it became quickly apparent what I was to do. The door only opened twice a day, when someone delivered my food. I was instructed I was to sit against the wall and not speak a word. If I did, I was "taught a lesson." I've only spoken once, and the knot I had on my head for days after, was enough to shut me up.

I get fed two times a day, and the food, as noted, is bland as fuck. But, at least I'm getting fed. The bed in the room is not a total loss. I get clothes and any book I request. Other than that weirdness, when it's stripped down to what it really is? It's kidnap.

The most frustrating part of this whole ordeal, i've come to find, is remaining in the dark. I don't know why I was kidnapped. No one will tell me anything, no one will talk to me. I've asked. I've begged the shouting voices on the other side of the thick plaster walls what in the world was going on, but no one responds. I never heard anyone walking outside of my room. I have no idea if anyone is even there. Judging by the window in my room, I'm about three or four floors up from the ground level. I know I'm in a big building. It smells of damp laundry and is constantly muggy.

Once I came too those many days ago, I spent the entire first week freaking out. I stayed in a strange calm for the first 12 hours, giving myself time to figure things out, but then I couldn't figure anything out, and that's when I lost it. It's sort of am embarrassing blur now, but I spent the good chunk of a week slamming my fists against the walls, crying out for my family, or anyone really. It got me nowhere fast. Then I fell into what many may consider a quiet depression. I couldn't move, couldn't eat, couldn't think. And I do think, very possibly, I might have died if it hadn't been for the knocking.

I had been laying in my bed, staring at the piling trays of food. After about two weeks of trying to wrap my head around my situation, I had given up. I had no idea what day it was, i'd lost count a while back. I also had no clue when I was getting out. IF I was getting out. Logically, or illogically, my tired, worn-out brain had decided to stop eating. I was up to six trays. Three whole days with out eating. The voice from behind the door yells at me every time he comes in and sees a full tray. I had figured out he was a "he" due to his heavy gruffing and constant smell of sweat. This last dinner time, I had been full-on whacked upside my head from my position in the corner. Sitting on my hands.

My stomach was begging me to eat, but my will power was stronger. It was something my friends always joked about with me. My quiet resolve. I had a twin sister who was all face and noise, but everyone knew I was the stronger one. Because I had a large ball of pride and power inside of me. I was exercising this ability at the minute. That, and this was the only entertainment I had.

I was so bored, I could try to eat my own toe. When I got this bored, in my head I would mentally run through my family members and try to imagine their reactions when my abduction became a reality to them. This helped a little, because it reminded me I was loved. Someone would be looking for me. Hopefully they still were. But that night, those thoughts weren't any comfort.

I was contemplating another round of sit-ups to exhaust myself into sleep, when I heard a slight tapping noise on the wall. Or rather, I thought I heard a slight tapping noise on the wall. Had I imagined that? Probably. It was probably my bobbing foot, which was causing the bed to hit the wall. Or something. It HAD to be that. I moved myself from my bed onto the floor, and laid on my back. I was into my 7th sit-up when I heard the tapping again. I laid flat on the ground in a matter of seconds, holding my breath. I heard it again. It was then I realized it wasn't tapping, so much as it was a series of taps. Three quick taps and two longer ones. This wasn't me. This wasn't my imagination.

I flew up off the floor and pressed my ear against the wall. The tapping started again. I took a deep breath and tapped the rhythm back through the wall. I waited a few more agonizing seconds, but nothing came back. Defeated, I let out a breath and stepped away from the wall. This room was really getting to me. A month of isolation will do that to a...

Suddenly the tapping occurred again, but farther down the wall. I followed it and tapped the same rhythm back. This pattern continued until I realized I was at the corner of the room. The corner leading to the wall with the only window in the room. I could open the window about 10 inches, but it was still equipped with large metal bars, blocking any chance of an exit.

I briefly wondered if this was a trick. If my captors were fucking with me. I shook all thoughts of that out of my head, as curiosity won in my tired mind.

I sat in anticipation, wondering if the tapping would happen again. And where. Then swore I heard tapping on a window. It obviously wasn't my window, but the sound was definite. My eyebrows furred. The doors were thick, but the walls clearly weren't. How had I never heard anything before? I tapped my window in the same fashion. A few seconds later, I heard the window tapping once more, and I decided to open my window, just to see if I could hear better. The windows were a piece of shit, but after a minute I managed to wedge it open enough to stick my head out to meet the bars, blocking my complete exit.

I couldn't get my head out far enough to see anything against the wall. I could only see the same scenery I'd seen for the past few weeks. A grey building, a swing set and an empty road across the way. I've only ever seen three cars pass by on it. I waited at the window for a few minutes, tapping on it a few times, waiting on a reaction. I almost gave up, chucking it up to a really mean, food-induced hallucination when I heard a voice.

"Hello?" A voice called out, starting me so sharply, I hit my head on the window causing it to come crashing back down.

"Fuck me, ow, ow ,OW!" I yelled, quietly, aware it was late in the evening. I stomped my foot a few times, and bit my lip, rubbing my head. I took a few deep breaths, gathered my surroundings, and opened the window again as quick as I could.

"Hello?" I called back out tentatively.

"Hi," the voice said back. The voice of a girl. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," I said, not really sure what to say. This was the voice of a girl, a young-ish girl, I'm pretty positive. I got a weird grip in my stomach. I'm not alone. I'm not alone and I don't know if this is a good thing or a bad thing.

"I can't believe you figured out my tapping," the voice said again, sounding both relieved and surprised.

"It wasn't that hard to feed my curiosity around here," I answered back, finally finding my words.

"I can imagine."

"Can you?" I asked quickly, and rudely. I shut my eyes at my obnoxiousness. Apparently being stuck by yourself in a room for a month causes you to lose your social skills.

"Yes," the voice answered back calmly. "You've been stuck in a room for a while, yeah?"

My heart stopped. Well, that was blunt.

"Erm...yes."

"Well, so have I, so I can understand your boredom. Who ever is on the right side of me couldn't figure out the knocking, they just banged back."

"There is someone on the other side of your room?" I asked stupidly. I was barely able to register the fact that I wasn't alone in this hell hole. This hell hole I have never seen beyond the four walls of my "cell." I couldn't even begin to wrap my head around the fact that there were several others.

"Yes," the girl said quietly, but I could tell she was a little exasperated.

"What's your name?" I asked, suddenly feeling the need to know this little morsal of information. Assuming it would help me catch a grip.

"I'm Naomi Campbell."