Part Three:
I had my back pressed against the wall with a panicked force that could only be explained as muscle-tearing. But I only pressed harder as my eyes darted around the everlasting darkness. I couldn't breathe. With that thought, I started screaming fearfully. Daviel had purposely tied my hands so that I wouldn't hurt my hands punching the walls. Instead, I used my feet.
"Let me out," I screamed, panic clear in my voice. Oh God, I thought, I'm going to die.
The walls were going to smother me. I couldn't breathe. I started banging my head on the wall behind me. After the fifth slam, I screamed again. Suddenly, I could hear in the back of my head a rhyme my nanny from my childhood had taught me. I kept sitting pressed against the wall and said, "I will be calm. I will be strong. I will see that nothing is wrong..." And I repeated this over and over, trying to convince myself to believe the words.
Yes, at one point I had a nanny. My parents were always at work, so they hired one for my older brother and me. I was six years old at the time, my brother eight. We were playing a simple game of hide and seek, my brother being "it" of course. Then I decided I'd hide in the closet of our bedroom. You see, I didn't know of my fear back then. Or maybe I didn't have that fear yet.
Either way, I was hiding in there when I heard Oaklan Oliver Kinrey walk into the room calling, "Ready or not, here I come!" My brother was nicknamed Oak. Notice that resemblance: Ivy and Oak. What a pair we could have been. Anyway, like the evil brother Oak was, he had already planned on my being in the closet. So he locked it without me knowing and started shoving heavy stuff in front of the closet. Then, just like that, he disappeared. Perhaps he went outside to play with the neighbors and forgot about little sister Ivy in the closet, waiting for older brother Oak to find her. Oh, I got bored enough. I had to use the bathroom soon.
So I started saying, "Ok, Ok, I'm right in here." Then I tried to open the closet door, but to no prevail. Just like that, I snapped. I started screaming bloody murder as if I was being stabbed to death in that closet. The only person in the house was my nanny.
She showed up crying out, "What in God's name is all that noise about?!" Then she saw what lovely brother Oak did and called to me, "It's ok, sweetheart, I'm getting you out!" She started pulling things out from the closet, but I kept screaming; especially when the lock on the closet wouldn't unlock.
That's when she said, "Iveria Elaine Kinrey, you stop screaming right this minute or I'll leave you in there!" Notice the resemblance between dearest nanny and Daviel. So I closed my mouth, but started whimpering instead. While she was working the lock, she started repeating the rhyme for me to calm down with. And here I was, in another, much smaller closet, sounding like a little 6-year-old me. I had my eyes closed shut with such force that the lids could have started folding over each other.
Then I calmed down enough to start trying to get my hands in front of me, which I could feel burned from struggling with the bindings. I struggled, never opening my eyes, and eventually got my hands under my legs and in front of me. No matter how calm I was, my heart was pulsing like a caught, wild rabbit and I was breathing short breaths so sharply that I was positive I wasn't taking in enough air to survive this ordeal.
Why won't they let me go? I had a life ahead of me. I had my 4.0 grade point average, my 1/378 class ranking, my 31 ACT score, my awaiting scholarships to a billion different colleges, and my hopes to become a professional surgeon or something that paid lots of awesome money. I had my debate, BETA, spanish, french, library, art, drama, FBLA, HOSA, science, and math clubs. Not to mention all that volunteer work I've had to go through. And instead of getting the life I've worked for, I got two freaks who love making me live through my worst fear...twice.
After what seemed like hours in this hell hole, a voice suddenly came through the door, "Are you going to be trying to kill yourself anymore?"
"Hell yes," I snapped furiously, but my voice was shaking.
"Fine," Daviel replied dully, "I hope you enjoy the whole night in there." Then I heard him start to walk off.
"Wait!" I cried out, "wait, ok, I won't kill myself!" I could almost hear his smile of triumph.
Daviel walked back to the door and asked, "How do I know you're not lying?"
I sighed dramatically, "There is always a possibility of someone lying. It's the nature of humans, but there is also a possibility of a promise being broken when not meant to. There are all kinds of forms of lying to consider as well: white lie, ignorant lie, purpose lie, bad lie, good lie, lie lie, you know...the sorts. In this case, you have to consider whether or not I was meaning to kill myself in the first place. You've got to consider whether or not I know of someone who happened to jump from the second story of their burning apartment. Then you have to wonder why I wasn't twisted to a way where I would land on my head.
Otherwise, the most that would have happened was a couple of broken bones, but I'd live. Therefore, I wasn't planning on killing myself in the first place and I don't see myself killing myself so far. Then you have me promise not to kill myself, when I never tried or threatened to kill myself. So when I promise I won't, then I'm just promising the evident of what was already planned not to happen." I took a deep breath and waited a second. Well, what can I say? I'm the captain of the debate team; it's my profession to express my beliefs!
"Fine, I'll let you out," Daviel finally answered, "But if you try anything so stupid again, I'll stick you in a coffin." I shivered at that thought as the closet door was opened, blinding me with the light of the lamps. Daviel bent down in front of me and grabbed my hands. "Bloody Christ, what were you trying to do? Cut off your hands with the rope?" His irritation was clear in his tone.
Before I could reply, Daviel pulled out a knife and I started ripping my hands out of his. He tightened his grip and I yelled, "Don't touch me!"
Daviel sighed furiously and snapped, "I'm only trying to cut the bindings off, you stupid fucking human!" With that, he grabbed a good hold of my wrists, keeping me from getting out of his death grip, and pried the knife between my wrists just under the bindings. After one swift swipe, the bindings were cut off. Then Daviel suddenly lifted the knife in front of my face. I looked at it cautiously, never realizing that even though I was still stuck in this small closet, I wasn't having problems breathing. It's lucky I didn't have an asthma attack, too. Though, I've only gotten an asthma attack once in my life and it was during a more terrible ordeal than this.
"You treat Jestin with respect. She's been nothing but nice to you,"Daviel said in a dark voice, "She even talked me into letting you live...for now." I gulped pointedly, watching the knife that had been smeared with my loose blood from my struggle with the bindings. Then I nodded carefully. Daviel appeared satisfied as he continued, "I also hear you won't tell her your name. What is it?"
I considered saying nothing, but the bolder side of me replied, "Claudia Nuggetlugget." Trust me; I could come up with those names for forever.
Daviel rolled his eyes, "Bloody Christ, tell me your name!"
I answered, expressionless, "Crystal Spankmeimhot. Tiffany Mymomahigh!"
"Out of names to make up yet?" Daviel asked sarcastically.
"Chyanne Icecreamnshake. I scream, you scream, we all scream for icecream," I yelled back stubbornly. I could hear Oak's voice crying out the same thing in the back of my mind. Suddenly, Daviel grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the closet. "I didn't mean it, I swear!" I expected the coffin to come next.
"Jestin, I swear to God, if you want her to live, you'd better get her right now," Daviel roared while pulling me into the hallway. Jestin was right there in seconds and she pulled me away from Daviel.
"What did you do?" Jestin hissed furiously. I glared at her.
"It's none of your business. For crying out loud, let me go!"
"No can do," Jestin replied, "You've seen where we live." I laughed in disbelief.
"I have not." I cleared my throat and took a breath. "First of all, I was locked in the trunk of a car, passed out, all the way to wherever we are. So clearly I do not have directions to wherever I am. Second, when I did get out of the trunk, I was in a garage that I think was closed. Third, the only thing I've seen of this god forsaken place was the inside of it." I lectured dramatically.
Jestin shrugged, "You know our names."
I wiped all expression from my face, "You have names? What names?"
Jestin laughed, "Won't work."
I sighed loudly, "Then get them changed."
Jestin shook her head. "You know what we LOOK like." Oh for crying out loud!
"Dye your hair and switch your contacts," I snapped impatiently, "Move away for God's sake. Just let me go!" I deepened my voice to where it was suddenly dark and very demanding.
Jestin glared at me and did the same thing I did with my go with the word, "No!" She shoved me into her room and shut the door, locking it. "We don't have contacts and you'll have to kill me before you dye my hair." Oh, the disagreement. I hate the disagreement will.
"It is physically impossible to have solid black eyes with swirly colors in them and your black hair will grow back into its black color eventually. Besides, it's obviously you dye it by the highlights in it," I snapped furiously.
"I don't have contacts and no," Jestin yelled in frustration. After a moment of a small glaring contest, she added, "You don't know, do you?"