Sorry I took so long to update. I was in one of the places that hurricane Irma passed through, and, though it did not hit us directly, I did loose internet and electricity for a bit of time. I was considering pausing this story, since I came up with another idea (which could be considered a prequal to this one), but I decided to continue it since a couple of people have apparently liked it and asked me for more chapters. (Which is an honor. Thank you very much. You have no idea how happy that makes me.)
The next morning, Natasha did something that she had never done before. She received a call (seemingly work related, judging by her tone and countenance), and told me to keep the doors locked and to not go outside, since she had to go check on something. It was the first time she left me alone. As the morning turned to afternoon, I had nothing to entertain myself with, so I sat at the kitchen, doodling away on a napkin when the phone began to ring. I suddenly felt a surge of curiosity and the little voice of my subconscious whispered that I should take the call. It was already on its third ring and about to go to voicemail so I had to act fast, after all, my mother said nothing about not answering the phone.
"Tasha?" The voice questioned with alarm evident in the tone.
"She is not here right now"
"Who is this?"
I didn't know how to respond, and began to think that answering the phone had probably been a very stupid idea.
"Hello? Who is this?"
In that exact moment Natasha entered the house, and I felt every fiber of my being twitch in fear. I did not believe her capable of harming me, but the sole idea of disappointing her or making her angry made me feel desperate. I barely knew anything about my mother, but her acceptance was worth the world to me.
"Who are you talking to?"
As I did not answer, she took the phone from me and repeated the question.
"I have told you not to call me" she barked after, I assume, the intruder gave her an explanation.
There was was silence on this side of the line and I saw my mothers eyes well up with tears, and, to my surprise, this time they did fall.
"Clint don't call me again." And she hung up.
I looked around the room. The details on the curtains suddenly seemed extremely interesting .
I felt her stare on me, but avoided her gaze , this was the sort of situation to which I had no idea how to respond. After a moment she walked away, without uttering a single word, and that felt even worse than if she had exploded in anger.
The next morning, she sat with me to breakfast, and I slowly worked up the courage to intrude a bit further into her life: not an easy feat.
"Are you okay?"
Her gaze shot up from where she was staring at her plate, and I felt my insides freeze once more.
"I'm alright"
I sighed. No matter how hard I tried, it seemed to be impossible to break through her walls. Then she raised her eyes again, and looked at me in that way that she often does, which, only for a second, makes her look miserably sad.
"You can tell me... if something is wrong. I wouldn't tell anyone. Even if I wanted to, there is no one I could tell."
"You shouldn't worry about me"
"I'm not worried, I just-" I tried to defend myself but she cut me off.
"Despite what you may like to think, I am not the sort of person that deserves your care or worry"
"Everyone deserves to be cared for-"
"Not me"
"What could you have done that was so bad?"
She stayed quite for a moment. A long moment. Long enough that I believed she would not speak again.
"I have done a lot of things, but none that I regret as much as.."
"As much as what?"
Then she looked down at her plate again, and when she looked back up, the same old stoic expression covered her face, and I knew my battle was lost. She stood up from the table:
"I need some air. Don't go outside."
And she left.
Two more months passed before Natasha even glanced at me again. That is, I have figured, how it works with her: one step forward, two back.
It was a Sunday afternoon, and the sun filtered through the window curtains giving the house a lively, homey appearance. It seemed as if everything was perfect with the world but, as it often happens, that only means that everything will go downhill.
First I heard the banging on the door. The thundering raping of someone unwilling to wait. Someone who meant business. My first instinct was to call for my mother, but, before the words could slide from my lips, she came running behind me and grabbed me by the arm. The speed at which she pulled me with her, and the strength of her grip made me feel disoriented, which, I suppose, could also have been brought on by the intense feeling of fear and nervousness that was nagging at the pit of my stomach. I knew, even before Natasha told me, that these people were here to kill us.
Natasha used a vase to break through a window, and, before we could jump out, in came crawling two women wearing catsuits and fearsome looks upon their faces. My mother pushed me towards her room, the one that was always locked, and shut the door closed behind her, positioning herself in front of it.
I felt dizzy, sick, every time I moved I would feel everything within me shift. I heard the struggling outside the door. Every few seconds someone would be banged against it, and I couldn't help wondering whether I would loose my mother before I ever fully got her back.
Another sickening sound of struggle echoed through the room, and I heard my heart palpitating out of my chest. The world around me started spinning, I caught glimpses of files, papers, many papers. I saw a bed, and another thrust sounded from the door, making my breathing speed up. Glass was shattering somewhere in the house. I heard a bang that sounded like the front door breaking loose of the hinges and crashing into the living room. My heart rate skyrocketed. It was deafening, I could hear it louder and louder and LOUDER until it was the only thing I could hear. THUMP-THUMP THUMP-THUMP. My vision clouded again. Amongst the papers I spotted something, THUMP-THUMP the only spark of color in the otherwise colorless room. THUMP-THUMP Red. Like my mother's hair, like my hair. Red like apples. THUMP-THUMP Red like blood. But it wasn't blood, it was soft, like silk, yet firm at the same time. It was the only thing that kept me grounded in reality, the only thing that gave me hope. I found the only color within my mother's room, like I sought to find the only sliver of love that could be found within her, hoping it would be love for me.
THUMP- THUMP THUMP-THUMP
I held the red silk within my hands hugging it, trying to decipher what it was while my eyes clouded with tears and something more, blots of black that interrupted the image and did not let me decipher what I saw. THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP All the while my heart continued to beat faster and faster, and for a second I wondered whether it would explode. Then I heard another strike at the door, and dared to peak, in hope that I could see something. My vision cleared for just about a millisecond, enough to see an arrow that had gone through the door, and into the wall next to me. An arrow. Then everything turned dark.
I know it is not very long, but I hope that you like it. I will try to make the next one longer. Please review :)
Important: At the end of the chapter, I was trying to make it seem as if she were having abpanic attack. I don't know whether I did a good job, or whether that was even appropriate for the circumstances, but I think that it will fit with the story. I am sorry if anyone dislikes my putting it there. Please bear with me :) (I do not have any experience with panic attacks, nor do I have a medical degree)