My computer was broken, which actually pissed me off. A lot. I mean, I start writing again, and my computer goes and breaks itself? Yay! Let's make it look like the bloody author abandoned her readers again! Should be fun! Anyways, it's fixed now(after I got someone else to fix it, of course), so the show must go on!
IMPORTANT: I never typed up the ending of the last chapter. It may be partially confusing if you haven't read the part I added, since it's Damien and Bella's most important argument. Go read the new ending of the last chapter.
Disclaimer: Why do I even write anything after that word? Just "Disclaimer" should be enough, shouldn't it? Anyways, I don't own Twilight.(Stephenie, if you are reading this, hats off to you for writing the story this is based on. Do I meet your standards? No? Oh well, I no longer accept depressing comments anyways. Sorry!)
Would it be safe to say I slept, if I was neither rested nor refreshed?
Or that I thought, when I came to no conclusions?
I had time for both of these things. Plenty of it.
Damien hadn't come yet the next day-perhaps he was too busy for a visit, but for this, I was grateful. Another visit would mean another argument, and I could practically feel my hair turning grey, underneath the layer of dust that had already settled on it.
As far as I could tell, there were no people within miles of my little prison and I. There was most likely a guard outside the main door, but if there was, I had seen neither hide nor hair of him.
I had already counted the cracks in the ceiling, and the bricks in the walls. I could think of nothing better to do, so I got up, walked to the center of the room, and dropped down to do some pushups. If I was going to escape, I would do nothing for myself by not being in shape when I had the opportunity.
After too many push-ups, and way too many sit-ups, I sank back down onto my mattress, satisfied with the amount of exercise I had done. There was nothing else to occupy my time, so I stared blankly at the wall across from me.
Something flashed in my peripheral vision. I couldn't tell what it was from my position, so I crawled over to inspect it.
A pen?
It was silver, and had the words, "CHACE AND CATCH-WE CONVINCE THEM FOR YOU" written in a plain, black script. Unless Damien had the pen as a novelty, because of his last name being the same as one of the names on the pen, it was probably an advertisement for his company-wherever he worked.
Was "Chace and Catch" a play on words, or a complete convenience, considering he could have found somebody with the last name Smith even more easily?
It sounded more like a gang motto than a law firm motto.
I knew the pen would write(however messily) on concrete, so I turned to the wall next to me and scribbled. Black ink came out to form a messy jumble of lines.
I didn't know what the pen could do for me, but I hid it under my mattress anyways, and resumed staring blankly at the wall across from me. How long had I been here already? One day? Two? And what could I do to get out, since there was no telling how long it would take my family to find me?
I could make a run for the door, since Damien always left it unlocked when he came in. But I would have to get past him first, which was near impossible. And what of the guard, if I did manage to get past Damien? He could have the world's strongest man out there guarding my door, and I wouldn't even know.
Even if I did get past both of those people, what then? If I walked away from the building, I would be lost in the middle of an unfamiliar forest with no idea where I was and no sense of which direction I was heading in.
Was it too soon to hope for a miracle?
Maybe. But I could hope anyways, no matter how foolish it was.
"Hope..." I whispered. Hope was what I needed-really, hope was what everyone needed.
So I pulled the pen out from its temporary residence, turned to face the concrete wall at my side, and began writing.