Homeless

Chapter 3

There was a time back in that hell they called the House, a time when I wondered what it would be like to be dead.

Would it be better than the life I was living? Would I go to heaven or to hell? I did bad things, very bad things. Some I was forced to do, some I'd like to think I did to stay sane or to keep the most important person in my life safe.

If I was dead, then I probably went to heaven. I highly doubt sleep in hell would be this comfortable.

I was warm. Not the suffocating warmth you felt on a warm summer night in a room without air conditioning. But the pleasant warmth you'd feel when it was raining outside and you were tucked in a blanket with hot chocolate near a crackling fireplace.

Not that I had ever been in the latter situation. I just supposed it would feel pleasant.

A soft surface under my body, a velvety feel under my palms and a squishy pillow under my head. And the smell...God, the smell. It was the cleanest thing I had ever smelt in my life, which, to be honest, wasn't saying much considering the kind of soiled life I had led up to that point.

I blinked my eyes open, an odd haze blanketing my mind.

A ceiling.

I hadn't seen one in a while.

Slowly, I turned my head to look around. The throbbing in my cheek and neck was faint, distanced by the cloud dulling my senses.

Was I drugged? I thought with a strange sense of calmness. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew I should be panicking, but when my eyes took in the room, I was too starstruck to be alarmed.

My first thought was: Daaamn...

It was a bedroom. An actual bedroom with four cream-colored walls, a ceiling, a very large bed with dark brown satin sheets that slid like water against my body as I shifted, bedside wooden tables and lamps. There was even a seating area with two brown leather armchairs angled sideways to face a fireplace.

An actual fireplace. It was my first time seeing one outside TV or magazines. It looked even more impressive in real life. Was I dreaming? I must be dreaming.

On the left of the fireplace were two doors. It was early morning considering the muted sunlight filtering in through the large window. The aches in my body made themselves known as my head cleared up. Where was I? The last thing I remembered was... it had been night. We were attacked. We lost everything and Mark and I were wandering the streets-

Mark!

I sprang up in bed. The room span. Closing my eyes tightly, I held my head in my hands and focused on my oxygen intake until I felt less dizzy. Gliding out of the silken bed, I rose to my feet. They sank into a lush beige carpet. I flexed my toes.

Pink pajama pants and a soft white t-shirt, both of which did not belong to me. I checked under the clothes. At least they hadn't taken off my underwear or my tank top. Someone had changed my clothes while I was unconscious. I didn't let the panic of that thought settle in. I needed to find Mark first.

My pocket knife was also missing. I looked under the pillow and the sheets, rummaged through the drawers of the bedside tables, but my knife was nowhere to be seen and there was nothing I could use as a weapon. Damn it.

Keeping my steps light, I made my way to the large double doors. I leaned my ear against the dark wood. There was a distant sound of conversation. Soft voices. Nothing that rang alarm bells in my head. The metallic knob was cold under my palm. I cracked the door open and peeked out. A hallway with light colored walls, a white marbled flour and soft artificial lighting.