Hold: Hold & Hide Book 1 (7 page)

“It’s okay,” I said. “You’re going to be okay.”

She didn’t respond. I knew she wouldn’t. She—or I—was four. The day I fell into Audrey’s birthday cake. My punishment was to eat the entire cake before I went to bed. I cried and suffered through it, even throwing up twice, and from that day on I stopped speaking to adults. Of course my poor manners infuriated Mother and Father even more. Eventually I got over it though. Took a few years of etiquette classes and some time with Blake for me to learn to be somewhat normal.

The reflection slid back into the ground and was replaced by another mirror. A reflection of me. Right now. I ignored it and continued walking until another mirror revealed another reflection that took me by surprise. Seven years old. Paint on my fingers. Tired, sad eyes. I wanted to surprise Mother and Father with a painting of the sunset over a beach. At night sometimes I heard them talking about how they always wished to see one together. Audrey stole the painting from me and claimed that she made it. They loved it, of course. Framed it and put it up in the hallway right where you come in the front door. The next day it was in pieces on the floor. I still had paint on my hands. I wasn’t allowed to come out of my room for three weeks, but this is actually a happy memory. It’s happy because that’s when I met Blake. I’ll never forget the first time he smiled at me from his bedroom window, only a few yards of grass from mine. We learned to speak to each other without using words and we never lost that ability. 

The reflection disappeared. I continued walking, wondering what the purpose of the assignment could be. Watching my brain waves as I wander through my past? Gathering my precious memories right from my mind?

The thought concerned me, so I decided not to dwell on the images that popped up, but they began to speak and call out to me as I walked by them. My own voice begged me to stop and talk. It would be interesting to talk to a younger version of myself….

I stopped in front of a reflection I didn’t expect to see. 

Audrey. Five years old. I’d never seen her cry before. Not until now. She reached her hand toward me and nearly tripped in the four-inch heels Mother made her wear, even as a child, to practice walking like a princess. I remember the clinking and clanking of shoes above me as Audrey had her daily princess sessions after school. I thought she loved it, but the image of her in the mirror didn’t seem thrilled about it. Her hand twisted toward me, begging me to grab on and help, then she disappeared. 

I looked toward each end of the hall and no longer saw the door I came from. Both ends seemed to go on infinitely with no escape. I turned in a circle. My reflections did the same. Except for one. I walked toward it and waited for something to happen, then I swear I heard Red say, “This is your time for self-reflection. Use it wisely.”

Right.

I continued walking until another reflection made its presence known by calling my name. After taking in the details of my face, height, and clothing, I figured I was probably about fourteen.

“Hello?” I said. 

“Hello,” my reflection said. 

“Are you ... um ... is there something you want to tell me?”

“No. Is there something you want to tell me?”

“Yes. I hate this. Everything I’m doing here. None of it makes sense and if I could go back in time and tell you one thing it would be to run away before your senior year.”

“Well, that’s honest.” She attempted to smile. “I did run away, remember? Just yesterday when Father ... well, you know what he did.”

I nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

The memory haunted me and I tried so hard to forget about it. I spent years ignoring triggers and thoughts or pretty much anything that reminded me of the night Father brought that boy into my bedroom. My eyes traveled up and down the reflection of me and landed on the blood soaked socks. I ran away that night without shoes. Only those socks and a long nightgown. I could still feel the cool cement under my feet and the rocks and sticks as I ran into the woods. Of course Blake found me before sunrise and carried me back home. And of course it was the worst punishment of my life. 

The mirror slid from view. I kept walking and wondered if Audrey was okay. Then a mirror appeared with her on it. She smiled and twirled around in her prom dress. As a junior she went to senior prom with the most popular guy in our school. She didn’t say anything mean to me, but she definitely doted on and on about it while admiring herself in the mirror and it felt rude, like she wanted me, once again, to know that she was better. 

When my watch buzzed that night with a message from her I wanted to ignore it, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. She lied and said she wanted to leave early, but the entire school knew why she really left and they talked about it for weeks. She became known as “Little Virginia,” but I guess it really bothered her because shortly after that everyone began to respect her as some sort of guru. They called her “Queen Lauxes.” 

Audrey and I were never best friends, but after that we weren’t even friends. 

I wiped a tear from my face as I stopped in front of another mirror.

“No, not this one,” I said, tilting my head toward the ceiling. “I’m done now. I can’t do this one.”

My reflection stared at me as though I were the one who hurt her, but we both knew what really happened. I never meant to do it. Why didn’t anyone ever believe me?

“Maybe you did mean to do it,” the reflection said. “Maybe you killed her because you were jealous.”

“I never wanted to be with Blake. Not like that.”

“Not even Blake believes you.” Her—or my—hair dripped water and formed a puddle at her feet. She shivered, trying not to cry. Her bloodshot eyes winced and her fingers shook violently as they wrapped around her arms in a desperate attempt to gather warmth into her body. Knees pressed tight together. Shoulders hunched. Her hair whipped into her face and stuck to her lips. The picture of fear and dread. She stared into me. “Blake still doesn’t believe you.”

“Blake knows me,” I defended myself, knowing why she said it. Deep down part of me feared it. I didn’t care if everyone else didn’t believe me, but if Blake didn’t believe me ... if he didn’t know me ... then no one did. And the loneliness of not being known, truly known, by a single person in the world ... it haunted me. My worst fear. 

“No one knows you,” she snarled. “No one cares. You’re alone, little girl. You’re alone.”

I turned away and closed my eyes. 

“You’re alone,” she said again. 

Hands over my ears, I slouched to the ground. Her voice continued to seep into my mind. My voice. Me. Did I believe it? Was I alone?

All of the reflections crowded around me, even with my eyes closed they plagued my vision. I opened my eyes and a dozen different versions of Audrey and I reached for me, their hands fully opened and grasping for the mirror. For me. I closed my eyes again and screamed as loud as possible, “Stop! It’s too much!” The voices bounced off the walls of my mind, creating waves of piercing sound. My head throbbed. My chest too. Out of breath, I curled into fetal position and begged for it to end. 

Then the room silenced. Something creaked behind me. The floor. It opened up to reveal an ax covered in butterfly stickers with a message attached to it. 

This was a personality test. You are an INFJ and we will use this information throughout the rest of your stay. But first, the only way you can be removed from this room is to take this ax and kill one of the reflections. When you do this the reflection of choice will no longer be a part of you. All memories, choices, and future effects will no longer exist. Choose wisely, as each one can drastically change your personality and ultimately, your life. 

I held the ax and turned in a circle, analyzing each reflection of myself. I walked toward the last one I saw. Soaked hair and downcast face. My first choice would had been that one, but as I raised the ax something stopped me. Almost as though a hand touched mine and lowered it back to my side. I continued walking along the mirrors, looking into the eyes of every part of me. Every pain and joy that meant something to me. 

Finally, I stood in front of eleven-year-old me with wispy hair and a sundress. The only one I ever had. Mother swooped my hair up in braids and put little flowers all over. For no reason. If you know my mother, you know that’s unheard of. It was a good memory. One I kept with me when I felt unwanted, but I could get rid of this one. I’d be okay. 

I raised the ax and took a deep breath. Looking into the eyes of my content and happy self, I hesitated, looked around at the others, and lifted the ax again. One, two, three....

The glass shattered my reflection into a thousand fragments and a sound blasted, then Red appeared before me. 

“You just killed the only part of you that experienced contentment,” he said. “Your life will feel a lot different now that you’ve never experienced that memory. You may be prone to depressive episodes, but I’ll help you through it all. Once you leave here”—he motioned toward the door that reappeared—“you will no longer remember this assignment or what happened while in here.”

I think, maybe, I blinked. I just wanted to go back home. 

“Okay?” he tried again.

I nodded and crossed my arms over my chest, hoping to hide the earthquake radiating in my chest. I squeezed my arms and Red pulled me into his chest, put his arms around me, and stroked my hair. 

“You’re not alone,” he whispered. 

I buried my face in his shirt, hoping to not saturate him with tears. I held back, willing myself to calm down, then he said, “It’s okay to cry,” and I completely lost it. His arms tightened around me in the most gentle way possible as I emptied myself. Plenty of tears wet his shirt and mine as I squeezed him into me and forced every horrible emotion out of my heart. But I knew I’d walk out the door and never remember the moment. The one moment in my life where I let all of the pain wash out of me like a shower I needed for way too long. I’d never remember letting go. I’d never remember being cleansed. 

And that made it even worse. 

Emily stared at me while I stared at my food. After the meal we would attend some sort of strange dance where we were expected to socialize and be normal, but I couldn’t remember what I did in the morning and I found myself in random fuzzy memories that I couldn’t piece together. My head hurt so bad and it bothered me that Emily seemed just as fine as she was the day I met her. I could at least recall that day in full detail. Orange and black shirts like a butterfly. But why black for me? Why orange for Audrey?

“You sure you’re okay?” Emily poked her way into my thoughts. 

“I don’t feel well. My head hurts and I can barely remember where I am sometimes.”

She continued eating, finished, and touched my arm. “You don’t look well at all. Are you sick?”

I picked up my fork. “I’ll be okay. Seriously.”

“Have you been able to see your sister much?”

“Not really. You?”

“Yeah. Most of our assignments have been together.”

“Oh.”

“Your assignments aren’t with her?”

I shook my head. “Are you guys close? What’s her name?”

“Elizabeth. Yeah, we’re close. We’ve always been inseparable. I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

“Must be nice.”

“You’re sister is Audrey, right? I met her at meal time when you weren’t here. She looked like you, only ... well, she looked so much like you that I stopped her as we were walking in.”

“Was she nice?”

She laughed. “She was okay.”

Emily continued to speak, but I couldn’t hear her. Pictures entered and exited my mind, one by one, of the day I regret more than any other. Except Blake kept showing up with a confused look on his face, whispering something I couldn’t understand.

I rubbed my eyes as overwhelming sadness came over me. 

Emily’s hand touched my forehead. “No fever.” She put her arm around me. “I’m worried about you. If there’s anything I can do, let me know.”

“I just can’t seem to ... I don’t know ... it’s like I get lost in my mind sometimes, like it’s another world that I once had control over. Now it feels like my mind is this world I can’t control.”

“Is that why you space out all the time? I’ll be talking and suddenly realize you aren’t listening anymore. I just thought I was boring. Mom always told me to listen more, talk less. Conversations should be like a game of tennis.”

“You’re fine.” I almost smiled and that slight feeling of my lips pressing into my cheeks made me want to cry. “It’s me. It’s all me.”

“You’re not alone,” she said. 

But you are
, said a voice in my head.
They only love you for what you can do for them. You’re alone. You’re so alone.

“Attention everyone,” a familiar voice said. I turned in my chair. Ah, Sir Anthony. “Tonight, because of everyone’s amazing participation and agreeableness, we are holding a dance for you. There are no curfews, except that you must be back here in the morning for breakfast. There are no rules, except that you must remain in the dance hall. Anyone caught outside of the hall will be sent to his or her room for two days. There will be plenty of food, drinks, and music well into the night. You won’t want to leave the room.”