TRAPPED

20

Celine

I finish eating, then I'm being lead into the living room to watch TV with Diya, Matteo and Zavian.

     I wrap my arms around myself.

     "Do you like the movie?" Diya asks.

     I turn to her. "It's making me wish I did drown in that lake."

     Her eyebrows raise in surprise and Matteo chokes on his Pepsi. She quickly grabs the remote and turns the channel over.

"What would you like to watch instead?" Diya asks.

"Nothing. This is boring." I mumble.

Matteo frowns. "Is there anything else you wanna do?"

     "Sleep."

     His frown deepens. "You know you can't yet, Celine."

     "Fine." I say. "Then I'm going to my room."

     I stand up and leave. I walk upstairs, then down the hall until I get to the familiar white door. I push it open, revealing my room.

     I don't like it that much. It's bland. My room at my mothers had more of.. me. This one is too neat and too.. rich.

     I sigh. That hardly even makes sense.

     It's been two hours since I hit my head, which means I only have one more to go before I can sleep. I change into my pyjamas and I'm about to play games on my phone when the door opens.

     "Hi, Celine." Léo says softly. He walks over after closing the door behind him.

     "Hey." I mumble.

     He smiles at me. "Thanks for choosing us."

     I glance at him, eyes stinging with tears. His words remind me of the horrible mistake I made, which I'd rather not be reminded of.

"Celine?" He questions.

"What?" I say, my voice shaky.

His brows crease with concern as his eyes soften. "What's wrong?" He asks me.

"Nothing. Leave me alone."

     "Did I say something wrong?" He questions.

     "Just go." Before I start crying and embarrass myself.

     "Celine." He repeats my name, his voice more gentle. He sets an arm on my shoulder and pulls me to him, his other arm coming around to wrap me in a hug. I'm surprised and stiff for a moment, but when he plants a kiss in the top of my head I melt into his embrace, a small, strangled sob escaping me. His hand moves up and down my back, rubbing it in soothing circles. "It's okay." He whispers.

     I shake my head. "No it's not." I say, my voice going raspy like it does whenever I cry—which is rare. Mum says crying is a weakness. She hates it.

"What are you sad about?" He asks me.

"M-mum probably hate—hates me n-now." I can't keep the stutter from my words, and I feel so pathetic that it makes more tears fall from my eyes, fuelling my embarrassment.

"Who cares?" He whispers. "You're living here now. She doesn't have to be in your life if you don't want her to be. You can talk to dad."

I shake my head again. He doesn't get it. None of them get it. I tell him this, and he furrows his eyebrows.