Year of no Stars

Prologue

Heyo!! So, here it is. The prologue to Year of no Stars! Hope you enjoy it. I have the whole thing finished so I'll post it all up today. And a bit of the second... :P Man, it feels good to write again. 

Year of no Stars- Prologue

    “It was my year without stars.”

    Noah slips his hand into mine and squeezes. “What do you mean, Laura?”

    I suck in a deep breath, not entirely sure how to explain. Today is the one year anniversary since I was taken captive. No, since I was introduced into a different world. “Jasper always told me about his year without stars. It’s an old saying he and his family used to use.” I play with his fingers, not able to look him in the eyes.

    Suddenly, Noah got up from the couch and walks over to the other side of the room. He fetches a glass from the single cupboard and fills it from the sink. It is the only metal in the white room. Carefully and taking precise steps, he returns. A smile comes over him as I take the glass from him. “Thanks,” I mutter into the cup as I take a long gulp.

    “Go ahead,” he urges encouragingly.

    I nod and start. “It means a year, or long period, that is difficult to endure. He explained that his was the year he was kicked out from his family and had to live all alone. Mine was this past year, being discovered.” I grin. “Most days, I’m glad you found me, some not as much. I miss my old world. This one is hard to deal with, but worth it.”

        “What happened during those thirteen years?”

  I am suddenly defensive. He knows exactly what happened; more than he should. I recoil, bringing myself back, not letting our skin touch. I can feel his breath and his firm aura, but I feel physically sick with his question and do not want to touch him.

    I scowl deeply at him but Noah is calm and not surprised by my actions. “You already know,” I growl under my breath.

     “No, I know what happened from the media’s point of view. What really happened out there, Laura?”

    I bite my lower lip, digging my teeth painfully into the tender skin. I don’t want to answer. The tragedies and deaths will bring me to tears. The joyful times will make me miss it more. My confusion will only come back. Why would I tell him more? Why should I? But instead of staying all worked up, I sigh and let my muscles relax.

    “I was almost two years old when I was taken that day,” I say, which of course he knows. I draw my arms around myself, tearing the tough skin beneath my thin shirt with my piercing grip. “They all thought my crazy father killed me while he was high but no, he never did drugs…”