Breaking The Mirror [Edited And Complete]

Trusting Him

I wake up a few hours later and for a moment I have no clue where I'm at. At first I think I'm supposed to be in my room, then I remember that my dad told me to sleep outside. But then I remember Seaton and that I'm in his apartment, on his couch, cuddled up in his blanket.

Oh fuck. I shoot off the sofa and untangle myself from the cover, attempting to be quiet as I make my leave. I tip toe passed his kitchen and towards the door and when I get to the door, I see that there are locks on it. A lot of locks. I fumble with them, trying to unlock all of them, but just as I'm getting to the last one –

"Where do you think you're going?"

I tense but don't turn around because I know to whom the voice belongs. It's Seaton of course and he fucking caught me. He sighs deeply and encloses his hand around my wrist before spinning me around and looking at me straight in the eye. Those eyes boar into me, burning me. Why does it hurt to look at him? Why does it make my stomach seize?

"I'm the lightest fucking sleeper in the world, kid," He snarls. Is it natural for your hair to be that perfect when you wake up? "And trying to sneak away wasn't a good idea, because that showed me that you have something to hide, which means I was right."

"No, sir," I shake my head but he pulls me back over to the couch. He yanks the covers and pillow up, folds the covers neatly and walks over to the hallway where he puts them both in a closet neatly. Then he comes back over, puts his hand on my chest and pushes me backwards until I fall onto the couch. I wince; my chest hurts from that kick.

He sits on the far end of the couch and I'm thankful for the space it gives me. I shift uncomfortably as he stares.

"You're hurt," he points out, "Is it bad enough that it can't wait until I take you to the doctor this afternoon?"

I look up at him sharply, my head swinging up so fast I think I might get whiplash.

"Yes," He nods, "I'm taking to a doctor."

"No," He shake my head, "They'll – they'll contact authorities..."

He looks at me with that long, burning gaze and then looks away, nodding, "Right, and you wouldn't want to get out of there...At least you're not denying it..."

I blink, because he's right. Why aren't I denying it? I certainly don't want him to know.

"So who's doing it, exactly?" He asks, and he keeps eye contact with me until I look away first.

"No –"

"Tell me the truth," He snaps, "Look, I already know who's hurting you, I want to see if your answer coincides."

"I...I'm..." Is there anyway to get out of this? There isn't, is there? Don't answer that, it's a stupid question. How'd I get into this? It's all because of that girl Lauren. No –it's my fault, should have just told her and then I would be in my bed sleeping, or at school (what time is it?) and not here with him.

"How about a deal, kid?" He says, leaning back and tilting his chin upwards slightly so that his bangs fall out of his eyes. I do the opposite, so that my too-long bangs fall in front of my eyes and block me from seeing that face, "You tell me the truth and I won't go to the police. Lie, or don't answer my questions, and I call 911 right now."

Is that even a choice? Sounds like a trap to me. "Yes, sir."

"It's a deal then?"

"Yes, sir," I whisper softly.

"So, I'll ask again, who's doing this to you?"

"Alfred," I say stiffly, letting myself fade far away from this living room. It's useful for when you're in less than pleasant situations. This isn't exactly a party... It's like being outside your body and at the same time inside it still. Like you see everything and hear everything, and can talk, but you aren't really there. But then he shakes me roughly, his hand tightly gripping my shoulder and I'm yanked back to reality.