Options: Part 2

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Despite my earlier eagerness to improve myself, I still hid for the next two days. Jodie was visiting her family for New Years, so I was fortunate enough to have the room to myself for a while longer. However, mealtimes proved unavoidable. And lack of food spelled imminent disaster.

Lucky for me we were on a school break. Unlucky for me, the continued excuse of too much schoolwork hadn't fooled Sam. She pretended to understand, not that my built-in thermometer wasn't a dead giveaway. There were times I wondered if that came from my parents too.

Who knows?

Trying to find anything to support my idea that I wasn't just plain and simple crazy, I had been flogging the search engine on my laptop for solutions, researching the various forms of mental illness. Avoidant personality disorder. Dissociative identity disorder. Nightmare disorder. An endless list of problems and like a hypochondriac, I found a connection in all of them. These oddities, however, were leading me to believe the answers remained vital to my sanity, no matter if my effort to discover the truth killed me.

Stupid. Why was I searching the internet for a cure when my head already held the answers? With my strength renewed, I found a useful site listing hypnotists across England. I contained the scream of excitement, chose the closest one to the home, and jotted down the address.

"Caw-caw-caw... caw-caw-caw..." The squawking bird alarm Sam had set on my phone as a joke startled me out of the daydream.

Dinnertime already? Lost within the moment, an honest smile paraded across my face.

A low, rumbling growl erupted from my stomach. Not from hunger though. The smile faded, morphing into a frown of uneasiness.

Go, you moron.

The racket from the dining room caused me to stop outside the door. Too noisy for my liking, I considered going back to my room. No. I think it had more to do with the idea of seeing Sam.

"Hey ginge."

If he didn't stop using that term... I spun round and flashed the most say-that-again-and-I'll-thump-you-stare possible.

Michael stood against the wall, smirking. Dressed in one of those pec-hugging sweatshirts he seemed so fond of, the kind which drew admiring stares from the other kids in the home. I assumed he somehow bewitched them— a knack he used like that of the pied piper. But instead of a pipe, he tempted them with his muscles. I tried my hardest not to look. He made it difficult not to notice.

No. Michael was a friend. And whether his looks affected me or not, I refused to fall under his spell. I pulled my attention back to his face. An amused smile wrinkled the skin around his deep-brown eyes. God, he knew how to play it.

"Ooo, I'm scared," he shifted back, fingers waving in mock terror.

"So you should be," I folded my arms and glared, trying to maintain a sense of annoyance. "Can't resist, can you?"

"Oh, all right. Eve, please allow me the honour." He bowed and winked, his mouth creasing in a playful grin.

How could I refuse? "Okay, just this once," grabbing at his arm before the offer expired.

The stark white fluorescents bounced light off the shiny green tabletops, making me squint. The air, drenched with excited chatter, nagged at my ears. I peered behind at the soft orange glow of the hallway, cursing my stupidity. The pied piper theory had proven correct.

My internal radar sprang to life, and the scrambled conversations about the latest clothing trends, football stats, most liked boy bands and who had achieved the best kill score tumbled unwanted inside my head as if competing to be heard. Another freaky talent I acquired along with the nightmares (much to my horror) the day I had turned eight.

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