Kidnap

I have only written one chapter so far and even thats not quite finished, but this is about a girl who is kidnapped and held hostage for 5 years and ends up falling for the guy who is responsible for watching her. My aim is to make the reader learn to love him too and end up understanding the main character Belle. Please leave comments, they are really appreciated, and any ideas for the plot would be nice too! :)

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2. Chapter One

 Everything happens for a reason, right? Why was this any different? I know they don’t know what happened, but I do, and I’m fine, better than fine. Why won’t they accept my story, why do they think I’m lying? Every day I wake up not knowing where to go, and who to turn to, why? Because they make me feel like someone’s watching me, like I’m getting myself in danger, like I’m standing on the edge of an endless hole that soon I’m diving headfirst into. But I’m not, I’m really not. This is my life, and yes, it is very different to the average life, but I’m very different to the average women. We all see different things and go on different paths in life, but we end up in the same place. We all have the same undeniable fate, so why does it matter how I choose to get there? The problem with people is they judge you. Everywhere you go, everyone you meet, they look at you and assume. Assume things that can be right, but can also be just as wrong. It doesn’t matter what you say after, if you prove yourself as something else, they will still judge you, even if it’s for the better.  

 The estate I grew up on was small. About fifteen well kept streets bustling with large houses and gardens filled with all sorts of shrubbery and foliage. Most of them had two cars, a garage and a plaque on the wall or door giving some sort of posh name to the house, usually a mixture of flowers, surnames, water features and fancy names for small abodes. Ours was number 10, Beacon Avenue, but officially was called ‘River Cottage’ though it did not have a river in the garden nor did it have any resemblance to a cottage, so to me, it was number 10 Beacon Avenue. There was a garage under my room, a car parked inside it, and one outside on the drive, a small patch of grass with a mahogany bench just in front of the bay window in the living room, and a small porch where we kept our shoes, coats and wet umbrellas if it had been raining that day. There were always leaves and acorns on the porch roof because Mr Gower, our neighbour to the left of us, had an oak tree that he never trimmed and it hung over our house blocking my window from getting any sun, but Mum never wanted to say anything because his wife and eight year old son, Fyn, had passed away in a car crash on their way to a friend’s house a few years back and he liked to keep to himself. His lack of consideration bothered me a bit, but I did have a lot of respect for him. Every day he’d work in the front garden trimming the lawn and tending the flowers, then he’d polish the gnome and sit on the white deck chair drinking a cup of coffee, just as Mrs Gower used to before she took Fyn to school. Every birthday and Christmas he’d buy the pair of them presents and take them to their graves, and at Valentine’s Day there’d always be roses in his windowsill. We used to have BBQ’s with them in the summer and I’d play with Fyn in the snow, we went to each other’s birthday parties and before I moved to secondary school we’d car share. Sometimes I’d visit the grave with Mum and see the presents Mr Gower had left, I still go now, and sometimes leave my own presents for them. He’d be eighteen in three months, but to me he’ll always be the little boy with big green eyes who loved nothing more than playing with his cars and chasing his dad around the garden until the pair of them couldn’t breathe. Fyn was like a brother to me. My mum had some health complications after I was born and she couldn’t have any more children, my Aunt tried carrying twin boys for her but after about four months she had a miscarriage. I was only three at the time so obviously I didn’t understand. The fact my mum and dad would hold eachother and cry their eyes out for hours at a time made me sad. As I got older I learned more about my brothers, they hadn’t decided on both names by that time, but they knew one of them was going to be Harvey. I guess Fyn became my Harvey, when I knew the full story of my brothers, I had a protective instinct over Fyn, and I suppose I became the big sister he never had. Seeing Fyn’s life flash before my eyes changed me. It changed the way I saw things, it changed the way I looked at people, the way I lived my life. But the biggest change, Mr Gower taught me not to judge people, to think about what people have been through, what they’ve seen, where they’ve been, looks aren’t everything, the appearance is the wrapping paper, the personality’s the present. I guess the girl whose parents bought her everything, who was the best at everything, who was popular and envied, changed. She saw her ‘friends’ for what they really were, she appreciated what her parents did for her, she learned that being modest earned more respect than showing off, she grew up, maybe a little too quick, maybe a little too much, but her eyes were opened and in her mind, they opened for the better.  

 Fyn died in the summer between year 7 and year 8, when we went back to school after the six weeks things were different. I knew I had changed, I knew exactly why I changed, it was other people, judging, judging as they always do. It was strange how many old habits had gone, how many people I couldn’t care less about anymore, how important the finer details in life became. I knew they talked about me behind my back, I knew full well that I wasn’t ‘accepted’ anymore, and you know what? I loved it. I loved feeling the weight lift off my shoulders; I loved not having to be that ideal perfect. It was ok not to be someone’s first choice when we got into pairs, sometimes the ‘freaks’ of the class were ok. I admit, I was one of the people who labelled them freaks in the first place, but perception is such a devious thing, those ‘freaks’ were good, kind, honest people, who didn’t deserve to be perceived as they were. Take Rory Matthews, an over achiever, international online chess player, already filling in his application form for quantum physics at some overpriced university no doubt, but that Spanish project we had to do together made me see things no one else did. He invited me round once so we could get help from his elder brother, Sean, who did Spanish at A-Level and gained an A* for his final exams. Rory lived about half an hour away, but his Mum drove him to and from school every day because apparently the dump we called school was half decent. His Dad died when he was younger and his mum held up three jobs already, his brother worked in a fast food joint when he wasn’t at university but the house was worn and dated, I suppose he wanted to make sure he got somewhere in life so he didn’t have to go through the same thing with his family. As soon as his Mum saw me she thought I was a snob, she looked me up and down and watched as I placed my bag on my lap after I climbed into the backseat of the car.

“You can put it on the middle seat you know, we ain’t infested wi’ rats.” She just peered through the mirror watching me place it next me. It annoyed me what she said, but I thought I’d show her I wasn’t the girl I looked like, not anymore anyway. But, to my surprise, Rory did it for me.

“Mum, just cut her some slack will you.” But she was persistent.

“Look, I’m not having any faddy daddy posh totty wonder into my home and judge us. I don’t mean to be rude love but, I know you’re using my lad for your own personal gain, what rich kid wants to be seen with a decent boy ‘ey?” It took me by surprise, the way she just sat there and handed out the criticism like it was going out of fashion. I saw Rory go red, he was about to open his mouth, but, this was my place.

“I don’t know what you’ve got against me Ms Matthews, but I haven’t said a word yet and all you’ve done is told me that I’m a little rich girl who is incredibly snobby and selfish. You told me not to judge you when that is exactly what you’ve just done to me. So I left my bag on my lap, it was a subconscious action that I didn’t think about. If you don’t want me in your home, then I’ll get out of this car right now, all I’m here to do is get our Spanish work done with the help of your son. If I have done something wrong by sitting down then I don’t think I want to be here to be honest. I feel slightly offended how you have presumed I’m somebody I’m not, yes, I used to be that girl, but I’ve changed, and well, if you don’t believe that’s possible, I’d rather not carry on this journey in your company.” Neither of them spoke for the rest of the journey, nor did they look at me, all I could hear was breathing, the engine roaring, raindrops tapping on the roof of the car. We pulled up in front of a semi-detached house that seemed lifeless and dreary. I got out, no to confidently but still upholding my authority, I wasn’t prepared to be pushed around for someone I’m not. Rory ran into the house, I followed with the same energy, but his Mum held out her arm pulling me to one side.

 “Belle is it?” I nodded. “I don’t know why I said it, I just, I was shocked when he said you were coming round, girls like you; don’t go for boys like him. I’m not stupid; I know he’s an underdog, an easy target. I’m just going to get this out, I’m glad you stood your ground, and I’m sorry for what I said to you love, it was unforgiveable.” She stood there with her head held low, shifting from foot to foot.

“It’s ok; I know what you must think of me. I think that of me sometimes. The old me anyway, I was a snobby little rich girl, I fully admit it. A boy, well not just a boy, he was like a brother passed away and, and then, I changed. From that day on things were different. From that day on, I looked at people like Rory and realised how wrong I’d been, so I’m sorry, I’m sorry for making you think like that.”

 Rory and I became great friends after that day. We did really well on the project, and many more projects that we paired up on. His mother grew to like me, she was a lovely woman, and she’d just been through a lot, seen things she couldn’t forget. I respected her, but she was one of those people who did something I didn’t like, she judged. I didn’t want to be judged. Sometimes Rory and I talked about how I used to be, I didn’t like talking about it, but it made me appreciate who I had become. He’d often babble on about popular people and how he didn’t like what they stood for and how they made other people feel, I just took it to be honest, it did annoy me but I made him feel that way and now it’s come back to bite me in foot.

  It’s not long after when my life changed forever. I’m not sure if it was for better or for worse, I never knew then, and I’m not certain I ever will know.

 “Ok then, I’ll move the pointy one.”

“It’s called a bishop Belle!” He was cute when he got angry, his grumpy pale face sank into his blue sweater, and his flocks of golden hair smothered his forehead. “Seriously, I refuse to teach you if you don’t study your terminology.” I couldn’t help but laugh at his sweet but sarcastic tones, I couldn’t take him seriously when he got all huff and puff with me.

“Oh shut up Rory, I’m the best student you’ve ever had!” I smiled at him; he laughed and carefully placed the pieces back in his bag, packing them one by one as he checked for scuffs and scratches. 

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