Welcome to the Games

The First Three

I was walking. That much I can remember. I was walking down the stone path in the park to my favourite spot under the big oak tree. My journal was in my right hand, and the cell phone I was using to text my friend in the other, my pencil nestled between my ear and my thick,
dark brown hair that was tied up in an elegantly messy bun.

I had just finished a very long book signing in the City of Angels. My fingers ached and I was just itching to go home and get my contacts out. But I felt that I needed to just record this day, my first book signing ever, at my favourite spot in the city.

I looked up from my phone when I approached my spot. But there was something, no, someone already there. I courteously sat down on the other end of the bench.

“Hello,” said the stranger, he was male. I responded with the same. “Well, why is a pretty thing like you doing out here on a cold night like this?”

I looked at him in a suspicious way. He was creepy. “It’s Los Angeles, mister. It doesn’t get cold.”

“Ah, yes,” he said nodding.

I scooted to the very edge of the bench, my back facing him, and took my pencil out from behind my ear. I was seriously debating if I should just get up and leave; I was seventeen and he sounded older than forty. Leaving would be the best bet if I didn’t want to become possible murder/rape victim, I know. My murder mystery novels are the ones that have given me some edge over other authors. Put that, and the fact that I hadn’t even aged out of my teenage years, together and you’ll find a very cautious girl who is fairly paranoid.

I could hear him rummaging through a bag or something as I was inching slowly up to try and walk away, careful not to make any sudden movements, as I sensed danger. I was obviously too slow. I felt arms around me and I tried to scream; but something was shoved into my mouth, gagging me instantly. That doesn’t mean I didn’t struggle. I fought toe and nail; kicking and punching as much as I could with my limited range of motion.

“Gotcha, smart mouth,” I heard the man snarl.

“Whahaha oooh whooang?!” I managed to splutter, meaning to ask ‘What are you doing?!’. No success.

“See you ain’t so confident gagged, are ya missy?” he taunted.

I punched him where I thought it would hurt the most. Needless to say I’d hit my target as the man grunted and then growled. I continued to kick and felt my foot connect with a jaw. Another growl. If I wasn’t gagged, I would have smirked. That being the case, I’m sure my mouth morphed into an odd shape.

The man pulled me by the hair and whispered into my ear menacingly, “You’re going to regret doing that! You will, and you won’t remember. Pity, you were oh so pretty…”

I felt a prick in my arm and instant pain shot all around my body from where I’d been poked. I managed to see the man getting up before my eyes got cloudy, and body got limp… I couldn’t move.

What was happening?

“I’ll catch up with you two later,” I said to Rob and Kristen.

“You sure? It’s getting really dark out, Taylor,” Kristen said, “You may not find your way back.”

“I’ll be fine, guys, really.”

“Okay,” Rob said slowly, and he and Kristen walked away.

Why I didn’t I want to hang out with my friends, I thought to myself, I don’t know. Surely they’d get my mind off things, right? That’s what friends are supposed to do; distract you from your relationship problems. …right?

I walked out of the way of people coming out from the small, private concert I’d gone too for an unknown indie-rock band and found a wooden table with a couple of chairs under a tree. I sat down, back hunched over so no one could look at what I was reading.

My text messages.

1… 2… 3… 17 from Selena. Why did she have to keep texting me? Our relationship was on the rocks anyhow and this just made it feel like it was sinking lower and lower. I love her, I really do. ‘But this is Hollywood, kid. Nothing is special in Hollywood.’

I remember when my dad told me those words, and I’d set out to prove him wrong. And I did, Selena was my proof. She was beyond special. She was amazing. But, as he’d said, “This is Hollywood, kid.” A society I felt was built up on scandals and lies.

I thought she’d be the one I could trust, you know? Maybe I still can. Maybe I can’t. All I know is that I wish we could be together, but not as actors.

“Hey man,” a guy said, plopping down heavily on the chair across from me. His hood was up, so I couldn’t define his facial features.

“Hey,” I said back, slipping my phone back into my pocket without reading my messages.

“Long night, huh?” the man asked, I nodded in reply. “Yeah, sometimes you wish just to let go of it, don’t you?”

“Isn’t that the truth,” I agreed.

“Well,” the man said, searching his pockets for something before revealing a syringe, fully loaded. “If you want to…”

I stared at the thing. I’d never done drugs, and had vowed to myself I never would. But I wanted to let go of reality, as it was treating me very unfairly. My girlfriend and I were heading for a break up, my job was stressing me out, too many teenage girls followed me and my dad seemed to be the one profiting from all of my hard work.

I held out my arm. “Of course I want to.”

First a prick, then pain- overwhelming pain all over my body- then numbness. I couldn’t feel my arms, my legs… my head. I couldn’t see. Everything was getting heavier, darker, quieter.

What was I thinking?

“Thanks, you guys. Thank you all for a fantastic night! G’bye!” I shouted before closing the door to my tour bus. A grin was still etched upon my face. I’d never thought I’d make it this far. Ever.

I went to put some of the fan gifts I’d received after that meet and greet on my bed- including a scrapbook entitled ‘100 Reasons why Taylor Swift Rocks’, a cowboy hat and a sketch of myself; blonde curls and all. If it was possible, I smiled even wider.

“Mom?” I called. No answer.

That’s weird. My mom is always back on the tour bus before I am. Where could she be?

“Tom!” I called out, making my way to the front of the bus, also known as the driver’s headquarters. “Tom?”

“Yes, Taylor?” said a man. I didn’t sound like Tom though. But then again, I don’t hear properly until a couple hours after a concert anyway.

“Have you seen my mom?” I asked him, my head sticking in the doorway and seeing him in a dark hoodie. That’s weird too- Tom loves bright colours.

“She told me she needed to wrap up a few things with the tour manager,” the man said. “Why don’t you come have a seat, you look tired.”

This was not Tom. Tom didn’t have such a raspy voice, or a preference for dark colours. And he hated hoodies. Who is this guy?

“No, thanks,” I said, trying to keep my nervousness out of my voice. “I cut my finger on my guitar, I have to go get a band aid.”

“I actually have them right here,” the man said, pulling out a first aid box.

Not knowing what else to do, I reluctantly sat down in the passenger’s seat and held out my finger- closing my eyes as well. I hate seeing blood, and the sting of disinfectants. Then, I felt a prick on my finger.

“What the…” I said, an insane tiredness coming over me. Band aids weren’t supposed to hurt, were they?

“Bye bye princess,” the man cooed, putting a syringe away. “Sweet dreams…”

“Wha- No!” my eyes were getting tired from the short amount of time I’d opened them. A tiredness was taking over my muscles as I started panicking.

What was with the syringe? Who is this guy? Where’s my mom?

What’s going to happen to me?

♠ ♠ ♠

Okay, I'd been working on this for a while- and finally posted something. More to come soon- I promise!
Comments are well appreciated- no one likes a silent reader. Thanks!