Captured

It was dark, extremely dark. But I was used to do this. I've seen this a million times before. But this time, I wasn't the little girl who was scared and did nothing but cry. I was all grown-up, capable of controlling my emotions, and this kind of darkness didn't scare me at all.

I waited, because I knew exactly what was going to happen. She was going to appear before me, dressed up in a blue dress, the same thing she wore in the photograph that hung in my father's office. And she's going to smile, the same smile as mine, only that I liked hers better, because she was way prettier than I was. Then I'm going to have those out-of-breath moments, because I'd think it's all real. That my mother's really here, and she's smiling at me and she's touching my face. 

But just like all the others before, she's going to say, "What have you become, Austin Schneider? You're a disgrace to the family. How can you be like this? I died for you, and you're this monster?"

And I would start sobbing, and asking for her forgiveness, and begging for her to come back, and by then I'd wake up. But I was still in the darkness. And my mother's voice was replaced with manly, gravelly one, "You're judgmental." 

"You're judgmental."

"You're just like all of them."

And then I heard my mother again, "You're a monster."

And I cried even harder.

And for the last time, his voice was loud, and I could see his face, those green eyes piercing through my soul, "You're just like them. You're judgmental. You're a monster."

I kept on crying, and I could feel the sweat running down my face. Bridget hovered over me, and for a moment I was really glad to see her face, her blue eyes, her blond hair. I embraced her tightly, but I was still crying.

"Bad dream, eh?" I heard a thick Irish accent say from my back say.

Bridget looked at me, her face suffused with concern, "Are they back?"

Like I said, she knew me more than my father did. Bridget and Marcus were the only people who knew about my nightmares. I was eight years old then, and I lost in a spelling bee competition, and my father got really mad. He said I didn't have the right to join in the first place. My mother was a champion in spelling bee, and my father kept going on and on that I didn't have the right to try. But I did, and I lost, and I disappointed him even more.
And that night I cried. And I went to sleep, and my heart was broken for the nth time. That's when I started to have the nightmares. The next day Bridget's family came to our house to have lunch, but I wasn't prepared for lunch. So Marcus invaded my room and tried to cheer me up. But no amount of cheering me up would take away the fear in my heart and mind. 

Marcus began asking, and I thought he'd understand better because he was two years older than I was. He then told Bridget about it, and since then they were the only people who knew about my dreams that haunted me almost every night. I'd talk to them about it, and they were nice enough to listen to my endless sobbing. Marcus would say, "Of course your mom is proud of you, Austin. She loves you, that's why you're here." Marcus would give me a tight hug, and that would calm me down. But I knew better than to fool myself. Because at the end of the day, I'd go back to sleep, and the dreams would come back and I'd be the same emotional wreck in the morning.

Eventually, the haunting stopped. 

I wonder why they returned now.

"Austin, darling, they're just dreams, kay?" Niall ensured me and patted my back gently, "Now why don't you go to the mini-kitchen. Harry prepared tacos. I don't know how, but he did it. That lad is such a genius."

"More like microwaved tacos," Bridget scoffed, "Good thing Ted stuffs the yacht with good food."

Yes, we're in my yacht back to New York City. I broke the news this morning, and told the rest of the group that I called Ted already to pick us up at around 10. They were still caught up in a hangover, so they didn't really have the chance to say no. I'd cleaned up the house already so all they had to do was fix themselves.

When the yacht arrived, the boys, especially Louis and Liam, were taken by surprise. They thought I was joking. I myself was shocked to see Ted driving the yacht. I thought my father fired him for being an accomplice to this little kidnapping conspiracy. Apparently not.

I just had a terrible dream with Harry Styles in it, and I thought it'd be a wrong idea to walk in the mini-kitchen with him in it, and eat his microwaved tacos. But I was excessively starving so I made a mental note to ignore him no matter what. 

My plan went well. I survived eating my tacos without having to talk to him, or think of him for that matter. Harry himself didn't enjoy the idea of being in the same room with me. He made excuses like, "I need air" but Louis barricaded the door and ordered him to microwave more tacos.

When Harry succeeded in retreating into the upper deck, leaving me, Zayn, Louis and Liam in the mini-kitchen, Louis started to making me feel chuffed. But in the annoyed-kind-of-way chuffed. 

"Did you have a good sleep, Austin?" his voice was childish, but had an icy feel to it.

I know he is referring to the Zayn Malik incident, but I can't help but think about my dream. And Harry Styles. And how he yelled at me last night and called me judgmental. 

Zayn punched his shoulder, "Shut up, Lou. I'm sorry, Austin."

"You don't have to be sorry, Zayn. If Louis had dared me to kiss you, I would have done it anyways."

Then I heard an absurd scoff. I thought he left already, but he's been here the whole time.

"Here I thought you were better than some girl jumping at the chance to kiss someone from One Direction," Harry tsked.

"What the fuck, Harry?" Zayn said before I could even speak, but I shushed him.

"Zayn is the first One Direction guy I kissed voluntarily, without freaking out. And if I could turn back time, I would have wanted him in that elevator with me."

That pissed him off, and he bolted out of the room without any word.

***

There was an uncanny scent of cardamom, nuts and sugar filling up the room, but I don't remember asking any of the maids to bring me anything to my room. I don't even remember talking to any of them, considering that I was in a bad mood when I got home this morning. 

The only explanation is Marcus.

"Wake up, gummy bears," he jumped at my bed and ruffled my brunette hair.

"But it's like, 11 in the evening, Marc," I grunted, turning myself over, the pillow muffling my voice.

He sighed, "I drove to New York to get you cupcakes from your favorite pastry shop, and I get welcomed by a sourpuss. Tell me, what's wrong?"

Of course, Bridget told him about Austin's Nightmares: The Come Back. I got up and adjusted my eyes to the light. I have been sleeping since we arrived, quite unprepared for what tomorrow brings a.k.a. the media. I called some security to escort One Direction back to our hotel and handle the paparazzi and fan-girls situation. I have not heard anything from them, so I guess they're okay.

I took a bite of the Pistachio Cardamom Cupcakes. It was a good blend of sweet and spices, and I love Marcus so much for going to Ovenly, a pastry shop in Brooklyn to get me these wonderful gifts made by angels. After finishing one cupcake, I was rather apt to speak up, "It's back, Marcus."

"You're just probably scared of what your dad is going to say about this -- you know, this kidnapping thingy," he smiled. He came closer to give me a hug, and nothing seems so much better than Marcus bear hugs.

"I think this time it's not about my father, Marcus."

"Ah yes. I think I know what's it about," Marcus sounded so sure. Bridget must have told him more than the recoiling of my nightmares, or our short-lived vacation, " Now tell me, what did Harry Styles do to you now?"