A Girl Betrayed (Or Something I've Written)

I have ten followers!! Woohoo! I am so excited because I never thought that I would be able to get any followers. You guys are the best.

I was going to post about my experiences with make-up because I just started learning how to use it a little while ago (I'm eighteen...yeah, I know.), but I'm not really in the mood right now and it seems a little boring. Talk to me, girl readers. Would you like to read about my adventures in the make-up area?

In celebration of the ten followers, I am going to post a short story that I wrote and that I talked about here. You can also read the summary of it on "My Works-in-Progress" page.

It might be a little confusing as it sort of jumps into a scene without any background. So to get rid of confusion, the main character is late teens to early twenties and has a daughter. She had her daughter with a guy who betrayed her trust because of his loyalty to a certain liberal organization (that's as specific as I can get right now because I haven't thought out much). She meets the guy again in this short story. Feel free to comment on what you like or don't like about it, though I would like it if you were nice. Because I'll give you chocolate. I still want honesty though. :D

Anways. TEN FOLLOWERS.

© 2014, Skylar Finn

Title: I Remember (working title)

Word Count: 1,140

(Note: This is completely unedited)

“Baby, what are you doing?” I smile at Lyla and tousle her hair.

“Outside, Mama!” My two-year-old angel looks up at me, her forehead wrinkled with concentration. She still struggles with her sentence.

I sigh.  The sound of the bombs and the bullets hasn’t stopped for days. The terrified faces of the refugees around me are a reflection of what I’m feeling, but I can’t let Lyla see how scared I am. “Lyla, we can’t go outside. Bad people might hurt you and Mama doesn’t want anything to happen to you.”

Lyla trots over to our locker on the opposite side of the room. Everyone pulls their feet out of her way as she goes. She doesn’t talk to anyone. She’s very shy. I close my eyes and breathe slowly. How did I get myself into this mess? 

Right. I didn’t.

This was where trusting an idiotic fool had got me. He’d said we were doing the right thing. Now I wasn’t sure if he had said that so I wouldn’t report him for being crazy or report him for destroying the whole embassy’s food supply.

Not for the first time, I clench my jaw and wish that I had never met Logan Sheffield.

“Mama.”

“Yes, babe?” I look up and smile. Lyla’s chubby face is red from the humidity.

“I want Daddy’s things.” Lyla gives me some crumpled pieces of clothing. I sigh mentally. I had told Lyla about Logan from the moment I knew she could understand me. I don’t know why. I just, I just felt like a girl should know her dad. And I had shown her some of the things Logan had given to me for her.

A pair of light pink socks with lacy frills. A little jean jacket.

“What do you mean, Lyla?” I carefully smooth out the wrinkles.

She tugs at the socks. “Mama help me with clothes.”

“You wanna wear them?” I brush back a piece of her honey brown hair and watch her face.

She smiles and nods enthusiastically. “Yes! And go outside.”

My stubborn little girl. I grin and shake my head ruefully. I tip my head and listen to the sounds of war around us. It sounds like the fighting has moved farther off. “I guess a little fresh air won’t hurt, huh.” I hoist Lyla onto my hip. “We have to stay by the door, kay baby?”

Lyla nods solemnly.

I walk over to the door and crack it open slightly. I let my breath slowly out of my mouth so I can hear everything. It’s quiet. I look around as much as possible. The coast is clear for now. I shove the door the rest of the way open and step out of the dark room.

“Walk, Mama,” Lyla squeals quietly.

I giggle and put her down. “You know we’re going to have some serious problems when you’re a teenager. Being so demanding and all that.” I make sure to grab her hand and keep her close by.

Surprisingly, it’s sunny and the birds are singing. It’s almost normal, until I see plumes of smoke and distance cracks of thunder.

But it’s beautiful.

Lyla runs over to a lonely dandelion growing by the wall near the door. The bright yellow is a sight for sore eyes. After spending days and nights cloaked in different shades of black, color is harder to remember. She strokes the petals of the flower gently, watching it with a look of wonder in her eyes.

Almost unbidden, a smile comes to my face and I wonder how I ever lived before Lyla. Then I hear it. Something that sounds a lot like footsteps. I freeze and listen. There it is again.

“Come here, Lyla.” I pull her towards me and pick her up. She buries her head in the crook between my neck and shoulder, somehow sensing the danger too. She stays quiet. Not for the first time, I’m thankful that she’s so good.

I slowly inch farther out from the roof’s overhang. I shift Lyla around so that she’s on my back, hanging on to my shoulders. I support her with my arms and move more. When I’m a body’s length away from the wall, I see an arm raise, the hand holding a gun, and a shot rings out. I jump. Lyla whimpers. I shush her quietly. “It’s okay, Lyla. Mama’s got you.”

I hear someone grunting and the smack of fist against flesh. Someone is thrown down. They stay down, slumped on the ground. I wonder if they’re dead. In the next moment, a man comes running around the corner of the safe house. He looks horrible.

He’s tanned deeply, showing that he’s spent many days out in the harsh sun without protection. A heavy, rusted cuff is attached to each of his wrists, a length of chain hanging from each one. His face is desperate, his eyes haunted.

But that’s not what makes my mouth drop open.

It’s Logan. Logan is in front of me.

He stops as soon as he sees me and Lyla. His eyes widen. He walks slowly towards me and reaches out to touch Lyla’s arm. I can feel her shaking. His eyes are intense, locked on her.

I move back quickly and his hand touches empty air. I give him a look that warns him not to come any closer.

A look of pain flashes across his face and his shoulders slump. Somewhere, the stupid part of me that fell for him feels sorry. Sorry that he’s done things that make him hurt. Sorry that I can’t help the broken person in front of me.

Logan’s gaze flickers towards me. They’re the same brilliant blue they were before. I take a few more steps back for good measure and say calmly, “She wanted to wear the clothes you gave her.” What is he doing here?

His eyes go to the piece of denim sticking over my shoulder, covering Lyla’s tiny wrist. Then to the lace sticking up over her dirty, worn shoes.

Logan looks back at me with a dazed expression. “You told her about me,” he says wonderingly.

“Yes.” I look at the trees behind him.

There’s a moment of silence. “Piper.”

I wince and pull Lyla closer to me. I meet his gaze slowly and reluctantly. His eyes say sorry. I look away again. I hear him sigh softly, so softly I almost don’t hear it.

“Look what we got, boys,” a voice says behind me. I tense before I whirl around, keeping myself between him and Lyla. Her arms tighten around my neck. How did I not hear them?

The man is young, around Logan’s age. His face is distorted in an ugly sneer. He and several others have surrounded us in a ragged half-circle. And they have machine guns.