Maeve lay sprawled over the bed and its sheets like a lateral plank, her legs spread wide and her mouth hanging open; laps of drool slid out from it. She had donned a set of unconventional 'pyjamas' before sleeping: a light blue vest and a pair of baggy shorts a loathsome uncle of hers (Millie's brother) had given her years back.
The sunlight streaming through the curtains licked Maeve's face, but her hair shielded her from most of the glare, keeping her dreams undisturbed.
Bridget stood beside Maeve's bed, looking at this awful scene with a bewildered visage. Maeve looked dead rather than asleep.
"Wake up!" Bridget suddenly yelled and kicked Maeve's foot which hung from the bed at a weird angle.
The black-haired girl suddenly shot awake, her sleepy eyes darting to and fro. Fury seemed to rise from her gut but it fizzled out the instant she remembered where she was. She was going to have to have to get used to not punching down her new alarm. Maeve had shattered her old phone in that same exact manner.
"Hey. Mornin…" she said lazily.
"When's the last time you had a decent sleep?" Bridget asked with concern.
"Hmm… I dunno. It's been a minute," Maeve said and her mouth opened so wide, she might have been prepping to devour Bridget.
"You got to wake up. Mom and dad have been asking for you. It's almost noon."
Maeve's eyes bulged.
"Shit, really?" she cursed.
"No s-words in the house!"
"Right, right. Sorry," Maeve said as she sat on the bed and searched for her phone to look at the time. "I'm not on shift today, am I?"
"No, but that doesn't mean you can just sleep the whole day. After you talk to my parents, I have an exercise for you."
"Exercise?" Maeve asked, her brow rising.
Bridget refused to elaborate and forced Maeve into the shower. Soon, the dark-haired girl looked vibrant and living, and with Bridget's cruel instruction, she wore something decent.
On their way downstairs, the smell of something delectable assaulted Maeve's nostrils. Her stomach let out a growl that made Bridget give her an odd look. Maeve blushed. She cursed herself for being modest yesterday at dinner. She hadn't wanted to appear like a glutton and guilt had been eating at her.
These days, her appetite was as chaotic as it was bottomless. She hid it well from Bridget when they lived apart, but now, that was impossible.
At the foot of the stairs, the two spied an obstacle.
Roddy leaned against the rails with his lip curled upward in a smirk. His atrocious bangs hid far-from-innocent eyes that perused Maeve's figure.
Maeve felt the burning stare and sighed.
"Hey," said Roddy in a suggestive voice. He more than likely thought he sounded cool.
Maeve mussed up his hair as she walked past him. Bridget was less kind. She locked Roddy in a vice and muttered in his ear, "Your browsing history has been ugly lately!"
Soon, Maeve was enjoying a lovely late breakfast cooked by Mrs Page. She didn't hold back this time, but of course, she copied the 'lady-like' manner Bridget consumed her food in order to hide the greedy portions of toast, eggs, bacon, eggs, eggs, bacon and eggs that she ate. It didn't go unnoticed though. Mrs Page smiled.
She was a dedicated housewife and Maeve had to say, she was a damn good one. She ran a not-so-little cake business, which, to Maeve, explained her bubbly, sweet personality.
Mr Page had found Maeve in the lounge after breakfast. Despite how soulless he looked, he was actually a well-regarded writer on a few children's shows streamed on popular networks across the country. Also contradicting his serious, sullen look was his personality. He often behaved in manners most would consider unbecoming of his age.
Maeve had expected the topics Mr Page had introduced as they chatted. He wanted to broaden Maeve's horizons and offer her options that he could directly control as courses of her future. He must have thought Maeve just didn't know what to do with her life; he wasn't wrong.
Mr and Mrs Page didn't know much about how Maeve had grown up except for the fact that she lived with her foster parents. When she had confessed to Bridget the kind of hell Gerald and Millie had put her through five years ago, she (Maeve) had begged her not to tell her parents. Maeve had been horrified at the thought of Millie hearing about it back then. The woman had… significant power – more than Mr Page's for sure.
In the end, Maeve said she needed a bit of time to figure things out, and that she'd consider Mr Page's options.
"You could always become Sally's apprentice and help out with the cakes in the meantime," he said to that. "But if you choose that, I warn you, not many who share her kitchen on the regular escape without gaining a… bulbous figure, let's say."
Right then, a wooden spoon flew into the lounge and smacked Mr Page right in the face.
"Here's a list," Bridget had said after Maeve had stifled her fit of laughter and left the lounge.
"What list?" Maeve asked, rubbing the tears from her eyes.
"The exercise I mentioned before. You're going grocery shopping and-… hey, don't give me that face! This is the perfect way to integrate yourself into the family. You need to a get a feel for this kind of life," Bridget said sternly.
Maeve rolled her eyes as she grabbed the list. All of it was easy enough to get except the massive volumes of eggs, flour and sugar.
"I've given you the simpler items. Should be easy enough for you. I'll pick the rest up when I get back. I'm going to meet some school friends," Bridget said. "The car keys are in a bowl next to the front door. I hope to God your driving is still decent. I WON'T be taking responsible for any dents. You will take that up with J.K Page yourself."
Maeve had obediently taken Mr Page's car – a silver hatchback – to the supermarket after Bridget had left with the sedan.
Because Maeve's skill on the wheel had dulled, she had had to pay extra attention to where she was going. This was a double-edged sword though. It made her notice the faults of other drivers on the road and she flamed them furiously for it. By the time she arrived at the supermarket, Maeve was fuming. She had checked her eyes in the rear-view mirror to see if they had changed; they hadn't, thankfully.
As she stomped out of the car, a strong odour struck her nose.
"Urgh…" Maeve grunted. The smell made her eyes water. "What is that?"
It was like a mix between wine, wood and… blood. It wasn't entirely unpleasant, but Maeve could hardly stand how strong it was.
At first, she thought it was some putrid cologne, but when she suddenly – once again – got the feeling that she was being watched, she dismissed the lame assumption.
'Is it those two again?' she thought and looked around. Only ordinary, joyful or depressed faces registered in her sight.
Maeve didn't want to think about those stalkers right now. Her mood had already been ruined on the road. Was the smell related to them? She didn't know. A part of her wanted to believe that.
The odour soon faded just as abruptly as it appeared.
Maeve grabbed a trolley and entered the supermarket building. The inside welcomed her with a blast of cool air, but Maeve could hardly have enjoyed it. She felt herself get restless, anxious.
In one instance, she bumped into a poor old woman because of how distracted she was. Her eyes seemed to move on their own, conjuring fast shadows that darted here and there but remained unseen by everyone else.
The odour from before blasted her nose again when she reached the cereal aisle.
Maeve turned sharply.
Her heart started beating fast.
'Something's wrong,' she thought and she felt herself turn warm. Something was indeed wrong.
She was definitely being followed, but not by friendly men who went around cleaning up girls' apartments without permission.
Maeve rushed into the beverage aisle. She hoped to use the glass doors sealing away the liquids to catch a glimpse of a suspicious figure that was trying to hide from her. But even as she poured hope into this plan, she felt that it was meaningless.
Somehow, she could tell that her pursuer was anything but natural.
Maeve gulped. Fear and fury tangoed within her mind.
An arm suddenly slung around her waist, a broad body pressed against her from behind. A quick, cold hand grabbed her neck tight, fingers digging into the flesh, and warm breath brushed against her ear.
"Scream, and you lose your head," a cold voice said.
Maeve's horror-struck eyes scrolled to the glass doors on her right. She saw their golden shimmer as they looked back at her, but not the man arresting her figure.