^ Sky's outfit for this chapter ^

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H o l l o w s   I n
T    I    M    E
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The nurses and doctors left. They had weighed me, and claimed that I was severely underweight. They set up a meeting with a nutritionist, who would help me get "back onto my feet." When Jameson was told how much I weighed, I could see in his eyes that he was worried, perhaps shattered. It was still his fault.

They did other health check-ups too, and took pictures of me to show the damage done to my physical frame. I felt like a puppet by the time they finally left.

I was now sitting upright in bed, watching as Jameson scurried around like a mouse in front of me.

"It's a bit light in here—don't you think it's a bit light?" He asked, pausing for a breath. I shrugged.

"I don't know," I looked up at the clock, "It's ten to nine." Jameson frowned, then looked up at the clock above the door.

"Oh, that clock has been broken since April." Then, with one swift motion, Jameson had plucked it from the wall and laid it onto the surface of my vanity. He shifted back into his room then came out with pack of batteries. He pulled off the back of the clock then proceeded to perform clock-surgery.

"You're nineteen." I acknowledged, startling Jameson slightly.

He looked over at me. "Yes, I am." He confirmed before turning back to the clock. I knew he was nineteen, I didn't have to guess. I wasn't locked in a cage, out of civilisation, when he turned nineteen. I remembered it oh-so-clearly, how I was already suffering, and then those memories of him were drudged up after I spent so much time ignoring them.

"How was Christmas?" I asked him. I had to catch up with this world.

Jameson paused again, then, whilst looking at me, placed the cover back on the clock. "Lonely." He murmured, almost too quiet for me to hear, before hanging the clock above the door.

"There we go," He announced, "It's quarter past six." He stood by the doorway as I watched him.

"What is the date today?" I shot at him next. Of course, as if it was instinctive, Jameson knew the date by heart without any reference to a calendar.

"It's Wednesday, the sixth of September." He informed me and I looked down, trying to figure out what that meant to me.

Jameson edged over to my bed, and just stood there. His eyes flickered from my bed to me, before he dragged my vanity chair over to the corner of the room and sat on it. He was a good metre away from me, where he deserves to be. Where I want him to be.

"What was summer like? Was it hot?" Full of questions. Also full of absolutely no information.

Jameson stared at me, "I've had better summers." He admitted. "It was hot, but last year was hotter." He then told me. His hands were dancing in his lap, folding and unfolding, almost as if he was nervous.

"Sky," he addressed me and I looked over at him. "What's the last date that you remember?" He asked. It seems, that in my rush to find out information, Jameson also had a rush to find out information. I must have lost the ability to read him, because I used to be able to tell when there was something on his mind.

I fumbled. I knew exactly what the last date I remembered was. Because I knew exactly what I did on that day. Who I hurt. "May the eighteenth." I told him. I could remember looking at the low battery on my phone as I sprinted, then the date had flashed up. I almost dropped the device when I found out how long I had been gone.

No matter if I couldn't read Jameson, Jameson could still read me. He avoided the subject.

Except, he didn't completely avoid it. "Were you at home at that point?" He asked me.

I clenched my teeth. "I thought I was having a meeting where I discussed these events. Not with you." I spat. I no longer could stand to look at him.

"Look, Sky," he rose from his seat, "I know that it must've been hard for you–"

"You know nothing." My head shot up, and I glared at him. How dare he? How dare he claim to 'know' what I've been through? Jameson stared at me, unsure of what to do next.

"Leave." I commanded, laying down in my bed and turning over so that I couldn't see him. "I want to sleep." Jameson didn't respond, but he flicked the lights off. The last few hours of dim light greeted me, and I accepted them gratefully.

I shut my eyes. And I tried to shut off my reeling brain. Sleep, Sky, there's always another morning to beat at you. And that's the reassurance that I fell asleep to. No goodnight kisses, no warm hugs, no smiles, no jokes—just me. And I fell asleep, with just myself as my company.

When I woke up, I was still myself. But it was later. I nearly cried out in relief when I saw the time. Twelve in the afternoon. I had slept through the rising sun. I had also slept for just under seven hours. That is the best sleep I've had in six months.

Something moved in the corner of my vision. It was Jameson. "Sorry," he apologised, "I didn't mean to scare you." I turned away, slipping out of my bed and into my bathroom, where I made myself look more alive. I retreated back to my room, plucking the first baggy garments I could find. I didn't want the world to notice my ill frame.

Just as I was about to take off my top, Jameson walked into the room. The lower half of my stomach, of which sunk in, was the only thing on show, yet suddenly I felt so exposed that I wanted to crawl back into that cage and rock myself backwards and forwards whilst I cried.

"I'm sorry." He apologised, but his eyes didn't leave me. I backed into the bathroom and slammed the door shut. Breathing heavily, I changed into my clothes and then brushed out my frizzy hair. I needed to cut it.

I rushed out of my bathroom. "I need to cut my hair." I announced to Jameson, who was standing by his doorway, peering into his room.

He turned around and rose an eyebrow, "Right now?" His voice was quiet and I frowned. "Because your nutritionist is here." He informed me, then presented me with a very healthy looking blonde. Imagine the irony, I'm a blonde, but I look dead. Did Jameson choose the nutritionist? Is this what he would prefer me to look like?

Jameson left us alone, but kept the door ajar. The woman sat on the chair that Jameson had pulled out earlier this morning.

"Hello Sky, I'm Wendy." She introduced. Oh, joy. Go and fly off with Peter Pan, you picture-perfect blonde pri–

"How are you feeling?" She asked me. I swallowed. This reminded me of my therapy sessions back home. Tears pricked at my eyes and I tried to shake them off, directing my moment of weakness at Wendy the nutritionist.

"You're not a therapist." I shot at her.

She rose her eyebrows. "No," she began. "But your mental state does have an effect on your eating habits, yes." I blinked.

"I'm sorry if you weren't informed, but I don't exactly have an eating disorder." I spat, raising my voice. I was two seconds away from calling her a prick. Two. Seconds.

"Is everything okay?" Jameson popped his head round the doorway.

"Yeah," I gritted my teeth, "Just getting to know Wendy." Her name dripped from my lips like poison. Jameson looked confused, but said nothing more as he shrunk back into his room.

"Let's start with something simple," She produced a tub of yoghurt and granola out of nowhere.

"Like I said," as I snatched my food from her hands. "I don't have an eating disorder." I dug into my food.

"Maybe. But there's so many months you can go without food before it all goes pear-shaped when you eat again." As I tried to ignore the food pun, I realised that she was right. It tasted weird. Like cardboard with spikes.

You're just imagining it, Sky.
Always imagining things, Sky.

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Food
Food

Food is my favourite

But you know what

That doesn't matter right now

BECAUSE

BABY IS ONE MONTH OLD YASSSSS

19/08/17

SO

GUESS WHAT

ITS

THE FIRST EVER

TALLYTIME

The One Month Tally (before posting this):
#663 In Mystery/Thriller
504 Reads
30 Votes
96 Comments
15 Parts
(14 Chapters)

Early days man

Early days

This book still a embryo

-excuse me what did you just call me

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Next update: Monday-Funday
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CHAPTER SIXTEEN SPOILER:

You may be having fun in the present, but a trip to the past is now overdue.

We join Sky back in 2016, and despite the year, there's always something to investigate.

And when your end goal is something you want so badly, it's worth following invisible leads.

But will they lead anywhere?

Or will the investigation lead to nothing but sorrow?