SasoDei: Out to Get You: Prologue

Predictably, the kitchen is empty when I stumble in. It's predictable because my dad won't be up for at least a good four hours, and my mums probably not even home yet. But that's okay, because it mean I can do whatever I want, so long as I'm not too loud. I was pretty sure there's a packet of cereal in the cupboard next to the window, but I look to make sure, and it turns out it's not there. In the end I find some rolls which are still good, so I get out some jam I know we have and sit down at the breakfast bar to eat it.

Our kitchen is pretty nice. Strike that, it's really nice, or would be. The whole house is pretty amazing, really. It's big and spacey, there's a front lobby, then a hallway, then the main room, which is done up all in white, white suede sofas, too. From there you can go into the den, or into the dining room. There's a massive sliding door connecting the dinning room to the main room, and another one connecting it t the kitchen. That's basically the house. I used to think this kind of house was normal, until I started going round my friends houses. Turns out I was wrong. But, yeah, the kitchen, it's (also) white, with these grey granite surfaces. That's some nice stone, seriously. Really the room is divided into two by the breakfast bar, so that one side is like a working space and the other more of an eating space. Mostly I think I'm the only one who bothers to use it. On the wall opposite where I'm sitting, there's a flat screen.

I turn that on while I'm eating. There's not much good stuff on at this time. It's probably something to eight in the morning.

I flick through the channels, trying to find one broadcasting a news programme, no such luck. There's one in fifteen minuets, though. As soon as I figure that out I don't want to eat anymore. I feel sick.

My brain is buzzing and playing mad. I'm so nervous. I want the news to come on now so I can see if there's any update on the situation. It'll only be on the news if there is. It's probably a good sign if there's nothing on, but I still wish they'd say something about it.

For a few minuets, I pick at the crust of the roll with my fingers, watching the jam sink into it, because I didn't put any butter on. The was the white of the bread seems to be slowly absorbing the red jam, making it look pink, makes me want to chuck even more.

But I need to see that news.

If there's any chance they're showing anything about him, I want to see it. I hope they are and I hope they aren't.

The pit of my stomach lurches as the intro to the news comes on, and I have to grab onto the counter top to keep myself upright.

The thing is, I'm not sure I'll be able to face him, if he really does get out. I mean, he effectively killed two people. Someones kids, and maybe someones parents. Manslaughter charges, but the situation wasn't clear, there's still suspicion. It's been five year. He's probably a totally different person. I was never allowed to go see him, so I have no idea what he's like. Is he even someone I want to know now?

The headlines are being announced, and I'm holding my breath.

My mum runs in the kitchen door then. She's out of breath, and I guess she's just got in, because she still has her boots on, even though the heels look like they're killing her. And she hasn't bothered to try and cover up the reek of cigarettes and alcohol from last night. I'm about to make some comment along the lines of 'Whoa, stranger, I haven't seen you since, like, Tuesday!' but then I see her face.

Her makeup is, exuberant as ever, smudged all across her face, looking like war paint, and it's probably been moved around by a combination of sweat and tears and her rubbing her hands over her cheeks again and again, like she does when she's stressed. Is that still the makeup from last night? I think it is, because it's far too outlandish for housekeeping, unless it's this-morning-until-tonight's, if she wasn't planning on dropping by.

She stares at the TV screen across the room incredulously, then turns to me.

"Dei," she says, her voice raspy and desperate, angry, "turn that fucking shit off, they've found new evidence!" And then she collapses on the otherwise clean, white floor.

I watch her from my seat at the breakfast bar, but I don't get down. Instead I start to watch the news again.

Shit. Two days before he got out, too.

What the heck have you done?

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I'm perfectly aware that the summary sucks.

The rating is for later scenes of vilent and sexual nature. 3

xDia