I woke up around 2:30 in the morning. A cold sweat dripped off my
brow, and my breath came in gasps. I touched my face and found it soaking wet
with fresh tears… Had the blood-curdling scream I heard in my dream really been
me? My hand reached over to grab my phone- no messages, and I still had time to
sleep; not that I would be able to. I touched the empty place beside me where
he had been just a week ago, and more tears rolled down over my pursed lips.
Why had he done this? Would he haunt my dreams forever? No. It has only been a few hours, I told myself. The wounds on my
heart were still raw.
So many times I had awoken on nights
like this and felt his presence against me. It had been a blessing of
reassurance; now it just drove the stake deeper and deeper into my back. I
rolled over and tried to forget the hurt and push it away, but no matter what I
did, I couldn’t escape. I thought about how not even two weeks ago he had been
here beside me, arms wrapped tightly around my body so I was curled against
him, and he didn’t want to leave me because I was so sick. He waited until I
had fallen asleep to leave. The bed shifted and I awoke slightly- only enough
to feel him gently kiss my fevered head and whisper, “I love you.” He had
seemed so perfect. Why had everything changed? I laid awake for what seemed
like forever, my pillow slowly becoming soaking wet as I slipped farther and
farther into an abyss of darkness and pain.
*
* *
I felt his presence and opened my eyes ever so
slowly. Rolled over onto my back I grumbled, “What?”
“Are
you getting up this morning?” My brother asked as he towered over my bed.
“Um, yeah, that was kind of the
plan,” I said as I rubbed the sleep from my eyes.
He shrugged, “Well, it’s 6:58 so you
might want to get up.”
“Seriously?” I asked, completely
frustrated with myself. Today was just going to be completely awesome. Not.
I rushed to pull on some sweats
(hawt, I know) and a t-shirt that didn’t
remind me of Cain. I stumbled into the house, and my mother looked at me, “Are
you really going to school?” I read the concern that was written all over her
face.
“Yes, I’m going,” Was my simple
answer.
We got in the truck, and the ride to
school was quiet. I turned the radio dial and all that seemed to be on were
love songs. Ew. In less than five
minutes, I regretted my decision and turned it off. My brother looked down at
his phone, “We need to stop at Hannaford. I want breakfast.”
I sighed, hadn’t he already had
three bowls of cereal? “Fine.”
We pulled into the parking lot about
fifteen minutes later, and he ran inside while I just sat there in the silence.
My eyes brimmed with tears. Was today already off to such a horrible start? The
thought of having to see him made me numb with grief. My mind drifted to a
place of rest with my eyes out of focus where no thoughts existed. I was still
hoping that I was at home asleep, dreaming a horrible nightmare- one that I had
had often. But, in reality, I knew that this was true. That he wouldn’t come to
my car when he got to school and sit with me. That we wouldn’t walk to class
together. That he wouldn’t bring me in for a quick kiss before homeroom when he
thought nobody was looking. I snapped out of it when the door swung open, and
my brother climbed inside.
I started the truck up and we made
our way back to the road. We sped past a car parked beside an old abandoned
garage, and before my brother could even get the words out, the blue lights
came on. This was a school zone. I immediately burst into tears; I was such a
mess. To make it worse, my uncle drove by after dropping our cousin off at
school. I pulled over and sat there in all my glory. This would be my life now;
the universe would truly never stop shitting all over me. The officer came over
to my window and asked, “Excuse me, Miss, do you know how fast you were going?”
I used my sleeve to wipe the tears
off my face, “I’m not sure, maybe 48? I’m sorry; I really don’t have any idea.”
“Well, fast enough for me to want to
pull you over. Can I have your license, registration, and insurance card,
please?” He asked.
I motioned for my brother to open
the glove box, and I dug through the envelope full of papers. I gave him
everything, and he walked back to his squad car. People drove by and stared as
I sat there in a panic, still crying (pathetic, I know), and my brother stuffed
his face with powdered donuts. He took forever; car after car after car passed
us and all eyes seemed trained on the girl about to get a ticket the morning
after the worst night of her life. I looked in the rear view and started
shaking as I saw him shuffling papers around, “No! Oh, God, no, he’s writing me
a ticket!”
My brother turned and sighed,
obviously annoyed with my emotions, “Seriously, he has our insurance stuff. Get
a grip, Claire.”
Ugh, was I really that stupid? Finally, he walked back
over to us and started asking more questions, “Who is this vehicle registered
to?”
“M-my parents, Liana and Joseph
Thomas,” I stammered, afraid that the yellow paper in his hand was the ticket
to no license for another year.
“And what is your mother’s full name
and phone number?” I told him, barely able to breathe. I knew she would kill me
when she found out. Would she have to pick us up from school? He looked at me,
“Alright, I’m not going to give you a ticket today, but I do want you to watch
your speed. I’m just going to call your mom and make sure she’s had contact
with you today.”
I finally let out my breath, so
relieved that I managed to keep my license. I started up the car and finished
the 50 foot drive to the school parking lot. After parking the truck and
walking to homeroom, I was exhausted. The day had hardly begun, and I couldn’t even
manage to keep my eyes open. I didn’t even want to imagine what the rest of the
day was going to be like- let alone the future. It looked too blank and dark
and sad without his warm smile there. All our plans had been smashed against
the rocks during high-tide. I sat there by the window, staring out into what
seemed like empty space- an empty life. I no longer looked forward into what was
to come, only focusing on my current confusion.
Soon enough, the bell rang and I was forced to
face him. He walked into homeroom with tired eyes that didn’t drift away from
the floor. He was obviously ignoring me. I knew I looked like crap, but could he
really not bear to see what he had done to me? The next fifteen minutes slurred
together and then first bell rang. I sprang up, eager to get away from all the
questioning stares. When I had just made it to the porch on the front of the
portable, he caught up to me. I felt his hand slip into the crook of my arm,
pulling me back toward him and out of the way of traffic. His eyes met mine in
a nervous glance, “I really am sorry.”
I
yanked myself away from him, not wanting him to see the tears that would
shortly follow. “I will never forgive you,” I spat the words in his face as I
turned and left. I looked back over my shoulder to see him a few seconds later,
and he just stood there in silence. The crowd parted around him and his empty
gaze followed me as I walked away. My heart cracked, creating another scar I
wasn’t sure would heal.
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