Her skin sliced smoothly beneath my knife and she screamed, looking up at me with pain and pleading flooding blue eyes. Between slices I stabbed the knife in hard to those places on the body where nothing was vital to keeping you alive but felt pain acutely, twisting the blade to a chorus of high pitched screeching. Behind it all, the sound of metal in flesh and pain, was whimpered begging, asking me to stop, and asking why I was doing this. But there was a sound more horrific than anything, a hollow laugh that sounded maniacal and filled with mocking that came from my own throat. I bolted up in bed, spine ramrod straight, aware that there was blood curdling screaming filling my ears and that my body was covered in cold sweat. Everything seemed …show more content…
Still, every time he appeared next to me a little too suddenly for comfort, I felt a disconcerting certainty that he did not belong near me or really anyone. However, Brennon did bring coffee daily and the caffeine helped to keep me awake. Today was no exception and I knew that the second Brennon settled next to me, the espresso he slid to me a quiet acknowledgement of last night’s events. “So, rough night,” he tried conversationally and I narrowed my eyes at him, trying to convey just how bad of a way that was to start a conversation, considering he seemed not to understand such things. “Bren, you know it was bad, like it always is. ‘Rough night’ doesn’t exactly cover it,” I said and drank my espresso bitterly. Brennon gave me an apologetic smile that I was far too used to seeing and also far too ready to accept and move forward from. “It was bad, but nights are always bad, I’m just glad that things are different than they were when you first were admitted,” Brennon said cheerfully, and I tried to roll my eyes, but his enthusiasm made me stop. I still remembered when I first had come here and how different it’d been with Bren, when he’d still called me Emeline and I’d had symmetrical, normal hair. I slipped into my memories as I was more predisposed to do these days. …show more content…
For some reason I was not in my own skin for this memory, but an onlooker, which was probably a reaction that symbolized me separating myself from this husk of myself or something like that. I was sure that was what a psychologist would say anyway. “Don’t call me that,” I said, no fire or life behind the words, and for that matter, no answer to the question asked. It was hard to watch myself like this and know that it wasn’t so far off in time from now. “Emeline is your name, do you prefer to be called something else?” Brennon asked and what used to be me peered at him with an alien intensity that even made me wince now to watch but seemed not to perturb Bren. “Dionna,” was all I said before falling silent again. To Brennon’s credit, he kept right along with the calm questioning as if he didn’t have something akin to a tumbleweed sitting in the seat across from him. “Have you always gone by that? I was under the impression that you were always called Emeline by your friends and family,” and I knew the moment I would snap and sure enough, the second I predicted-or remembered really because predicting the past isn’t predicting at all- blind fury filled eyes so recently devoid of
My heart instantly dropped. “What about Quenette?” I stammered. I jumped up from my seat in the living room. “Who is on the phone?”
“You don’t know me.” My voice sounded as unsteady as his stance. He shrugged as he chuckled; the laughter turned my blood cold. He seemed to know something I did not.
“So blondie, what’s your name?” Edward smirked. Luke rolled his eyes at him, but replied, “It’s Luke,” Edward nodded his head in content.
“I’m glad one of us is confident,” I said. I rolled onto my back and stared up at the ceiling, wishing I could sink into the mattress and sleep forever. “It may be too late for me to do anything.”
The voices in my head become a swelling crescendo. I forcefully grab my head in between my hands as the words echo through my skull. Pain pulsates with every word. I squeeze my temples hard with my palms but the pain is unbearable. Clawing at my face, a scream rips through me; sapping every last drop of energy in my body. Like a rag doll, I collapse onto the cold concrete floor as a growing darkness overcomes me.
Impossible! This couldn’t be happening! I hallucinated everything . . . right? How could this be real? Was I dying . . . or was I really getting a second chance?
“Would you be my girlfriend,” he abruptly said catching me off guard. I just met this man and he didn’t look like the relationship type.
“It didn’t help that you were shaking the ladder around,” Brandon said indignantly. He didn’t interact much with girls, and this wasn’t going too well so far. “…I’m Brandon.”
“You act as if that is a well known name, explain it miss” added Lizzie cutting into the conversation.
When she came to, Katherine’s body was racked with an insurmountable amount of pain. She felt like she’d topple over at the slightest gust of wind. The girl knew she’d have to call 911. She’d have to explain that her mother had attacked her, that she’d tried to gut her with a bread knife. Her movements were slow, jerky, and painful, and every breath, every step she took caused a wave of searing pain throughout her
“Stop! Just stop Jared. Don’t act like you know what I’m going through! I don’t have to take this from you right now. I have enough on my plate.” I quickly stood up and grabbed my new cup of whiskey. Unable to keep my balance, I tripped and spilled my drink on my already white-stained shirt, and on the floor. Great. Just what I needed right now.
“Violet. You can call me Violet. And what are you called by your peers, hobo man?”
“We can if we focus, what choice do we have?” there was a silence “what’s your name?” I looked up at him, his hair was dark and matted down, and dirt covered his clothes from the struggle more than likely.
‘Did you call me? ‘I was wondering if you’re okay.’ He turned towards her only to see her grey pale face starring back at him. He moved closer to her, but not enough to touch her. He could see her anxiety and distress. He wanted to get closer still but she stepped back and turned from his peering eyes, asking multiple questions at once. He retreated slightly, enough to reassure her. She did not want him to intrude but she knew she had to release the build up that was taking place.
My stomach retched, my throat dry, had I got myself into this mess? A distant thud echoed across the cold, hard floor, ricocheting into my ear. Someone was coming.