The Third Wheel

Twenty-One ~ Her Dark Side

Dedicated to HarryLolitaStyles for coming up with #Scariella hehe, makes me giggle every time :P

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They’re back.

Sleep had me trapped in a coma I couldn’t wake from; a coma from where my worst nightmares came back to haunt me. Nightmares that I hadn’t had the night before. The night I was wrapped in Scott Parker’s arms…and passed out. 

The first night in ten years.

The woman’s screams ripped through my shaking figure. Bloodshot frantic eyes darted to the shaking doorway, loud male voices echoing throughout the small room. Bloodshot sea green eyes - eyes like mine. Fists thumped the wood. 

She hadn't been expecting them. She hadn’t realised they would come at all.

I watched, transported back to my eight year old self, thin childlike body crushed in mummy’s surprisingly steely grip, for all her gaunt sickly appearances. 

Fear at her screams made my heart beat erratically. My breath caught in my throat.

The door shattered off it’s hinges. I jerked behind mummy in terror, clutching at her pale arms. The arms that were dotted with needle pricks and bruises. She shielded me from the debris.

“Stay away!” She yelled hoarsely, dragging me back into the corner of my room, clutching me to her wasting form. “I said, stay back!”

I whimpered as the men advanced, sharing a look amongst each other I couldn't place my finger on. My young eyes were fixated on the the holster strapped to their thighs. Guns. They had guns. I didn't ask why.

“Ma’am, your daughter needs to come with us.”

With a gasp, my eyes flew open.

The sound of my heartbeat filled the dark room. The red glow of the digital 4:05am clockfigures the only light. Shakily I brushed the sweaty mahogany strands from my clammy forehead, desperately trying to shut out the tormenting memories. My fingers unconsciously touched the three inch long scar on the left of my neck.

I shuddered and quickly slipped from bed.

Sensing my movement, Panda strolled into my room, purring and rubbing himself against my legs, peering up at me with his glowing cat eyes set in a sweet black and white face.

“Sweet my ass,” I muttered irritably, picking him up and carrying him to the kitchen.

I methodically poured him some milk as a treat, scratching his head and tiptoeing to the shower. Avoiding the mirror, I stripped and desperately scrubbed my skin until it was bleeding raw in some spots. Flushed and pink, I wrapped a towel around my body, staring at the fogged over mirror apprehensively.

Taking a deep breath, I swiped a hand to clear the mist. I physically tensed. I’d always loved my eyes, they were the one physical trait I liked about myself. But sometimes they were too green; too similar to hers. Too young to look so weathered. To be filled with such unimaginable cruelties.

I dressed in skinny jeans, boots and a hoodie, grabbing AP Calculus homework and heading out into the dark early hours of the morning.

It’d been two days since Tristan broke my heart. Two days since I woke up hungover from the best sleep I’d ever had - but the worst mistake I’d ever made - two days for my heart to gradually shatter into dust. Two days. 48 hours, 2,880 minutes of living hell.