Welcome to Paradise

Chapter 2

It was back. Reality was back. And Wendy hated it. 

She lay in bed. Her eyes were fixed on the ceiling. She wasn’t crying. Simply staring. She couldn’t cry. Not like she wasn’t sad anymore. The tears just wouldn’t come. 

Her head felt heavy. Her mouth was filled with the metallic taste of blood. Her own blood. 

A soft knock, barely audible, could be heard. 

“Come in.” Wendy croaked out horsley. 

A familiar face peeked through the door. Sammy. 

“Do you need anything?” Sammy’s bittersweet voice sounded from across the room. 

Wendy didn’t reply. She just stared at her friend. She had known Sammy for the longest out of all her friends. Wendy vividly remembered how they had met.

It had been raining. Pouring. Wendy and her brother had watched from the window as a young girl desperately tried to seek refuge. Wendy knew that she shouldn’t let strangers into their apartment. Wendy knew that it was dangerous. You never knew what they could do. But the pity she felt for the poor female convinced her usually reasonable brain to make one exception. 

Her first mistake. 

The girl was drenched. But not only in water. A scarlet liquid dampened her clothing. A small, rusty dagger was clenched in the girl’s hand. 

Wendy looked at her face. The girl was pretty. Extremely pretty. She had small, crystal-blue eyes that nervously darted around the room. Her sleek black hair was draped over her face. She looked young, too. Eleven, maybe twelve. Wendy couldn't tell. 

She couldn’t tell the girl to leave. She couldn’t. 

So she let her stay. 

Later, Wendy learned her name. Sammy. Nice and simple. It fit her. 

Sammy was incredibly dubious of everything. She would do everything herself, from cooking her own food to sleeping on the floor as to not be near her or Peter. 

She hated being touched. She hated people in general. She never explained why sometimes she came home draped in blood. She always carried her little iron dagger with her. 

She was scary. Sure, she wasn’t particularly tall or buff, but her stare was deathly. It was so strong, so commanding, but yet it had a small, barely noticeable layer of sadness, a layer of guilt that would constantly be plastered on her face. 

Sammy never told them why she came home in blood. We never asked. She appreciated that about us. She never truly opened up, but there did come a small bond, a small thread of trust between us. A trust that kept growing. Until they trusted each other with their life. It was weird. They barely ever talked. But they considered each other friends. Family. 

Bit by bit, Wendy dazed out of her memories. Sammy stood patiently at the door. 

“Stay.” Wendy demanded, forcing the word out of her tired mouth. 

Sammy stayed. Silence. Not awkward, but comforting. Like a small blanket, protecting them from what had happened. 

“How long was I out?” Wendy whispered. 

“Too long.” Sammy answered quietly. 

And then the tears came. She didn’t try to stop them. Heck, it would be impossible, even if she tried. So she let them roll out of her. 

Sammy hesitantly walked over to her. And roughly pulled her into a hug. 

The breath was knocked out of Wendy.