Scarred Memories

Chapter 1

Okayy people new story here! Just want to let you all know that this is a Co-written story! You can check out CassandraCruz page. She's the other mastermind behind the whole story. So please no hate comments and we would really appreciate it if you could give us some feedback and make sure to VOTE! 

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-Rubberband360 

___________________________ 

6/9/2007 

Dear Diary, I had a bad dream again! Only this time it was worse. I woke up crying. This time there was this handsome guy. He looked maybe two years older than me.  

He wanted me to follow him into the fire. I told him no over and over again, but he wouldn't listen. He held on to my wrist and tried to drag me into the burning house. I screamed as loud as I could. No one came to help me. I asked him why? Why did he want me to burn with him? He didn't answer me, just kept on dragging me towards hell. As much as I tried to fight back it was no use. He was just too strong! Finally, I gave up. I let him take me. Each time we got closer to the fire, I could feel the scorching heat even more. Right as we're about to be eaten by the flames I woke up. It felt so real. Cold sweat poured down my face and my body trembled from head to toe.  

Why do I continue to have these awful dreams? It's like I can never be rid of these horrible images. I'll never be safe. They will always be there, in the back of my head, reminding me of the things I want to forget. Today I learned something. I'll always be scarred and I have the face to prove it.  

-Aurabell 

I shut my diary and shoved it under my pillow, tossing my black ink pen on the nightstand beside my very small twin sized bed.  

I rubed my temples as I starred off into space, seeing nothing.  

I've had a major headache since my latest nightmare. I had to take two advils, but the pain has yet to dissapear.  

With a sigh, I got up off of my bed. I had nothing to do in my room. It was fairly clean. I began to feel agitated. I needed to find something to occupy my hands with or else I'll go crazy.  

I decided there would be work for me downstairs. I left my tiny room. I was careful not to make any noise as I made my way down the creaky wooden stairs. My alarm clocked had read 4:15 A.M and the last thing I would need is to wake up the whole house.  

I smiled slightly in victory when I reached the bottom step. It quickly dissapeared and I remembered what I had come downstairs for.  

I made my way to the shabby kitchen. I clicked my tounge when I took in the piled up dishes in the sink, the dirty countertops, the kitchen table full of bills and plates. People in this house were such pigs.  

I went straight to work. First, I cleared off the table and counters. I sprayed clorox all over the surface, then using a clean white cloth, wiped them down. I piled the dishes up neatly, so I could set the water. As I scrubbed each plate I was glad we didn't have a dishwasher. The more work, the better.  

Soon I finished, just as the early morning light filled the house. I had cleaned the place from top to bottom.  

I plopped down onto the sofa exhausted. With the back of my hand, I wiped the bead of sweat from my forhead. I admired the now clean place.  

Ever since I could remember I have always had OCD. Nothing in this world irriated me more than a dirty house. I couldn't stand anything out of order. Being clean was the only way that made me feel I had my life in order. From anything simple to a couple of books on the shelf not neatly stacked against each other could drive me crazy in an instant.