Guilt: A Fractured Minds Novel

Chapter Twenty Eight

My limbs still heavy as sleep clouds my thoughts as I stay unmoving. Something moves near me and then a voice asks, "Wait, so what happened?"

"Alex called me about an hour ago asking for me to pick her up and when I got there she was emotionless. I've never seen her like this before because it was as if someone had taken all the life from her. It looked like she'd been crying and when I tired to ask her what was wrong she wouldn't reply. She was at least able to tell me if she's been hurt, which by the way she wasn't."

"Did you recognize the area at all?"

"No I didn't. It took me awhile to find her..."

"Why didn't she call me?" Hurt laced the soft voice as the deep voice replies with, "I'm sorry Kara, but I don't know. Maybe she just clicked on the first contact that she saw?"

After that silence envelops the room causing sleep to take it's hold on me once again. As one of the two speak I'm already on the brink of sleep and falling.

~

When I open my eyes the first thing I know to be true is I have an headache that is bound to last hours. Light creeps into the room from the cracks in the blinds while the darkness groans in frustration at the sunlight. My throat and mouth is as dry as if it has never been touched by water. Begging for water is foreign. After all how can you long for something you've never had before?

Looking around the room it takes me a moment to realize that it's my own, but how did I get here? The last thing I remember is getting into the car with Ethan after he picked me up. He must've taken me home. That was nice of him to get me into my own bed rather than just leaving me on the couch (which no doubt would have been easier).

Sitting up my limbs protest with a few pops before settling down. Getting off my bed I walk to my bedroom door and upon opening it light pours in. Wincing my head throbs reminding me of its presence. I'll need to get some Advil. That has to help the headache.

Walking over to the bathroom I push open the door. Leaving the light switch off I open the medicine cabinet to find a sea of medication. Rifling through I find the Advil in the back. Reaching for it I wrap my fingers around the bottle and pull it out knocking a few others down onto the counter.

"Are you kidding me?" I mutter picking them up. One of them is a generic cold medicine while the other is something called Zyprexa. Reading the bottle see who it's prescribed to: William Lawrence. What is Zyprexa and why is it prescribed to Father? Looking at the medication I see that the bottle is half way filled and the expiration date has long since passed.

Putting the medication back I place two tablets of Advil in my hand before walking down the hall and into the kitchen. Throwing them into my mouth I swallow it down with water before turning to walk back to my room. The floorboards creak behind me causing me to turn around. My Father slowly walks towards me.

"Every time I see you I'm only reminded of what I've done." He snarls while pointing at me as if it's my fault that she disappeared. Its then I remember Heather's words, "You know blaming others is a sign of low self esteem."

Shaking those thoughts away I turn away from him and walk back to my room. I hear him produce more words fueled by anger as I close the door to my bedroom. Turning the lock I walk over to bed before crawling underneath the covers. Why can't I just forget everything? I'd give anything to go back to yesterday and not knock on Olivia's door. I'd rather not know what happened to her than know that she's dead.

Staring at the patterns on my covers I feel somewhat protected in my cocoon of blankets. Almost as if the world no longer exists outside this small area where I reside. Forever in the dark where it's warm and familiar. There's no more hurt or disappointment because nothing ever changes. Tori wouldn't be missing none the less dead. She's be in her room getting ready for a run or talking on the phone with one of her close friends. I'd hear an occasional laugh and upon walking in she'd tell me to get out. When someone would ask who that was she would say, "My annoying little sister," because that's who (at times) I am-was-to her.

I'd rather just stay here and never get out from under my covers. I'm like a little kid hiding from a monster except for the fact that my "monster" is dealing with my sister death. Why couldn't it be that simple? I think while feeling the stitching that holds the blanket together unlike my life that is unraveling before my very eyes. Closing my eyes from the world I'm left in a space of black. Feeling tears well up I press the palms of my hands into my eyes to stop them because of this sparks of color paint the inside of my closed eyelids.

If only life were like sparks of color shooting across black like fireworks. A loud scream as it soars into the night sky before a deafening boom is heard. Then almost as if it were least expected an explosion of colors raining down upon us like snow. Lighting up the smiling faces of the spectators as another round of rolor is drawing their attention from one thing to the next.

Why must life be like the dark of night and not a warm sunrise that paints the sky in unexpected colors? I question as tears run down my cheeks for the millionth time in the past hour.