Lessons Learned

Part 2

Zayn nodded and followed Simon onto the stage. I watched as he joined the other boys and attempted to dance. He wasn't very good, but neither were many others.

My vision blurred and when it cleared the stage was once again empty except for me and the older version of Zayn.

"Well?" he asked, sticking his hands in his pockets.

"Well what? I don't get it."

Zayn sighed and sat down on the edge of the stage, the heels of his military boots knocking against the wood. I cautiously joined him, getting comfortable a few feet away. I didn't understand how his memory was supposed to help me in any way.

"By the way, what was that?"

Zayn looked up from his phone when I spoke but didn't respond.

I made a joke to cover my confusion of this whole deal. "I didn't know there was cell phone reception in heaven."

"We're not in heaven," he replied shortly.

"So this is hell than?" I spread out my arms to indicate the echoing quiet of the auditorium. "It's not as bad as I thought it would be."

"No it's not hell."

"What is it then?"

"A limbo between realities. On one side you have life, the other death. We're in the middle."

"And why am I here?"

Zayn was still staring out over the sea of seats, "You're supposed to be learning some valuable life lessons."

I let out a sarcastic laugh, "It's too late for life lessons. How about some death lessons instead?"

"I told you," Zayn's deep brown eyes met mine. "It's never too late."

"But I'm dead." I liked the way it sound rolling off my tongue so I said it again, louder this time. "I'm dead!"

Suddenly Zayn's hands were gripping the tops of my arms tightly. He spoke slowly, through gritted teeth. "No Annabelle Lynn Myers, you are not dead."

"I am!" I wrenched away. I had to be dead, I just had to be. "I killed myself this morning! Look!" I thrust out my arms, flipping them over to reveal the raw scars on my wrists. I was surprised to find the skin smooth and flawless, as if it had never been damaged.

"What?" I murmured in confusion as I ran my fingers gently over the perfect skin. Where were my scars? I'd been cutting for years. "Where did they go?"

Zayn shrugged nonchalantly, "We don't have injuries here."

"What do you mean?"

"Any signs of previous self-harm are removed while you are in my limbo."

"This is so weird," I muttered. "So how do I get out of this 'limbo' and just get on with being dead?"

"Depends," the dull thud of his heels hitting the wooden stage was starting to annoy me. So was the way he wouldn't straight up answer my questions.

"Depends on what Zayn?"

"It depends on how well you learn." Zayn climbed to his feet and held out a hand to help me up. "Want to dance?"

He had just told me I was stuck in some limbo between life and death, wouldn't clue me in on how to get out of it, and skirted around every question I asked. Now he wanted to dance?

"No thank you," I replied stiffly. At least not until he stopped talking in circles.

"Okay," he stuck his hands deep into his pockets and stood above me awkwardly. I could feel his eyes burning a hole into the back of my head.