Till Death Unites Us

Chapter 5

I don't resurface again until I feel an incessant tapping on my head.

"Hey, you, Earth to weirdo, are you dead or something? I would rather not have my desk smell of death and decay."

I snap my head upwards, ready with a snappy retort, "You-Holy crap."

"Miss Hayes?" Mr. Honeycutt interrupts.

Not now old man!

"What the hell do you think you're doing here?"

"You again? I should have known. Lady, do you own this city or something?"

"Please! Do you even hear yourself!"

"Miss Hayes! Mr. Moreno! Would you please take your seats so that the class could commence?" Mr. Honeycutt says, the vein in his forehead throbbing and showing his patience was wearing thin. "I doubt you'd like visiting detention on your first day." He adds, shooting the boy a wary warning look.

The boy rolls his eyes as he dumps his backpack and takes the seat beside me, running his hands through his hair to push it back and reveal his blue eyes. The class seems to be watching our exchange with a great deal of interest. Meanwhile, I'm just sitting there, staring dumbly ahead.

I seem to be doing a lot of that whenever he is around.

I shoot him a bewildered look as he makes himself comfortable on the seat that hasn't been occupied since last year. Since...

Not here, Eternity!

"What'd I tell you about swallowing flies?" He says. "Those things are nasty, you know."

Is that the hint of a smile I see?

*************************************************

I open the door to my house, hoping neither of my parents would be home. Since this is my don't-you-dare-be-happy day, they are both home. I inhale a deep breath and walk into the living room. "Hey mom, hey dad"

"Eternity," my dad says without looking up from his stack of papers, while my mom just waves at me from across the room. My dad is a lawyer; his work just never seems to end. I used to resent that before the accident, but now I'm just grateful he doesn't have time for me.

"I'm going up to my room," I say and walk out of this work-full pit. As I'm going upstairs, I can't help but notice how mom has perfected every inch of this house. I live in a two-story pent-house, and my mom, being a decorist, has made sure everything in this house is luxurious and chic. She takes perfectionism to a whole new level, starting from how some of the walls sparkle while others take on some 3-D shapes to the rugs that perfectly fit the areas meant for them. Lucky me; neither of them has enough time to notice the new dimensions of my life.

I enter my room, A.K.A, my safe haven. Where the visions occur, where the bleeding stains the bed sheets, where the screaming rings and echoes, where the crying takes place, where the butterflies in my stomach somersault and the love creeps through the walls. Only that last part doesn't happen anymore.

"Eternity, lunch is ready...what is that bandage for? Are you hurt?" As if this day couldn't go any worse.

"No, mom, I'm fine. This.. This is nothing. I scraped my knees on the...I fell off the porch and scraped my knees," my tone gets higher and I'm thankful she doesn't notice I am lying.

Sympathy washes over her face as she says, "Oh, honey, I'm sorry. We're just so busy, but you know I'll be here for you anytime," she blows me a kiss and walks away. I nod at her vanishing figure and smile, knowing this was never true. Just a couple of words she says to make herself feel better.

My phone beeps. It is Ivory.

'Did u hear about that new boy? Ace Moreno? Oooohh he's so hot!! I'm off to art class now. Call u when I get out! XOXO'

And just like that I remember the thing I've been evading since English class: Life with Ace Moreno is going to be tough.

Although his presence seems to have stolen everyone's attention and diverted it away from me. I'm no longer the topic of their gossip, thank god. At least now the little rumor that Chloe's minions spread about me being pregnant could safely dissolve.

I wonder if telling them I'm a virgin would make any difference.

I take a quick shower to wash the school sweat off and wrap myself in a towel. Rubbing my hand in a circular motion around the mirror, I peer into my reflection, frowning at how much paler my face looks, the effects of bleeding 3-4 times a day, which seems to be triggered by the visions somehow.

A sudden ache piercing my heart, I almost cry at the way I look now, how different it is from the girl I was a year ago. My eyes look exhausted, with dark circles under them evincing the endless sleepless nights I have had. My face is thinner, paler, older somehow.

I shake my head and look down. There is no use thinking about that now, is there?

Suddenly, my hands grip the sink tight to keep myself from slipping as yet another wave of nausea comes along with the now-familiar taste of blood that always accompanies it.

A man in a long coat is coming out of a Starbucks. Holding the foam cup tightly, he takes a sip as he checks his phone for the time, seeing it is 4:55, before he starts crossing the street.

He turns his head and glances over his shoulder, allowing me to see his face.

Mr. Honeycutt?!

No! No no no no! Not him too!

He starts to cross the street, happily sipping his coffee, unaware of his impending death.

I need to do something! I am not gonna stand by and watch another innocent person die! Hell no!

"Mr. Honeycutt!" I shout with everything I have in me. "Mr. Honeycutt!"But he doesn't seem to hear a word I say, continuing to cross the street.

An SUV is coming his way; the driver is too drunk to notice the crime he is about to commit.

I shut my eyes tightly just as the sound of the crash and the screams fill my ears.

I startle back into reality with a loud gasp, sliding into the floor, which is still wet from my shower, but I'm way past caring.

Mr. Honeycutt is going to die! And it is going to be my fault! Somehow, the people I see in my dreams end up dying for real. I must be responsible for it somehow.

The thought makes me sick in the stomach and the next thing I know, I'm throwing up again. After I am done heaving the contents of my stomach, which were an apple and the little juice canteen they sell at the school cafeteria, I lean back against the wall and hug my knees to my chest.

Only then do I notice that my head is bleeding.

There is blood running down my face; I had earlier mistaken it for tears. I press a hand to my forehead, stand up, and start to clean it up. These bruises are going to be harder to hide if they just keep appearing everywhere.

After I am done, I go to my room and flop down on my bed, fearing sleep and the nightmares that come with it but knowing I am too exhausted to fight it.

The last thought on my mind before sleep claims me is: There is no way anyone else I know is dying on my watch.