Every Death You Take

Chapter 1

Each day I would wake up from night terrors, drenched in warm sweat; her face embedded into my everlasting memory. I began to see her horror filled expression everywhere I turned, in windows and in the reflections of mirrors. The look would haunt me for the rest of my life.

I reluctantly rolled out of bed and hobbled to the bathroom. My eyes had become swollen and blood shot from the hours I spent weeping in her room.

Everything I began to do felt like slow motion. My body was excruciatingly sore as though I had run a marathon, and I started to look and feel three times my age. My headaches escalated into migraines and I caught myself popping Advil constantly.

Dust had settled around the house and dishes were piled up so high, the odor was vile. The blood still stained the wooden floor from my refusal to clean it. Just by the sight of it I would gag from absolute disgust.

The temperature in the house was at an all time low. No matter how high I rose the heat, a chilling breeze continued to fill the air. I ignored the possibility of it being her. I refused to believe in that nonsense.

I spent most of my time searching for small apartments. I couldn't stand the thought of living here without her. Her scent followed me around and I spent most nights sleeping in her room.

Her room was different than mine. Quite the opposite. I felt like a teenage boy compared to her with my rock band posters littering my walls and her floral canvases neatly placed around the room.

I ceased my morning and night time runs and replaced them with new...hobbies.

Just in this past week I had picked up a few unhealthy stress habits such as biting my nails to the nub, scratching my skin until I bled, and biting my lips till they became bloodied. I couldn't help myself. Every time I tried to stop I would end up doing it without any intention.

I threw up about three times a day, not able to hold anything down, and had to eat in the smallest portions one could think of.

I felt like a bird. A bird with two broken wings.

Useless.

On a normal Thursday unlike this one, I would find myself taking a few college classes to complete my bachelors in literature and afterwards head over to the local bowling alley where I had been working at for years.

The bowling alley was small and quaint, and although the pay wasn't great, the staff definitely made up for it.

They had become family to me and I refused to part ways with them. However at this very moment in time, I couldn't bare the thought of returning and seeing all of their sympathetic faces.

Today there was a tournament planned with all of the pro bowlers in town. I'd come to know the majority of them and picked up a few tips. I myself wasn't a pro bowler, but I was definitely a lot better than the average. On my days off, I usually took my mom to play a few games and have pizza. She loved the cozy environment. Everyone knew everyone.

The weather today seemed to match my mood, Florida never disappointed with its unexpected thunderstorms. I didn't mind them, the lightning fascinated me. My mom on the other hand couldn't stand it. She would always plug in her pink headphones and blare Beyonce's newest release until she completely blocked out the bellowing thunder.

The sight never failed to make me laugh. Sometimes I questioned if deep down our roles were switched and I was actually the mom and she was the child. Our lives seemed like we were the stars of "Freaky Friday". I was definitely the more responsible one and sometimes she would call me "Mom" or respond with, "Yes mother".

I stared at my reflection in the shattered mirror, cringing. I smashed it out of anger the night after everything happened, and never got around to cleaning up the shards of glass.

This girl was unrecognizable, a stranger. Her brunette hair was matted and disheveled in all sorts of directions, under eyes so dark and puffy no amount of makeup could hide it, and her wrinkled black dress stopped just short of her knees. Her olive skin was completely washed out and her purple veins were prominent from lack of nutrition. She looked like a tragic mess. And well, she was.

Sighing, I threw my hair up into a messy bun and added a large headband to conceal the knotted disaster.

The house was dark. I hadn't turned on a light in a week hoping I wouldn't have to see any memories and face the truth. I was in denial, praying that this was all just a sick nightmare that I would wake up from eventually. But I knew I was wrong. I knew I was wrong when I banged my head on the concrete wall for hours trying to wake myself up. I knew I was wrong when I held her in my arms, when the crimson blood seeped into my own white cotton t-shirt dyeing it a new hew. I knew I was wrong. I just refused to believe it.

The toast and strawberry jam I ate for breakfast tasted bland. Nothing tasted the same anymore, nothing I did was the same anymore.

I refused to answer the numerous phone calls from family, friends, and neighbors who wanted to check up on me. They were all really just interested in the story and the happenings of that unspeakable night so they could share their newfound information the police refused to reveal.

So instead I took the battery out of my cell phone, shut all of the blinds in the house, and completely isolated myself.

"It's just a phase." They convinced me.

"It gets easier." They lied.

Some nights I couldn't shut off my brain, I couldn't stop thinking about it all. At times like this, I pulled out our blenders we used to make smoothies and milkshakes with and simultaneously turned them on.

Then I couldn't hear it.. the voices.

Then I couldn't see it.. the memories.

And that was better to me.

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Hi everyone! I've been working on this story for a while now and wanted to get it out there to get some feedback. I hope you all enjoyed chapter 1!