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Letting the breeze cool my legs as it lifts my dress, I twirl around; my hair whipping my face, blinding me in a mixer of copper, brown, and dirty blonde. Falling to the ground, I lay atop the snow in my night gown. I couldn’t feel its below freezing temperatures. Nor did I notice loosing the feeling in my toes and fingers as they turned black. All I could think about was how the winter was my friend. I was born in winter, so I might as well die in it too…
Three Days Earlier.
Walking to my first class of the last day in the first school week, I pull my sleeves down, flinching when it rubs against my new cuts. Looking up the isle, I see Damian. My heart instantly stopping, I duck into the first open door I can find: the girls bathroom. It being empty, I dump the contents of my bag, trying to fix myself to be ready for the hardships of today. Reapplying lotion to my dry hands, and cleaning my face with the warm sink water, I look at myself. Even though the florescent lights made me look terrible, I could still make out the bruises I had under my eyes, though they were caked with cover up. Looking at my red, puffy lip, I put on more Blistex before adding lip gloss to make them looked puckered, not swollen. Lifting up my sleeves of my black shirt, I outline the vicious red marks that horizontally go parallel up my arm. Quickly pulling my sleeves back down when someone walked in, I shoved all of the junk for school into my bag, and walk out.
Making sure not to drool during fifth hour, I count sheep while leaning on my propped up arms in Biology 2. The teacher, a middle aged man, balding, and had liver spots all over every see-able place on his body; I imagined how much it must’ve sucked for him to first start out at this job. I mean, the kids in this school give the new teachers a crappy time. Once, they even poured alcohol all on some subs cars and lit it on fire just because she called one of the kids ‘A sorry excuse for human life with the attention span the size of his brain. Tiny.’ Well, she didn’t have to say that, but the kid and his friends didn’t have to do that either. No wonder I broke up with him. He was a jerk for having taken his anger out on that sub, meanwhile it was meant for me. Well, I got my beating later that week, so might as well not stress on it. Looking over at Damian, two rows to my right, up four seats, I think about how life would be if I picked him Kevin over him.
No Pregnancy Tests that haven’t been positive. Yet.
And No Tears.
At lunch, I sit down at my usual table. I see Damian walking this way with his lunch. But that’s only with my peripherals. I’m looking at Kevin, watching as he laughs with his friends three tables away from me. Feeling Damian slide in next to me, he puts his hand around the back of my neck and jerks me forward to him for a wet, disgusting kiss that tastes of vodka and pot. Pushing away, he gives me a look of intense hate, letting me know with his eyes that I’m gonna get it later. But, with my eyes, I let him know that I’m prepared. He just doesn’t know for what…
Driving Damian home for school, having to switch seats on the interstate cause he was swerving, I park right in front of the door, waiting for him to get out of my car. He looks at me as I stare straight ahead, hands gripped on the steering wheel, waiting; I finally feel the blow to my head that I expected, even though I’m always caught by surprise when he hits me. Taking a big clump of my hair in his hands, he repeatedly bashes my head in the drivers window, until I start seeing little stars mock me as they swirl in my vision. When he was done, he looked out of his window, waiting for me to get myself together. But, instead of apologizing, like I usually do, I reach to the side of my seat, and pull it out. Its heavier that I remember, but it felt right as I aimed the barrel at his temple. Setting it up, him not hearing it cause the Metallica music he had on drowned it out, I take a deep breath, and pull down on the trigger.
Cleaning it all up later that night was disgusting. I didn’t cry, didn’t feel guilt, or even regretted it. I was happy. I didn’t like that it took me to kill him for me to finally be free. But, whenever I broke up with him, he would beat me until I apologized and drove myself to the hospital. The same one I been to so many times before that I have my own room there. Dragging his body to the lake, I tie bricks to both his hands, torso, and feet. Even though his body was covered with blood and clumps of something I would only assume as his (what I thought) non-existent brain, I kissed his lips before dumping his body over the pillar.
That was what got me. Kissing him. I only did it as a farewell, but instead of the cold, beer smelling, smoke tasting mouth I was so used to, I kissed a cold, hard, and mold tasting dead mans lips. Watching as bubbles rose to the surface when his body was sinking, I let myself shed a single tear for him. He didn’t deserve as much, but it felt right.
Waking up the next morning, I was glad to see it was snowing. But my smile instantly faded when the course of what happened last night creeped its way into my memory.
I killed him.
I’m a monster.
That last thought caught me by surprise. I did the right thing. I got rid of what was holding me back. Causing me pain that will forever internally, emotionally, and physically leave scars behind. I was right to do it. Wasn’t I?
Getting up, I opened my bedroom door to see Damian. Screaming like a banshee haunting young children’s dreams. In a swift movement, he was already around me, pulling out a gloriously frightening blade. Putting it to my neck, he slashed my skin open. And walking away, he let me bleed to death on the floor, only sparing me a last glance before disappearing.
Waking up, my heart pounding like a hummingbirds wings, I instantly put my hand to my neck. I was relieved to know it was a dream, by my breath stopped when I felt a puffy line going across my neck. Jumping out the bed, I ran to the bedroom to see a red, swollen line that told me that was more than a nightmare. I sank to the floor, both frightened and feeling more than delusional.
Was he taking revenge from beyond the grave?
Stupid. I wanted to slap myself for having such idiotic and illogical thoughts. I must’ve hurt myself in my sleep. Yeah. That explains it. But why did I have an uncomfortable feeling I was being watched?…
Later that day.
Walking into third hour, I was still a little unsure of what happened with the whole terrifying dream and coincidence mark on my neck.
A lot of people was staring at me today. Instead of wearing my usual dark colors, I decided on a nice, light pink long sleeve (since my scars still didn’t heal), with a pair of baby blue denim and boots. Yes, it wasn’t my usual fashion, but I was sick and tired of all the black I had to wear just because Damian said so. I’m not gonna let him boss me around anymore.
I stopped in my tracks on that last thought. I said that as if he was still alive. What I meant was, he is no longer the boss of me.
Quick stepping to my chair, I realized I sat right by Kevin. When he sat down, he did a double take at me, then smiled; which is the most I got out of him in two years ever since I chose Damian over him. Not listening to whatever Mr. Berry was drowning on about, I was surprised to see a small piece of folded paper land on my desk. Opening it up, it read:
UR HAIR LKS NICE 2DAY.
WUTS UP WIT DA BIG CHANGE?
Smiling, I wrote back that I just broke up with Damian cause he moved away, and I wanted to start being me again. While watching him read it, I couldn’t help but smile when he wrote back that we should hang sometime.
While driving from the diner after having a burger with Kevin, I was surprised to see how much it was snowing now. Like a blizzard.
Squinting while hunched over the steering while, going all but four miles an hour, I screeched to a halt when I saw there was a person in the middle of the road. I couldn’t make out the persons face, but I immediately locked the doors when they started walking closer. I was trying to go in reverse, but my tires weren’t getting a grip on the icy road. Coming closer and closer, body looking zombie-like, its limbs all twisted; hanging off its body, as if they have no use, the person drew nearer.
I recognized the jet black hair, even though it was covered in green slime. The same denim jacket that he wore the night I killed him was now drenched in mold and seaweed from the lake; blood was dried up on the side of his misshapen head where I put the bullet in. His jaw was slacked open, and I could see it was only attached to his head by a few pieces of flesh. Watching as it dangled, I was in too much shock to move, let along breath. When he made it to the passenger side door, he didn’t look at me at first, but at the crimson stains I wasn’t able to clean off all the way. Shifting his attention towards me, instead of the angry eyes I expected to see, if any eyes at all, but I was taken back when I found his eyes filled with sadness I never thought was possible to come from him. Pressing his palm to the window, I could see exposed bone while his skin hung off his fingers.
I don’t know what I was thinking at the time, but as I lifted my hand to make a mirror image of his, I was deeply saddened too. As I stared at his face, trying to comprehend what I was seeing, my attention was immediately caught by two bright lights coming from in front of me. Even though the car was pulling into a drive way five houses away from the one I stopped in front of, it caught my attention. I don’t know why, but I couldn’t make myself look back; like, if I did, then it meant I was either going crazy, or this hallucination was reality. But, looking back to where my hand was pressed, no ones hand was on the other side. And for a moment, I missed Damian.
Maybe I am losing it after all.
At lunch the next day, I sat with Kevin. For the first time in two years, I laughed a real laugh, not a fake chuckle, and smiled genuinely, not having to plaster one on my face. Walking back hand in hand to English, I was surprised when Kevin leaned in and kissed me on the cheek. Yet, I was even more surprised when his lips trailed to my mouth. But, having the taste of smoke and cigarette fill my mouth and nostrils caused my heart to stutter, then stop beating all together.
Opening my eyes, I watched as Damian wiped his mouth, and giving me a dirty grin, swaggered away. I was so overwhelmed by how that could possibly happen, that while I was running to my car, shoving my hands in the pockets of my winter jacket and gloves at the same time, I wanted to throw up.
Driving to my apartment, I dressed into my nightgown. I was going to sleep and never wake up, I promised myself. Swallowing five of my mom’s anti depression pills, I crawled under the covers. But two hours later, and still not asleep, I decided to be more drastic.
Going downstairs, and opening the front door, I was greeted my the chilling draft from winter that covered my neighborhood in its fog-like ice and snow. Walking to the snowiest part of my front lawn, I lay down on it. I couldn’t feel as winter pulled my body in, claiming it as its own; freezing my body as would it change water into ice. Like I was nothing. Watching as black started to creep up from my fingers and toes to higher up my arms and legs, I think about how Damian shouldn’t have died. He didn’t deserve it, just like how I feel like he deserves love. And, as my eyelids slowly drift close against my will, the only thing I remember are Damian’s sad eyes as me and his hands created mirror images on the window that was once splattered with his life‘s blood.
Hearing a familiar voice scream my name from far away, I slowly ease myself in a sleep, my body being covered in a white blanket of ice that smelled of cigarette and vodka.
Waking up in the hospital a week later, having been in a coma, I was greeted by the faces of my mom, Kevin, and Damian. As my mom went to get a doctor, and Kevin held my hand, I was staring over his shoulder. With one last smile, Damian walked over, kissed the top of my head, and cruised out the door. I don’t know if I should call Damian my guardian angel, or my guilt that took shape as his body. To this day, whenever I see him, I’m either washed up in hope, or traumatized with the fact that I murdered him.
No one knows I killed him, or at least, that’s what I like to think. The week after I was let out of the hospital, I apparently confessed everything I did.
Finding his mangled corpse, they put me down as schizophrenic, and now, in my padded cell, I await for my friends to come and visit me. Not fake friends, but the living flesh. The only fake who I see is Damian. I tell the doctors that he’s real, and when I showed them the marks he leaves on me, they give me a straight jacket, thinking I did it to myself; or when I scream he’s haunting me, they give me a muzzle. Either way, I cant escape him. I wanted my revenge, but he was succeeded in the end.
Oh my god.
I am crazy.