The silence filled the air of the room. It was heavy, lingering, and almost painful. The room was empty. She was shaking. The taste of her last cigarette still sat on her lips, yet she still longed for another. It wasn't supposed to be like this. She slowly moved across the room with a suprising grace despite what just had happened. Then she carefully moved the white sheer curtain and peered out the window. She could see the woods and the street light that always seemed to be flickering. The trees were all frosted by the snow and the moonlight seemed to bounce off of it. The forest always gave her an erie feeling, but it somehow seemed to be calling to her. She was tempted to leave the house to walk to them. It seemed to be where all the answers were. She was about to put on her coat before she dropped the curtain, shook her head back to reality, and went to sit down. She still couldn't believe what she had done. This wasn't who she was. She could still feel his hands in her hair, his lips on her neck, and his body against hers. "Stop," she whispered to herself. She didn't want to think about it anymore. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. She grabbed another cigarette off the table and looked around. The lighter would be missing. It always was. "Fuck, only to me," she mummbled and walked to the kitchen. She was the only girl she knew who would light a cigarette with a toaster. She waited for the wires to burn red before lighting it. Not even two seconds later she was lost into the past again.
Even without looking up again she could still feel his eyes pierce her soul. Her stomach felt sick. It felt empty. Her chest was on fire. She could feel the corners of her eyes burn, but she wouldn't give in to the tears. Her jaw was shaking, but she held it firm. It was her birthday. Why did it have to be like this. Why couldn't she feel differently, but she knew she had to do it. She took a deep breathe and looked up to face his eyes. She could already see the hurt in them. She didn't even have to see everyone else in the room to imagine their faces. She knew the shock, the disapointment, and the pity they all felt. "I can't marry you, I'm sorry," she said as strongly as she could trying her best to keep her voice from squeaking. "I just can't." She knew that imagine would never erase from her mind. The hurt in his face was enough to break anyone's heart. The guilt overwhelmed her, she was lost in his face. She felt like she was going to be trapped in this moment forever. She couldn't look away. Somehow he then snapped out of it, closed the tiny black box, and walked out of the room. She heard the door close, but the sound echoed in her ears. She waited untill she could hear his car driving away before she could even get herself to move. It was like she was on autopiolet. She stood up ignoring all the eyes and whispers of the room before she walked up the steps to her room.
She snapped back. It wasn't even her memory. It was her mother's on her eighteenth birthday. The memory slowly fogging its way to the back of her head. The cigarette fit perfectly between her fingers. She grabbed a glass from the dishwasher, and then filled it more than halfway of
vodlka. Something had to make the memories stop.
Then she could picture him. The little blonde haired boy. He was hopeless. He felt empty, broken. He believed he was a nobody, wasted space. He was in the basement of his house. The room was dimly lit. He sat on a wooden chair in the middle of the room. His father hated him. For that a single tear dropped from his baby blue eyes. He was too young. He raised his shaking hand and put the hand gun to his mouth. His finger started to pull the trigger and something started to ring.
What was ringing, and then she could see it. Slowly she came back to reality. She was in her living room, the empty cup of vodlka was tipped over, and the ashtray needed to be emptied. Her phone was on the floor and ringing a little too loudly. She focused her eyes on the clock. It was 5:30 in the morning. She looked down and picked up her phone to see who would be calling. It read unknown. "Hello," she answered her voice rhaspy pushing the thoughts of her father out of her head.
"IF YOU DON'T GET YOUR ASS HERE A.S.A.P! I'M GOING TO PERSONALLY COME TO YOUR HOUSE AND DRAG YOU HERE! WE MISS YOU! Oh, and i'm a little drunk." It was her friend Ashley.
Before she could even reply she could hear Ashley hung up.
So she just dropped the phone and laid back down. Her head was pounding and she was beyond thirsty. She just covered her head with her blanket and closed her eyes.
She was eight years old again. They were living in North Dakota at the time. She just woke up and was walking to the bathroom half asleep. It was still dark out. She turned on the light and caught a glimpse in the mirror. Her heart dropped. She didn't have a reflection. There was nothing in the mirror. She didn't exist. She wasn't real. She suddenly felt ice cold and as if her stomach was going to drop out. She opened her mouth to scream and only silence came out. Then out of know where her grandma came running up the stairs with a basket of laundry. Somehow she could hear her silent screams. It was only a nightmare, but it felt to real. It always did.
The room was full of light. It was the afternoon. She tried to shake off the regret from yesterday, but it seemed not to let go. She believed she made the right choice, but its not what she wanted. She choose the one who has been there. The one she loves and is loved by, but the whole time she was there he wasn't the one on her mind. Somehow Jess always found a way into her head. How could she love someone, but want to be with someone else so badly. Jess's smile, just his smile could make her melt inside. She knew she was falling for him, but she could never do that to the one she loved. She would force herself to forget about him. Before she could think anymore about it she got up and grabbed a glass of water. It was time to start her day.
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