Some Wounds Just Don't Heal
She screamed as a strong arm pulled her into the darkness of the nearest alleyway; she felt the stocky form of a large man pressed up behind her, his breath puffing onto the top of her head. Stepping out of the darkness and onto the dim and empty street, he pressed a revolver to her temple, his other arm clamped firmly around her neck, squeezing just tight enough to frame her vision with murky black fringes. She clawed at his arm, hoping to free herself, but knew struggling was pointless. She wouldn't be escaping. The man was saying something to the boy—Michael—she had been walking with. He trembled, his eyes growing wide in fear. She tried to pull against the man, but his grip on her throat tightened. She could feel her life slowly slipping away from her, and felt the gun being repeatedly tapped against her temple. Her eyes remained locked on Michael, only a twinge of fear remaining in her now. She watched, waited and hoped that he would step forward. That he would be the one. The gun pushed harder against her skull. Time was running out. The attacker's finger tightened around the trigger.
Tears rolled down her cheeks. “Michael, please!” she cried, praying he would save her. “Do something...”
Michael stood, his lip trembling as tears filled the corners of his eyes. He didn't move. He didn't speak, and without a second thought, the attacker pulled the trigger putting a bullet through her brain.
Abby sat bolt upright, her hand clenched against her chest. Her heart raced, thudding loudly in her chest. Her hair and clothes clung to her from the light sheen of sticky sweat that coated her body. She gulped in deep breaths, trying to calm herself. The gunshot still rang loudly in her ears as she ran her fingers through her damp hair. The dreams were becoming more frequent now. They came at least once a day, if not more. With a few more deep breaths she finally felt her heart rate slow. Sinking back into her bed she sighed. No more sleep tonight. She never slept after the nightmares. Rolling onto her side she glanced at the bright green numbers on her clock. It was four thirty in the morning on the first day of the last school year of her life. Her birthday was May sixteenth; she would never live to graduation. She never did.
She rolled out of bed, sitting with her head in her hands, her dark brown hair falling over her shoulders. She closed her eyes tightly, seeing Michael's face once more before the world faded to black. He had been so scared. She wanted to reach out, to be the one to tell him it would be okay, that everything would work out just the way it was meant to. And it did. Stepping off her bed she she crept out of her room and quietly down the stairs into the kitchen. She poured herself a glass of cold milk from the fridge and heard a door open and shut from another room. Her father walked into the room, dressed for work, sipping his coffee professionally.
“You're up early,” he commented, “excited for school?”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh yeah, super excited.” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “I had a nightmare.”
He eyed her carefully. “About... school?”
“No,” she sighed, “It's the same as usual. Don't worry.” she waved dismissively, hoping he would change the subject.
He stood, watching her quietly. She knew he did worry, but couldn't bring herself to care. It was always harder when the parents knew about the dreams, but what could she do to change it? Nothing. It wasn't her job to change things. It never had been. Smiling weakly at him she put her empty glass in the sink and gave him a hug, wished him a nice day at work, and went back upstairs. She entered the bathroom, staring at herself in the mirror. She didn't see just herself. No. She saw the faces of countless boys who had failed to save her. And then she saw him. His bright blue eyes looked back at her through the mirror. He looked disappointed. She looked sadly back at him, reaching her hand forward to touch him, but her fingers met the glass, and could go no further. She longed to touch him, to feel his skin again, but he was gone and it was her fault he was dead. Because of it she lived a cursed life; doomed to live thousands of lives until someone did for her what she didn't for Kartik. Pulling herself away from his image in the mirror, she stepped into the shower, letting the hot water rush over her body. She reached her hand up and touched a finger gently to her temple, wincing at the memory of her death. She always remembered them. Some wounds just didn't heal.
Abby stepped out of the shower as the door started to rattle.
“Geez woman!” boomed the voice of her brother Ryan. “You've been in there for a million years! You're drying up the lake! Save some for the fishes why don't ya?”
Abby smiled to herself, suppressing a giggle as she imagined the ridiculous faces he had made while he spoke about the fishes. Sucking in a deep breath she pulled herself together, wrapped her towel around her soaked body, her long hair stuck to her shoulders in a menacing manner, and threw the door open, glaring daggers at him.
“If looks could kill.” He threw his arms up in surrender, brushing his shaggy blond hair away from his eyes. Abby stepped around him and padded down the hallway to her room. He stepped into the bathroom, and then stuck his head out. “Holy crap! It's like a frickin sauna in here!”
Abby ignored him, closing her door behind her. She flipped on the lights and glanced at the clock. Ryan had been right—for once—she had been in there forever. The radio clicked on, signaling her normal hour of awakening: six thirty. She let the music play while she dug through her drawers, extracting a pair of skinny jeans and a baggy black and white striped off the shoulder shirt. She dressed quickly, and started putting her hair in large curlers. Her hair naturally had a slight curl when it got wet, but in order to achieve her usual style of large gentle curls, the curlers were unfortunately needed. Abby put the last curler in, quick stepping across her room to check her backpack one more time. She had stuffed it full of notebooks the night before, and felt bitter about it the whole time. She wondered why she bothered going to school. None of it mattered anyway. She was just going to die. Because you've always met them at school. Abby thought, rolling her eyes at herself.
“They've always been at school.” she said aloud. “Stupid teenage boys who're afraid of commitment.”
Abby crossed the room again and sat on her bed, pulling her hair dryer out from under it, and began to dry her hair. Twenty minutes later, her hair fell in loose curls over her shoulders. Ryan had finally vacated the bathroom, and Cindy hadn't emerged from her room yet. Abby dashed to the bathroom and put he makeup on. Ten minutes later Ryan came from his room and announced to the entire house that breakfast was ready. Cindy's door flew open and she dashed down the stairs like a wild animal, nearly knocking Ryan over. Once everyone had gathered in the kitchen their mother served them each a nice stack of pancakes and drizzled her homemade maple syrup over the top.
“You look nice, Abby.” Cindy said through a mouthful of pancake.
Abby smiled. “Thank you, Cindy. Are you planning on going to school in your pajamas?” she asked, noting that her sister still wore her Pink Panther sleepwear. “Because, I don't you'll get too many friends on your first day of Junior High in Pink Panther pajamas.”
Cindy scowled, shoving another bite into her mouth. “I was gonna wear my kitty shirt.” she growled.
“I'll help you pick out some clothes tomorrow if you want.”
Cindy's face lit up, and the food nearly fell out of her mouth. “Reary?! Ohmygushfankyou!”
Ryan started laughing, staring in wonder at his little sister. “Calm down Cin, you're going to choke.” he put his hand on her shoulder, and looked at Abby. “So, Abs, are you driving today, or am I?”
Abby twisted a curl around her finger. “I'll drive,” she looked at the clock above the fireplace. “We've got to go if we're going to be on time.”
Chairs screeched across the floor as Abby and Ryan stood up quickly, determined to beat the other out to the car. They always fought about which car to drive, even if one of them wasn't driving. Ryan liked the sleek black '64 Camaro SS, but Abby preferred the bright orange '72 Dodge Charger. After snatching her things from her room, she raced to the garage, finding Ryan sitting in the Camaro, the keys in his hand.
“We're taking my car.” he declared. “We'll take yours tomorrow.”
Abby sighed, throwing her things into the back seat of the Camero. They drove the fifteen minutes it took to get to good ol' Altamoor High, and parked on the far end of the lot. Ryan was quick to bail out and ditch Abby for his friends across the lot, but Abby took her time, despite the fact she would be late. She looked up at the sky, wondering how long she would have to continue on this way. How many lives would she have to live before she would be freed from this curse. Suddenly a pair of strong arms clamped down around her waist, sweeping her off her feet. She shrieked, her heart rate spiking as a melodic laugh rang out beside her.
“Sheesh Abs, you'd think you were about to be murdered with a sound like that.” whispered a lush male voice in her ear.
“Well if you wouldn't sneak up on me, I wouldn't have to think such things.” Abby retorted. “Put me down Austin.”
When her feet touched ground, she turned to see her friends smiling. The only girl among them, Nikki, gathered her into a hug.
“You know there's a Scottish exchange student this year?” she whispered excitedly in Abby's ear.
“Oh?” Abby replied, backing out of the hug and falling into step with Nikki. “His name?”
“Marek.”
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