It is late when we finally get back to the apartment. We planned on leaving their parents' house mid-afternoon, but Carol was not having it. She was making sure she packed us a large cooler full of food, snacks, and drinks. She had to do all of our laundry, and she insisted that we eat lunch there so we were not hungry. I didn't mind her reluctance to let us leave, afterall, in a way, she just rekindled her relationship with her sons after some time. I'm sure she also realized that this is the first time that everything was normal. We were a normal family with average, everyday, lives. But, aside from Damon, we all had to get back in order to go to work the next morning.
Now, though, my eyes drooping quicker than I can force them back open and my limbs protesting from tiredness, I wish we had left earlier. Walking inside, we all drop our bags on the kitchen table and head into the living room. Damon grabs pillows and blankets on his way while Brandon throws on a movie, moves the living room table, and blows up the air mattress for us all to share. I, on the other hand, plop onto the couch and curl up into a fetal position trying to get comfortable and let sleep consume me. Damon comes into the living room only moments later and picks me up, laying me down on the air mattress seconds later. With a kiss to my forehead, he whispers "sleep," joining me in bed. Brandon comes and lays on my right side shortly after Damon and I snuggle in between them. Finally, with my two favorite people by my side, I fall asleep.
I wake with a startle the next morning after hearing a loud yell from another room. I shoot up into a sitting position and try to figure out where I am and what's going on. I rub sleep out of my eyes and gently run my fingers through my hair to get out some of the tangles. Looking on each side of me, both boys are gone. With a yawn, I get out of bed, all the warmth leaving me in a whoosh as I am exposed to the cool temperature in the apartment.
I don't get more than a step out of the living room before Brandon and Damon come out of Damon's bedroom with a stack of papers in his hand. A stack of papers. My stack of papers. My manuscript. Forget about the heat, all the air in my lungs leaves in less than a second. This was not supposed to happen. Yes, under the bed was probably not the best hiding spot, but I figured they would never go under his bed. Who goes under their bed and for what?
"Rose, what is this?" Damon is the first to speak, his voice a mixture of anger, sadness, and betrayal.
"I-I," I stumble on my words. I wanted to finish it before I told them. I wanted to polish and refine it. I wanted a chance to explain everything. Unfortunately, it appears I am out of time and I know I need to open my mouth and explain before their hurt takes over, but I don't know what to say, I can't bring myself to say anything.
"How could you?" Brandon asks, the same tone as Damon shining through. My heart painfully clenches. I never meant to hurt them, especially after everything they did for me. I mean, hell, without them there is no book.
"I-I- I know how this looks, okay? But it's not what you think. When I started the book, it was an assignment. I need to do this to pass my class. At the time, I was struggling with something to write about - my life was so boring - but then Damon literally barged into my life and became my inspiration, my muse, if you will. I didn't know that we would become family at the time," my voice trails off into a broken whisper.
I know why they are mad. I used everything we ever did together and used it to my advantage. I used every experience, every sweet moment, every emotion and was ready to tell everyone about it. Literally, everything that they ever did with me from the first moment Damon hit me with the door is in there for everyone's eyes to read. And, worse, I was getting it published. It was my journal, masterfully done to make it appear as a fictitious novel. Advice every author often gives is to write what you know. I wrote the same sap story about my parents so many times, that this was a breath of fresh air. This became all-consuming, the only thing in my life that I knew. They became everything to me.
"Did you read the ending?" I ask, my eyes cast down to the floor in shame and embarrassment.
When neither of them answer, I know that they didn't. The ending of the story is the only fictitious part, mainly because it hasn't happened yet. I wrote that last chapter for them because I knew, one day they would find the manuscript or buy the book after realizing I was the author. It is a tribute to them and an apology for betraying their trust and sharing their lives with the world. It tells them everything that I feel about them. How they are my everything, my world revolves around them. I was a shell of a person when they met me, but they breathed life back into me like no one else could, like no one else bothered to try to do. They are my saviors.
"I know you're both mad and hurt, but please read the ending. Please give me a chance and just read the ending. It's not edited yet, but it says everything that I meant to."
They both stand there looking at me unsure of whether they should give me a chance or kick me to the curb that instant. I don't blame them. I probably wouldn't give me a shot either, but, then again, they are better people than me. Much better.
You don't deserve them.
For once I agree with the snarky voice in my head. I don't deserve them. I have done nothing but bring pain and complication into their lives.
You should leave. They would be better off without you and you know it.
Great. As if I don't have enough going on right now, the negative thoughts are flooding my mind like a dam breaking. And, again, I agree with the voice.
"I'm sorry." Collecting my keys off the kitchen table, I walk out of the apartment, out of their lives. I barged in twice now. This time they can invite me in and I will be waiting patiently.
The moment the door closes, the flood gates open and tears flow down my cheeks in rivets. Every time I wipe my face, new tears take their place. My chest feels like someone has punched a hole in it to grab my heart and squeeze it mercilessly. It's agonizing pain, worse pain than when the police officers showed up at my parents' door to tell me I was an orphan. I knew I shouldn't have pursued that book, but I couldn't help myself. I didn't mean to let our relationship get this far, our lives to get this entangled.
Down in the garage, I climb into my car making another futile attempt to dry my face. My hand shakily puts my key into the ignition and turns it, the car coming to life with a low hum.
"When did everything get so complicated?"
My car never answers my loaded question, but it does take me away from my soulmates. I race down the streets like a madwoman desperate to put as much distance between me and them as fast as possible. I need to stop being so selfish for once and think of them first. I am not what's best for them and, soon enough, they will forget all about me as many people have done before. I am forgettable. I barely exist. I'm always on the sidelines, the observer. I watch as life passes me by. Everyone else is laughing or talking with friends and family while I sit lonely in the dark corner just watching them, envious of what they have.
But I deserve this pain. I wronged them. I know what I did was wrong. My car speeds up to get through the light. I barely make it, it turns red before I reach the other side. This isn't safe, but I can't bring myself to stop or slow down.
Reaching around in the console next to me, I try to search for my phone, but I come up empty handed. In my rush to leave, I must have left it on the table. So stupid. So stupid! Why do I have to mess everything up? I am the reason my parents are dead lying six feet under. I am the reason my soulmates hate me. It is all my fault because I can never do anything right. I am a selfish little girl scared of the world who is running around trying to survive another day. Pathetic. Looking into the rearview mirror, the person staring back at me has her lips curled into a snarl, eyes red and puffy, cheeks stained from tears, and soulless eyes.
My foot presses the gas pedal closer to the floor. The forced acceleration slightly pushes me back in my seat. The car takes off. I weave in and out of lanes through the traffic. Other drivers beep their horns at me. As if I don't already know how worthless I am, what a mistake I am.
"Get in line. Everyone is mad at me today," I mutter, my eyes staring blankly at the road in front of me.
Getting off of the main road, I jump onto the small highway that no one ever uses; it is more of a backroad really. My car takes off, zooming down the road as my foot pushes the pedal ever closer to the floor. I know my car can't sustain this type of abuse, but I just need something - anything to help me get away and driving has always been my relief.
Until they came.
My eyes widen in horror, my heart palpitating uncomfortably, as the bend comes up. Comes up too fast. I try my best to drift like Damon told me, but I am not in a fancy sports car. Pushing my brake to its limits, I turn my wheel as much as I can to stay on the road, but it's just not enough. Soon enough, the car crosses onto the other side of the road. My head slams into the window, bouncing off as the car flips over, coming to a stop on its side against a tree.
Bringing my hand to my head, I hiss and groan as pain reverberates throughout my body. I pull my hand back after feeling wetness only to discover the wetness is blood. My hand is covered in it. I gently move my head trying to assess if there is damage anywhere else.
Even with the throbbing pain throughout my body, I feel it. The pain in my leg. Looking down, I hiss. My neck protests from any sort of moment. I ignore it, focusing on checking on my leg. Something is wrong. Looking down, it's pinned between the seat and frame that is bent inward. Panic creeps in. No one will know I am down here, it is a steep ditch, the bottom of which cannot be seen from the highway. I am alone. Utterly alone.
"Okay, Rose. Think."
No! You deserve this!
"Think, Rose!"
I force myself to block the negative thoughts, my fight or flight instincts kicking in. Moving my eyes back to my leg, it doesn't look broken, but I have to get it out from its position. I gently move my hand around to assess the best course of action, cutting my hand in the process. Bring my other hand to join it, I try to push the chair as far back as possible but it doesn't move. I try again, this time moving the chair to the side. There is barely any gap created, but I try to pull my leg out anyway. A scream rips from my throat as I tear my leg out of its stuck position. Looking down, it is covered in blood, my pajama pants soaked and sticking to me. Now, my seatbelt. Slowly, I unclip my seatbelt bracing myself against the steering wheel. My breath comes out in a whoosh as my arms give out from holding my weight. I crash into the steering wheel and fall the short distance until I am lying on the side of the car.
How do I get out? The passenger side window is cracked. I could break it the rest of the way. I move my good leg so it is resting on the middle console. I drag my other leg so that I am level. Grabbing onto the handle bar above the window, I use my other elbow and try to smash it open. After the tenth try, my elbow is cracked and bloody. One final blow and glass comes raining down on me, getting stuck in my cheeks. To the best of my ability, I try to pull myself up while also using my legs to push myself. I yell with exertion, but make it halfway through the window. I stop to take a breath and do the same thing, making it out of the window. I carefully slide down the side of the car, falling when my left leg hits the ground and gives out.
Looking up at the hill I now have to climb, I debate on giving up. I should. No one would miss me. But I quickly dismiss the thought. I can do this. I will do this because I survive. Even if I shouldn't.
I limp to the hill, my eyes looking at the massive climb ahead of me. Putting my good leg forward, I slowly move up, dragging my other leg behind me each time. Finally, at the top, I try to see where I am. I see a familiar gap between the wild forest and, with a renewed sense of hope, I push myself into a half-limp, half-jog to get across the street and into the gap. I cross the double yellow lines, sweat running down my forehead, mixing with my blood. My head pounds, but I persist. On the other side of the road, I feel relief. Continuing my journey, I go down the trail. My body falls forward, my head smacking on a small rock in the gravel road. Darkness covers my vision, I blink rapidly to fight it back. Just a little more.
Walking further down, I lean the trees on the side of the path for some support. The cabin. The cabin comes into view and relief floods through my body. A few more trees to go. I count them down, a blood handprint left behind on each one.
5
4
3
2
1
I try the knob on the front door, heart dropping as I realize it's locked and I don't have my keys. My eyes become blurry with tears, frustration and helplessness seeping into me. I look around, trying to remember if there was a spare key anywhere, but all I see is a rock. A medium-sized rock.
"I'm sorry." I bring my hand all the way back and throw the rock through the window, the glass shattering inside. Climbing inside, glass pokes at every part of my body. Halfway through, I use my arms to lift up my left leg and bring it through the window. Leaning against the wall, I stand up and make it three steps before darkness overtakes me.