beautiful thieves | ✓

thirty-four

I only had one nightmare that night. I was running through the house. Flames were licking the walls and ceiling of the house and I knew it was only a matter of time before the roof would crumble and crush everything beneath it. I've forgotten who I was looking for, but soon enough my dress had caught alight and my skin was burning and as I crawled through the house inhaling smoke with my organs melting like candle wax, I found whoever it was.

They were nothing but a charcoal black corpse, eyes oozing out of their face with a red-hot knife held in an unrecognisable hand.

Someone was behind me. I took the knife and stabbed them. And stabbed. And stabbed.

I had killed my father. His blood was all over my hands.

I woke up screaming.

As promised, Blake was there. He didn't say anything, just held me and pieced me back together until I fell asleep again. I've never been comforted in that way before. Not ever in my life. So, for once, I let myself dissolve into it, feeling more comfortable than I've ever felt with anyone.

The fire was out when we woke up again, the sunlight peering through the gaps of the curtains. Blake looked dishevelled, his dark hair spiking up and complaining of pins and needles in his arm, but his smile was bright and his husky morning voice sent bolts of electricity through every nerve in my body.

We eventually got up and trekked back to our own bedrooms to shower and change. I ended up staying under the cloud of torrential rain for longer than I had expected to, washing and rewashing my body and again two more times to make sure there wasn't a drop of blood left on my skin. Then I left the shower with a towel covering my body, changed into a simple outfit of a white top tucked into jeans, and I'm now towel-drying my hair as much as possible.

I scream when I see blood on my top and rip it off, chucking it across the room. I hold onto one bed post, willing my body to not fail me and topple me over the edge of the universe. I breathe. I breathe again. I wait for ten, twenty, maybe even thirty minutes, until the room stops twisting and the floor and ceiling are where they should be; below and above me, respectively.

I sway over to the t-shirt on the ground. I lift it up to see the red liquid again. I breathe. I breathe again.

It's just red hair dye.

Maybe I should dye it purple instead?

Shaking my head, I use an elastic to tie my hair into a bun so the dye wont drip and cause me another breakdown. I pick out another t-shirt, black this time, and change into it just as there's a knock at the door. I walk over and open it slightly to see Enoch.

"Are you okay?" he asks after a few seconds. I didn't even realise I was staring at him.

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" I chuckle, but it sounds strained. All I can see is him standing on the wrong side of the gun, looking at me as if I'm a stranger.

"Aurora," he says softly. "I'm fine."

"I'm sorry."

"I just said I'm fine," he laughs, stepping closer and opening his arms. "Give me a hug and we'll be cool."

I narrow my eyes jokingly. "Do you have a knife on you or something?"

"Bitch, of course not." We laugh and hug, and I hold onto him for probably longer than necessary. He might be quick to forgive me for what happened but forgiving myself is out of the question. I can't believe I almost shot one of my best friends.

We pull away and Enoch ruffles his bright blond hair. "Anyway, I came to tell you that Danielle has called for a meeting. We have... a lot to talk about. In case you didn't realise, shit has been going down."