Beautiful, Beloved

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫

┈ ┈༺♡༻┈ ┈𝘊𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘦┈ ┈ ༺♡༻ ┈ ┈ 

I woke up, hoping it was all a nightmare, only to hear another shout.

Walter stormed out of the bedroom.

I felt my back hit the wall, and ice cold tears hit my cheeks in terror. The lightning from the storm crackled and the thunder popped. Walter's hands were covered in his wife's blood.

She was dead.

"This is all your fault." He cackled and cracked his knuckles. He took his fist and punched through the window, grabbing the sharpest shard of glass he could find. I eyed his cut up fingers and shook. If just punching a window could do that to his hands, what would it do to me?

Walter rose the shard in the air and muttered, "I'm going to make you pay for this."

It was in slow motion. I saw an evil twinkle, one I'd only ever seen once before. I'd seen it in the mirror, after the incident.

Suddenly, I wasn't in the cabin anymore. I was in my first home, with my parents and brother. I was about fourteen at the time, and I had gotten into a huge fight with my father. I wanted to go to a party, and he wouldn't let me.

I smelled the alcohol in his breath, and his nostrils flared. He lifted up his fist, and for the first time, he struck me. I screamed and grabbed a gun off of the counter.

I was back in the cabin and the blade struck through my heart, or so I thought. The gasping for life I heard wasn't coming from me.

Walter was on the ground and he had a gunshot wound through his head. My hands trembled and I ran to my medical bag, but I knew there was nothing I could do. His eyes rolled back into his head, and I collapsed.

I saw black, and I felt like I was floating. The deaths of the entire family ran through my head like a videotape. 

"This is all your fault," echoed a voice in my ear. I swallowed hard. "Just like your father,"

Thunderstruck from the storm. I sat straight up on the floor, and the entire house was clean. No blood, no dead body smell, no glass anywhere. I had probably dreamt it, another one of my stupid mystery fantasies.

"You read too many books," I muttered to myself when a new voice found my ears.

"You're a reader, huh?" The voice was soft and mysterious. It was raspy, dark and incredibly sexy. I thought I had imagined it, but when I spun around I saw a boy on the windowsill.

His hair was black, and short. His eyes were a shiny blue and his jawline was chiseled with a soft stubble of a beard.

"Who the hell are you?" I asked, folding my arms across my chest.

"Me, sweetheart?" he asked, hopping off the window. He took off his leather jacket, revealing a gun holster in his belt. I gasped and looked into his eyes.

"I'm Darden, Darden Jase."