The Shadow of Our Past

Change

I wake with an aching shoulder, crushed uncomfortably by my body weight and the wooden floor. My eyes snap open abruptly. The room is sideways from my head's position on the floor. There's a closet in front of me, and I begin to recognize this as my old bedroom. It takes a moment for my mind to catch up, but a harsh pain around my neck reminds me why I'm here. Kira. That one thought sends my mind into a spiral of panic and tears prick at my eyes. I feel sick as I wonder what could be happening right now, what I could be stopping.

My hands are tied in front of me, but my feet are loose. My panic rises higher and my heartbeat quickens. I shift, but it feels like my veins are filled with lead and weighing me down. I close my eyes once more, wondering if the room might dissipate with their blink and I'll wake up in Kira's bed with sun in my eyes. When I open my eyes, however, the dusty room is still in front of me and still so empty. The lack of options I have makes me sink even closer to the floor. I want to scream. There's nothing I can do. Kira could be hurting right now and there's nothing I can do.

Instead of letting a heavy depression set in, however, I force steel over my mind. A calm determination I've felt before washes over me, but this time it has direction. With my bound hands, I roll over and push myself up. My legs swing around and I shift to sit up straight. My head spins for a sickening moment, a pounding headache striking me with each quick heartbeat.

Someone thunders up the stairs and for a moment the footsteps halt. There are voices somewhere outside of the room, hushed and secretive. I lean forward and stare at the ground with focus to hear.

"I need to go check on the brat, make sure no one comes in or out of the house," Mike commands someone sternly. The heavy footsteps resume. Panic thrums harder in the back of my heart, but I don't even dare to move. I fix my eyes to the door, listening to the encroaching footsteps. The door flies open and I hardly have time to register the daunting figure that's burst into the room. Mike stands tall over me, striding across the room in a moment.

"The hell do you even plan to do with her?" I spit, jaw trembling with how hard I'm clenching it. I regret my question the moment a grin spreads across his face.

"What I should have done the first time," he growls while keeping a grin on his face. Shivers fall down my back and my eyes widen. "But aren't you more worried about yourself? Or could you not live without her?" he mocks me, sneering.

"Could you live without joy either?" I ask with a calm determination and he laughs. I watch him flick out a knife, one that's familiar to me. He flashes around Kira's knife and I tear my eyes away from it to look at his eye's with shock. He kneels down with a grunt, then flips the blade out.

With the blade close to my neck, he taunts me, "well if she really is the only joy in your life, then say goodbye to being happy. You might as well just say goodbye to your life as well." I sit forward, daring him to try. The knife is nearly resting on my chin, close enough to cut the tiny hairs on it. He laughs in that frustratingly mocking tone, then pulls the knife away. Instead of putting it away however, he slashes at my arm. I shift away and hold up my hands, the blade catching on the side of my left palm. I hiss in pain, pulling my bound hands back. Mike looks satisfied and repositions the blade on the side of my torso.

I push away from him with a foot on his knee and scramble backwards as best I can. "The fuck away from me!" I demand, nearly falling backwards. He stands up, knife gripped tight in his hands. Unbridled anger turns his expression hostile like I've never seen before. There's an intent to kill in his eyes, and it pierces me down. I freeze up with fear, waiting for the worst but hoping for a miracle. There's a second of peace as my eyes float around the room and I wonder if this might be the last moments of my life. This feeling isn't new, but it's still just as terrifying and daunting as ever. He looks at the knife in his hands for a moment, then begins to bring it down on me.