The Perfect Witness

Waxy faces

2 weeks later

My body was frozen with fear as I tried to scream for help.

His chocolatey brown eyes intensely glared into my soul with seductive pleasure as he watched horror take over me.

Rugged hands tightly wrapped around my sore throat, his jagged fingernails digging harshly into my neck as I gasped for air.

My eyes flew open as I was vigorously shaken from my nightmare-induced daydream.

Sitting up swiftly, I scanned my bedroom, frightened by the fever dream memories that took over my exhausted brain.

"Hey...Hey, you're okay Ivy!" Vincent cooed, lightly pushing a piece of tangled hair behind my ear.

"Why did you let me fall asleep, Vincent? We need to be getting ready for the funeral!" I snapped aggressively, irritation stemming from the memory of hands still strangling the life from me. "Shit, wait, I'm sorry, V, that's not fair of me. My brain's just so damn tired." I whimpered, tears welling up in my already puffy eyes.

I'm so damn confused, I really need to know what happened to us that night.

My memory still hadn't come back, no matter what I tried or did, and as a result, all I had gotten was stupid confusing bits and pieces of memories.

The police were advised against questioning me in depth as well as telling me what happened. My psychiatrist was scared of what the memory might do to my psyche.

She said there's a "reason" my brain's trying so hard to block out what happened.

My boyfriend slowly looked down at me with that look you give someone when they are on the verge of breaking.

I'm not fragile. I've just gone through a lot.

My best friend was dead, and two of my new friends got murdered.

How else am I supposed to react?

"It's okay, Ivy," Vincent said softly. "You clearly needed your sleep and I thought a nap would do you good." He looked down at his feet, embarrassed by his simple mistake.

"Yeah, it's been rough at night, ya know? I never know if I'll get a peaceful night's rest or nightmare-fueled dreams that only seem to traumatize me more. Plus... I still have zero clue what happened that night, which..." I huffed quietly, shaking my aching head before I continued, "is so beyond frustrating."

A pitiful half-smile crept onto his sweet face, and without a word, he carefully sat down next to me. Slowly, a tear escaped and slid down my cheek, only to be caught by Vincent's thumb, gently wiping it away.

I want to scream.

Scream until my throat was dry and my head was throbbing with pain.

All I wanted to do was smack my head against a brick wall until pain took over.

These stupid people don't understand.

Three of my friends were dead, and I don't even remember why.

Three!

Three of my friends were dead, and the psychiatrist's worried a little memory will destroy me?

On top of that, no one believed me when I told them that Cody was a part of the attack.

They supposedly found the two killers, which I could have sworn was actually three.

Two boys and a girl, one of them Cody.

* * *

After three more breakdowns and a panic attack, Vicent and I finally made it to the funeral, where I'm forced to see the three children who had their lives forcefully ripped away from them.