Gracie Freaking Hall

Prologue

I stood in the middle of nowhere underneath the moonlight; wet, alone, and strapped for time. My hands clutched onto my arms tighter as the cold wind whipped past me, right through my wet clothes, as if wanting to dry them for me. The only clothes I wore was a thin white spaghetti strap, which revealed my white bra underneath thanks to the river I had just been in moments ago, and knee length shorts. I thought the walk would have dried me a bit but my clothes still clung to me like a piece of gum in hair. No matter how much you try to pull at it to get it off, it won't let up. I wanted them dry, to make sure the blood stains I worked hard on rubbing clean were gone completely.

My grasp on my only hope was getting tighter by the minutes, unsure if I should make the call or not. I only got one call before I needed to dispose of the phone. There were only miles of sand near me now, I had left the river way back, having guilt as my only accomplice, and determination carrying me forward. I needed to get out of this predicament I put myself in, and soon.

So with a heavy sigh, I dial the second number I knew by heart, and hear it ring. I had never been a religious person, but now, as I bit my nail in anticipation, a silent prayer leaves my unholy lips.

It took a total of three rings, but for me, it felt like an eternity with each single ring, reminding me they might not answer. Why would they ever want to hear from me again? But the click sounds notifies me they're listening, letting me rest for a moment as the pounding in my head becomes unbearably louder. I try to speak, but my mouth is so dry not even vasaline could help it regain its vitality. I try to lick my dry lips and they manage to let me speak. My voice is hoarse and comes out in a small whisper as I stammer out, "I normally wouldn't ask this from you-but-," deep breath, "can you come pick me up?"

I am met with completely and utter silence, so defining, that it only increases the pounding in my head more.

Wincing, I add hurriedly, "I'm past the town limits if you just keep driving straight you'll find me." I pause, "I really need your help."

More silence.

"Please," I choke out, the word tasted like acid in my tongue. I, Brianna Anders, have never asked for help before. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

I wait for a response, but instead, the phone goes dead. I gulp.

With that last ray of hope going down the drain, I go down with it. I fall on my knees with a groan and allow the tears to run their course to the cool ground. What was I expecting? I was on my own. Again. I look at the pathetic phone in my grasp and start pounding on it with my fist until it is left as a tiny crumble mess in front of me. I push back the dirt, the tears clouding my visions, but no one must have any evidence of what happened tonight. I bury what I can on the floor and scatter the rest for the wind to take, hopefully somewhere far and unreachable. Once that is done, I can only do one thing, look up at the ground, disconsolate.

I'm not sure how long I stayed there, zombified, but my clothes have nearly dried. It's the blinding headlights of a truck that catched my attention. I watch as it rolls to a halt in front of me. I look up to see the familiar gray truck and relief seems to find me. Normally, I wouldn't want it near me, but this time, it was my savior. My feet are numb to the bone and I can barely muster the strength to get up, but I do. My need to be as far away from this place as soon as possible was stronger than my agony.

I open the door and the voice is quick with judgment, concern for me has never been known in it, "you look like you just crawled out of hell."

"You have no idea," I responded as I climbed onto the truck. My head instantly falls on the headrest with a thud. My eyes can't help wondering to look outside as the truck starts moving. It was such a beautiful night, sadly, I ruined it. Once the place I stood is far from eyesight, I allow myself to turn to the driver and ask, "why did you come? I thought you hated me?"