Gracie Freaking Hall

Brianna

"Murderer."

I clutch into the covers of the puffy purple duvet, the flashes of that night I had buried long ago resurfacing. I yield my eyes to open but they hold me captive in my own mind. My finger on the trigger as I bent it, her wide fear-ridden eyes staring at me, reminding me of the infamous saying, a deer caught in the headlights. Just like a stupid doe who had unwillingly stumbled into the path of a moving car, she had blindly done the same. Could I blame her for being stupid and entering my line of sight? Should I blame myself for allowing it to happen? A better person would have understood. A better person would have swerved, missing it. A better person wouldn't have even driven after reading the caution sign.

I, however, was not a better person.

The images of the blood smeared all over my hands and clothes seemed like fresh paint, with a vibrant red color. I could still feel the sticky material on my hands and how it made my clothes cling to me like a second skin. It was only one bullet and yet it caused so much damage. It seemed it had entered right through her heart and hit a major artery because before I knew it, the blood was spilling like a faucet. My wide frantic eyes scanned the surrounding area as I tried to do something, anything, but nothing.

"Murderer."

The voice comes again, breaking into my dream-like state, finally making me shoot up as I gasp for air.

"Bitch," I murmur in return once my breathing has evened out and turned to look at the culprit, my eyes turning to lizard-like slits as I eye her. She didn't look like the dead body in my memories. No. She stood with her vibrant skin tone glistening under the moonlight, her hair swaying with the help of the fan, and she looked forever seventeen. She gives me a wide smile, arms crossed, and a raised eyebrow. "Thinking of me?" She adds with a laugh.

I scoff. "Never," I spit back, biting down the acid taste on my tongue from even humoring her. I stood up, passed right through her as a chill crept throughout my body, and reached for the glass of water on my table while she followed closely. I look through the mirror and note that my reflection is the only one present.

Her laugh resonates throughout the empty room, just like it once had years before when we used to be friends. "I doubted that. You were clearly dreaming of me. It's written all over you. The way your body trembles and the sweat drips down your forehead, clearly a nightmare, and my guess is that it's from that night. Are you finally regretting the choice you made?"

I tighten my nightgown and sip some more of the cool and refreshing water, taking my time to respond to her. She didn't get to come into my house and ask questions at an unreasonable time or anytime for that matter. I sigh and give her my award-winning smile, "That's because anything having to do with you is a nightmare on its own and never."

She lets out another sickly sweet laugh I can't help but inwardly cringe at. Even after death, she found ways to torture me. She ignores my comments and says, "After all these years your memories of the night had been less and now here I am- back." She ends it with jazz hands and I roll my eyes. I won't lie and say this is my first time seeing her in this form. I had seen her for a couple of months afterwards until one day I managed to put her behind me but now that I was back, it seemed she was too.

"It's because of the house," I tell her and avoid walking through her again as I make my way back to the bed. She wasn't worth losing my beauty sleep.

"It's because of your subconscious. Just admit it- you want me here-" she cooed.

I glared at her, "Only for you to tell me where the hell you hid the box."

"Brianna- you know I can't do that silly."