It's Always Been You

Sarah

We've been driving for five hours. Every time I look out the window, dark gray clouds coat the midnight sky, and fog covers the ground in a thick blanket. Also, there are no buildings. Anywhere. We are officially in the middle of nowhere. 

Part of me is scared I am being kidnapped, but the other part knows my mom is dead. I wish I care more than I do, but I don't. I'm mad even. The fact that I have to change my entire fucking life because she was reckless and walked into traffic makes me glad she is dead. I know that's horrible, but it's how I feel.

The guy hasn't said a word the whole drive. Maybe he won't notice if I open the door or jump out the window. 

Instead of doing either of these things, I slump my head against the seat and ball my fists together. This whole situation sucks. 

"We are almost there," he says, breaking through the uncomfortable silence that has been washing us in this car. 

Finally. I'm not excited to have to live with someone, but it has to be better than this sweaty, disgusting car.

Oh, and that's another thing. This car is the most horrible car I've ever been. I'm pretty sure it hasn't been washed in like, a thousand years, and it's covered in mud, dust, little ants and spiders, and old, decomposing food. I've barley managed to not throw up the entire time we have been in this car. I was close, and when I was about to open the window, I realized they don't even work. 

A tall building emerges into our view, looking out of place in the vast flat ground and emptiness. We pull into the parking lot full of potholes, and he parks the car with no expertise. He literally parks in the middle of three slots. 

To be fair, there is only two other cars here, but still. 

"Get out," he says, his voice echoing through the trash in this car. I open the door and step out into the fresh air, breathing deeply to replace the awful smell from the car with the semi-clean breeze. 

He shoves me towards the door. The building is dark, and the broken bricks that make up the walls are covered in grass and weeds. A chill crept through my spine, feeling like tiny needles pricking my skin, over and over again, harder and colder each time. The rusty, dingy door was creaked open, allowing us visitors to enter if they dared. The shutters were hanging on by a thread, and thick wood was bolted over the shattered windows, locking whoever or whatever was inside for eternity. The light bulb over the door was cracked, but somehow, still glowing. I looked up. The ratty curtains were splotched with mold, and slowly decomposing.

"Are you sure this is the right place?" I asked, hoping with my entire life it wasn't. There is no way in hell I am going into that building.

He nods and drags me to the door. Yup. I am definitely getting murdered tonight. Great. 

"Come on," he grunts, wrapping his hand around my arm, gripping me tightly as he shuffles towards the door, shoving me through the weeds that threatened to pull me down to them and suffocate me while they squeeze my neck. Suddenly, I hear a scream. A wretched, ear-splitting scream that was soon swallowed by the thick dark night. Smoke filled the air, shoving its way into my airways and swimming with my organs. 

"Let go of me!" I screamed, trying to rip my arm from his tight grip. 

"Calm down," he says. "That was just one of the kids staying here. The kid always does that."

I didn't feel any reassurance, only more fear. Why was the kid screaming in the first place. 

"Go," the man says again, shoving me towards the door. Slowly, I walk up the path, and place my hand on the door, and immediately felt splinters in my skin. I'm barely breathing. 

Breathe, I tell myself. In and out. 

Then, I take a step inside, and immediately wishing I didn't.