Michael was walking through a park, his eyes on the leafy horizon. He could feel a small, warm hand in his, and when he looked down he saw a familiar golden crown of hair; Grace looked up at him, her eyes wide and curious, but when she saw him, they filled with fear and she yanked her hand away.
"Get away!" she shrieked. "Don't touch me!"
"Why?" Michael asked. All he wanted to do was wrap his arms around his sister and never let go.
"I don't want you to hurt me again." Grace said silently, her head hung low. She looked weak and sad.
"What - I won't hurt you," Michael assured. "I would never hurt you."
"It's your fault I'm dead, Michael," Grace's eyes suddenly filled with rage, and she stood up. "If you hadn't been so stupid that day, and forced me to sit in the front seat, then I would still be alive. You don't even miss me. You don't care that I'm gone. You've never cared about me, Michael!"
Something about the fact that Grace had called him Michael instead of her usual nickname for him, Mikey, made him want to burst into tears all on it's own.
"Of course I care about you!" Michael said, but before Grace could respond, there was a crack of thunder. The sky swirled into darkness and the blackness consumed him, tearing at his lungs, twisting around him, suffocating him-
Michael sat up in bed, his breath ragged with tears. His body was wracked with a sob, and he covered his mouth so he wouldn't wake his aunt.
That feeling of sadness and downright hopelessness weighed down on him again until he was fighting for breath. He sank back onto his pillow and clutched his left wrist in his right hand, just like he had that day in the hospital. It made him feel better, somehow. It wasn't really a punishment, but the physical pain sort of distracted him from the emotional pain he was feeling.
Thunder cracked outside the window, and he could hear rain pounding down on the roof. The sound was so flat and continuous that it had sort of faded into the background like white noise.
Michael squeezed his eyes shut, trying to stop the tears, but they still managed to squeeze their way from beneath his closed lids and stubbornly trickle down his cheeks.
He sat up again, opened his eyes and glanced at the digital clock on his bedside table. The glowing, fluorescent orange numbers twisted and muddled through the tears, but he still managed to make out the time. It was just past midnight.
He pulled his knees to his chest and attempted to prepare himself for the painfully long hours ahead of him.
He could count down the minutes until morning, but he had no idea how long it would take for the pain to go away.
And he didn't know if he could count that long, anyway.
This chapter was kinda depressing. This whole book is, kind of. Thanks so much for reading (:
Loser_Luke
