Shadow Bite || WATTYS 2017

Chapter Five

I wake up Sunday morning feeling like I've had the worst hangover of my life. Which is surprising, considering that I didn't touch a glass of anything all night. Not even water. When I try to lift my head, it drops back down onto the pillow like a brick, and a killer headache forces me to stay down. My vision is cloudier than normal, and my eyes are much too dry. It feels like I've just awoken from a life-long nightmare, even though I have no recollection of it. My mind is fuzzy and it feels like doors are shutting off all connections to my memory. I slowly sit up, biting my lip to stop the pained groans as a wave of shattering power electrifies my senses. My body is in a sort of aftermath, but I have no idea what from. I nearly trip over scattered books as I step onto the floor, but my vision goes back to normal when I put on my glasses soon after and allows me to bring my zombie-like self down the stairs.

"Is there a matter with your bathroom darling," Dad's voice echoes painfully in my ears and I wince at the agonising ringing.

"I'm so not in the mood right now Dad," I mutter back, sliding onto a bar stool so I have a clear view of him cooking - or rather, him attempting to cook. My intuition is confirmed when he slides a platter of burned french toast before me. I pierce a piece of it with my fork and lift it up, eyeing it suspiciously.

"Where's Mum?" I ask, putting my fork back down and deciding against eating it altogether.

"I'm not that bad of a cook!" He turns around with a spatula in hand and sees my raised eyebrow. "Am I?"

"Uhuh," I reply, quickly sliding the inedible food into the bin when he focuses back on his failed cooking attempt. I pad over to the living room and plop down on the couch. The goal today: couch potatoing. That, in fact, is a skill that I've mastered over the years and one that has never let me down. I stifle a yawn and raise my glasses slightly to rub my eyes. I slide them back into place and wrap my hair up into a disorganised ponytail, all the while reaching for the TV remote that seems so far away, eyeing me mockingly from the coffee table. That, of course, is totally impossible, and no matter how much I stare at the device to use my telekinesis powers to move it, it stays right there, out of my reach. 

"Daaaaadddd," I sing, and he looks over his shoulder and shakes his head with amusement when he sees me extending my arm towards the remote, only a foot away. 

"You're too lazy for your own good Cami." 

"It obviously came from one of you," I mutter with irritation, rising up and picking up the damn thing, before sitting my arse back down on the cushiony couch. I flick through the miscellaneous channel, looking for anything that might be the least bit interesting. When I pass a news channel with flashing red and blue lights and end up on a cheap cooking show, I quickly go back. I turn the volume up and sit up straighter as the heading catches my attention: DEADLY DOGS END A LIFE. 

"Last night, the police arrived at a party to arrest drug dealers who had infiltrated the event, and to escort underage drinkers to the station. But what was expected to be a quick deal and a trip to the cells turned out to be much worse of a case," The blonde newswoman chirps, keeping her fake sad eyes straight on the camera. "In fact, everyone was extremely shocked when the police came back into the house with a body bag, and various party-goers were immediately arrested for suspicion of helping a murder. Today, all have been released as none proved to be concerned by anything other than drugs or underage drinking. We were informed that the victim was a young, 17-year-old girl, Alexandra Brooks, who just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time." 

Alexandra's face appears in full screen and my hand grips the remote tighter, my knuckles turning a sickly white, but I can't rip my eyes away from the screen. She was alive when we left the party last night, but in my nightmare, she died. Was it a nightmare? What happened? What dogs? I dreamt of that guy, he - he bit her. Did it actually happen? But that would be impossible since she was standing up and looking as glum as ever when we passed her the second time. If what I'd seen had really happened, the police would be arresting the guy and not be blaming the murder on dogs. So it can't have been real. It's just impossible.