A Nightmare's Fate

Beginning Again

Chapter Twenty-nine: Beginning Again

“’Bottle of vodka isn’t going to help you,” Errik explains as he sees me in the living room, drowning my sorrows once again.

Today is Kenton’s birthday, March 12th, and after visiting his grave and crying out my pleas and agonizing apologies all I wanted to do was to go back drinking; and here I am with an eight ounce cup full of straight out vodka.

            For a while Errik just walks into my house like it’s his own or like we’re sharing, which we’re not. In front of me is the computer while I type away my book I’m beginning to write: My Façade. “It works if you write.” I take a swig of the alcohol.

            “Oh, c’mon Raven, are ya kiddin’ me? Yer going to act like this on his birthday?” He comes close to me, takes the cup away with the bottle, heads into the kitchen and pours them down the sink.

            “You bastard! I wasn’t done with it . . .” I trail off, and I feel like smacking his face but then another part of me wants to pat him on the back. I needed that drink to calm me down and not cry, yet I don’t need it so I can act stronger. Be stronger.

            “Ya don’t need alcohol to solve yer problems; besides, it doesn’t do anything except give ya bloody migraine and leaves ya barfing everywhere.” He sits on the couch and looks me in the eyes. “Ye’ve been doing fine for the past three months, why can’t ya be fine now?”

            “It’s his birthday, Errik. How can I feel happy when he’s gone, especially on his birthday?”

            “Ya already celebrated at his grave, right?” I nod in confirmation. “Then that’s all you can do, Ray. No matter how much ya drink, how much ya sob at night, he’s not coming back.” At this moment, tears start to well up in his eyes and I can tell that he wants to cry too, but he tries to stay emotionless. “I’m sorry,” he says and hugs me tight.

            Not knowing what else to do, I just hug him back as well, which actually calms both of us down. Getting out of our embrace, he wipes a small part of his right eye and says, “So how far along are ya?” He nods towards the computer.

            “I’m still in the first chapter, just a page in.”

            “It’s been a week, Ray. How come yer only a page in?” he says, furrowing his brows.

            Rolling my eyes, I reply, “It takes time to write perfection.”

            “Whatever, so . . . can ya read it to me?”

            With a soft chuckle, I sigh, “I suppose so. Now, this is just my first draft, so please bear with me on it.”

            “Numbers on the top of her head were counting down pretty fast. It boggled my mind to not know what they were or why they were counting down. We both stop walking by a crossing line, where pedestrians can walk across the street; but after a few seconds of her looking both sides, she continues on while talking on the phone. It wasn’t until the numbers were decreasing massively and the sound of a car speeding down the street that I knew what was coming next.

            I picked up my feet and ran, but by the time skin hit metal, it was too late. She was already dead.

            I stood there, emotionless. With no thoughts invading my empty brain, not a single breath caught in my throat or a tear trying to break itself away from behind my eyes. Inside, I felt broken, but my face is nothing but a façade; trying to hide the real terror that leaves itself in my memories that scars beyond my eyes.