The Marked

1 - Introduction

My friend, Laila, ran across my room, from drawer to drawer. She grabbed a pile of clothes each time and dumped them into my suitcase.
She was being dramatic, as usual, and I rolled my eyes. "Laila, it's only for four months. I'll be fine, okay?" I ask, my voice sounding slightly impatient and I shake my head at her.
She stops in her tracks and turned on her heel to look at me. "Four months is a long time to be staying with someone that you hardly know." She over-exaggerated her words, adding dramatic hand actions.
I loudly sigh and I fall back onto my bed, sinking into my black and gold blankets and pillows. One of the things I'm going to extremely miss; my bed. "She's my mom. What, you think that she'll turn out to be a serial killer?"
"Yes." She replied confidently. "Because I believe that cereal-hating runs in the family."
I happened to smile at her dodgy joke and I sit up to see my black suitcase almost full of clothes. "There's no way that I'm going to wear all those clothes." I say, staring at in shock.
Laila turned around and gave me a oh really, idiot? face. Her blonde hair spilled over her bony shoulder and almost completely past her chest.
Laila is beautiful; big, grey eyes; dirty blonde hair; perfect body. I've always been jealous of her looks. Or how she could confidently wear a bikini on a crowded beach or wear the clothes that she likes without hesitation or problems.
She could go out without makeup and feel confident. And I could never be one of those people, even when I tried my hardest to.
"Jasmine, you're there for four months," she said, "you're going to need all these clothes."
"But that's the thing. I wanted to buy clothes while I was there." She stopped at my response, staring hardly at the carpet. She looked like she was processing the thought, so I assumed she was. "See, I know what I'm doing too."
Laila gave me a look before sitting on the bed next to me. The bed dipped, but only slightly, highlighting the fact that she hardly weighs a thing. "I want to come with you."
"I do, too." I said before we fell back into the bed in synchronisation. We then both sigh.
Laila is like my sister. Apart from the fact that we kind of look similar, but our personalities are similar, too. We sometimes do things in sync before laughing about it.
And our appearances aren't much different, either. We both had soft, doughy eyes, but her's are grey and mine are dark brown. We both have long hair, but her's is blonde while mine is a dull, dark brown. We both had a pointed head shape and the same kind of skin colour, but she was more tanned and olive and I was more pale. She had clear skin, though. I have freckles scattered all around my face.
"Are you sure that you'll be alright?" She asks after a minute of silence.
Her concern for me makes me smile and I turn to look at her, only to see a sad and worried expression eyeing me. "Laila, I'll be fine."
"I won't." She weakly whispered, making me worry about her more than myself. She swallowed. "I need my best friend."
I blink at her before turning my head to look up at the plain, white ceiling. I lightly sighed. "I do too, Laila, I do too."

Laila ended up staying the night. We watched a couple of chick flicks before my grandma stormed into the lounge room, ordering us to get some rest.
Of course, we obeyed, walking up to my bedroom wearily.
But we didn't go to sleep.
We ended up staying up until 2am discussing how life will be without each other. And it's not as depressing as it sounds. There were laughs in there, jokes, and a different kind of laugh, the kind that hides the begging, jerking tears.
"At least I don't have to listen to you vent to me about your boyfriend problems." She said earlier that night. I just laughed because I knew that it was true and that she meant it.
Now we were crumpled up underneath the covers. Laila is in a deep sleep, but sleep won't come to me for some reason.
So I carefully stepped out of the bed, holding it so it doesn't violently shake the bed, preventing waking up Laila. I then crept out of the room and outside of the house completely, entering the cool atmosphere outside in my backyard.
This used to be my mom's house until she moved away so grandma could live in this house. I don't really know my mother, I just know that she's alive and out of my reach.
I used to live with her but she had trouble with managing money, as I was told, and I had to stay here with grandma.
And she left when I was around six so I don't remember her much. I do hear stories about her, stories given by grandma, but it's not the same.
I walk through the garden and found my favourite feature of it - the old, wooden swing. I go over to it, using the cracked path to avoid the wet, green grass, and I sit down. It creaked from the sudden pressure.
It's old, but it can stay in one piece.
The reason that I like it so much is because it's the only thing I remember from my mom. The memory isn't fresh in my mind, but I remember so much to relive it.
It was when I was around six - the year that my mother left - she built this swing herself. And when she was done, I remember her picking me up and putting her on her lap and we were then swinging softly on the new, wooden swing.
We then pointed around, saying and spelling out the beautiful colours of the scenery, which was now all gone. It was all dead.
I gripped tightly on the weak ropes of the swing as I relived the memory, which now only leaves me feeling empty and lonely.
Then I hear a sudden sound of rustling leaves and I jerk my head up, worried that there was someone watching me. But as I looked, there was no one, or no one that I could see in this lighting, which was only the dark glow of the moon.
Although I couldn't see anyone, I stood up from the swing, letting it softly sway. I didn't feel safe out here in the dark anymore.
And I suddenly felt sleepiness and I headed inside, feeling the heavy sensation of someone watching me.

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