Deception

Chapter 1: Blind

Charlie's P.O.V.

Fear.

My English professor from last quarter would say it's what drives the human mind. I can't disagree, as I find myself struggling to breathe in this moment. 

Quickly, I shove myself in between people and run down the stairs towards the lightrail. My sneakers make this peculiar squeal with each step I take, warning me of what is lurking behind. This makes me hasten my sprint. My heart has shattered into millions of pieces, beating in contrary parts of my body, but I have to keep going. I continue pushing past people and stepping on shoes. My speed has abated and finally given into my lung's plea for air but instead of haulting, I impel myself with every ounce of physique I have and sprint even faster through the maze of people as if my life depends on it. Because, my life depends on it.

I take out my prepaid ticket card and stop behind the line of people waiting for tickets. My lip is bleeding. I know it when I taste the blood from my own teeth. The people in the lines next to me have begun staring; my leg wont stop shaking. I don't give them a second look, piece of low shits. I just need to get on that train. I need to get on that damn thing and get the hell away from here.

My mind suddenly thinks back to Ellie. I try to think of her before the accident. Before I watched her eyes lose the gleaming sparkle. But I cant. I never could after what had happened.

"Miss?" I hear someone say, bringing me out of my haunted thought. I look up, holding my breath. An old lady behind the counter smiles at me with wary eyes. Shaking, I hand her my card. She swipes it and a second later hands me a ticket. I hastily turn and am about to run to the next train but someone's hand catches my arm and slightly tightens around it. A shrill breath escapes my mouth as I wiggle under his grip. It's him, he's here.

I prepare myself for what is about to happen. My therapist went over this with me before. Groin. I am going to kick him in his fricking groin. Swiftly, without taking another minute to envision, I turn around and lift my knee up to the target but he lets go of my arm quickly and lifts his hands up. Lowering my knee, I look up to meet his eyes and feel my whole body relax.

"Uh...you dropped your card." The stranger gulps, suddenly afraid of what I was about to do to his special place.

I mumble an insincere "sorry" and snatch my card from the stranger. Then, I run, ignoring the fact that my shoes are unlaced. My knees feel weaker now as I run across the station to train number 8. Holding my ticket like it is my only kidney, I run across the pathway looking around me for any sign of him.

Footsteps echo behind me so I pick up my pace until I reach the train. I see the doors closing in the back cart and my heart sinks deeper into my chest. I bang on the windows and the passengers inside look frantically at me as if I am a wild animal.

It sure as hell feels like it. Groaning at the utterly disobliging passengers inside, I sprint forward to the next cart and slip in through the doors right before it slams shut. I am breathing so roughly that it causes the casual, everyday subway users to stare. No not stare, glare at me, as if I have disrupted their peace. Annoyed by the sudden tense atmosphere, I gulp down my fear and take a seat in the back, putting my face in my hands so I can catch my staggered breath.

"Aren't you one of the Parker twins? I read something about you in the newspaper the other day." someone whispers next to me. I look up to an old man with spiked grey hair and golden, brown eyes. The wrinkles under his eyes glow under the dull light in the train.

I don't move an inch, his sudden comment has made me lose my breath. Not that I had any to begin with. After a moment of silence, the man stiffens and realizes he has hit some kind of wounded nerve.

"I am sorry about your sister." He finally says, trying to stitch up his cut.

I clench my teeth together until I taste blood from my tongue, dripping down my lip. I don't need this, not right now.

"It's fine. That was a long time ago." I mutter, wiping my lip with the sleeve of my hoodie, hoping that the oblivious old man will get the cue to not say something back.

After minutes of redeeming my normal lung capacity back, I finally feel the color recoil to my face. Lifting my hood up and placing it on top of my head, I lean back in my seat and rest my head on my shoulder.

I lose track of how long I stay on the train. I am still too traumatized to move or step foot off this train so I sit patiently and stare at the people in front of me. I try to guess the life of each person who steps on and off of the train.

A bleach blonde comes on and bats her eyelashes at the first man she sees. They start talking and a smile is plastered on her face the whole time. The man however, seems apathetic. Normally I would ask myself, well why is he still talking to her? Why is he wasting her time? Simple. Guys are douchebags. He just wants to get layed whether he finds her intriguing or not.

Next I watch the old couple sitting in two seats a couple feet away from me. They keep arguing over some movie that they just saw and trust me they are quite boisterous. The man tells the elder woman that she is delusional and she stomps on his foot. I watch as he scrunches up his eyebrows at her and fixes his worn out shoe. I imagine them to be a married couple that probably hates each other more than they love each other, but somehow, that little tiny bit of love always wins.

The game is kind of amusing actually, except when you realize that you will never know if you are even the slightest bit right about these people.

I know someone could look at me and easily bypass me as an innocent, normal girl. Nothing out of the ordinary; light brown hair, Carmel eyes and a tall figure.

Except.

Except there used to be two...two of us. And though most people will walk by and smile, possibly thinking I look just like a normal optimistic lady, they're awry and misguided. They are deceived by what they see, or whom they wish to see. Because what I am and who I have become doesn't even come close to what they fear they are capable of even imagining of the reality behind a "normal girl". Who I am is just one more thing I hide behind a solemn smile. As much as I wish I was exactly who they think I am, I am not. They don't see the permanently stained blood on my hands. They don't see the darkness that has swallowed my heart.

They are completely and utterly blind.