𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐀 ∇ 𝐢.𝐥𝐚𝐡𝐞𝐲 (HEAVY editing/rewriting)

0.0 ⇛ Prologue

C H A R L I E

Prologue

With dry and burning eyes, my heart stuck in my throat as my foot slammed down on the gas pedal.

The only thing standing in the way of my neat Honda civic was the red stop light, but also the learners permit that was sitting on top of the dash board. With the issue at hand, I didn't really care whether a cop stopped me and threw me in their poor excuse of a jail; I knew the sheriff's son.

The light stayed ruby red, taunting me as it remained the same color before I decided my own fate and slammed down on the accelerator, not considering that another party could've slammed into my car, but I wasn't too concerned on that at the moment.

Swearing my car at the edge of the preserve, allowing for it to sit just as far is it could go before opening the door and stumbling out, leaving my coat in the back seat.

The chilly air hit my salt-stained face as if were a dozen needles that pricked my skin, making my eyes water, but I couldn't help but not care. My mind was elsewhere and I couldn't pinpoint my thoughts.

My body was running, hitting the branches of the trees before I lost my balance and went tumbling for what never seemed to stop, but I was soon stopped at a halt where I lied at one of the cliffs of the preserve. The tears that dripped down my face didn't seem to help with the cold while I blew some lukewarm air in my hands, a measly attempt to warm myself up.

The phone in my back pocket caught my attention as it buzzed, my father's name flashing along the screen amongst other series of calls and texts from him and my friends.

I decided that I couldn't keep him waiting any longer, so I accepted the call and lifted my shaky hand up, the cold screen pressing into my cheek as I shivered.

"Charlie, where are you?" My father's worried tone rang through the phone as I bit down on the bottom of my lip.

"I'm fine." I choked out, wondering who I was lying more to; him or myself.

Dad didn't know what had happened, and it broke me to pieces that I would be the one to tell him what had happened, and it was the worst case scenario; over the phone.

"I can hear you lying through the phone, what's going on?" His tone of his voice urgent and alarmed.

"M-Mom's dead." I whispered, my voice barely audible, but I knew that he heard me, the silence over the line said so, and I could feel the empty hole in my heart grow only larger.

"W-what?" His voice wavered as I sobbed into the receiver.

"She's gone. She died!"

Every time I thought back to that awfully painful memory, my brain downplays my emotions. Each time, my subconscious repeating to myself that I was dramatic, but the anguish it holds is unbearable.

▻

It took months before I was finally in a somewhat decent state of mind. Most of my time was spent in therapy, hours spent sitting on a professional's black leather couch and recounting my emotions every week, discussing my thoughts and feelings along with utilizing a journal (some would call it a diary).