30 short stories

Day 2- Wind

Day 2
Word- Wind

  
    I stand on the balcony, hands on the railing. The wind violently whips my hair in every direction as the rain pelts my face creating rivets that roll down my cheeks. My wet bra sticks to my breasts like a second skin. My heavy mascara creates paths of black as either tears or the rain carry it away from my eyes.

    I clutch a cigarette between two fingers, its flame long distinguished by the storm. I take the smoke and lift it to my lips knowing that a wet cigarette was nonfunctional, but I'm unable to care.

    The wind rattles the trees surrounding the house swaying them to the point where they look like they could come down any minute. A flash of lightning causes me to close my eyes in fear as my body begins to uncontrollably shake.

    What cruel irony; that the usual sunny Florida is being hit by a massive storm in the middle of July. Just yesterday the temperatures reached a high of 95 degrees and there wasn't a single cloud in the sky. What cruel irony; that the anniversary of the accident could have the same shitty weather as the day my life crumpled in on itself. 

    I let out a shaky breath and the wet cigarette falls to the ground. I lean over the balcony and stare at the concrete just three stories away.

    I had jumped before and I had contemplated jumping many more times. Yet who would jumping again really benefit? Maybe my own conscience? But I would already be dead, and nothing can benefit a dead girl.

    A siren in the distance catches my attention. While mostly muffled by the storm, I can still hear it. Or maybe it could be my own imagination trying to screw with me. Despite whether it is actually there or just in my mind, I am taken back. Taken back to the night of the accident.

    Five years ago. I had just gotten a job after having been unemployed for two years. I was now a waitress at a nice up-incoming restaurant where rich people went to eat.
After finishing my first shift at my new job I went to my boyfriend's house to celebrate. By the time I had gotten there my son was already fast asleep in his bed and my boyfriend was popping open a bottle of wine.

   I consumed glass after glass as we both drank to our heart's content. The night was a blur of booze and laughter. At one point Shawn recommended we take a drive, maybe go to the beach. I said hell yes and grabbed Dylan from his bed where he slept. Dylan rubbed the sleep from his eyes and asked where we were going, I replied that we were going on a trip.

    We stumbled to my car and I took the driver's seat. The rain had gotten worst since I had arrived and the wind was beginning to pick up. I was too drunk to care.

    In a dizzy state I pulled away from the house and drove onto the street heading god knows where. The color of the signs outside blurred together and I didn't bother to put on the windshield wipers. Apparently I was later told that I wasn't wearing my seatbelt, nor was Shawn or Dylan.

    It was late and alcohol had made my mind and  body tired. I thought it would be fine if I shut my eyes for a few minute to rest. It was fine until I ran a red light.

    The next thing I remembered was the feeling of wet concrete and a chill that ran through my body due to the strong winds slapping my skin. My ears were ringing and everything was foggy.  I felt something oddly warm on my shoulder, it was comforting. To my left I caught a glimpse of some sort of tangled red mess, I didn't know what it was till later.

     I was slowly pulled back into closing my eyes by a wave of tiredness as I returned to my slumber.

     An accident, 30 stitches in my shoulder and three broken ribs, a boyfriend in a coma for a month, a dead son, and four years in jail for vehicular manslaughter and drunk driving all thanks to one drunk celebration.

     I feel cold, very cold. The storm is relentless as the rain continues to pelt me and the wind whip me. My head hangs low as I try to keep it together.

    A pair of arms wrap around my body and a warm chest rest upon my bare back. The bristle of a beard tickles my neck as he rest his head in the crook of my scarred shoulder.

    "Come back to bed sweetheart." He speaks gruffly into my shoulder sending shivers through my skin.

     I turn around to face him. I bring my hands to his face and begin tracing the scars. First the one that stretches from below his eye to his chin, then the one on his nose, and finally the one that blinds his right eye.

    "Okay Shawn." I reply as I follow him inside, leaving the wind and rain behind me.