The Sweetest Kill (SAMPLE)

Two: Forlorn

© Amber Kalkes 2015

Chapter Two: Forlorn

My eyes open to a bright ray of sunlight shining directly into them. I blink a few times, just trying to get the uncomfortable stinging out before sitting up to look at my clock. Its nine am and I have three hours until my shift at the café. With that depressing thought, I lie back down on the bed and stare at the ceiling. Florence doesn't take long to join me and begins rubbing her face against my hand. I smile a little as I turn it over to pet her behind the ears, making her purr loudly.

My stomach growls under the layers covering it but I ignore it. I don't feel like eating and even if I did, I wouldn't give into it. What the point of eating when all I want to is sleep? I busy myself with watching Florence's fur curve under the pressure of my petting for a while before she becomes tired of me. Jumping off the bed, she heads for her food bowl and I glance at the clock again.

I should probably get up. I should but I don't want to. The idea of going to work has my stomach in knots and my mind already coming up with excuses not to go. I gnaw on my lower lip, ripping off some skin and tasting my blood on my tongue when I lick the area. Reaching up, I stretch my arms over my head only to realize one of my bandages must have some off in the night.

Sitting up, I move my covers and look around for it before seeing a small bloodstain on the yellow, flower-patterned sheets on my bed. Looking at my arm, I see one of my healing cuts must have opened again. The dry blood next to a cut on my right forearm tells me all I need to know about the culprit. With a light sigh, I decide to just change the bandages on all of them instead and start peeling them all off.

Five.

Five irritated and scabbing over cuts are scattered on both of my arms. They're all in various stages of healing, the most fresh being the one that stained my sheets. I run my pointer finger lightly over each one. Some were done with a stolen box cutter blade from work. The rest were done with a pair scissors I have stashed in a place that I only know about. I can't risk anyone finding them and taking them.

I was still living with my parents as of two months ago. This whole moving out thing is against my parent's wishes but one of the few things Dr. Reynolds has backed me up on. I needed to get away from their watchful eyes and the painful memories of that house. How they can still live there with the ghostly memories of Charlotte running through the halls is beyond me. Or maybe that's why they stay there in the first place, as a last tie to her.

Before I can depress myself more, I push that train of thought away and replace it with the drive to get out of bed. Glancing at the clock again, I swear lowly. Shit, I have to be to work in an hour. With a sigh, I push myself off my bed and go into the bathroom to wash my face before getting ready. I turn the faucet on and watch the water pool in my hands before splashing the cool water my face.

From the pile of clothes on the floor I pull my black skinny jeans from yesterday, a black long sleeved thermal and my other, sort of clean, work shirt. Putting all of those on I manage to still have half an hour to get to work. Grabbing my jacket, I spare a glance out the window only to notice that it's snowing again. Grabbing my red wool mittens, I slip the matching red beanie winter cap on top of my head before spotting my keys on the top of my desk. Going through my mental checklist, I make sure Florence's bowls are full one last time before leaving.

Once I'm outside of my apartment building, an immediate change comes over me. I'm not myself out of my apartment. I don't know who I am, really, but outside of my apartment everything sort of feels like a show. My shoulders curl in as the sidewalk begins to become more populated with people. I shy away from them when they get too close and try to avoid them if I can.