Michelle's POV
Her face was littered with scars, etched deep into her bruised flesh as cuts peppered her delicate palms, trailing to the surface of her stomach which danced in the waters of purple and black. The sight was daunting; a nightmare I never saw coming...one I was unable to escape. It haunted me, taunted me with its mere existence...and I could only watch in sheer terror.
The sound of her gargle snapped me from my reverie, and I watched, eyes wide as blood poured from her red-stained lips, trickling down her pale chin to the tiled floor now decorated in crimson red. Her limbs twisted grotesquely, arms tied behind her back, legs contorted in unnatural angles as if her very body were rebelling against the bindings. The harsh overhead light cast stark shadows on her skin, amplifying every bruise and cut, each one a silent scream that filled the air between us.
Thirty-six times, thirty-six times I cried, thirty-six times it hurt, thirty-six times I prayed she'd wake up.
Thirty-six times was she stabbed.
The bile assaulting my throat, anxiety shredding the lining of my stomach, the uncontrollable tremors surging through my muscles and the pounding force bashing against the surface of my skull...it was nothing compared to what she had endured.
"Why!?" I sobbed, clutching desperately onto my dying sister, her blood soaking my clothes, clinging to my skin like tar. But my appearance was the least of my concerns—what I cared about was my sister slipping further into the abyss beneath my fingertips.
"Deborah...." I mumbled, my voice fractured by the sobs racking my body. I clung to her shirt as if it were my lifeline. Suddenly, it was as if a light switch flicked on inside me, jolting me from my haze, and the scene around me snapped into sharp, cruel focus.
"Help! Somebody, please help me!" I screamed, pressing my hands to her lifeless body, shaking her frantically, as though she could somehow be pulled back. I shook her once, twice, three times, my voice breaking with each unresponsive moment.
"Michelle!?" My father's voice reverberated off the walls, enveloping me in even more dread as he stumbled into the bathroom. I cradled her head in my arms, unable to form a coherent sentence as I peered up at him through blurred vision. We didn't exchange words but rather stared at one another in silent horror before my mother's screams shattered the deafening silence. It ripped through my ears with brute force, sending chills down my spine that nearly crippled me.
"D-Deborah?" She stammered, her breathing ragged as she crumbled to her knees, her trembling hands digging into her hair. In an instant, I saw the colour drain from her naturally tanned face, her eyes rolling back as she went limp. My father stood frozen, a look of helplessness shadowing his features as he stammered, fishing for words.
"What are you doing?! HELP THEM! Call 911, do SOMETHING!" I yelled through sobs, snapping him out of his daze. He fumbled for his phone, yanking it from his pocket and dialling 911.
"Michelle."
"Yes?" I gasped, my gaze darting back to Deborah as her eyes struggled to flicker open. A cry of relief escaped me and I pulled her tightly to my chest, coaxing her to save her strength.
"W-wake up," she rasped, her bloodied lips barely moving as the words tumbled out.
"D-Deborah, it's okay, I'm here, okay?"
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Darker Than Love | ꪜ
RomancePreviously known as The Good Girls Bad Boy. Highest Ranking: #2 in Short-story Michelle White, the 'good girl' next door, was anything but the cliche stereotype. She was more than that. She wasn't simple, or boring, or devoted to her schoolwork and...
