Darker Than Love | ꪜ

Darker Than Love | 1

Michelle's POV

The scars on her face, the cuts on her hand, the purple bruise which imprinted in her stomach and the black ring around her neck. A nightmare, this was my personal nightmare that I never even saw coming, but now? Now it was here. In front of me. Haunting me.

I watched as she coughed out blood which trickled down her pale chin, lapping onto the tiled floor, staining it crimson red. It spread like wildfire across her chest. Her legs were stretched out before her and her hands bounded together.

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 in my throat, the grumbling in my stomach, the nausea, the anxiety, the aching headache. I could have heard the pounding of my heart from miles.

And they could have heard the pleading for help from centuries.

Help. . .help?

What were those words when all you had was a dying body in your hands? No one in sight to help you as your body lapsed into shock, freezing every nerve in your body, preventing you from thinking, moving.

They wondered why I became a 'rebel'. Why I snapped, why I went from bad to worse. I never recovered, could never. . .how could I? When the sight before me just kept haunting my life. Repeatedly, relentlessly, ruthlessly.

They wondered where the good girl went. And who set her off like a dynamite awaiting to blow.

If only they knew.

"Why!?" I sobbed as I clutched desperately onto my dying sister, her blood staining my clothes, sticking onto my skin as if it were tar, but my appearance was the least of my concerns. What I cared about was my sister slowly slipping into the abyss beneath my fingertips.

"Deborah...." I mumbled, the sound of my horrible sobs racking through my body as I clenched onto her shirt as if she were my lifeline. And as if a light switch had suddenly been flickered from within, I was out of my shocked state, the scenery coming out of its haze, and everything fell right into motion.

"Help, help me!" I screamed frantically as I dug my hands into Deborah's body, slowly shaking her as if she would miraculously awaken. I shook her once, twice, sobbing when she wouldn't respond or even when my fingers pressed up against her pulse which was beating at the speed of a snail. "Michelle!?" My father screams enveloped my ears as he tumbled into the bathroom.

"Daddy," I couldn't help it, the words had tumbled out of my mouth like a broken mess.
"Michelle?" My mother's angelic voice called out to me as she entered the bathroom behind a shell-shocked father, but unlike him she had immediately collapsed into a heap on the floor, a scream escaping her lips so loudly for a moment I mistook her for a banshee. "Oh, my god!"

It didn't take a second to watch the colour drain from my mother's naturally tanned face and her eyes to roll to the back of her head, or her body to fall limply onto the ground. "Dad! Help her!" I cried out as I hugged Deborah's barely functioning body closer to me.

"I-I." He stammered. Fishing for his words.

"Just call the freaking police!" I snapped, screaming loudly at my father's perplexed face. He nervously fumbled for his phone, fishing it out of his pocket and dialling the police and ambulance. He walked out of the room on shaky feet and I could hear him talking on the phone frantically but my mind wasn't on him, it was on my half dead sister.