stolen from sleep.

6

When I regain consciousness, a familiar room surrounds me. Grey walls, with an accent of blood, and the smell of rot. I am not the sole occupant this time though, he leans against the wall to my left, smirking at my rigid figure. A small blade twists and twirls between his fingers and I pull in a ragged breath.

    "Why, what a fun game that was, don't you agree?" The dagger twirls as he steps closer, seeming to gleam despite the lack of light. His large strides cut the distance between us quickly.
"You nearly won your game of cat and mouse, but let's see who will win my game," he snarls.

    His usual slow and precise movements are masked in lighting speed. His hands tears away the lower half of my shirt, dark green cotton falling to the ground, revealing my sunken in stomach. He carves a line in the skin.

    "Tic," he crosses the first line with a second slice, forming a uneven x, "tac." Then he slowly, traces a pattern below the x, drawing out the pain. I whimper as the metal enters my skin and I hold back a scream as he withdraws it. "Toe."

    He repeats the process until my torso is a mess of bloodied x's and o's. The cuts are not deep enough to sever organs, yet deep enough for my screams to echo in the grey room when I am unable to hold them back any longer. When he is finished he wipes the bloodied knife at the remaining fabric of my shirt, cleaning it. I hold my breath, fearing the knife may wound my chest next.

    Before he turns to leave his piercing green eyes linger over my stomach, a hungry gleam in them as he examines and admires his handiwork. "Until next time." He stares down at me, his hungry eyes eating at me, daring a response. When I don't reply, he leaves, a chuckle following him out the door.

    Time passes, but I can't measure how much. I'm sure it can't be days if I'm still alive, surely infection or dehydration would've killed me off by now, I sort of wished it had. A wave of guilt washes over me as I think of my mother, my coming baby sister. I could never wish for death when they're out there waiting for me, could I?

    A sudden clicking noise pulls me from my thoughts. The usually dark room is illuminated as picture after picture flash on the wall in front of me. A dark hair girl next to a blonde. They run through flowers in one, pick strawberries in the next, then they are smiling, big, authentic, toothy smiles while standing in navy graduation gowns. Flashes upon flashes. Picture after picture. All of me and her: Bailey.

    I nearly throw up my empty stomach as the intense feeling of shame overwhelms me. My body throbs, not from pain, but remorse, and I realize I hadn't even thought of Bailey and how she must feel.

    She's been my best friend ever since we met at age eight. We've been inseparable the ten years since. She had been my rock during the divorce, she let me sodden her shirt with tears and listened as I choked on words of sorrow. She brought chocolate to my door when I was too distraught to answer her texts and made me laugh despite the hard times.

    We were planning on rooming together in the fall, freshman at Clemson; she wanted to study biology, and I, art. The campus was not even an hour from mom, close enough to where I could get home to her on the weekends.

    A sudden fit of laughter bursts from the ceiling. Not his though, ours. A video is playing, in it Bailey and I are standing in our graduation gowns, giggling as our moms fuss about wanting pictures, yet can't figure out how to use their own phones to do so. They did figure it out, with a little guidance, that's what the earlier photo had resulted from.

    This was just two weeks ago. How can so little time change so much? A pang of desolation shatters my heart in time with the rhythm of my pounding head.

    Mom and I had left for vacation not even a week later. I promised Bailey we would go get coffee at our favorite cafe when I got back.

    I guess I'm never getting that latte.

    The creak of the door sounds, but it's not so much him I notice as the rolling cart draped in black set in front of him.

    "Your friend looks sweet, a cute one too. You two were close, much like sisters." He doesn't pose it as a question for he already knows my answer. "Wouldn't you like to see her again?" He asks his teeth flashing as he grins.

    Yes, but not here. Anywhere but here.

    "Answer me."

    "Yes," I croak, I know there's no point in lying.

    "Well then, Chloe, I guess it's your lucky day." He pulls the black tarp from the metal gurney, a small body curled up and gagged, revealed. Bailey. Her blonde hair hangs limply around her face, like a golden halo. Her eyes widen at the sight of me.

    "Baile-"

   
      A trigger sounds as a bullet pierces right through her skull.