Burned

Chapter Eight

As I pushed off the covers, I stared at the clock next to my bed. It read 6:47, which was way too early to wake up on a Saturday. Oh, well, I wouldn't be able to fall back asleep. Once I was awake, there was no going back. As I stood up, I took a moment to stretch. My back popped in protest of the early morning rise. Then, I made my way to the bathroom. My nose felt oily, so I instantly hopped into the shower. 

There was a lot to do today, but that didn't even compare to everything I had to think about. It was the weekend, which meant no school, so I had an entire 48-hours to myself. It might not seem like a lot to most people, but it meant a lot to me. To be able to think in my head -- whatever without being judged or feeling scrutinized against was invigorating.

It was needed.

I let the hot water wash over me, cleansing me. In that shower, I started to think about Gran, which wasn't all that odd. I thought about Gran every day. This was nothing new. Today, I thought about the Gran from the journals. How incredibly brave I thought she was for writing her honest thoughts. I could count on one hand how many people truly said/wrote how they felt.

It wasn't always kosher to say how you felt. Gran had been an exception to the most common rule. In her journal, she spoke the truth. Dolls warned me that I didn't know Evanora, but only knew Gran. The more I read the journal, the less I thought she was right. I had to give her one thing though, there was a clear distinction between Gran and Evanora. They were the same person, but decades apart.

It was more than that.

It was how they thought.

It was the truth they spoke.

They each spoke the truth, but they spoke it differently.

Gran was wise, calm, and peaceful. She was the compass of morals -- for this town, my Coven, and for me. Without Gran around, I could barely decipher between right and wrong. Gran gave the best advice and looked out for your feelings. She took the time to listen, review, and comment on your every single word. She cared.

Evanora was short to the chase, driven, and eager to win. She was a mix of morals: ups and downs through the good and the bad. She looks out for herself, especially after Irish passed away. As far as I could tell, Irish had been her anchor, keeping her at bay within the heavy thoughts that plagued her mind. She gave herself the best advice and didn't really care about feelings. She didn't take the time to listen, she acted out on impulse and what she knew.

Evanora didn't care.

Gran did.

As much as I wanted to judge her for her past, I didn't. There was a part of me that understood exactly what had been going on in Evanora's mind. I knew what it was like to straddle the line between good and--- evil? I wouldn't go as far and say evil, but something passed good. What was that? When did it become evil? Was it the moment you crossed the line or further? 

This was something I wanted to ask Gran, but she -- nor Evanora, were here. I was alone, in the never-ending abyss of my questions. The questions that saturated my mind and completely dissolved my feelings. What could I do? I was a stupid sophomore in High School that had only been a Witch for a little over seven months?

I was in no way shape or form to decide what the line was.

I knew that which was why I wished Gran was here. It was what I wished the most. I would bring Sarah Good back if it meant Gran could come back. I sigh, turn off the water, and standstill. That's not right -- I can't even think that. Sarah Good needs to forever be dead. She can't come back. My breath quickens as my heartbeat takes off. 

I need to get out -- get some air. 

I wrap myself up in the towel and go back to my room. I know what I need to do. My dresser was a mess, but I managed to find a clean t-shirt and some leggings. I slipped on some beat-up Doc Martin's and clomped downstairs. It was eerily quiet, which normally would have raised concern, but I was on a mission. I passed through the kitchen and pushed open the back door. It was a crisp day.