Dead Serious

Bad Attitude

I was awake and ready long before anyone else, likely due to my inability to sleep the night prior. At day break, I found myself standing in front of the bathroom mirror, trying to rub some sleep into my eyes. They didn't need to know how I'd cried.

The purple bags under my eyes gave away that I truly hadn't slept and the redness in my eyes and the tear stains on my pillows gave away the reason why. My hands shook on the counter.

I thought back to the first night I had spent with them. I'd stolen Jacob's keys, tried to run away.

My legs seemed to urge me to try again. I wouldn't steal the Lucky Duck this time, I knew how much that car meant to Jacob and I truly wanted the three of them to reach wherever they needed to go, safely.

But I could run. Physically, I could run. Be on my own again, stop burdening them, and run. I could get back to Jake and hopefully back to my uncles, adults who might know what to do.

My head was clouded. I couldn't think straight, not when I remembered that dream so clearly.

Dad's broken, bloodied glasses...

I squeezed my eyes tight. I couldn't do this. I couldn't be here.

I had my decision. I was leaving. It was too early, no one would even know I was gone.

I tore open the bathroom door.

Bam! I walked straight into a wall.

Well, actually the wall was Jacob. A very tired, barely functional Jacob. His normally perfect hair, which I knew he paid a lot of attention to, was a mess and he had bags under his eyes, just as I did. He slept without a shirt on, but his red plaid pajama bottoms were ruffled as though he had tossed and turned. It had seemed to me that he had slept pretty well, but perhaps I was mistaken.

"Locke?" He yawned. "Whutare ya doin?"

His tired speech drawled together.

"Nothing. Go back to bed." My words had an unintended edge as I spoke.

Jacob looked at me, suddenly more awake. "Locke, you okay?"

He gently grabbed my arm, but I ripped it from his grasp. His hand was warm and very alive, while I was the polar opposite. I was cold, likely not to be around much longer.

"I'm fine, Jacob. I'm just going to get some fresh air."

He pulled back his hand as if it had touched a flame. "Locke, you're not..."

"I'm okay!" I glared at him.

Then I realized just how I'd been acting. My gaze softened.

"Really, I'm alright. I'm just going to go back to bed. You should too." I stood on the tips of my toes and ruffled his already messy hair.

This seemed to put him at ease. "Alright, but if you need to talk..."

"I don't." I crawled back into my bed. "But thanks."

I was being ridiculous. That dream had shaken me up and gotten the best of me. I couldn't let my emotions have that strong a hold on me or else, I'd probably end up getting myself killed.

Maybe that would be for the best.

No, I had to stop thinking that.

I leaned towards the alarm clock on the bed table. Time had gotten away from me.

It was 7:48 AM on October 7th.

Oh... October 7th.

I was eighteen.

Happy birthday, Erica Wheeler. This is gonna be the worst one yet.

Sorry, for the sad chapter and sorry for forgetting to post last week! Time totally escaped me. Let me know what you think! Thanks for reading!
~Oz