Ghosts of the Future

Unscathed

Saira's POV

He won't leave me alone, and it's pissing me off.

Max follows me day after day. He sits next to me at lunch, though I ignore him. He walks me home, though I can take care of myself. Whenever he sees me enter the woods, he follows.

I hate him with almost every fiber of my being. A tiny part of me likes that he's watching me, taking care of me, making sure that I don't try to kill myself. But that part is miniscule, like the beetle crawling over my boot.

"Go away," I say for the millionth time. A rustle of bushes, and Max appears with his arms crossed. "No," he says, like all the other times I've told him. Unlike those times, though, I simply sigh and keep walking into the woods after depositing the beetle on a nearby stick.

"Don't you have some other things you'd rather be doing?" I ask, turning my head to watch him walk after me. He steps on a stick, which snaps with a loud crack, and winces. I hide my smile, and turn around to continue forging through the woods.

"No, not really. Except for one thing," he answers. My ears perk against my will; my curiosity is annoyingly intuitive. It makes me good at school, but real life? Not so much.

"And that is?" my mouth asks against my will. I wince, and rub my wrists together. The cut on my bicep has healed into a black scar, the exact same as all the others. And, since Max is always around, I can't attempt unless I'm at home. And then, my adoptive parents are always there, watching.

It's making me crazy. I can feel the pressure of my memories, of the smoke and blood and screams, in my head. They want out. They want to be remembered. And they can only do that when my blood is spilled. That's the way my life works, ever since the Devil cursed me four years ago. Ever since I started cutting.

Max laughs, bringing my mind back to the present. His laugh is nice, which I hate that I notice. I can imagine his smile too clearly, and I know that I won't forget it for the rest of my life.

"I think you know what I mean," he says, his voice softer and rougher. I shudder and keep moving, not stopping my feet. My hands skim over leaves and branches, relishing in their different textures. I like this, being out in the woods, where no one can get me, and my memories can have full reign.

"I thought we discussed this," I say, stepping through two trunks. I continue forward, and hear Max curse as he gets tangled in some of the branches. Against my will, I stop and turn, and watch him struggle out of the tree's clutches.

He glares at me once he's out, his gray eyes sharp and level, like a hunting hawk's. His blond hair is turned dark by the shadows, but he's still handsome, which infuriates me.

"No, you discussed this. Then you walked out and didn't give me a chance to answer," he says, walking forward. I stand still, watching him approach. My mind flashes back to a year prior, when Justin walked towards me with a bloody knife. That was at night, in the graveyard, just after he raped and killed a classmate.

A year after that-just a few months before this moment-I had followed him to a cabin in the woods. There, I had shot him in the chest, then let him burn to ashes.

With the overlaid image of Justin over Max in my mind, I can see too many similarities. They look nothing alike, but their actions and mannerisms are similar. Both are murderers, both got away with their crimes. That swaggerness is in their movements, especially their walk. And both of them knew something about me.

Justin knew that I was scarred because of him. He had taken a bloody knife and carved a scar into my face. It's faded into a pale line only seen in bright sunlight, or if you're looking for it. And Max knows that I'm suicidal.

But, I know that they're killers. Like me. Blood spilled binds people together. Bloody hands can never be washed, no matter how much soap you use.

Max stops in front of me. I stare up into his eyes, as gray as storm clouds. He's close, too close. My skin crawls, even more so as he puts his hands on my arms. My back is against a tree in an instant, and Max's mouth is coming towards mine.

Anger alights within me. I push him away using my knees and legs. He stumbles away, and I'm gone. I'm a ghost in the trees, just one of the voices laughing from the trunks and leaves. 

-----------------

He would never dare bother me here. Not this house. Not these memories.

I sit in the living room. All the furniture is covered in white sheets, and those are covered in a thin layer of dust. The floor is a thin carpet of dust bunnies and particles.

The dust annoys my sinuses, which feel like over inflated water balloons. I ignore the pain in my head and neck, and look around. I sit on none of the furniture, since that would be suspicious, just in case anyone actually came in here.

The books are all dusty, but I still read them. It's quiet in this abandoned house, a place where no one sane would go. Lily Northwoods's house. The house of a murdered girl and her suicide parents.

Lily. I want to help her, but I don't know how. I can hardly be around Max, since his lust for me clouds his eyes. And I can't turn him in simply on the basis that I spoke to Lily's ghost.

And besides, the police know me. They have long memories, just like me. They'll know my face from papers, from meeting me. I'm not that well known, but my story is. A girl killing her entire family and escaping a burning house unscathed doesn't really go unnoticed.

I'm back in the memory before I have time to say Uh oh.