Bad Together

• | 2 | • Jouska

DEFINITION | A hypothetical conversation that you compulsively play out in your head. ♥︎

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Rosalie Jenkins

Many times I have woken up from my dreams and wished it could have been real but in this situation I wished it was all a dream.

I woke up with my pillow soaked from my wet hair and my eyes red, bloodshot and sore. My mind was clouded with negative thoughts about myself and regrets.

I killed someone.

Cole knew I had killed someone, would he tell anyone?

If he knew what is good for him then he should keep his mouth shut. He lives in our house, don't work or help us out in any way but instead he just sits on his ass all day smoking weed.

I didn't feel like going to school today, mostly because of the thought of having someone looking for me didn't settle well with my stomach.

I couldn't live like this now, I had someone's blood on my hands.

I suddenly felt nauseous, running into the bathroom and sitting on the floor next to the toilet bowl.

Why me?

Any noise that I could hear now were enough to set me into panic mode, my mind replaying the moment I crashed into that man's chest and the way he made me feel disgusting.

He can't get me now, he is dead.

His bleach blonde hair dyed red from his blood, his chilling sadistic smile, his gruff fruity voice that made me feel nauseous again.

Was running the right thing to do?

I don't know and I guess I will never know, it is too late now.

I was stuck in a situation that I couldn't get out very easily unless...unless I end up killing myself but I will keep that in mind if things get out of hand.

It would pay the price wouldn't it? Taking my own  life for taking his. 

Scared and not knowing what to do, I brush my teeth and walk back into my room. The last thing I wanted to do now was to wake Cole up and make him angry.

My glossy eyes meet the small wooden fairy that I had carved when I was just 8 years old. My mom had told me it was the best thing I had ever made but looking back at it now, it just looked like a melted ice cream.

The little girl who made that was innocent, a loving girl who wouldn't dream of being in a situation like this. How do I tell her this is her future?

My life was now a living hell.

Shaking my head, I make my way downstairs, trying not to look at the photos of me up on the wall. The ones my mom had taken of me when I was a child. Young and innocent.

When I checked my phone, I realized that it was already 1 o'clock in the afternoon so I must have slept all morning.

It makes sense since I didn't sleep all night.

Cole was already up and drinking his beer while smoking a blunt. Nothing new.

My eyes caught the color of the bottle and froze as I stared at it.

Green.

The same color glass I used to kill that man last night, the same color bottle I used to stab into his chest multiple times.