Bitch Be Gone

Chapter 20: No Resistance

Andrea's P.O.V.

"NOOOOOOOOO!!!" I balled hysterically as I chased after Tyler.

No matter how much I screamed and cried, Tyler still payed me no attention. He was too determined on Claire's body. He was trying his best to seem cool and collected (well, as cool and collected as a psychotic person can be), but I could tell deep down he was panicking. I slumped down onto the cold, wet grass and looked up at the night sky. I was too weak to beg Tyler anymore. What was I begging for anyway? It's not like he could've brought her back from the dead, unless he was some sort of satanist who knew how to do stuff like that. I wouldn't of been surprised, but I knew it wasn't true. I hadn't eaten in so long, so I wouldn't of been surprised if I had died then and there. I could feel the mildew on the grass touching my naked skin. I looked back over at Tyler, still balling my eyes out. He was going through a medal chest-looking-thing that was pushed up against the back of the shed. For a second, I thought about trying to escape. Maybe I could get away and tell the cops about everything; but as my body ached in pain, reality hit me. There was a small chance I would even be able to get up from the ground, let alone escape from a seemingly strong man.

"Start digging!" I heard Tyler shout frantically. The wind was starting to pick up as I pitifully looked to my side where an old, rusty shovel lye on the ground.

"I said start digging!" Tyler screamed as he moved the shovel aggressively towards me.

I glanced up at him when I realized that my vision was close to none. I felt sick to my stomach. I was numbed with pain. The ideas that had crossed my mind while I was in the closet were starting to make their way back into my thoughts. I reached over for the shovel and used the small drop of strength I had left in my breaking body to take it up into my shaking hands. I flung my hands into a motion that caused the shovel to bash into my skull. A numbing pain sensation shot through my body.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Mason shouted. I felt him whip the shovel out of my hands, but by then he was too late. My vision was only a blur, along with my thoughts.

"Forgive me." I managed to whisper. It wasn't meant for Tyler though. It was meant for all the people had let down in my life; especially Claire. She wasn't the one that deserved to die, I was. I felt blood drip into my mouth, along with a couple of salty tears. I was losing control of my body. I fell to the ground, my skull crashing hard into a rock. That's when I felt the world around me slip through my fingers and into the past, or at least that's what I was hoping for.

the next morning

I blinked my eyes into focus as I felt a gnawing pain coming from my skull. I started to lift my right hand off of the bed to place it onto my head, but I was stopped by a woman's hand. I immediately whipped my hand away in shock, and looked up at the lady who had just grabbed onto my arm. She was wearing a pair of dark blue scrubs, and her dark hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail. She was a plus sized woman, and she had loving, dark brown eyes.

"You can't touch your head sweetheart, you're injured." She spoke with a light hispanic accent. I crinkled my forhead and began to look at my surrounding. There were 2 white curtains on either of my sides, and there was one table pushed up against the white wall that was in front of the bed with a bouquet of daisies resting on top of it. Something about them made me feel warm inside; they made me feel like - myself. I was examining the tubes that were running into my arms when I heard a deep, but smooth voice coming from the other side of the curtain.

"Mrs.Rodriguez, I got here as soon as I heard she was awake. How is she?"

The man speaking had now turned the corner, and I could see his chiseled features. He was older, maybe in his 50's, but the only reason I could tell was because of his grey hair. Besides that, there was no other indications of his old being. He had a young looking face with hazel eyes, and a bit of a beard. His muscly body was covered with a long, white coat that had a name tag attached to it, reading Dr.Dawkins in dark black bold letters, along with a bad quality picture of him. The woman followed Dr.Dawkins to the other side of the curtain. I felt a pit grow in my stomach, but I couldn't pinpoint why. Everything seemed so happy, so normal; besides the fact that my head was pounding so hard that I could barely cope with the pain. After a couple more minutes of contemplating, Mr. Dawkins turned the corner.