Saving Nicole

Chapter 10: Sunlight from the Window

Nicole's POV
--

I sit up in bed and stretch, my hands raising over my head and my back arching. I glance at the one window I have, the morning light streaming in in sheets. With a grunt, I hoist myself out and stretch again, just managing to contain a yawn.

The wooden floor underfoot is cold against my bare feet, making shivers dance along my spine and goose bumps to prickle along my legs and arms.

Why did I have that dream? It seemed real, but that's not possible. No. It's not. Right? And where did Shock go? Did he get killed by those wolves? They were twice his size! A solution pops up in my head but I quickly push it aside at the preposterousness. But my brain keeps telling me to rethink it. So of course, I do.

Did Shock change into Dallas?

--

The Frosted Flakes cereal in my bowl swishes around noisily, some slipping over the edges relentlessly. I'm not hungry. The full bowl agrees.

I just can't seem to process the whole absurdity of my dream. Did it actually happen?? No. Dreams don't literally come true like that. No. But I have this nagging feeling in my brain...

Well. I better head to Dallas's house. The microwave's clock in my kitchen reads 10:00. I should be able to get over there by 10:30 by walking. If I bike, I can make it in half that time. Don't ask why I go so early. Dallas always insists. I wish I could take Shock on a walk to meet him, but he disappears the times I want to.

--

When I arrive at his mansion(he still rubs it in my face), I shield my eyes with my hand from the rising sun. Licking my lips, I walk the ways to his front door and knock gently on the beautiful wood. Minutes later, I'm still standing there leaning on one foot. I tug on my shirt nervously and knock again. What's taking so long? He always answers within a minute. Or Carly does. My converse tap nervously at the chisled sidewalk.

Tentatively, my hand grabs the metal doorknob, pushing the knob and gently easing the door open with a loud creak. Why is the door open? Where is Dallas? Where's Carly?

"Hello?" It was meant to be loud, but instead my voice comes out as a whisper. The door opens a little more allowing me to step all the way in. Quietly, I shut the door behind me and walk through the long hallway to the kitchen/ living room. It's their most used room. As soon as the door swings open, I almost fall back in shock.

Dallas is sitting on a stool at the counter with his back to me.

The first thing I notice are the ugly gashes seeping blood on his back and sides. It trickles down his skin and drips on the floor, creating a crimson puddle beneath him. Mud is caked in his hair and coated in his cuts, making them drip mud-blood. His hair sticks up at odd angles. His mint scent is entangled with the tanginess of blood.

Carly is at the stove, her back also to me, and she seems to be heating up some soup. The smell mixes, becoming bittersweet.

Dallas's ragged breathing fills the room, making me ache. Shallow breath after shallow breath. His sides heave and he coughs into his arm. When he pulls his arm away, blood consumes the part he coughed on. He grabs a wet cloth on the counter and wipes gently at the scrapes on his arm, his hand shaking. With a jerk, he pulls away, a small groan replacing his breathing for a second. But he soon goes back to wiping his arms. The scene is utterly heartbreaking.

I stumble backwards, causing a loud thump as I hit the door and freeze. Both Carly and Dallas's heads snap towards me and I feel as if I'm going to cry. Dallas has a black eye and mud and grime covering his cheeks. A long scrape crosses his face from the right of his jaw to his eyebrow. His nose looks broken.

Dallas stares at me for a few seconds, horror etched on his face(or maybe it's just the pain). He curses under his breath. "Nic, I-" His voice cracks and wavers. It sounds like a garbage disposal; rough and gravelly, not at all like his usual voice. His beautiful bright green eyes are gone, replaced by dull green eyes that look shattered. This makes me angry. Why would anyone do this? Why? His eyes were so lively and vivid and now they... they are hurt. No. That's not okay!

The stool screeches in agony as it gets shoved backwards and he stands to face me. Instantly, his hand shoots out to the counter to support himself as his legs nearly give way. He grunts, his knuckles turning white from strain and Carly is soon at his side holding him up. His chest and stomach are very much like his back, but somehow they look worse and I hold in a scream. I cover my mouth to stifle a whimper, and take another step back, the palm of my hand resting against the smooth door.

His head hangs and he desperately clutches Mrs. Amicus and the counter to keep himself from falling into his own puddle of blood.

My brain tells me to turn and run, but my heart tells me to hurry up and help him. So instead, I just stand there covering my mouth with my hand while my eyes become blurry with salty tears. I'm surprised I don't faint. What do you do when you find your best friend covered in blood and barely able to stand? What do you do? I'm still in shock. How even...?

The dream.

No.

It can't be.

NO.

NO. NO. NO.

My thoughts get cut off as soon as his eyes desperately meet mine. And that's when Carly can no longer support him and he falls in a heap to the floor.