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[13 Jun 2009|11:30pm] |
CHAPTER ONE
Crystalline blue eyes haunted me. I couldn't tell whose eyes they were, but they refused to leave me, pressing into my mind, tearing apart my soul. I ached when I saw them, an unfamiliar feeling, and all I wanted to do was escape them. They were so clear, and yet, so lifeless, and as I drew closer to them, a hand shot out to grab me, my screams reverberating through the hallway.
"Help me."
I didn't know who this man was, this shockingly beautiful man, with his charcoal hair and bloodied mouth, but I knew I wouldn't leave him. Looking around, I yelled, panicked, then edged closer to him and attempted to wipe the blood from his face. It didn't help. He was going to die there, holding onto me, if I didn't do anything, but what was I going to do? We were alone and I couldn't leave him to find a phone to call anyone. He sputtered again, and my heart sank.
Until I heard the footsteps.
I barely had time to spin around before I was knocked against the wall, feeling my bones crush under the impact. Crying out, I slumped slightly, my vision becoming dimmer and foggy, but somehow I managed to open my eyes, only to watch in absolute horror as the men descended, hands wrapping around his throat, his arms. I thought I was screaming again, but I heard nothing, absolutely nothing, until the resounding sound of flesh ripping filled the void. Blood splattered every which way, small droplets tinkling onto my skin, bright and hot. The walls became red, the men almost gleeful as they held limbs, sneering at him, watching his body shake and convulse until it didn't. My screams finally pierced the air like a sonic blast, drawing their attention to me. I pressed back as they approached, their eyes wild, thirsty-
"Eva. Jesus Christ, calm down!" I heard an almost familiar voice to my side, but I could do nothing but scream louder. They knew my name. They were going to kill me. They were going to dismember me and play with my fucking fingers, too. "Eva, for the love of God, you need to breathe or you'll go into cardiac arrest!"
"Let go! Let me go, let me-" I was wailing, my arms flying to push my assailant away from me, but nothing helped. I was strapped down to the floor, and the men, with their crazed look, were going to eat me alive. "I can't- You can't. Please, please..."
"Evangeline!" Shouted once more, before I was finally able to open my eyes fully, everything a colorful haze of blues and crimson. Nothing was focused, until I lifted my hand to my face again, to look for the drops of blood, the streaks of red I was sure I would find there. Nothing. Both hands up now, as I continued gasping for air, but there was no trace of blood at all, only a needle sticking rather obnoxiously from a vein. Confused, I looked around- Monitors sat around the bed I was in, ticking behind their black and green screens; a bag of clear solution connected to a tube that dripped slowly into my body, looking almost like a saline solution, but more than likely some sort of medication. Was I in the hospital? Where was the man? Had they brought him here, too? "Baby, look at me. Look at me. Are you alright?"
The soothing voice drew my gaze, and I was finally able to recognize who it was. My mother, Patricia, hovered over me, concern written deep in the lines that etched her skin. She looked exhausted, her dark hair pulled back loosely, her brown eyes wide as she ran her gaze over my face. What was she doing here? Maybe she knew where they had taken the man. "Mom..." I started weakly, but my voice was hoarse, my throat painfully dry. I swallowed, barely, and then tried again. "Mom-"
"No, baby, don't talk." Her hand came up to push my hair off of my sweaty forehead, the worry in her voice overwhelming. Was I in such bad shape? Had they gotten to me after all? If I was missing a limb, I really wished she would hurry up and tell me so that I could deal with it sooner than later. "I'm just so glad to see you awake. You've been out for so long, you know? I didn't think I'd see those pretty eyes again."
What the hell was she talking about? I was just in my apartment building not too long ago, trying to keep a man from bleeding out in my hallway. Maybe the blow to the chest had knocked me out for longer than I expected. Shaking my head slightly, I reached up to pull the oxygen tubes from my nose, waving my mother's hand away as she tried to silently protest. "I'm fine, Mom." I hated that my voice didn't sound like mine at all. I attempted to sit up, finding my arms weaker than I had expected them to be, and frustration started to build in me. "How long... how long have I... been out?"
She paused, apparently debating on whether or not she was going to tell me the truth. "Five weeks." she finally answered, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth and worrying it before talking again. "It's been five weeks since the car accident."
I was confused, and I think it showed, because her hand went back to stroking my forehead, one of those motherly things that I never quite understood. It didn't calm me down in the least. "Car.. car accident?"
"I didn't think you'd remember. Oh, Eva, I'm so sorry. We should have never told you two to come up to the house on such short notice. Taylor was just in such a rush to get there-" She started crying, her hand moving from my forehead, her fingers interlacing as well as they could with mine. Unfortunately, I had no desire to be touched at the moment, because I was too confused to want anything else but answers. I stared at her pointedly, waited until she settled her silent tears enough to look at me again, before I talked.
"What car accident?"
"You and Taylor were on your way up to see Daddy and I when an Explorer slammed into you two at an intersection." She was trying to stay strong, but I knew her well. She was breaking, and something deep and painful stabbed in my chest. No. Was she- Did he- "It was your right of way, of course, but his brakes failed and your Prius completely folded under the pressure. Taylor... It hit Taylor's side, the passenger's side. He-"
"Mom." My voice broke as I tried to sit up, suddenly gripped with the kind of dread that could only be associated with shock. There was no way. "Where. Where is.."
She shook her head, the tears starting up again, heavy as they fell on my hand, feeling almost like hot coals hitting my skin. "He didn't make it, Eva. Taylor- He died in the car, before the paramedics came..."
I stared at her, incredulous. The idea that I had lived and he had died refused to register in my mind. Instead, an overwhelming anger hit me, and I pulled my hand away, attempting once more to sit straight, shifting enough to pull the sheets away. "That's not even funny." I snapped as I pushed away from her, ignoring her as she stood up, quickly becoming annoyed with the amount of false distress she seemed to be putting out. This had to be some kind of sick, twisted joke everyone had decided to play on me. At any moment, I expected for Taylor to come out, that theatrical grin he always wore brightly plastered to his face. When it didn't happen, I sucked my teeth. "Where is he?" Looking around again, I shook my head, trying my best to scoot towards the edge of the bed, my muscles crying out to me, seemly debilitated. "Where the hell is he, Mom? I am going to rip him a whole new hole-"
"Evangeline, he's dead." She finally let out a sob as she threw her arms around me, holding me in place, but I couldn't even lift mine to hug back. I felt cold, suddenly, as if my anger had been torn from me and all that was left was a hole, a dark hole, that was threatening to take over my body. "He's dead, baby. I'm so sorry..."
"No." I breathed out against her shoulder, my head shaking again in disbelief, even though the vibrations from her weeping body told me this couldn't have been a joke. It was truly some cruel, ironic twist of fate that had landed itself in the middle of my life, and right before my eyes, my world began to shatter. Eyes filling with tears, my hands finally came up to clutch my mother, and she held me tighter, predicting the inevitable. "No, I can't. I can't be without. I-" Tears rose and fell, spilling onto my face, onto the dark red cashmere of my mothers sweater. Staring at nothing in particular, I lost track of time, no longer able to differentiate who was holding who tighter. I felt dizzy and sick, nauseous, even as I made out the flutter of bird's wings soaring past the window of my hospital room. We sat there, silent for a long while, until someone was sobbing openly, wailing, the words 'please' and 'no' bouncing from wall to wall. I couldn't tell who it was, really, so I just continued to hold on, willing the noises to stop. Only when I found myself gasping for air once again did it register that it had been me all along.
I stared out of the window, days later, finally able to move around my room a bit, although I was confined to a wheelchair due to the lack of proper muscle response in my legs. The sun was high in the sky, piercing through the idle clouds, casting a warmth that had people walking around in tank tops and little dresses. I couldn't feel it. It felt as though I couldn't feel anything anymore, except for the undeniable feeling of emptiness. Mom had come to see me every day since I woke up, but no amount of flowers, no matter how beautiful, could take my mind off of the crash I had been in. Bits and pieces of the incident had began to filter back to me, but none of it was certain, the doctor had told me, since the impact had shifted my brain just slightly. Still, I remember seeing his face, his eyes that odd shade of honey, laughter continually creasing the edges of them. We had been talking about politics as I slowed at the light, my hand placed lazily on his thigh, his fingering through my blond hair, playing with each soft wave. I remember getting a call, before that, and his excitement about finally being able to see the condo he had been trying to buy off of my father's friend for months. He had kissed me, wrapped his lean arms around my body and nuzzled his pointed nose against my face.
"We're moving up, E." A whisper against my skin, the last time he had touched me so closely. And now he was dead.
The clear sky seemed like a joke now. I prayed, dimly, for never ending rain, but I knew that summer in San Fransisco meant there wouldn't be a trace of rain for weeks. I was stuck in this happy world with its sunny skies and chipper birds, and I hated it. I hated everything.
"Evangeline?" Softly spoken not far from me, and I didn't bother turning from the window, nearly put my head down and played restlessly with my dressing gown. I knew it was my mom, and I knew, more than likely, she was going to attempt to talk me out of this misery I felt. It was pointless, I knew she knew that, but she had to try. I admired her for that much. "Did you eat your lunch today?"
"I'm not hungry." I said flatly, never looking up, even as she sat next to me, her hand reaching out to cover mine. I didn't bother to pull away.
"You should really try to eat something, kiddo. Daddy's worried sick about how much weight you've lost."
"I'm fine."
She sighed, patting my hand, and then turning to look out of the window herself, pulling her hands into her lap as well. We sat in silence for a moment, and then her voice lit up the room. "You'll be able to go home soon, they said."
"Great."
"You should be happy." She tried, weakly, offering me a smile I didn't see. "I thought for sure they were going to keep you in here longer."
"I am happy, Mom." I said, turning my head fractionally to look at her, attempt a smile in return, even if I knew it looked pained more then elated. "I'm happy that I'll be able to take a real shower, you know, and then get into my own bed."
That made her smile a little more genuine. "That's right, baby. And eat real food, not this hospital crap they've been trying to shovel you." Leaning in, she lowered her voice, a hint of amusement behind it. "If I were you, I wouldn't eat it either."
My mouth twitched, and then I looked down again, lifting a shoulder briefly. "The pudding's good."
Silence fell once more between us, my focus once more on the blue and white checkered fabric I wore. It was heinous. It was a wonder people didn't drive themselves crazy, sitting around in these things, surrounded by four pink walls and a television that didn't even have good sound. I had always said if I made it through my nursing school, I would petition to have the county hospitals repaint their walls to something a little more inviting. Cream, maybe?
"They had the funeral." It wasn't a question, really, and I had no idea where the statement came from, but it slipped out before I could stop it and I instantly regretted my words. Of course they had the funeral- it had been several weeks since the crash, and there was no way anyone was going to wait for me to wake up in order to bury Taylor. Mom didn't answer immediately, allowing for my silly inquiry to go unnoticed until I heard her shift in her seat.
"The first week you were here." Her low voice was filled with remorse, and I lifted my eyes to meet hers quietly, waiting for her to continue. Every word she said made some part of my chest ache, but at least I felt something. It was almost satisfying, knowing that I wasn't emotionally dead. "We weren't sure if you would ever wake up, so Mr. And Mrs. Dormer decided it would be best to bury Taylor not long after the crash."
I nodded, feeling the tears prickling at my eyes again, my throat closing up so much I thought I'd choke. They buried my fiance, and I never got to say goodbye to him. I never got to say anything, really, because someone had taken him from me, and now I had to live the rest of my life without hearing him say 'I love you' again. The ache became a full throb, and my hands twisted at the dressing gown, pale fists wrapped in the fabric. I couldn't breathe. I was drowning in this misery, sinking further and further with every breath I took, and it chilled me to the core.
"How are they doing?" I managed, and she shrugged a shoulder, sighing heavily.
"As well as can be, I guess, after losing their only son. They're happy to hear you're awake, though."
My mother pulled her chair close to mine, until the wood hit the metal of the wheels, and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. I felt like dead weight against her as she hugged me, my tears soundless as they fell. "He loved you so much." She mumbled, shaking her head and lowering it to press a kiss to my scalp. "I'm so sorry."
So was I. Unable to answer out loud, I merely let her hold me, gaze sliding towards the window once more, my vision blurring before I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing I block everything out forever.
It seemed as though timed stopped for me the days after waking up. Even when the doctor made the cheerful announcement of my release back into society a week after talking to Mom about the funeral, it didn't seem real. The hugs and kisses from my parents, the sullen air on the drive back to my apartment in my father's old Mercedes, nothing really seemed to be happening to me- at least, none of it seemed to absorb into my mind. I felt so unnecessary as he handed me my backpack and asked, for the millionth time, whether or not I wanted them to come up with me to my apartment in the heart of San Fransisco. I refused, again, fully aware that his feelings were probably crushed, but knowing full well Michael Rowley was not a man to show emotion. Instead, he nodded, hugging me once more and patting my back with big, well manicured hands.
"Call me when you need me, kid." His smile was false, the one I gave in return almost identical. With nothing else to say, he slid into the drivers seat, kissing a sniffling Patricia and heading back to the freeway.
Walking up the stairs to the third floor of the old tenement seemed much more arduous than normal. Perhaps it was because my legs were still getting use to being in action after nearly a month and a half of bed rest, but each stair seemed like more of a hassle than the last. When I finally made it, I hesitated, grating my nerves for whatever laid beyond the door. With any luck, when Mom had come to get Sue Ellen, my old tabby cat, she'd been kind enough to clean up as well, but with my luck and my mother's distaste for straightening up even her own house, it was doubtful at best. The key in the door and subsequent squeak of it opening sounded much louder than I was sure it was, a blast of noise in an otherwise silent building. I tossed the jingling ring onto the corner table, covered by a now dead bouquet of roses and lilies, a remnant of the day Taylor had surprised me with his announcement. As emotionless as I could force myself to be, I spun back around to lock the door, and then walked farther into the hall, not bothering to turn on the light. Gentle evening sun cast itself around the living room in front of me, falling over boxes left half filled in the middle of the floor. Taylor had been so sure that he was going to get our condo that he had told me to start packing weeks in advance, even with the wedding only 3 months away. I hadn't minded, though, so wrapped up was I in being both the blushing bride and the soon-to-be condo owner, but now, staring towards stacks of folded towels and mounds of classic literature laying idly next to untaped boxes of CD's and pillows, my heart felt as though it was going to burst from the pain. So much for emotionless. My backpack dropped from my shoulder as I slid soundlessly towards the living room, eying the clutter with such displeasure and the craziest urge to throw it all away. Why couldn't he have waited, I thought miserably, reaching down to grab the unopened bottle of water I had dropped when he had shouted his good fortune from the kitchen. If we had of gone to see it any other day, he'd still be here. Any other moment in time. He was always so goddamn impatient, that's why, and in a moment of fury, I pitched the water halfway across the room, hearing it slam into my entertainment unit, the sounds of it popping and leaking onto my floor breaking something inside of me. Tears filled my eyes as I stumbled blindly towards the window, pulling the curtains closed so that the room became shrouded in darkness. I wasn't ready yet. I wasn't ready to face this.
Somehow, I managed to make it to my bedroom, albeit rather breathlessly from the effort it took to both walk in the dark and try not to have a mental collapse along the way. It was cold, freezing, and one lone light was already on, the floral-embossed lamp on my nightstand, dimly illuminating only a portion of the room. That was all I needed. I kicked off my flats and practically ripped my jeans from my body, the dark orange bruising from the accident still staining my creamy, and apparently very sensitive, skin. Seeing them only made my fury worse, and I choked on a sob, not bothering to remove my collegiate hoodie before I tossed the blue covers back from my bed and quickly crawled under them, the shock of the icy sheets temporary compared to the intense amount of pain I was in. The tears came faster as I reached over, knocking around until I could feel the knob of the lamp, and I shut it off, surrounded by dark again, giving into the sadness and crying myself into a restless sleep.
The weekend went on in a similar pattern. I couldn't bring myself to get out of the bed and risk having all those memories crashing down around me again, so I avoided them. Of course, in doing that, I also neglected eating for nearly 48 hours, but it was a small price to pay and I never actually felt the effects of it at all. The only feeling that reared itself was one of overwhelming grief for a loss that I would never be able to recover. My life had been so in control before, and now it was anything but that, the peace that was so dominant in my world completely broken for something heavier, a virus of self-loathing and loneliness. It should have been me. He was such a bright man, so full of life and energy and joy, and I was his balance, living my days down here on Earth while he had fun with his fantastic ideas up there in the clouds. He had spoken of opening his own law firm one day somewhere in Colorado, where it was cold and crisp and he could head up to a mountain at any given time to snowboard, a pastime he rarely got a chance to partake in here, in San Francisco. I told him he was crazy if he thought I was going to leave the warmth for Hell frozen over, but he just laughed at me and the decision was made. That was how we were, all the time- for the past three years, he was all I knew. He couldn't be gone. My pillow still smelled like him, his odd scent of cinnamon and sandalwood lingering around the sheets, and when I woke up Monday, my arm was draped across what would have been his side of the bed, expecting to feel the warmth of his body under it. Disappointed, I curled into a ball and cried yet again until I felt worn out. Exhausted. Finally ready to leave the bed.
The phone rang while I dug through cabinet drawers for a pair of sweatpants, but I didn't bother to answer it, drowning the noise out with the constant berating of myself happening in my head. Pulling on a pair, dark gray with bleach stains, I padded my way down the darkened hall and into the even darker living room, again taking in the disarray, my chest tightening but no tears forming. I'd be surprised, actually, if I had anymore tears to spill. My fingers fell across the back of my couch as I walked past it, soft ivory brocade sliding under my touch, and I wondered if I closed my eyes for long enough whether or not I'd be able to dredge up every past experience I'd had with Taylor that centered around the couch. Probably not. We had so many nights of just sitting and watching Jon Stewart or Conan O'Brian that they would probably blend together, but I remembered some. My hand lifted away and I shook my head, as if to shake off the thoughts that would lead to more crying.
Finally, I made it to the kitchen, and in an effort not to land myself in the hospital again, this time for malnutrition, I settled on making myself an egg and toast. I had never felt so drained in my life, and even the small movements around the room, gathering what I could from the refrigerator and cabinets, took a toll on my less than stellar energy levels. I managed to crack the egg and empty it into a bowl, whisking slowly, and had started cutting up some garlic- the only vegetable that wasn't rotten- when my eyes closed for longer than a normal blink and I cut into my finger. Swearing loudly, I lifted it to my dry mouth, sucking on it, the coppery taste making my stomach churn, and it happened.
At first, I thought I had just blacked out. The air around me was stale, sunlight trickling from a window somewhere to my right, but I couldn't see it. All I saw were those blue eyes, like clear sapphires, focused on me, empty. They gave me chills, my breath catching in my throat as I stared at them, before the words were spoken again.
"Help me."
My legs felt as though they were going to give out, but I moved forward, stumbling over my own feet before I sank down next to him, his blood soaking into my jeans. His blood was everywhere, now that I was looking at it, and I started to panic, bile rising in my throat, a bile I didn't taste but knew was there. Finding a voice, I screamed for help frantically, my training as a nurse kicking into gear as I tore at his shirt, exposing the holes that pooled and leaked dark red.
"Help...-"
"I'm trying!" I hissed, finding his eyes again and feeling my heart race despite the gruesome scene around me. He was beautiful, with a sharp nose and dark, dark hair against slightly tanned skin the color of peaches, those crystal eyes tortured with pain as they watched me do nothing for the span of seconds. God, what was I thinking, and I shook my head, attempting to focus again, fingers trembling as I grasped my shirt and ripped the hem from it to use as a rag.
It wasn't until I had started cleaning off the blood from his gurgling mouth that I heard the footsteps. Spinning around on my hunches, I tilted my head up, barely getting out a gasp before I was knocked into the wall not far from the injured body, feeling the breath being knocked out of me. Blinding pain shot through my chest as I screamed, crying out for air that would not come to me fast enough. Stars danced around my eyes, but I blinked them away, only to be met with the backs of three men, tall and thick, descending on the dying body, a wild laugh filling the air...
Gasping, I clutched the cool granite counter top, eyes flying open as I tasted vomit and blood in my throat. Sliding over to the sink, I turned on the faucet and watched the cool water stream down, crash with the aluminum, but the rush of chilled mist against my face did nothing to stop my heart from pounding desperately in my chest. Weakly, I raised my hand, watching as dark red trailed slowly down my palm, |
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