𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐞 / 𝐈.

11.

11 - the decision

That night I didn't sleep well, nor the next one. In fact, for the past week I slept fitfully, forcing myself out of nightmares drenched in sweat and searing red.

They always start like a regular dream, but then he appeared like a ghost, in scene after scene. Wordlessly following me as the dream turned from wonderful to frightful. They always ended the same, my body broken like a China doll, my blood pooling out around me, faceless strangers staring down at me in disappointment. And before I could pull myself out of the vision there was a siren song, Edward calling my name, but then I snap awake before I can hear his final words.

My mind often wanders the scenes, even if I'd rather not think about them. I discover myself wondering what he says, wishing I could get to hear them. And then, I have to remind myself of the atrocities that happen before then and shudder away. 

Jay and Teresa had noticed the change in my behavior, my mother too. But after I refused to give them answers they gave up trying to persuade me to talk. I feel bad about it, I want to talk about it, but I had promised Edward that no one would find out. And I don't know how to talk about it when the main reason for my mood had to stay hidden.

So, I suffer, hoping to figure things out on my own. But all I've done is suffer, still. It's been an endless circle of reaching a conclusion and having another issue, just like Teresa had stupidly done with her prom dress, or Mom does when she's trying to figure out what's for dinner. Except this was more important than dinner or a dress.

It didn't help further that the student body had picked up on my newfound icy behavior towards Edward. The rumor that he had asked me out and I rejected him was running wild, just on the heels of the rumor that we were dating. Jessica Stanley had actually cornered me outside of Mr. Jefferson's classroom to ask if the rumors were true, she found herself unsatisfied with my answer. Although it was, in some ways, almost true. I hadn't rejected him, yet. But I hadn't returned his feelings either. No, I was tiptoeing around broken eggs of my own heart.

"Where are you going?" Mom asks. Saturday had finally arrived and despite my terrible quality of sleep, I'm still forcing myself to go hiking with Teresa and Leah Clearwater.

"Hiking." Although she should have picked that up from my backpack, canteen of water, and hiking boots that sat beside the backpack while I fight to braid my hair.

"Fun, where are you going?" She continues to question, "Did you pack a snack? You'll need lots of protein."

"To answer the first question, I have no idea. To answer the second, yes. I packed snacks." I assure her, tightly securing the braid.

"Who are you going with?" This is the standard conversation before any hike. She can probably recite these questions in her sleep.

"Teresa and Leah."