darkness falls

Chapter One

I jolted awake just as he hit the relentless waves.

It was only a dream, I thought, shaking, feeling like I was trapped in an earthquake, my vision swimming relentlessly though tears.

But if it was just a dream, why did panic rip through me everytime I saw him slice through the water? Why did sweat run off my body in rivulets everytime I saw him writhe in agony?

Who is he, anyway?

I sighed, promptly deciding to blame it on my overactive and creative imagination. Dreams were good writing material anyway. Though some were more disturbing than others.

Glancing over at the digital alarm clock, I groaned and flopped onto my bed, my back uncomfortably lying on tangled, thick blankets and a pillow. Half past three in the morning. I squeezed my eyes shut. Every single time! I thought, irritated. Why every night, at the same time, and the same dream?

This dream had been haunting me for the past month now. The same cliff. The same storm. The same boy. The same pain. Which didn't make sense at all. I didn't recognize him, but at the same time, my heart longed for him, and every time he cut through the turbulent water, I felt like my heart was shattering, glass pieces ripping through my thoughts and into my waking hours. The way his hair whipped around his face; the way, deep down, he longed for the waves- something my artist/author mind had figured out how to read not too long ago; the way the agony etched itself into his muscles that made me want to snatch all of the pain away...

Just what I needed, falling in love with a guy from a dream.

Get it together, I scolded myself, trying to talk my body into a few more hours of dreamless sleep. Stubbornly enough, my brain refused to calm down and take a chill pill. In a last ditch effort to fall asleep again, I analyzed my room. Sleeping with Sirens, Green Day, Asking Alexandria, and I Fight Dragons posters adorned the walls. My desk was scattered with colored pencils, markers, and rulers, while the chair was strewn with shirts and scarves that were clean but weren't put away properly. Manga drawings were hapazardly strewn across the floor. A drawing of Urahara from Bleach grinned pervertedly up at me. I blinked, and then scanned the scene outside my window. A large willow tree sat outside, a delicate snow falling in a way that made me despise snow even more, but I could have sworn I saw someone crouching down on the ledge outside the glass pane.

Before I could fully scrutinize it, I started to nod off, and the unknown, and possibly non-existant, figure disappeared.

I shuddered awake, hugging my blanket closer to my body. My teeth chattered as I fought to stay warm. Why was my room always like this? The goddamn heater broke again, and it always seemed that my room was the only one affected by it. I stood up, blanket still smothering me in warmth, sliding slippers on quickly to avoid the freezing hardwood, and unlocked my bedroom door, making my way down the hallway and into the bathroom. I drew hot water and ran a shower, quickly stripping as the icy atmosphere bit at my skin. I jumped into the stream, automatically feeling my muscles relax as the heat soothed the shakes out of them. I sighed, wishing it wasn't Monday, that it wasn't school, that I actually had friends, that I would actually have a good day today. That I actually had a family to call my own, that I wasn't so utterly alone.

It was just wishful thinking, as always.

Life has really dealt me some crappy cards. My childhood was scarred by an abusive father, and a mother who drank herself into oblivion to distract her from the crap I was being put through. She was too afraid to do anything about it, out of fear that he would come after her. You would think that if your little girl was being abused, verbally and sexually, you would do anything in your power to get her to a safe place. How could you even life with the idea of that abuse happening to her? 

I guess that's why she drank herself to death. 

I was eight when she died. At this point, the abuse had been going on for most of my life, and it didn't phase me anymore. It got to the point to where it was normal- how sad is that? I just wanted a normal life, one where I didn't have to be afraid of going home, that I didn't have to attempt to defend myself from my father, one that I didn't have to stare at my mother's glazed eyes as she downed another bottle of alcohol. I wanted to stop feeling the pain, stop feeling his hands roaming my young body, stop feeling like I was worthless...

The water slowly ran out of hot water, so I stepped out and wrapped myself up in a towel, picking my blanket and clothing up off the floor. I glanced at myself in the mirror, and was greeted by an unfamiliar looking face. Her eyes were ringed with black, not just from remaining mascara and eyeliner, but from sleep deprivation. Her ocean blue eyes looked exhausted, and her tan skin was marred with scars and cuts. Ashamed for the girl, I adverted my eyes, knowing she wouldn't like to be stared at the way I was tempted to. 

I padded back to my room, the cold air somewhat warmer than what it was when I left. My clock read six o'clock a.m., and I mentally groaned as I realized that I had about an hour and a half before I had to put myself through more torment involving people, and interactions. Ew, I thought helplessly, wrapping the towel around my head and searching through my closet, trying to find something nice yet not flashy. Drawing attention to myself was a no-no. Most of my closet consisted of long sleeved shirts, band t-shirts, and jeans. I pulled on a pair of darkish blue denim jeans, and shrugged on a black tank top, adjusting the straps absentmindedly. I pulled a black, long sleeved Asking Alexandria shirt over my head, fiddling with the cuffs and trying to make them fall comfortably over my hands.

I sat on the corner of my bed, facing my floor length mirror, deciding to actually bother with make up for once. Meticulously, I applied deep black eyeliner, and a thick layer of mascara, making my blue eyes pop dramatically, in a striking kind of way. I smirked at my reflection, forgetting how much I hated myself in that moment. I quickly towel dried my hair and ruffled the damp strands with my fingers, massaging mousse into my scalp and hair. I was actually kind of surprised at myself, for actually caring about what I looked like. Finally I sighed, and glanced at the clock. Half an hour before school started, and I lived on the outskirts of town. I had about a twenty minute drive, give or take, depending on how the weather decided to be. I should probably leave now, I thought pitifully, dreading the upcoming human interaction. 

I grabbed my small backback and clamored down the stairs, almost tripping on the last step. I shot a glare at the treacherous thing, and continued on my way. That thing was going to kill me one of these days, I swear. It doesn't really help that I am a major klutz, with a history that most people would guffaw at. As long as I don't put myself to the hospital, I won't bother with it too much.

Stepping outside into the cold, suffocating wind, I hurried to my Kia, forcing the door open and slamming the door behind me. I coughed, trying to dispel the freezing air from my lungs, and jammed the key into the ignition, turning the heat to full blast and positioning all the vents toward my body.  After a few moments, it finally got warm enough for the car and my body to function properly, and I threw my bag over into the passenger seat. A glimpse of something caught my eye, and it fluttered to the floor as my bag forced the paper into the air. 

Puzzled, I bent over the cluttered consol to pick up the page. It was slightly rumpled, like someone had carelessly shoved it into their back pocket, and the lines on the paper had faded, leaving hardly any of them visible. It seemed to be streaked with dirt, and something else... I brushed my finger over the mysterious black substance on the paper. Charcoal, I thought, a small smile brushing itself onto my lips. One of my favorite mediums when I was creating my art.

The smile shattered as I read the text, scrawled in charcoal with an unsteady, almost terrifying script. 

Decide your own Fate. 

I shuddered, and threw the antagonizing words into the glove box, my hands shaking. Where did I hear that before? Why did that sound so familiar, and why did it terrify me this much?

Trying to shove the thought away into a mental drawer and lock it, I gingerly maneuvered the car out of the driveway, and began the torturous drive to the school. 

I couldn't help but shudder as I thought of the note, and not for the first time, wished that I had a normal life, and wished that I actually had parents.