(#1) Roommates by Day, Enemies by Night

Chapter 55

And I didn't think even eternity would be long enough to fix me.~ Sarah J. Maas, A Court Of Mist and Fury

Dedication: To the wonderful and always supportive amandamiles234 for the lovely comments and votes! Thank you so much!

Siena

I always thought that scars were a testament of strength. Of willpower. That they showed the world who you are, and how strong of a person you are.

And I guess, in a way, they are. They stand up and say, I survived this. I made it through this. I can make it through more.

But scars are also a reminder. It depends on how you take it. They can be a good reminder, a scar for where you had you child taken out, where you protected them in a car wreck. They can represent loving things.

But scars like mine don't. They are a constant pain, a reminder of what I suffered. A shard of glass, falling through a window at five slashed across my back. About halfway down, there's a white mark that shows where it was.

That's nothing compared to the one on my shoulder.

But even that is little, compared to the scar that plagues my heart.

Everything fades into white noise. It's all white around me when I open my eyes, and when I look down, I can't even see my own hands.

I clutch my my hair, only to find out I can't feel anything. Bite my lip hard enough to draw blood, I can't taste anything. I scream until my voice is hoarse, and I still can't hear anything. Why? Where am I?

Then, it breaks.

Everything comes rushing at me all at once. Snippets, bit and pieces, fragments of a story rushing through my eyes, flashing as if it were on a movie screen. They're all so fast, I can barely decipher them. My eyes rush back and forth, back and forth in a vain attempt to find out what's going on.

Then, the visions slow down.

I see myself, at age 5, swinging on the swings at the playground. I didn't notice it at the time, but do the corner, there's a man, wearing a baseball hat, sipping his coffee, staring at me.

I'm suddenly pulled into another memory. I'm with Dylan, the night of the party, where everything almost changed. We're sitting on the roof of his car. The man is there again. He's behind us, watching me from the shadows.

I can't describe it, but somehow, I knew he wasn't going to hurt me.

This time, it flashes back to a time when I know I wasn't there, because it's Paris, and it looks like it's the middle of the 20th century.

There's a very pregnant woman, running through the streets, nearly tripping. She just manages to keep the baby safe. It's the same woman from the dream. Redhead, piercing brown eyes, freckles smattered across her face.

Then, there's a sound. Almost as if a door in a hurricane is being opened, and a man springs into existence. It's the same man who was watching me. Handsome, he looks to be mid-thirties, and he has my eyes.

He grabs the woman's hand and they both disappear into the vortex.

I'm falling backwards, smashing through the pristine white floor, breaking my back over and over again, until I fall onto a soft, white mattress. I jolt up, and I'm sprawled out in an empty room. All white, it's just the bed, and a locked door. Nothing else.

I tentatively get off the bed and see that I'm back in the real world. I touch my face, and i can feel it. Taste the blood on my lip. I look down, and I can see my hands. I hum, and I hear my voice.