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I rolled my eyes and slipped them quickly back over my ears. I wiggled down into bed, turning off the television in the process. I lay there, staring up at the ceiling and trying to figure out what the fuck to do next. I kept checking my phone. Every few minutes, I checked to see if Clint had called. Or texted. Hell, fucking emailed me or some shit like that. There was nothing, though. A text from Michael, telling me he’d gotten home safely. A text from Allison, asking me if I needed anything. Another text from Michael, asking me to respond so he knew I was still alive.
So, I shot him a quick message back.
Me: Alive and well. Uh, kind of. Avoided D.J. and Mom. About to pass out.
Then my phone fell back to my chest.
The songs fell into the background. The entire world kind of faded away, really. The ceiling darkened and the room spun around me. Almost as if the chips had made me drunk. I felt my eyes closing and my body sinking into the mattress. My head fell off to the side as my breathing evened out, but I didn’t quite feel asleep.
Oh, no.
Suddenly, I saw it. The bridge. The skid marks. I heard my own voice yelling for Michael to stop the car before I leapt out, rushed to the edge and peered over it. And as I gazed into the darkness below me, I called out his name.
“Clint!”
I tried jerking myself awake, moving, opening my eyes. But it was no use. I kept calling out his name while Michael pulled me away from the edge. And the more I fought against him, the angrier he got with me. I felt licks of fire kissing the back of my neck. I tore away from his grasp. And when I whipped around, I didn't see Michael behind me.
Just a fiery being that looked like Michael.
“You’re pathetic.”
I shook my head. “No, I’m not.”
“You want to go for him?”
“You need to help me. He’s down there. His bike’s right over there!”
“What bike, Raelynn? What bike do you see?”
I whipped my head over to see th
e bike, but it wasn’t there. And neither were the skidmarks. The fire in front of me grew, engulfing Michael and swallowing the rest of him whole. I felt my body lock up. Fear coursed through my veins. And as a fiery tongue made its way for me, I leaned back.
All the way over the railing.
“It should’ve been you, Raelynn.”
The tongue wrapped itself around my throat and hoisted me over the edge. I cried out for help. I cried out for Michael. Then I cried out for Clint. Tears slid down my cheeks. I tried wrapping my hands around the fiery tongue, trying to get a grip on it so it would let me go. So it would stop searing my skin. So it would stop torturing me.
Then the tongue dropped me.
And as the darkness swallowed me whole again, I finally jerked myself awake. Just as the sun started streaming through my window.
Signaling the beginning of a new day.
3
Clinton
I barely slept that night. Between the pain in my face and the hurt in my heart, sleep stayed away. I hated it. Every fucking second of it. The worrying. The turning in bed, over and over. I’d written more in my journal that night than ever before. Page after page of angry musings, random poems with Rae at the center, and a list.
A half-done list of all my possibilities after I graduated.
The list had more numbers than suggestions. It was depressing, really. Making a list, then putting two things on it. ‘Get a job’ and ‘move out.’ Those were the two things on my list.
And I still had no idea how to actually accomplish those two things.
The sun slowly rose and I eased myself out of bed. My entire body hurt. I shuffled into the bathroom and turned on the light, shielding my eyes. My head hurt. Still. My hips hurt. Still. My knee hurt and my knuckles were bruised and even I knew my ribcage was black and blue again.
