Everything was red. I was enveloped in crimson chaos. The rapids clashed in every direction like a turbulent storm.
Ollie!I screamed internally.
The current escalated its violence.
Wrong. It was all wrong.
The line in my chest began fraying.
No.
“Ollie!” I screamed out loud.
I wasn’t the one dying.
52
Ollie
Thirty minutes earlier
Shelookedsobeautifulthere, standing in the doorway while the morning light hugged her silhouette. Lips puffy and skin flushed pink. Like the first time I saw her, she embodied an angel.
Even after the door closed, I laid there staring at where she’d been, the image burned in my mind. My heart. My soul. Her love was my life force and mine hers.
With Jack and Serina passed out and Marty gone for the weekend, the dorm was blanked in cushy quiet. My eyes drooped. I grabbed the journal from the nightstand and rolled onto my stomach, hugging it close as its soothing warmth sank into my skin.
Sleep, Beautiful Monster.
I smiled to myself, letting my body give in.
I squint through the bright light, shielding my eyes with my hand. There’s something I’m looking for, but I don’t remember what. The grass is too green. No. It’s not green anymore, it’s red. The sky is red now too. I turn around, the grass is gone and I’m on the dock. My dock.
“Dad?”
He’s beside a boy, showing him how to hammer a nail. The little boy nods along as dad's deep, raspy voice says words I can’t make out. The wood is dark- no it’s stained. Stained red, like the sky and the beach. I blink and I’m crouched beside dad, my hands so small and the hammer too heavy.
“You’re a monster,” he growls. “You’re too fucking pretty. It’s not fair. It’s not fucking fair that you can look like that and be a freak. They just had to make you a freak. You’re not human. You’re a fucking freak.”
His voice is wrong. His face is morphing, the smell of beer and sweat and body spray fill my nose.
“Courtney loves me the way I am,” I tell him, but he keeps going like he can’t hear me, and my arms won’t work, and the hammer is too hot-
It’s not a hammer anymore. It’s my journal and it’s dripping, splattering thick red liquid that coats my hands.
“It’s not fucking fair!”
Dad’s fist collides with my back while his stern blue eyes burn into mine. But that doesn’t make sense. He's in front of me.
Deep, deep pain in my back again. I cry out, but Dad hasn’t moved. He’s still in front of me, glaring.
“I hate that you got in my head- that I want you and you’re not human!”
That voice isn’t Dad’s.
Sharp, white hot pain rips between my ribs, reaching into my chest and I gasp- Air, I need-
I needed more fucking air and all I was getting was water.
