Page 13 of Formaldehyde

I shake my head and step further back, tears spilling over my eyelashes. “There’s nothing to fix. We’re too far gone. This was a mistake, we’re a mistake.” The words practically shred my insides like barbed wire as they leave my mouth but I need him to realise the severity of the situation. We were never going to make it out of this together, it wasn’t written in the stars for us. Maybe in another life yes, but this one? I don’t think so.

“Alina, please. Come away from the curb.” He says with wariness.

The urge to run into his arms is strong, but I can’t. “I’ll give you a head start to leave, to run away from all of this.”

“I’m not leaving without you! If we’re running away, we’re doing it together.” He pleads and I have to block out the sound in my mind and focus on the high speed car that’s travelling down the road. Probably some drunk kids out on Halloween night, completely unaware of the tragedy that’s unfolding.

My foot catches on the edge of the curb and if this is going to work, I have to time it right. It’ll probably kill my brother, but he can have the chance at a free life. One where he isn't haunted by me. He can find real love in someone that deserves him, because he does deserve it and I don’t deserve him. I never have.

He’s my big brother, and I’ll do everything I can to protect him.

Loud rumbling begins to form at the end of the street and I shoot my gaze to Ethan one last time. Remembering his face, his strong brows and sharp jaw. The way his wavy hair blows in the cool breeze, how soft it felt between my fingers. His lips pressed against mine. I’ll remember everything.

“Alina. What are you doing? Come to me please!” My brother begs and in that moment, I accept my fate. He starts to stride towards me with determination, sirens blaring from police vans echoing in the streets around us.

Time is up.

“I love you, Ethan.” I whisper then step backwards off the curb and into the road, just as the racing car comes pummeling down the street.

I don’t even think I can feel the pain as the car rams into my body, it sends me flying down the street at speed, gravel scraping against my bare arms and legs, ripping me to pieces.

I don’t think that pain hurts as much as hearing my brother scream for me. That pain will stay with me as I drift on into the after life.

I just hope he forgives me for what I’ve done.

An alarm blares overhead as I walk through the dreary hallways of Birchwood Prison, a guard hot on my heels as he guides me towards the exit. To freedom after spending four years behind bars for the death of my beloved sister.

Of course, I knew the true story. I saw her step backwards into that oncoming car, I saw the way it plowed her down the street until she was nothing but splattered meat on the tarmac but I’d always been the outcast, the bad guy, the troublemaker and it was so easy for the police to blame me for her death.

Whispers and outlandish tales were rife in a place like this. I’d been labelled a reaper, a bad omen. Death seemed to follow me wherever I went but I can’t be blamed if you look at me in a way that I’m not comfortable with and you best believe, I’ll make your death look like an accident, all with a grin on my face.

The handcuffs around my ankles and wrists clanged together with every step I take and it’s starting to grate on me. I’ve spent the last four years chained up like a rabid dog and now I’m more than ready to rip these fuckers off me. The guard at the back prompts me to wait at the iron gate in front of me, he fishes his jumble of keys out of his pocket and proceeds to unlock the gate, all the while I can’t take my eyes off the black baton that sits snug on his belt. It’d be so easy for me to slip it free and crack it around his skull, to watch his blood pool onto the white floors but my freedom is in sight and I need to control my urges, but only for a little while.

“Enter through there.” The guard instructs me like a child who doesn’t know how to walk through a door and instead of giving him back-chat, I play the good boy and step through the iron gate then wait for him to lock it behind us both before we could continue towards the exit.

Once the gate is secured he ushers me down the hallway until we reach another locked gate. This time I turn and shove my hands through a small opening to allow the guard on the other side to unlock the handcuffs. I can practically smell the cold winter air outside, the musty smell of rain as it settled into the tarmac.

I’m so fucking close to getting back to her.

Finally I was free from the handcuffs and immediately I rubbed the abrasions on my wrists, they’re sore to the touch and were already leaving red marks around my tattoos.

“You can collect your things here, Ashcroft.” The guard lifts his podgy hand to gesture towards a small desk with a grey tray on top of it. Inside is a plastic bag that contained only my phone and wallet. Everything else I was wearing that night was stripped away from me and in return I was handed a grey sweatshirt, joggers and a pair of shitty white pumps. The fabric is itchy against my skin, I can practically feel every fibre rubbing against me.

Lifting the bag from the tray, I disregard the guard and make my way over to the exit where a green light flicks on overhead and locks within the heavy metal door begin to clang together, granting me access to the outside world.

Slowly the door begins to slide open to reveal a sky full of dark clouds filled with rain. Dense green trees surround the prison and just outside of the gates sits a black car with the engine running, and inside is Mr Wilson.

“I’m sure we’ll see you again, Ashcroft.” The guard chuckles and I turn my head to stab him with a hard stare over my shoulder. “Maybe you will, but it won’t be in here.” His stupid smile drops at my comment, and without another word I step through the door and out into the cold, eager to get back to my little sister.

“Welcome home my boy.” Mr Wilson speaks from the driver's seat of the car. I never expected him to turn up for me, but I also didn’t expect him to go along with my very unorthodox requests either. It’s safe to say I’m pleasantly surprised.

I nod my head towards him whilst keeping a tight grip on the plastic bag in my lap. “Mr Wilson, how are you doing?” He chuckles and begins to pull away from the prison.

“You’re asking me how I am, when you’ve spent four years in prison? I should be asking how you are?”

I see his caring tendencies never left.

“I’m just fine. A little thing like Birchwood Prison would never be enough to kill me off, in fact, I quite enjoyed myself.”