Yes, I realize that this is a ridiculously short first chapter, but I felt I needed to end it where I ended it. The other chapters will be much longer, as one of my rules as a fanfic author is that I make myself write at least 1,000 words per chapter. How do you like that? As usual, I very much hope you enjoy the story. For some reason I love writing from depressed people's points of view, especially Darcy's. Anyway, read on. Have fun. Review. (Please.)
There was so much weight on top of her. She couldn't move. She couldn't breathe.
Darcy snapped her eyes open, gasping for air and wrenching her wrists from the grips of imaginary hands. Her entire body was covered in sweat, and clumps of hair that had come out of her elastic were plastered to her face.
She knew there were tears hiding among the beads of sweat on her cheeks. She pressed her hands to her burning skin, attempting to wipe away the moisture with her clammy palms. A quick glance at the clock on her bedside table told her that it was just after three in the morning. It was going to be another long day of school.
Darcy closed her eyes and begged for sleep to come, but as she knew would happen, she stayed wide-awake. She reached for her cell phone, which she had left on the floor the previous night, and flipped through her contact list. When Peter's number came up she debated calling him, but decided not to. As much as she wanted to talk so someone who wasn't family or a guidance counselor, she didn't want to abuse his call-me-anytime policy.
On a sudden impulse she rose from her bed, her bare feet sinking into her shag rug, and approached her dark window. Drawing the thin curtains aside, she opened the window as wide as she could. She slowly knelt down before it, her folded arms spread along the sill with her hands overlapping. She rested her chin on her hands and closed her eyes.
She knelt there for what felt like an eternity, letting the cool night air fill her lungs, listening to the sounds of her sleeping neighborhood. She let her mind wander, her thoughts weaving around how her relationship with Peter was different now, how she knew her grades were slipping, and how Manny had sensed that Darcy was going through hard times and silently stepped into the role of Spirit Squad Captain.
But then Darcy realized that if she truly set her mind free, bad things drifted up. Things that she had tried desperately to push away for weeks. Things that she didn't want to think about, ever. But before she could pull herself back out of the black hole that was her mind, a raging river of memories surfaced, crystal clear images that refused to be ignored.
It all came in an overwhelming rush, like instant replay on a high-definition television and blaring speakers shoved in her ears: With Peter in the bedroom. Hurting Manny with alcohol-influenced words. Leaving her drink out in the open for less than a minute. Not quite being able to concentrate on Peter's apologies. Everything going dark. A pair of strong hands leading her off of the couch and back into the bedroom. The sinister click of the lock as a stranger trapped her inside…
Darcy forced her eyes open, slamming the door to her mind before she had to relive the entire thing--not that she didn't already do so every night. It was an annual nightmare, one that left her struggling to breathe and sweating like she had been sleeping in Death Valley. The irony of the analogy didn't escape her.
She slowly climbed back into bed, not bothering to slide under the covers. She grabbed her MP3 player, put "The Kill" on repeat and turned the volume up to max. Jared Leto's screeches hurt her ears but blocked out everything that needed to be blocked out. As she lay there, perfectly still, she thought about how oblivious her parents had turned out to be. They hadn't (to her knowledge) noticed Darcy's drastic change in behavior, how she had gone from full of God-loving happiness to quiet and withdrawn--even to the point where she could only fake-smile.
The corner of her mouth twitched as she realized something else they hadn't noticed--she hadn't worn her blue-camouflage shirt and favorite jeans since the party. The entirety of her outfit from that night was buried under mountains of junk in the darkest corner of her closet.
Just like her most painful memories were hidden away in the farthest reaches of her restless, forever-changed mind.
Just for a bit o' clarification, the song she was listening to was "The Kill" by 30 Seconds to Mars. I find it to be a great song to listen to if you're feeling a bit angsty, so that is why I chose it. If anyone has questions, comments or an autograph request, feel free to email me, review or send a private message my way. My email is And now--brace yourselves--I even have my own blog! www.greenpeppers. hOOrAH.