Shards of Who I Used to Be:
AHHHH! NEW STORY! Instead of winging it like I'm doing with Denial I decided it would be a better idea to plan things out more and get more organized.
Prologue:It was like a vision of some sort. I watch as a man approaches a woman. He is tall and strong looking; he would be otherwise attractive except for the scowl on his face. The woman standing opposite of him turns to face him, startled by his appearance. They are in my room. Why are they in my room? Her face is in the shadows and her expression unreadable. She throws her arms up in frustration and seems to be yelling at him. I push on my ears and idly wonder why I can't hear anything. She turns her back on him again and he stalks forward and grabs her arm aggressively. I walk towards them to let my presence be known, this didn't seem right to me. I try to call out but my voice doesn't carry. She fearfully looks up at him and tries to shake loose from his hold. The space between her eyebrows creases and her face morphs into one of concern and fear. She angrily spits back at him. His face scrunches up in anger and a fire lights in his green eyes as his hand draws back to hit the slight girl standing opposite of him. I try to warn her of the oncoming attack. I scream to help but she doesn't move. I run towards them as the man advances on her. My face connects with a clear glass wall placed between me and the warring couple. She wears a mask of incredulity which contorts with pain as his palm connects with her delicate skin. The sting of hitting the glass is simultaneous with that of the girl who had just been hit, almost as if we are both feeling the pain. She puts her elbow up to protect herself from the oncoming blows and stumbles backwards with tears in her eyes. I shudder as he pulls her long brown hair and drags her back. Her brown eyes are brimming over with tears as she sobs quietly. He angrily spits insults at her as she cowers away from him. Something he said causes the girl to stand up and scream back. He approached her with his face snarled into a fatal expression. I bang on the glass with both fists pleadingly, praying to god that the man stops the assault. Without a flinch he draws his fist back and with one final blow the girl goes to the floor. She's lying on the floor now facing the glass wall. Her breathing seems pained; her pleading eyes meet mine before a sound echoes off of the blank walls of the space, a gunshot.
With a gasp I open my eyes and defensively curl into the fetal position. My PJ shirt is clinging to my sweat covered body. I shakily rise from my bed while wrapping the duvet around my body in a protective cocoon and switch on the light. My body shakes with fear and the aftershock of my night terror. This nightmare is always the same, except it isn't some melodramatic teen drama I conjured up in my head, unfortunately it was my life. The girl in the dream now seems vaguely familiar as I stare into the mirror opposite of my bed. A shudder runs up my spine, of course this was no nightmare. I touch my scared skin gently and probe at the now fading line just below my eye. That scar was made by the shard of glass he scratched me with. It's almost as if I can still feel the sting of his swing. I can still see the tangible proof that he was here; it was spread around my body. Covered loosely by bandages, my cracked ribs protest against my quick wheezing breaths that wrack my frame. But what I remember most is the momentary stutter of my heart beat that signified it breaking when the man I loved drew back the safety on his pistol and pulled the trigger twice Once on me, narrowly missing my lung and cracking a rib and once on him to the brain. I grasp the edge of my dresser and hold my body weight against it and weight for the attack to pass. I wonder if I should wake Jenna up but decide against it.
"This is your fault" echoed in my head over and over again, the last words he said before her pulled the trigger on me. I take a few shallow breaths effectively calming me a bit and think of what my therapist told me to do when I get these nightmares. I'm supposed to start with the things I know about myself. My name is Elena Gilbert, I am 21 years old. I have one brother named Jeremy, he is 19 years old. He's been getting into trouble lately, he drinks and I suspect he is doing drugs. We live with my Aunt Jenna who is 32 in our deceased parent's house. Both of my parents are dead. Guilt. The man I loved is dead because of me. Guilt. I can't sleep in this house anymore, not in the room where I almost died and the man who abused me attempted my murder and successfully committed suicide. I wish we could just remodel the house already, get rid of the painful memories. I had substantially calmed down at this point; my fear had been eradicated by my rational thoughts. Only now it was replaced with something worse, guilt. I slowly walked to the window seat and moved the pillows around. I found my cell phone under the pillows and checked the time; it was only 3:00 in the morning. I flopped onto the seat and covered my body with the duvet. I was lucky tonight; I had gotten four hours of sleep tonight. I hadn't slept a full night's of sleep since he did it about two months ago. I was a physical wreck, I had gotten on break for school and came home expecting to spend time with him. The first time I met Mason I remember coming home and telling my mother I was going to marry him. Oh how wrong I was. I look around the room that doesn't feel like home and bitterly smile. I should find Jenna's label maker and label everything I touch damaged goods. Thank God I will be out of here in week, I can't stand another minute. In only one month I will be in the Tuscan sun in Italy. That's what our fight was about, the fact that I had a course requirement to fulfill for my major in international business. I would never get my degree if I couldn't do one semester at least studying abroad. Mason couldn't take being away from me, he didn't trust me and I don't think he ever loved me. You don't try to kill the people you love. I couldn't wait to be in Italy, no worries, no crazy boyfriends and nobody who knows what I have gone through. That's the worst part I think, walking around town hearing the whispered words and seeing the sympathetic looks. At least at Duke only very few people know of my problems. I swing my legs off of the bench and walk down the hall. I quickly pad my way down the stairs and flick the light switch in the kitchen on. I walk to the sink and find the prescription my doctor had given me. I twist the lid off and see only four pills left. Good, I'm done with this stuff. It's just a reminder I can't handle my own life and I need prescription medication so I don't have an anxiety attack. I gulp one down with a glass of water and stand in my kitchen not knowing what exactly to do. Jenna has left the letter from Duke on the kitchen table reminding me to pay for tuition. I decided it was time for me to start packing up my things for when I would go back to North Carolina in five days. I went back upstairs and spent the next few hours packing up my stuff. I was going to be spending my last two semesters of college in Florence Italy, and for once in my life I knew nothing would go wrong.