She wraps her leather jacket closer around her body to ward off the frigid night air. Her black nails shine in the nearby lamp-light as her fingers grip the edges of her coat. Her right knee shakes as her foot taps the gravel under her stiletto heel, and her teeth dig into her red lips as she comes to a decision. The air burns her nose when she takes a deep breath. She turns her cold-numbed body towards her car, pulling the front door closed behind her. The suitcases, which she slung into the backseat only one hour earlier, holds everything she could think to pack for a journey with no set destination.
Her brown hair flies in a gust of wind and her heels wobble on the uneven ground. Her right hand grasps for a door handle, as her left hastily smacks wind-blown curls out of her face. She should have grabbed a warmer jacket because, despite the stifling heat during the day, she knows the temperature in Phoenix typically plummets at night. She hadn't been thinking clearly in her haste to escape the house. Her skin-tight black jeans, red cashmere top, and black heels had been chosen for a specific occasion; one that had never come to pass. Heels have always been her shoes of choice, the height ensuing her with a confidence she didn't always feel, and she had looked perfect. But now there is a gaping hole on the left knee of her pants, blood coating the skin beneath, a tear in her leather jacket under her right arm, and a bruise is forming at her hairline.
The dried tears and smudged mascara only embolden her to the decision she's set on making. She quickly turns the key in the ignition and brings her car to life. It takes at least twenty minutes before the heater will begin to function, and she reduces herself to driving with frozen fingers and chattering teeth. The thousands of dollars in rolled bills, which she'd hastily shoved into the bottom of her worn leather bag, would hold her over until she could find a job.
Her eyes glaze over, and her mind drifts numbly. She would leave this town and all of its monsters behind. She would save herself. It's a wonder she managed to drive without fatally injuring herself or others. Her hands tighten on the leather wheel, the yellow and rusted bug infused with memories of spontaneous drives out of town and sunny days at the pool.
For a moment, she hears the raucous laughter of her friends, and she remembers Mike turning up the volume on the stereo as the first notes of Sweet Home Alabama began to float through the speakers. His smile could beat out the sun, and his blue eyes were made to drown in. She would meet Lauren's eyes in the rear-view mirror, her best friend throwing her a wink before finishing a coat on her ruby nails, while Eric and Tyler fight over the last cooler-packed sandwich. The two of them had always been too tall and lanky to ever fit comfortably in her small and run-down excuse for a car. They'd graduated high school, and had all been accepted into the same college for the upcoming fall semester. She could almost feel the air flow through the window as her right hand casually rested on the wheel while her left drifts through the wind outside. Her chest feels light, and her mind is clear, and she begins to think this could be what freedom feels like.
Life had been good.
The laughter and sun fade to nothingness as the car comes to a stop. My hands grip the wheel, and another tear falls for everything I've lost. My heart continues to break, but I steel my mind. I fling open my door, gripping the strap of my leather bag and sling it across my chest. I kick the door shut with my heel before lugging out a duffle bag and worn blue suitcase from the back. The duffel goes over my shoulder, and the suitcase trails behind me as I make my way to the airport entrance.
I worry about being recognized, feeling an uncomfortable heat crawl up my neck as my ears ring. Without looking up, I mumble an order for the next one-way ticket to Forks, Washington. A distant thought about my father, living so far away and unaware of my arrival, runs jagged through my mind and I'm once again hit with the reality of my situation. My shoulders hunch forward with the weight of the past twelve hours, and I angrily hold in more tears, sniffling with the effort.
I won't think about it.
I pay for the ticket and glance at the gate number at the top before turning away.
Gate five is empty, but this doesn't come as much of a surprise since Forks isn't exactly a popular destination. The plane has already arrived, but they won't begin boarding until 5:40. I look at the clock and am both relieved and anxious to see that I only have to wait for fifteen more minutes. My toe taps as I count down the seconds. Finally, the time comes, and I step forward to have my ticket scanned.
Since there are so few other passengers, I pick a random seat somewhere near the middle, and I let myself fall into the chair closest to the window. I drop my luggage into the empty seat next to me, and something slides and smacks to the ground. The desire to look down and see what had fallen tugs at me but I can't bring myself to care about anything at the moment. My head is too foggy to think clearly, and my eyes close.
I don't open them again until I feel the plane beginning to take off.
The past two weeks play out before my eyes like a living nightmare: Mike disappearing, Lauren looking at me with disdain and hatred, and Eric and Tyler rejecting my calls. It felt like ages have passed since we had sat in my family's living room, discussing orientation and Greek week, but that had only been a few weeks ago.
No one would talk to me anymore.
And then last night - I pushed through my hazy memories, trying to remember what had happened. Someone rang the doorbell, I answered the door, and a man asked if I was alone.
The rest is a blur.
I try to force my memory to clear, to let myself remember and suddenly - I'm on the floor with blood running from a gaping wound on my neck. I feel concussed, most likely from slamming my head on the wooden floor. A sudden, earsplitting, scream rips through the silence, and I wrestle to my feet. I feel woozy, and my free hand numbly tries to stem the blood trickling from my wounded neck.
I can barely see straight, the world spinning wildly on an axis, but I have to get up. Instinctively, I know that my family is in trouble. It had been my mother screaming, and I stagger into the living room, desperate to see if I could help her.
I slip.
My hands automatically fly out to brace my fall, and something splashes across my face when I land on all fours. I blink to clear my vision and stare. Blood. It's everywhere. My hands are coated with its nauseating warmth, and I can feel it soak through my pants from where I'm kneeling. My breath comes quick and shallow as I look up to see the dark red spatters trail up the walls. It's soaking into the fine lines between the wood paneling on the floors, and slowly creeping further along the wood and into the entrance hall.
I don't know what's going on, but the screaming has stopped. Terrified to see what I would find, I slowly crawl forward to peek around the black leather couch. What I see freezes me down to my core, and my mind and heart shattered at the same time. A gasping wheeze slips from my mouth in horror.
The screaming starts anew. Horrible, horrible screaming. But this time it's me who's screams. I remember dragging myself over and falling across their lifeless bodies.
Renée and Phil.
Their eyes are open and staring vacantly above them with terror still etched into their features. Their throats are ripped open, and my hands slide over the gore, trying in vain to hold the last of their blood in as if it could help. My bloody handprints coat the sides of their faces as I beg God, or whoever might be listening to me, to end this nightmare. To let me wake up; to bring my mother and Phil back to me.
The nightmare wouldn't end, and I'm being pulled back by my hair, and thrown to the floor again. Soulless red eyes bore into my own, belonging to a demon who's wrought agony into my very being. His mouth begins to form words.
I drift in and out, unable to cope with the visions around me, but the beast is still speaking. I listen to him helplessly, my mind translating his words even though I didn't want to know. He speaks of savoring food and delayed gratification. He smiles when he informs me that the hunt is almost as sweet as the feast. I scream at him then. I don't know what I'm saying, but he silences me by gripping my jaw, his bony fingers digging into my flesh harshly.
He tells me that he would come for me. And then he's gone, leaving me lying in a pool of blood. Broken.
I thought it would be over then, but still, my mind forces me to remember. I don't want to know any more. The following hours pass in a haze; I lie there for a while, my mind numb and so sure that my body is slowly shutting down as my blood finds its freedom through my injured throat.
Soon it would be over. Or so I thought.
My wound hadn't been that serious and the blood I felt coating it now was my parent's blood. Violent nausea wracks through my body.
Please let it be over, I beg, as I vomit. It feels like an endless cycle; more screaming, begging to anyone that would listen.
The pain vanishes, and after a near catatonic moment, I stand up, scrub my hands and face free of blood by the kitchen sink until my skin was pink.
Then I mindlessly pack my bag.
And now I'm here, on a plane, heading to Washington. It's a wonder they let me onboard. Now, that I'm back to reality, I become aware of the bump on the back of my head. The mirror in the airplane bathroom shows me the bruises covering my face, the blood that's nearly hidden in my red sweater, which has also caked under my nails. There's a knot in my throat, which is sore from screaming. My eyes are blood-shot from a lack of sleep, and they sting as tears plead me to let them fall.
I ball my hands into fists, nails digging into my palms and drawing blood.
I take a deep breath.
I repeat my plan back to myself for the thousandth time. It's become a mantra that keeps me going. Buy the ticket; go to Charlie; stay hidden; stay safe.
I wouldn't think of Renee and Phil.
And I wouldn't think about the sharp teeth, or red eyes, or cold hands.