Author's note: Yes, I'm sure this idea has been beaten to death. This is simply a fun little project for me :) I will update as often as I can, but in honesty it may not be a set schedule. I'm shooting for at least once a week. Enjoy!
It will be as if I'd never existed.
Had he truly existed? Any memory of him felt like a dream. A dream turned nightmare. I couldn't feel my legs. They wobbled beneath me like rotted logs. I found myself on the mossy floor of the forest, unsure if I'd fallen or just lain down. Musk and rot filled my nose as I lay on my side.
I'd never felt emptiness like this before. My stomach had disappeared. My hands were numb and there was a ringing in my ears. I sat up, afraid I might vomit. But heaving turned to hyperventilation. My throat was dry and wracking. I gripped the dirt and moss between my fingers, clenched it with all the strength my numb hands could muster. A twig splintered and jammed itself into my palm. The pain cut my heaving short. I sat dumbfounded, staring at the blood trickling down my wrist as if I'd never seen anything like it.
This is why, I thought, I'm weak. I'm fragile. I don't belong in his world. I never did. I was just a pet.
I tossed the twig away in furious frustration, blood spattering along behind it. I watched it sparkle like a gruesome rainbow.
I sat for hours in the dirt, my back settled against the damp trunk of an ancient oak. Darkness fell around me. Insects chirped their nightly mating calls. I don't know why I stayed. Perhaps I still held hope he might come back, smiling that dazzling white smile, and then he'd pop me one on the shoulder and tell me he was just kidding. I knew it wouldn't happen. I was alone. I'd probably always feel that way.
A few hours past dark I decided I should probably head back before Charlie sent a search party. I had no idea what time it was. My stomach had appeared again, rumbling in protest of my having missed dinner, but any thought I had of food made it twist and churn.
Charlie had the porch light on. He practically came running out of the house when he saw me crossing the yard. One look at my muddy face and the expression it wore softened his angry one into concern.
My dad knew me well enough to know I wasn't a heart on my sleeve type of person. I don't walk around with a long face because my pencil broke or my mom moved off to Florida. I shut it in. I adapt. I take care of the people I love. But if there's one thing I don't do, it's mope.
"What did he do?" Charlie asked.
I didn't answer him. I didn't stop walking. I brushed past him into the house and up the stairs while he peppered me with concerned questions. He stopped talking when we reached the landing, but he still followed me like an anxious ghost to the door of my room. I entered and made to close the door, but he held a hand up to block it.
"Bells," he started, looking more uncomfortable by the second, "I've spent years on the force. Now this may be a small town, but I've seen things happen. Things that I pray every night won't happen to you or anyone I love. But even in this small town I've seen them, and that… that… haunted… look you're wearing… it's the same one I've seen every time one of those things happens."
His voice seemed in and out to me, one second he sounded like Charlie, the next like the teacher from Charlie Brown. I stared at his hand, wishing he'd move it so I could close the door.
"Did he… did he hurt you?"
I raised my eyes to meet his for the first time. He made to touch my face, then thought better of it and pulled back.
"Yes." I said.
Charlie finally dropped his hand. I closed the door.