Jessica s point of view He slapped me across the face again. I could feel my cheek swelling from the impact, and my eyes filling with tears, I am weak. I repeated in my head, noticing his hand raise to beat me again. We were driving down a normal street in Alaska, when my father pulled the car over and his ocean blue eyes turned flat black. The stare he gave me was menacing, saying loud and clear You're not wanted, you never were. Just seeing his hateful expression made me break out in low, tearless sobs. "Get out of the car, Jessica." He said my name with distaste, then glared when I shook my head stubbornly and looked down. I had worn my normal faded blue jeans and a red blouse that probably did not fit very well with the weather, but I wanted to look fresh and excited when my dad took me on an "once in a life time" road trip. I had topped the outfit off with red and white polka dotted flats and my long chestnut hair down my back. "That was not a question you little piece of shit. Get out now." My mouth flew open at the sudden use of bad language. My father never cussed. "Why?" I whispered, my fear growing with each breath I took. He did not respond, but kept his eyes on the windshield. "Now, Jessica." He demanded, spitting my name again. "N...No." I stuttered, scared of what my father would say. He did not use words. With each blow I took, my heart ceased to exist. I had always trusted my father. He was the person I went to when times got rough, especially after Mom died, when he needed the same kind of comforting. I remembered crying at night, over nothing, just crying to get rid of all the strange and confusing emotions that bundled up inside my chest periodically. He would walk me into the kitchen and take the double chocolate chip ice cream carton out of the freezer, while I got two big soup spoons for us to eat from. He told me heart-warming stories of his youth, reminding me that he used to be a handsome fellow. But I could tell that time had changed my dad in bad ways. The last hit came from his fist, knocking me unconscious. Clay s point of view I made my way down the highway, looking at nothing else but the endless road ahead.
Birthdays are suppose to be fun, but mine ended in death.
Five months ago...
It was the 27th of September, 2010 and I was making a cake for myself. I was turning 25.
My mother was uninterested in what I did, period. She looked like a zombie in jeans when she walked around the house, clutching the picture of my dead father tightly in her right hand. Though it was tragic and horrible, I could not feel all that sad. My dad had raped my mother every day, not caring that his son was there, screaming and begging for him to stop. I could not understand how my mom could miss him after everything he had done.
I spread the frosting on my cake and tried to stay happy, but the image of my mother holding something sharp and shiny in her right hand made the fake smile on my face vanished. Her eyes said You're not wanted, you never were. I tried to duck out of the way of the knife, but she had an advantage, her speed. She stabbed me 25 times in the chest, probably trying to honor me in the only way she knew how.
I collapsed onto the floor in pain, and she flung the weapon on to the counter, looking at her hands in shock. My mother ran outside and shut the door forcefully, taking my heart with her.
Not twenty seconds had passed when I saw an angel. She had spiky black hair and pale white skin that looked oddly indestructible. Her eyes were a dull gold, sending pleasant shivers down my back.
"Carlisle! the little pixie sang. Her voice was childish but still beautiful.
Another angel appeared next to the small one, a male with blond hair. He had the same white skin and kind eyes that matched the young ladys.
"You were right!" he said, stunned.
The little girl rolled her eyes, clearly amused.
"I am a psychic you know." She laughed, pointing at her head and twirling on her toes.
The male grinned.
"He doesn't have long though," she added, her laughter cutting off. The blond angel nodded, concerned, and bent down to kiss me, it seemed, but the pain that followed was not created by a simple farewell peck on the cheek.
Present...
I remembered that fateful day and sighed, knowing it would haunt me forever.