Hello everyone! This is my second fanfiction about Twilight and I figured I needed a break from the other story. So here is something completely different than what I've ever written before. If you would like to check out my other story, it's called "My Happy Ending" and can be found on my profile.
Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, though I wish i owned Edward
"No! Grandma! Let me through! Let me through, let me through, it's my grandma!" two firefighters grabbed me from behind and pulled me away from the burning house. I tried to fight my way free, but they were too strong. Images formed in the fire. A tiny, forgotten grave in a faraway cemetery, a body hanging from a chandelier, a woman's empty eyes staring up at me with horror, my grandma's kind, wrinkled face…no, no I don't want to remember that, no please, stop, stop, STOP IT!
Diiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnngggg!
"NO!" I opened my eyes. I was lying in a heap on the floor with my alarm clock going crazy on the nightstand. A dream. It was just a dream. Nothing more. I repeated over and over to myself. But I knew it wasn't just a dream. It was also my worst nightmare I've been waking up to in the past six months.
I looked over to the calendar on my desk. Tomorrow was the beginning of my freshman year at NYU. I got a partial scholarship but I knew it wasn't enough to support me throughout college. I had to find a job, as soon as possible. My future didn't look so bright that morning, but that was usual. I didn't look forward to anything since the tragic death of my grandma who has been taking care of me.
I looked around my room. Pastel blue walls, a white bed, a battered bookshelf and a desk in the corner. All the pieces of furniture didn't match and the whole room felt impersonal. My things were strewn on the floor, my bags waiting for me at the door. I wouldn't regret leaving it all behind. This room brought up constant memories I wanted forgotten forever.
After a quick shower, I made my way to the kitchen to make breakfast. I popped a pop tart in the toaster and went around the apartment, checking if I got everything I needed. Finally, about an hour later I was closing the trunk of my red, beat-up Chevy truck. Beside me I saw a family with two kids about twelve years old. The man was putting bags in the car while the woman was fussing about her children, straightening their clothes, hugging them and talking a mile a minute about how they should behave, what to do and what not to do. The children looked annoyed, but I would have given anything to have a mother who would care and worry about me. My eyes brimmed with tears. Stupid, I thought, slamming the door to my truck. Why would I want someone nagging at me all the time? This way I have freedom to do whatever I wished. I ran back towards my apartment building to grab something I hoped to leave behind. Impatiently I ran up the stairs since the elevator was broken again. I walked into the bathroom shutting the door behind me. Quickly I pulled out a razor blade out of my cabinet and sat down on the floor. For a few minutes I looked at the blade, battling with the angel and devil on my shoulders. Finally I sighed and slid the blade across my wrist. As I felt the familiar sting and watched the blood ooze out of my cut I felt relief. My eyes closed on its own accord, no matter how much I fought to keep them open. Just a few minutes of sleep then, I told myself, already drifting towards unconsciousness.
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