Disclaimer: I do not own.
A/N: I haven't updated since the cows left.
I woke up face-to-face with Justin Timberlake. Sure, that may be the dream of many a teenaged girl but for me, a strapping, mature young man, it was just icky.
Speaking of icky, someone died in my room last night. I cringe at the sharp intrusion this fact applies forcefully against my mind, so soon after I wake up. My skin crawls at the thought of a dead body (Danny, my mind reminds me, but by the crawling it is evident that my skin doesn't care for specifics like that) in my room. My room is supposed to be my safe haven, not a place where kids my age go to die.
Maybe I won't sleep in there anymore. Maybe I'll stay in Kristin's room, with Justin. The ladies will be jealous.
Oh, yeah.
I slide out from under the lush pink (pink!) comforter on my sister's bed, and place my feet on the floor. My breath escapes quickly as I hope a couple steps towards the door. It's only autumn, but since we live in an old farm house the wood floors start getting cold even this early in the year.
I pull on my rattiest pair of jeans, and my dad's old, faded University of Nebraska sweatshirt, and head towards the stairs.
I pause outside the door to my room, and my heart starts hammering in my chest as I take a step towards the door. Is it- is Danny- still in there? An empty, human shell of nothing still lying in my room? I pause before taking another step.
When I was six, I had a hamster. One day I stuck my hand in the cage to take her out, grabbed a hold of her- then screamed and threw her across the cage and ran out of the room. Her body was stiff, and she didn't move in my hand.
Things like that scar you when you're young. My hand shook as I turned the doorknob.
Ever since I touched my dead hamster, the concept of death has haunted me. I would stay awake at night, afraid to close my eyes, afraid because I feared that I would never open them again. My blood would run cold as I considered the concept of my conscious, my soul, suddenly not existing, just as my blood ran cold as my young fingers wrapped around a tiny corpse, just as my blood is running cold as I open the door to my room, where death had taken someone just hours before and (maybe) still lingers.
My eyes squeeze shut against my will as the door swings open. My breathing quickens and I work to slow it down and then, oh so slowly, open my eyes.
My room is empty. Well, not empty. My bed is there, my posters are there (Hey, Freddie Mercury is a rock LEGEND), everything is as it was. As it was before my mother brought Danny up there last night. There's no hospital bed, there's no monitor.
And there's no dead body.
Shaken, I step backwards from the doorway, closing the door until it is snug against the doorjamb. I walk down the stairs and into the kitchen in search of my mom when-
"Heya, Swifty!"
Shit.
My eyes roll even without me thinking about it. Reflex. "Katie, don't you have a home of your own?"
"Home is where the heart is, Swifty-O", she laughs as she bats her eyelashes at me.
I hate girls. Especially girls named Katie. There is a special spot in hell reserved for her, I think to myself as I head to the cupboard in search of my Chocolate Lucky Charms. They're the latest thing, very hip, and they're guaranteed to give me a sugar high that will drown any thought of dead boys in my room.
I pour myself a bowl of cereal and sit at the small kitchen table, directly across from Katie. I quickly lose myself in my own thoughts as I crunch on the chocolate cereal and (almost) stale marshmallows.
However, it is extremely difficult to lose oneself while in the same room as Katie.
"So, whatcha doin'?"
"Waterskiing."
"Naw, really."
"Trying to think up as many ways as I can to make your death look accidental. I'm up to twenty-eight."
Kati's silent for a second, contemplating the level of my seriousness, then dissolves into giggles. Great. The only thing worse than a yapping Katie is a giggling Katie.
Sometimes I think her existence is a giant practical joke on humanity by whatever sort of omnipresent being there is. I sure haven't found any better reasons for it.
"So, Swifty, why dontcha-" Katie's eyes widen and cross as a marshmallow shaped like a clover bounces off her nose, leaving behind a hint of green dust.
"Hey!" she protests, and then squeals as she's barraged by more pellets of sugary death.
"Go 'way, Katie" I glare as I aim a spoonful of Lucky Charms at her.
She glares at me, her green eyes boring into my brown ones. "Fine. There's no use talking to you when you're bitchy, Kevin." she snaps, and storms out, slamming the door behind her.
I shrug it off. So I'm a bitch today.
Maybe it's because a person died last night, no more than four feet away from me.
Maybe it's because he won't be the last.
My home has become a place where people go to die, and that just takes all the comfort right out of it.