Under the Influence

Nine: Stained

Tears were leaking out of the corner of her eyes as she dug her fingernails deeper into her skin. She felt as if she were being squeezed through a very tight hole. Her lungs were crushed. She couldn't breath; it hurt too much. A harsh wind forced her hair back behind her, thrashing in the air.

"Let him see me," she demanded through clenched teeth. Her jaw was tight and beginning to ache.

She didn't know how much more of this excruciating pain she could endure. A pressed sob sounded in her throat. Her determination grew stronger as did the pain.

"Please," she mouthed.

Her skin erupted with goosebumps as an intense cold raged within her. Uncontrollable shivering was soon replaced with a sweltering heat in her chest. It was as if her heart was on fire.

A white light flashed behind her eyes and suddenly she was tossed into an unfamiliar room. She hugged her arms over her chest for warmth as the fluorescent lights overhead flickered, dimming the room. It was silent. She could hear the light sound of her shoes as they hit the hard, tiled floor. Everything was gray here.

She observed the room, took everything in, and was seemingly drawn to the single metal table in the center of the room. A white sheet was pulled over a form with no name. Reluctantly, she gripped the end of the thin fabric and yanked it backward.

She screamed. The stench was horrendous, but was nothing compared to what she was staring at. It was her body that was lying there. It was her eyes that were staring back blankly. There was a trail of dried blood snaked from her hairline to the corner of her mouth.

Ruthie backed away and turned to run, but the floor was giving way to her weight and down she fell right into another frightening scene.

She was trapped in her body. She couldn't move, she couldn't see, but she could hear. Simon was with her. He was yelling, crying. She couldn't count how many times he said she was stupid, but he only said "I hate you" once, which was enough.

Simon had never said that to her before and now she knew how painful it was to hear. She didn't blame him for hating her – she hated herself – but it was still hard to hear. Her mind was paralyzed. She couldn't speak. Over and over she said she was sorry, but he couldn't hear any of it.

Ruthie tried to open her eyes to see his angry face, but she couldn't. She was dieing.

It wasn't long before she was yanked from her body once again and thrown into another emotional scene. Only this time, she wasn't in her own mind- she was in Simon's. It was a dream.

He was at a party, knocking back beer after beer, laughing and joking with his friends. He heading outside, stumbling to his car. He dug around in his pocket for his keys and pulled them out, taking stab after stab at the keyhole. He threw his head back, finishing off his beer, and tossed it out the window before starting the car.

The road wasn't much of a road. It was as if he was driving through a very long, very dark tunnel. Nobody was there but him. He was swerving, clearly drunk, but there wasn't anything else on the road…yet. Seconds later, he slammed on the brakes. Ruthie was standing in the middle of the road. He hit her, blood showering the windshield. She was dead – he killed her.

Ruthie tried to squeeze her eyes shut, but they were already closed. Thankfully, another flash came and the scene changed. She was standing at the side of the road where there had been an accident. She already knew whose. Closer she walked, already knowing what she would see.

The paramedics were pulling Brian free from the mangled car. His bones were broken, his face unrecognizable from all the blood. He was stained. Had she been smart and not allowed him to drive, this wouldn't have happened. She killed him.

As she looked past Brian's body and wrecked car, there was another vehicle. A woman with a small child was standing outside her car, which wasn't nearly as demolished as Brian's. The little girl was crying, gripping a teddy bear tightly. Her mother was trying to turn the child's head so she would not see the scene. Thankfully they weren't hurt as far as Ruthie's could see, but it was horrible to see what she had impacted on their innocent lives.

There was one last scene Ruthie was ordered to see: her funeral. Reverend Hamilton was giving the service. A large photo of herself was positioned next to a vase of flowers. She was smiling. It was hard to think back to those days when she would give anything not to be the daughter of a minister. But now, she would give anything to be one if it meant she could be alive.

They were lowering her coffin into the ground. Her eyes scanned the crowd. She recognized a lot of kids from school. Then she saw Simon. His face was blank. He had already shut down, she noticed. He had built walls to get through those days without admitting he was weak to anyone. He was allowing himself to feel anger instead of whatever else it was he should have felt.

She felt herself breaking down, losing focus…

And suddenly it was over. Her hair went limp and her lungs expanded. The heat gave way to comforting warmth. Slowly, she allowed her muscles to relax and opened her eyes. She found herself rooted to the same spot behind her grave. It seemed like nothing had happened, like nothing was different; but everything had changed. She could feel.

The sun was hot on her back, the shade of the trees cool on her skin. She had forgotten what that was like. It was amazing how such simple things could make her so happy.

And then he saw her.

It wasn't how Ruthie pictured this moment to be. He kind of stared at her for a moment, looked her up and down. He didn't look shocked or surprised, or afraid. There wasn't any emotion in his eyes at all.

Ruthie watched her shadow move across his face. She was beginning to doubt if he was really seeing her. Unsurely, she reached out and touched his shoulder.

He jumped slightly and rose from his spot, eyeing her peculiarly.

"Simon?" she said, confused as to how he was reacting. What was he thinking? She had been prepared for rage, for tears, but not for this.

He shook his head. "God, I am crazy," he said softly, not taking his eyes off his deceased sister.

"No, Simon," she assured him, "you're not crazy. I promise."

"This can't be happening," he said with a nervous laugh. "This isn't happening."

Ruthie stepped around the grave, surpassing the dividing line. They stood face to face with nothing standing between them.

"But it is," she replied. She took his hand and placed it on her chest so he could feel the proof.

Quickly, he jerked her hand way. "How-?" he stuttered.

"I don't know, but the important thing is that I'm here now."

"No, you're not. You're dead. I watched you die." His voice shook a bit, but he quickly composed himself.

"I'm sorry," she said.

Simon's cheeks turned red with fury. "Sorry for what? For drinking? For getting killed? What, Ruthie?"

She bit her bottom lip to stop it from quivering though tears slipped down her cheeks. "For everything."

He looked disgusted. "You can't imagine what hell I went through. I worried about you every second that you laid in that hospital bed. I warned you not to do something stupid. I told you to learn from my mistake! How the hell do you think you would have felt if I had died!"

"I know! And I'm sorry, Simon!" she screamed. "I'm sorry. If I could take it back, I would, but I can't!"

"You knew the consequences. You've seen the videos. You've heard the stories. What did you think those were, cartoons?"

"No, I didn't think any of those things would happen. I thought I could control myself."

Simon scoffed. "Well, that's exactly why you got killed. When you drank, you sealed your fate. When you got in that car, you sealed your fate. Even before you stepped out that door, you sealed your fate." He paused. "You buried yourself, not me."

"I'm so sorry, Simon. I am. I know that just saying that won't – can't – change things, but I needed you to know," she said. "That's why I'm here."

"Well, you're wasting your time."

"Why?" Ruthie asked.

"You didn't say any of that for me – you said it to make yourself feel better."

Ruthie shook her head. "No, I didn't. I know how alone, how guilty, you feel. I've seen you cry. I've been with you. And knowing that I made you so depressed makes me want to die all over again. I don't want to make myself feel better, Simon. I want to make you feel better."

He didn't say anything. He felt tears sting at the back of his eyes, but he forced them away.

"You didn't kill me, Simon. I killed me. I don't want you to hate me. I don't want you to cry over me every night. I don't want you to miss me." She sighed. "All I want is for you to love me and remember me the way I was."

Simon swallowed. "I love you, Ruthie. I could never forget you."

Ruthie gave him a weak smile. "Do you forgive me?"

It was quiet for a moment before Simon replied, "Yes, I forgive you."

She stood on her toes and put her arms around his neck to give him a hug. He hugged her back. It felt so good to be loved. She had forgotten what it was like to be touched by another human being and to feel their heart beat against hers.

"I don't want you to be alone," she said, her voice surrendering to the tears.

Simon shook his head. "I'm not. Not anymore."

"I don't know how much time I have," she said against his cotton T-shirt, "but please don't let me go."

Simon held her tighter. "I can't."