Your Not Dreaming

PAST 2

After the 'event' my mother never looks at me the same. Once the cops talked to me they thought I was a prime suspect. My story of there was a man with pale white skin, red-ruby eyes, and was inhumanly fast didn't cut it. They said my mind was suppressing what really happened, they said I needed to talk to a professional, they said I was cationic; they talked about me like I was crazy.

I said it was a vampire, I said Twilight holds all the answers; I said I know what happened I saw it. They said they had to go.

My mom said nothing, always looking at me out of the corner of her eyes. Assessing me; hoping she would see the truth in my crystal blue eyes- hoping I wasn't crazy.

My mind kept putting images behind my eyelids, ones that didn't belong. That was when the screaming started. As time progressed the screams got louder, the radio was turned up at night.

My screams would wake my mother, the speaker blaring the top 20-not so much.

My mind screamed sane; my mom screamed 'not my daughter!'

I lay awake in my bed the early morning sun just reaching over the horizon; it's almost as if my foul mood makes the clouds drift over to block the sunlight from almost reaching my window. I unwillingly stretch my back until I hear a satisfying pop. As I swing my long legs over the side of the high bed, landing gracefully on the floor. I kick last night's shopping spree bags into the corner. I stumble half asleep down the hallway. My brain says keep going, but my legs stop in front of my father's bedroom door.

I look and see the nail scratch marks from my mom's breakdown after she sealed the room tight, now she sleeps in the guest room downstairs. I feel the tears threatening to break loose and I remember my promise to myself, never show a weakness- even to yourself. So I walk on into the bathroom down the hall.

I stare at myself in the mirror and see myself for the first time in weeks. I see my father's blue-eyes, blonde hair, nose, and bone structure. But I don't see his smile. That's the only thing in the world worth opening my eyes for. At least that's how it feels.

I peek out the window and see the bare ground where the shed used to be. My dad's favorite place; mine too. I used to just sit there on his work bench inhaling the familiar scent, watching my dad turn scraps into something useful.

In my opinion that's what he also did for people. Take a broken soul and stitch it back up. Unfortunately, no one is here now to make me whole again. The only person who could is gone along with tools. I back up until I feel something solid-a door. I can tell by the handle digging in my back. I slide to the ground trying to escape my reflection.

The tears threaten to break loose but I hold them back- I refuse to be weak. When my dad was so strong. He would open up the door, find me here, and say 'Honey, ya know, your reflection don't bite.' He'd look at how pathetic and dead my eyes are and he would get a crease in between his eyebrows and pick me up and comfort me, then he would take me to mom. She would find the problem and fix it.

If only he was here, if only I wasn't practically disowned as a daughter, if she even cared.

I slowly got up stumbled to my room and tried to find the one place I can escape these thoughts. I blared my radio, but the monotonous lyrics hold no interest to me. I search outside, but stop once I find a piece of my shorts on the fence.

I look in myself, but I find it's empty.

I look on my bookshelf and find Twilight. The root of all my problems, the place where it all started.

This may not make sense but the one place I finally found refuge was the last place I was supposed to look.

In between the pages.

That was 2 years ago.

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Someone said it was confusing so just send me your questions and I will try to answer them as soon as possible.

Since I just started I will keep updating for almost no reviews, but soon I will need reviews to update.