I'm Not Strong Enough to Stay Away

“Will ya hurry it up with the damn spell already?!” Ella snarled at me, grimacing in pain. The knife wound was deep, and I knew it hurt like hell. “Damn, I hate demons!”

“Yeah, yeah. I know,” I said calmly, lifting up the bottom of my friend’s shirt to inspect the damage. I placed my hand over the gash and concentrated on healing it, and as the skin sewed itself together, Ella let out a string of curse words under her breath.

“Dammit, that hurts,” she complained.

“Would you rather I not heal it next time?” I asked her, raising my eyebrows.

“No…” Ella replied dejectedly. “Thanks, Gari,” she added.

“What are friends for?” It was times like this when I really appreciated my powers. If I hadn’t had them, we would’ve had to stitch the wound up ourselves, with Ella drinking her pain away. This method saved time and a whole lot of hurt, even if Ella had a low pain tolerance.

“So’re ya plannin’ on perfectin’ that demon-killin’ thing anytime soon?” Ella asked me, resituating herself on our shared queen-sized bed. “’Cause that would be real helpful.”

“Whenever I get the chance to practice repeatedly on a demon,” I replied matter-of-factly.

“Well then, let’s go hunt some more demons!” she suggested enthusiastically.

“Okay, I may have mysteriously awesome supernatural powers, but you still need to rest a bit, regain your strength.”

“What’re ya talkin’ about? I feel completely fine, good as new!” Ella persisted. “See?” She jumped up from the bed, then swayed a little and fell back down beside me, contradicting herself. “’Kay,” she amended shakily. “Rest sounds good.”

I laughed, saying, “That’s what I thought.”

Ella grabbed the remote and flipped on the TV. “Hey, free HBO!” she exclaimed excitedly.

“Game of Thrones!” we squealed simultaneously. (I don’t squeal for much—I’m just not that type—but this show is definitely an exception.)

“Sean Bean, here we come!” I crowed happily.

We were fortunate enough to catch a Game of Thrones marathon, so we got to catch up on everything we’d missed. I know it’s stupid for hunters to get addicted to TV shows, but Sean Bean was just so fucking awesome, especially as Boromir in Lord of the Rings. And Game of Thrones was very Tolkien-esque.

After having our fill of knights and orcs, we decided to go to bed.

Ella was out within minutes. I stared at her sleeping form, wondering over our relationship. I wouldn’t call it a friendship, really; it was more than that, more like… sisterhood. Ever since that one day ten years ago, when her father had saved me from a couple of vampires, we had become dangerously codependent.

I had acted like a fill-in for an older sister, for she had lost her actual older sister, Camilla, to a werewolf when she was ten and Camilla was twelve. I joined up with Ella and Greg when I was sixteen and Ella fourteen. I was the same age as Camilla would have been, had she been alive. Greg and Ella had accepted me eagerly, trying to fill the hole that Camilla had left. If it wasn’t for them, I’d probably be dead.

Ella woke up suddenly and noticed me staring at her. “Whassa matter?” she asked groggily, rubbing her eyes.

“Nothing, Elle,” I assured her quietly. “Go back to sleep.” She nodded barely and closed her eyes again. “Goodnight, Ella,” I whispered, then fell asleep as well.

~Supernatural~Supernatural~Supernatural~

My dream that night was a memory from my childhood.

I was in my old house, the one that I had lived in until I was nine. “Garideth!” someone yelled, and I knew instantly what memory it was. 'No!' I thought, horrified. 'No, no, no! Wake up, wake up!' But of course, it was no use. Dreams aren’t that easy to escape, especially when they’re nightmares. I would know. “Garideth, don’t make me come up there!” my father yelled again, and I trembled in fear.

“Coming, Daddy,” I heard someone say feebly, then I realized that the words had come out of my mouth. I felt like my little nine year old self again, the same misery, the same loneliness, the same fear. I walked down the stairs against my will, as if someone else were controlling me. “Y-yes, Daddy?” I said, coming to a stop in the kitchen.

He was sitting there at the table, drunk worse than ever before, just how I remembered him. He raised the bottle to his lips and took a long swig before turning to me. “What took you so long?” he slurred angrily.

“I-I don’t k-know,” I stuttered, staring down at my bare feet.

“I’m hungry!” he barked, glaring at me.

“W-what d’you want to eat?” I asked, already moving to the cabinet.

“Surprise me,” he growled. I stood on tiptoes to reach the Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. It was what he always wanted when he was drunk. He’d been there enough for me to know.

Five minutes later, I heaped the whole thing of mac and cheese onto a large plate. “Here you go, Daddy,” I said, shaking slightly. Just then, a spasm of fear shook me and the plate slipped from my fingers, splattering its contents and china fragments across the kitchen floor. My hands flew over my mouth in terror. “I’m so sorry, Daddy!” I said automatically. “I didn’t mean to; it was an acci—“

I was cut off as he slapped me hard on the cheek, hard enough to knock me down. As I tried to get away, he grabbed me by my hair, pulling me up to face him. “You’re just a little fuck-up, aren’t you?!” he snarled. “”Fuck up everything, don’t you?! You hadn’t been born, your mother wouldn’t have left, you little piece of shit!”

“Daddy, please!” I screamed, struggling with all my might. He let go of my hair and I scrambled to my feet, running to the pantry and slamming the door, then leaning against it to try to keep it shut.
“You let me in, Garideth!” my father yelled, beating on the door forcefully. “You let me in right now!”

I wrapped my arms around my legs and tucked my head down, tears pouring out of my tightly closed eyes. “Leave me alone,” I whimpered. “Please leave me alone!”

A sudden pain started in my chest then, burning my insides like fire. I started screaming, squeezing my eyes shut even tighter, praying to a god I had never believed in that the pain would just stop.

A light flashed so bright that it hurt my closed eyes, then the pain stopped, and so did my father’s incessant pounding on the door.

Opening my eyes, I untangled my arms and legs and stood up shakily. “Daddy?” I called, hoping beyond hope that he wouldn’t answer. “Daddy?” I called again when he didn’t. I figured he had finally passed out, more than likely in a puddle of his own vomit.

I opened the pantry door warily and immediately started screaming again. There in front of me, where my father’s unconscious body should have been, were the charred remains of a corpse. I knew at once that it was my fault somehow, and that just made me scream more.

~Supernatural~Supernatural~Supernatural~

I sat up abruptly, my heart racing faster than I would’ve thought possible. I glanced around wildly, for a second thinking that I was still in that house. I noticed Ella sitting at the table, papers spread out in front of her, staring at me worriedly. “Your dad?” she asked quietly.

I held my hand over my heart, waiting for it to start beating normally again. “Isn’t it always?” I replied finally, not wanting to talk about it. I’d had that nightmare sporadically since the night my powers had manifested and I had accidentally killed my father. It was always the same, and there was nothing I could do about it.

“Hungry?” Ella asked me, gesturing to a paper bag.

“Nothing meaty, I hope?” I got up and walked to her, my breathing still coming a bit shorter than normal.

She rolled her eyes and said, “Ya been a vegetarian for the whole ten years I’ve known ya. When do I ever get ya somethin’ meaty?”

I smirked a little and sat down in the chair across from her, rummaging in the bag. “What do we have?” I asked, pulling out some pathetic-looking fruit salad stuff. I started picking out everything but the strawberries, finally just tossing the thing back in to the bag in annoyance.

“Well, conveniently enough, ‘bout two towns over, there’s been three unsolved murders. Doors and windows still locked, no sign of struggle or anything.”

“Let’s go, then!” I said, eager to leave this town and my nightmare behind.

We packed our bags and headed out to Ella’s car, a blue convertible ’69 Chevy Impala. She treated that thing like it was her baby, coaxing it into running even when there was no way it should still be working after all the shit Greg had put it through. She would always love that car more than anything, for it had belonged to Greg, and he had passed it down to his daughter the day he died. It was the only thing she had left of him.

My hand went absentmindedly to the amulet around my neck. I had taken it from my mother’s jewelry box the night my father died. He always caught me staring at it, and that was another of the many things that made him angry.

I ran my finger over the pentagram etched into the center. This led me to believe that she had been a hunter, or had at least been knowledgeable about the supernatural. I felt as if I was honoring her memory somehow by hunting, even though I doubt she would’ve wanted me in the life. What parent would? But it was the only thing I could do to feel close to her, so I took it.