Memories From a Dead Girl
Twenty-Three
When I was back in the apartment, the past faded, I heard Austin tell Chloe that he was sorry, that it was a mistake and he never meant for it to happen. I wondered what he was talking about. But his words sparked something inside my brain, something I couldn't —wouldn't—ignore.
If someone ever tells you that being stabbed isn't the worst thing, I can tell you that they've lied. That one simple act puts your body through so much.
After the knife went into my stomach, it burned, and I cried out. I blinked back tears as I stared into his face, his expression one of surprise, as his hand gripped the handle. He was crying and shaking and holding onto me.
"No, no, no," he whispered.
I felt the dirt beneath my feet as I sank to the ground. I didn't know why I was barefoot, but that was the least of my worries now.
Austin pulled out the knife and I gasped, a scream dying in my throat.
Funny, that word.
Dying.
That's what was happening, I knew.
I felt blood in my mouth, and as I tried to speak, it seeped over my lips and onto my chin. But he held my body against his, cradling me and whispering that he was sorry, that it had been a mistake, that he didn't mean to do it.
When Austin lifted me, it was to walk toward the murky swamp along the side of the road. He had barely placed me into the water when I saw a shadow behind him. Suddenly, his body stiffened, and he released me with a groan.
With my eyes still open, my last memory was not of Austin.
If someone ever tells you that being stabbed isn't the worst thing, I can tell you that they've lied. That one simple act puts your body through so much.
After the knife went into my stomach, it burned, and I cried out. I blinked back tears as I stared into his face, his expression one of surprise, as his hand gripped the handle. He was crying and shaking and holding onto me.
"No, no, no," he whispered.
I felt the dirt beneath my feet as I sank to the ground. I didn't know why I was barefoot, but that was the least of my worries now.
Austin pulled out the knife and I gasped, a scream dying in my throat.
Funny, that word.
Dying.
That's what was happening, I knew.
I felt blood in my mouth, and as I tried to speak, it seeped over my lips and onto my chin. But he held my body against his, cradling me and whispering that he was sorry, that it had been a mistake, that he didn't mean to do it.
When Austin lifted me, it was to walk toward the murky swamp along the side of the road. He had barely placed me into the water when I saw a shadow behind him. Suddenly, his body stiffened, and he released me with a groan.
With my eyes still open, my last memory was not of Austin.