Memories From a Dead Girl
Fifty-Two
While Chloe and Austin slept, I became restless.
I wandered around the apartment. When I stepped into the bathroom, I was able to turn on the light. This was the fourth time I'd been able to touch something if I focused hard enough. Or if I was completely determined.
I looked at my reflection. It was the first time since I'd been killed that I saw my own face; my black hair was tangled and matted with blood, my green eyes dark and smudged with eyeliner and there was dirt on my cheeks, chest and arms.
But that wasn't what startled me.
It was all of the blood. It covered my front. I pressed my hand to the wound on my stomach. It didn't hurt, of course, but made me angry. Angrier than I'd ever felt since I saw my body in that swamp. The anger seeped out of me, swelled and pulsated, until the light fixture above exploded.
I wanted revenge.
I wanted answers.
Most of all, I wanted my life back.
I wandered around the apartment. When I stepped into the bathroom, I was able to turn on the light. This was the fourth time I'd been able to touch something if I focused hard enough. Or if I was completely determined.
I looked at my reflection. It was the first time since I'd been killed that I saw my own face; my black hair was tangled and matted with blood, my green eyes dark and smudged with eyeliner and there was dirt on my cheeks, chest and arms.
But that wasn't what startled me.
It was all of the blood. It covered my front. I pressed my hand to the wound on my stomach. It didn't hurt, of course, but made me angry. Angrier than I'd ever felt since I saw my body in that swamp. The anger seeped out of me, swelled and pulsated, until the light fixture above exploded.
I wanted revenge.
I wanted answers.
Most of all, I wanted my life back.