Pretty as a Car Crash

Disturbances


made by heartofthevampire @ the Quizilla! Forums

"At first they thought Nan died in the crash because she slammed headfirst into a tree at 80 miles per hour. It turns out that she was dead before the key was even put in the ignition. Two pin-sized holes in the carotid artery in her neck were the culprit; it was the work of a serial killer they said.”

I take a breath as I watch Maria’s face, waiting for the result.

When I'm dealing with something major - such as Nan's death - I find that I tend to brush it off and act fully detached from it - like it isn't really a serious issue in the first place.
Telling Maria about my dream basically meant that I had to tell her all about Nan, which then involved telling her about my family.
-
The five steps to recovering are as follows:
1 Denial
2 Anger
3 Bargaining
4 Depression
5 Acceptance

I went through each and every one of those stages. Thoroughly. Finally, though, I have accepted her passing on and I find comfort in knowing she’s watching and will always be with me.

Before the accident, Nanyamka and I had gotten our dorm room early and even though we had to share it with one other person, we were still putting out interior decorating ideas down on paper. Now it’s only Maria and I in a three person room. At first, it was awkward being around her so much because I was so used to having Nan there by my side.
If I had to say one positive thing about this whole ordeal, I would say that it taught me to be more out-going and independent.

Soon, Maria and I became very close, not as close as I was with Nan, but getting there. My mom was worried that I was trying to replace Nan, but no one could do that. Nor would I ever want or allow them to.
-
I’ve always had a hard time talking about any of those subjects. When I have no other choice but to talk about them, I always try and sound distant; it helps make the memories a little less painful. Sometimes.

Her reaction is one that I get from everyone else: a sympathetic look in her eyes mixed with pity and sadness. She rolls back over onto her side and whispers “Oh, Jess.” I continue to look back at her, saying nothing like I always do when I get this sort of response.
I mean, what would I say, “I know; bummer.”?

“It must have been horrible. I’m so sorry, truly, yeah.” She continues in hushed tones, her mantra slipping in at the end.

“Thanks.” I whisper back, keeping my gaze latched onto her gaze. She parts her lips, preparing to say more, but I force my way in with “I’m really tired. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Maria, okay?”

I roll over until my back is facing her and I’m looking at the empty bed three feet away from me. Again. Not waiting for her to say more.
“Thanks for listening. I really appreciate it.” I murmur, closing my eyes as I let the memories of Nanyamka wash over me.

I’ve always been one for rainy days - the kind of days where you curl up with a good book and a cup of decadent hot cocoa. The only thing that can possibly make a rainy day better is if it’s on a Saturday. Today must be my lucky day.

Unfortunately though, I have to be at Bring on the Bean! by 7:00 am. It’s like most other coffee shops out there: comfortably cozy and pretty artsy. It’s so cliché and, strangely enough, that’s exactly why I love it so much.

As I’m walking out the door of the dorm room I share with Maria, I notice a note sitting on the small table near the entrance. The note says, written in Maria’s large chicken scratch,
“We have a new roommate. Her name is Chrissie and she should be here around 4:00. Have a nice day,
Maria”

Chrissie? Hmmm. That’s an…interesting name. I think randomly while I pull my black, curly hair into a pony tail, letting a few pieces fall out around my face, framing it. At the coffee shop, all employees with long hair are required to have it pulled back. Or, we, the employees, have to wear a baseball cap reading “What may I get you?”

I don’t plan on wearing the stupid hat any time soon, so I have no other choice but to pull my locks into a strangle hold on the back of my head. After locking the dorm door, I strut my stuff down the hall way, my black leather boots clacking on the old wood flooring.

Once I get there, ten minutes early, I order a hot cocoa and promptly seat myself in a metal chair at the table near the window. After retrieving a newspaper and glancing over the daily news, I head straight for the comics. Whilst doing so, I can’t help but sneak a peek out side. The sky is clearing up quickly and people are starting to put away their umbrellas.
“Darn it.” I mutter under my breath.

While I’m reading about Denise the Menace’s new endeavor, the bell on the door rings, signaling that someone has just entered the shop.
I don’t even bother to think about who it could possibly be, until a clear voice says “Is anyone sitting here?”