Pretty Faces and Dark Places (5 page)

Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, a blur of events, tears, cries, pain, and hurt. Questions wouldn’t leave my mind, the
‘what ifs’
and
‘if I’d onlys’
just couldn’t take the hint of how much I wanted them to leave me alone. The next thing I knew, the day that I would be burying my best friend had come.

“I’m not going, Nana!” I said with the trapped tears stinging my eyes, choking me and making my heart ache even more.

“Sweetie, you have to. You have to pay your respects,” Nana said quietly.

“No! Don’t you people understand? She’s not dead! I refuse to believe she’s dead. What they are doing will never be acceptable to me, never!”

They really couldn’t understand. She was my twin sister that my mother had never given birth to nor had my dad ever fathered. I’d known her my whole life. We were never ever separated from each other longer than a weekend when she had to go somewhere with her parents. I couldn’t just go and bury her … it was impossible to let go.

“No matter what we believe, Child, you have to be there – for Sophie’s sake.”

They didn’t understand at all. They couldn’t get me. And the heck if I was able to understand them. I had no idea how on earth burying her was something they’d do for her sake. It was for theirs, not hers. Never hers.

Unfortunately, my tries and my whines were for nothing, because just two hours later, I found myself standing in front of the headstone to a body-less grave, holding a coffin that was empty except for photos, letters, roses, and memories.

‘Sophia Letterman. 1994 – 2013 A beloved daughter, sister and friend.’

It only took two months after Halloween for everyone to lose the hope of finding her. There were no clues and no evidence. Everyone looked at me as if I were nuts; they told me nothing I’d said made any sense. They said there were no traces of any cars on the road that led to the woods. They said that Sophie’s car was nowhere near the woods. Hell, they never found the road itself that I was talking about, let alone the car. It was like nothing I’d said was taken seriously; they made me feel as if I’d made it all up. No, they
did
say I’d made it all up because I was suffering from a strong case of depression,
or
PTDS some had said.

They decided that two earthquakes had happened on Halloween – which I’d never felt or had any idea had ever happened, by the way – and that might be the reason why I’d lost that day of my memory. They said I might’ve hit my head somewhere. They didn’t tell me why I didn’t have any bruises, though. People were happy to come up with the theory that I was on drugs, mixed with alcohol. I didn’t have the energy to tell anyone they were wrong; I barely spoke at all.

They found nothing, and I couldn’t do anything about it. It was as if that night had never happened, and if it wasn’t for the blood I’d found on my panties when I got home, I would’ve believed them.

Six months after the horrible night when I’d lost my best friend, Sophie’s family decided that
‘burying’
her would be a good idea, for everyone to move on, because
Sophie wouldn’t want us to grieve for the rest of our lives
, they’d said. Well, they didn’t know crap.
I
wanted to grieve for the rest of my life. She was my sister. My sister, for Christ’s sake. How could I just let go and forget? How could an empty coffin ease the pain and let me move on? They were delusional.

Still, I did as my Nana told me. I went there, I stood still, I let my tears fall as I heard everyone saying their goodbyes and whatnot, clutching the rose in my hand for dear life, finding it so hard to just drop it like I was supposed to do. And when I did – I didn’t feel even a tiny bit better.

That night, after so many pitiful looks and assuring words I didn’t want to hear from people I didn’t want to see, I went home. I found my bed and dropped myself on it facedown and fully dressed. Then I did the thing that had become my routine: I cried myself to sleep.

I felt hands on my body, soft touches and warm fondles. I gripped the sheets beneath me at the feeling I was having. My bed itself was getting warm from the heat I was feeling, heat that filled my whole body and surrounded us.

“Andrew,” I whispered his name.

I felt him. All of him. His lips. His hands. His warm-like-the-sun body. His whispers and his smell. He was on top of me, kissing his way up to my lips, and I smiled into them before kissing him back. He paused and I opened my eyes to see his looking deeply into my own and I had to smile again, but my smile fell as I watched the perfect shade of green turn into red, red, red until it became fire. It was scary, so scary that my heart started pounding in my chest so hard, almost stopping when suddenly, huge black wings spreading out appeared behind him.

I woke up screaming and sweaty, looking around me at the empty room, searching for any evidence that would tell me that what I had experienced wasn’t just a dream. Because if felt like anything but. It felt so real, so real that it was seriously hard for me to think of it as anything but that – reality.

That was the first night those dreams started, or better yet – nightmares. Those nights, I missed Sophie more than ever, for I needed her like I could never describe. I would wake up every night and talk to the nothing that surrounded me. Talk to her as if she was listening. I would ask her,
‘Where are you?’
Or plead with her to
‘Come back to me.’
I never got a reply.

School wasn’t my favorite place on the planet; her empty seat in this class or that was enough to get my tears rolling out of my eyes for the rest of the school day. It earned me looks and hushes, whispered words about the poor girl who’d lost her other half. It drove me insane.

On the outside, I wore a blank expression, had an emotionless face and only spoke when spoken to. My replies were short and my voice barely ever above a whisper. Everyone knew I was suffering. You’d have to be blind not to see how I was dying day after day and night after night. But even if you were blind you’d know it. Sadness was reeking out of me in strong waves. Hitting everyone within reaching distance. Everyone knew.

From the inside, I was going crazy. I was a crying, sobbing mess, still. Only hundreds of times more than what people could see. From the inside, I was screaming. At everyone. Including myself. I wanted everyone to leave me alone, to stop talking about me. They didn’t even know me – why would they talk about me? I wanted my mind to stop asking questions and wondering about the everything and the nothing. I wanted my heart to stop longing for her so much. I wanted to let go. Her parents were able to, why couldn’t I? Why?

From the inside, I was mad more than I was sad. That’s a lot, I might add.

Home was no better than school; she was there everywhere I looked. Every-freaking-where my eyes would glance, I’d see her. In the kitchen where she had her breakfast – cereal and milk,
always
cereal and milk. In the living room where we would play video games or watch a movie with my feet on her lap. In my bedroom where we shared the same twin bed almost every night – she was a kicker and a blanket thief. On the desk where she would sit while studying,
‘because that’s how I rule’
she would say whenever I might ask why she was acting so crazy. Everywhere held a memory of her.
Every
where.

I missed her dearly. It hurt more with every new day. It hurt so much to the point I wished she’d had an accident or died from sickness, because then I would’ve known she was dead for real, at least. But
this
– this was much, much worse. Because I still hoped. And hopping made my chest hurt hard, and my heart bled even harder.

“Andrew?” I gasped, sensing him near me, but my eyes were so heavy I couldn’t open them.

“Maya, my beautiful Maya,” I heard his deep voice whispering near my ear. I shivered and tried my best to open my eyes but couldn’t. My entire body was tingling. It was an awful feeling, just like the one you get when your legs fall asleep and you try to stand up. It tingles, it hurts. Not so bad, but it’s not a pleasant feeling, not at all. My whole body felt like that, but it was stronger near my neck and in the middle of my back. Stupid sensation that I hated and just wanted it to end.

“Andrew, where I am?” I asked him.

“In your bed, Beautiful Angel,” he replied, his voice so close that I even felt his flames-hot breaths fanning over my face.

“I – I can’t open my eyes,” I told him, and heard a chuckle that sounded like one only the devil would let out. It was dark and cold. Darker than a moonless night and colder than ice.

‘‘You’re so pure and innocent. It’s going to be so hard to tame you to fit into my world, but it will happen – no matter what,’’ was what he said in response. An answer that made my blood run cold and for my breaths to become shallow.

I tried with all of my might to open my eyes. A very thin line of light told me that I was succeeding, and with more trying I would be able to open them fully and look at my surroundings. And that was exactly what happened. And I wished it hadn’t.

I found myself in my bed like Andrew told me, but my white sheets had turned to take on the color of my blood – red. It took me just a few moments to realize that I was drowning in my own blood. No idea where exactly the blood was coming from or where I was wounded, but I was bleeding heavily and I knew that there was no way I was going to make it out of this.

By then, my breaths were nothing but short gasps and frightened pants. I searched for Andrew, thinking that maybe he could save me, get me help or just do anything to make it stop, but when my eyes found his, I screamed and cried out loud until my voice was lost.

When I thought there was no way out for me and that was the end, I finally got my respite when Nana woke me up… I’d overslept until noon.

Every night I would dream of him, telling me something new, something creepy, scary and frightening. And just like when I’d met him, I
still
felt the pull. I knew I was being stupid, and many times I questioned how I’d let him touch me that way that night, but I still couldn’t resist feeling the need to be close to him again. I thought about him a lot, more than I’d care to admit, and my feelings for him were overshadowed only by my longing to see Sophie again, or at least hear from her. But I knew that there was nothing I could do. I couldn’t stop my feelings from growing so crazy in every way possible. It was almost embarrassing.

One time he promised me
‘Better wings’
and
‘Sharper teeth’
– something strange and crazy – just like everything he ever told me in my dreams of him. He once even told me that
‘I missed the warmth only you could provide me,’
whatever that meant. The only thing he said that I couldn’t stop thinking about was when he said the strangest of things, even stranger than the usual:
‘She can’t wait to see you again,’
he’d said.

I knew he’d meant Sophie.

The days that followed were the toughest of all. The questions became bigger, the wondering happened more often, and the theories I kept making up became crazier.

Those days were the hardest of all because I couldn’t stop questioning my sanity.

I believed that my dreams – or nightmares, for that matter – meant something. I liked to think that Andrew’s visits had a meaning behind them. Like, he was there to make sure I remembered him. Or to see if I
still
remembered him. Or maybe he was there to do something to me. Remind me of Sophie, maybe. I just – I didn’t know. But I believed they weren’t just meaningless dreams.

Those days were the hardest because the doubt I had – the very same doubt that made people think I was completely crazy – grew stronger. And the thought of it being real haunted me. I believed that Sophie was not dead, like everyone else believed and wanted to force me into believing. I believed that Sophie was alive somewhere. I believed she wanted me to be close to her again, just like we’d always been. I believed she
needed
me.