Rain (3 page)

Lights Out

Today
is the last day of the rest of my life. I’ve lost the fight to live and the
struggle of breathing every day is just too much to bear. This emptiness within
me can’t be filled with anything that has sustaining power. I wish seeing the
sunrise every morning was enough, enough to make me change my mind, enough to
keep me here. But it’s not. Even when the brightest star shines its halo on me,
my eyes see nothing. My eyes are as vacant as my soul; every ounce of my being
feels stripped, bare, and left exposed to the harsh elements of life.

Fragile.

Talk
of me, Isabel Charm Waters, will spread like wildfire. I’m proving everyone is
this small-town of Cherry Creek, North Carolina, right. I’m the little weak
girl that would snap at any moment after my brother’s horrific suicide.

His
name was Tyler
Casimir
Waters.

I
watch idly as Tyler’s brown teddy bear floats face down on top of the surface
of the murky water, near the end of the tub. The bath I’ve ran for myself has
gone cold, as cold as the blood slowly pumping in my veins. With as much energy
that I can muster, I try to reach for it but my arms are too numb and heavy to
lift. Giving up, I sink further back into the tub, allowing my muscles to
unclench and relax. The water is overlapping my nose. I can feel my heart
beating. It should be wild and deafening but it’s so slow; a mellow melody of
death. Once the song ends though, there will be no replay or encore of any
kind, just silence.

All
I want is silence.

My
eyes shift to the empty bottle of sleeping pills on the bathtub countertop.
Suicide doesn’t happen like it does in the movies. It isn’t instant, lights
out, unless, of course, you’re brave enough to pull a trigger and blast a
bullet through your brain.

You
have to wait for the blackness to swallow you whole. The worst part is waiting
on death to happen. The peace you want is there, within arm’s reach, but it’s
taking its leisurely time to put you out of your misery. Even when you stoop to
this level of desperation, you still don’t get the satisfaction of getting what
you desire when you desire it the most.

Please
just take me.

I’m
ready.

I’m
ready.

I’m
ready.

Closing
my heavy lids, I begin to drift away, my heart faintly thudding in my chest.
It’s a fading tempo that I can’t keep tabs with.

Black.

Then reality.

Silence.

Then the sound of a weakening heart and
labored breaths.

Nothing.

Then a fragmented view of everything.

A
voice calls to me as I float in and out of consciousness.

It’s
a real voice.

“Isabel!”

That
voice.

That
voice wants me to live.

“Isabel!”

The
voice gets closer as I drift further.

“Isabel!
Please, please, please open your eyes.”

I’m
so sorry
.

Darkness.

Then
the heat of someone’s fingers wrapped fully around my upper arms as they settle
behind me in the tub. The heat is burning my skin. My body slumps against
someone’s solid frame. Whoever’s behind me has an intense fire within. Their
flame is scorching me. “Isabel, baby, open your eyes.” That voice sounds as
hopeless as I feel.

I’m
sorry.
I’m
so sorry.
I’m
just tired.

Stillness and then movement.

Warm
fingers are forced down my throat; searing vomit sprays everywhere, on me, on
my unidentified angel.

Everything
comes back and hits me like a freight train and it is pure agony.

The
oxygen I’m tussling to inhale whistles through my chest and scalds my deflated
lungs. Salt from fresh tears fill my slack mouth as I whisper incoherent
things, as I release my secrets and tell someone my every fear, my every dream,
my every tragedy. My body can’t stop shaking around the pleasant warmth that
surrounds me.

A
soft kiss on my left shoulder is want I get in return; that kiss burns right
through the layers of skin and soaks into my bones.

Except
that kiss is more than just a kiss. It’s a kiss of promise, a kiss that sets my
soul ablaze.

“Isabel,
I have to get you out this tub.”

That
voice!

I
know that voice.

Please
let it be anyone other than that voice.

Realization
seeps through the thick haze that blankets my brain and my eyes move to the
long, lean pant legs on either side of me and down to grey Vans sneakers that
are by my feet, at the end of the tub that’s filled with Tyler’s teddy, dirty
water, chunky, foamy white vomit.

I
burst into tears at this hopeless situation.

It’s
him.

Why
did it have to be
him
?

The
next thing I know, I’m hauled up into strong arms and carried away into my
room. I keep my eyes close tight, refusing to witness any of it, refusing to accept
him as my savior.

He
gingerly lays me down on my bed, then moves somewhere within the confines of my
bedroom. He’s back with a towel.

My
heart is erratic as he swipes the fuzzy material down the length of my body. He
dries every nook and cranny: my hair, my armpits,
my
belly. But when he wipes between my legs, I inhale sharply, a surge of desire
strikes me and leaves my flesh tingly. I feel my body respond to him; I’m
getting wet.
Aroused.
His movements are gentle but
very certain and precise. It still doesn’t stop my tears and countless pathetic
whispers of protest.

He
ignores me as he rummages through my chest of drawers. A short moment later,
delicate cotton is dragged up my ankles. “Lift your hips,” he orders, firmly
moving them up my legs.

Obeying
but still crying, I do.

After
he puts my panties on, he slides some loose jeans up my legs and zips and
buttons them. Then I hear him searching through my drawers again. “Can you sit
up?”

I
don’t answer him.

“Isabel?”

Nothing
comes out.

His
weight sinks in the mattress as he sits beside me. He lifts me towards his lap
and tugs on my bra, strapping all the hooks it in place, putting my shirt,
socks, shoes, and jacket on me after.

What
is he doing here?

He’s
the reason I have scars up my arms.

He’s
half the reason I want to die.

“Please
leave,” I murmur, eyes still closed tight, voice hoarse and raw.

“No,”
he says after a heartbeat. He places the hood of my jacket over my head after
zipping it up, and then he sweeps me in his arms like a wounded pet. “I’m
taking you home with me.”

“Please
leave,” I repeat numbly.

“No,
Isabel. I’m not leaving you. I’ve done enough of that already.”

Warmth
I shouldn’t feel spreads too quickly, eating away at the ice in my chest.

“Please
leav
—”

“No!
Stop speaking. Just let me care of you. Please.”

Swallowing
thickly, I press my lips together as he carries me through the house, outside
in the cold rain and into his truck. His truck smells of spicy cinnamon mint
and cologne and something magical that’s all Hunter.

Hunter
Knight.

The
beautiful boy with the blond hair and crystal-clear blue eyes and sun kissed
skin.

Hunter
Knight.

The
boy I loved since third grade.

Hunter
Knight.

The boy who mercilessly smashed my
fragmented heart into dust.

Hunter
Knight.

The blackness that clouded my light.

He
straps me in and then slams the door.

The
door to the driver side opens. He glides in, bringing the engine to life.
“Please get the bear,” I say to the window.

“What?”

“The
bear—get the bear from the tub.
Please
.”

He
doesn’t sigh or give any impression that he’s losing patience, though I don’t
know the exact expression on his face because my eyes are still clamped shut.
The door swings open; the hinges make a loud squeaking noise because of old
rust. I hear foots steps splash against the rain puddles as he heads towards my
empty house. Then I hear nothing but the sound of the rain heavily drumming
steadily against the roof of his red Chevy truck.

A
moment later, Hunter returns, slamming the truck door behind him. He tosses a
plastic bag that contains Tyler’s soggy bear on my lap and drives off.

Pure Illusion out
now by Michelle Watson!