Stories in Broken Glass

Chapter Eight

I wake up for the second time in Caleb’s bed.

He’s not in it this time. Instead, I open my eyes to a bright room, the familiar grey walls turning a few shades lighter.

My head hurts so bad.

How much did I drink last night?

The series of movements feel so familiar, the gaps in my memory making me squeeze my eyes shut in confusion.

My feet hit the floor; my hand finds the banister of the stairs.

My butt meets the kitchen stool.

Toast is placed in front of me, Keith smiles kindly at me.

“You drank a lot last night. Like enough to kill a horse.” He sounds impressed.

Did I really drink that much?

“You ran into the bushes, you hurt yourself after you lost your shoes somewhere.” He continues, filling in the gaps.

I remember now, flashes of me running, the pain in my foot.

A glance at my foot shows me that I have a shallow cut on the side, already scabbed and healing.

What about Dad? Why did it only occur to me to think about Dad now?

“Did you tell Dad where I am?” My mind runs though series of scenarios of Dad calling a search, scavenging through town looking for me. Where’s my phone?

“Yeah, we told him that you were staying with the girls. Haven’t seen your phone though.” He shrugs it off and continues to butter toast.

I suddenly become conscious of my own toast and that I’m really hungry.

We both eat in silence.

“Where’s Caleb, Leigh, Emma?” My water sits in front of me, untouched.

“Caleb’s at he’s teammates place, he said, and I quote ‘I don’t want to deal with V when she’s in a shitty mood.’ Leigh and Emma are shopping for Christmas.”

I have this distinct image of Caleb crying, saying something but I can’t here anything.

But that does sound like him. And I don’t doubt Leigh jumped at the first chance to go shopping.

“Oh.” Is all I say.

After a while Keith leaves me in favour of his guitar.

I find him a while later, in the back room, playing something, I don’t think I’ve heard before.

He nods at me when I enter, never faltering from his instrument.

The beanbags Leigh bought over last year now are a permanent staple in this house.

Keith starts singing after a while, but I’m not paying attention.

I’m falling into sleep when Keith changes from the guitar to his baby grand piano.

“Vera. Look. At. Me.”

Caleb was gripping the steering wheel, his torso turned to face me. His eyes were glassy, flicking from me to someone above me.

He said something. Something in a language I didn’t know.

Whatever Caleb said, it made the guy force my head further back, closer to him.

I can’t help but look up at him.

The odd rhythm of flesh hitting flesh accompanied drew my hazy vision out the windshield.

It was brutal, glorious, terrifying, and impossible. A dark man with glowing gold eyes was fighting another with sickly pale skin and otherworldly fangs that prodded from a snarling mouth.

His hand grips my shoulder in a bruising grip, stopping me from moving. Bringing me further to him. Red eyes meet mine from above me. Nails piercing the skin of my shoulder.

Teeth as long as my finger drip with saliva.

I squeeze my eyes shut.

Only to open them to a pair of gold.

Such a specific shade of gold, so pretty. I bet they were worth half a million dollars each among the rich.

But they were framed by dark lashes and skin, resting in the sharp face of a man used to being feared.

But I didn’t fear him.

I did nothing but stare at him.

The more I stared the further back he went, coming fully into view.

He was tall, probably as tall as Caleb.

He said something. He looked angry. I couldn’t hear him.

He stepped forward.

I stepped back.

He paused. c*****g his head, like a dog.

Something inside my mind cracked, like a dam full of water finally starting to feel the weight of everything it was holding hack.

I was crying. My pillow was wet under my cheek.

The residue of my dream lingered in the back of my mind, slipping away the more I tried to remember it in only that way that dreams do.

It occurred to me then, rising to my elbows, that I was in my room. It felt like I hadn’t been in my own room in forever.

Though I knew realistically that it had only been little more than a day since I had been back in my own room.

My nose tingled and the sunlight illuminated all the dust partials floating around.

My hand slid along my bedside table and encountered a thin film of dust.

I’m going crazy. The thought I knew wasn’t original. I had thought it before.

But I don’t remember when.

But… crazy people don’t know they’re crazy. But I think I’m crazy. I can’t be crazy. But…I’m going insane.

Images of my best friend crying over me.

A pale man with red eyes like some kind of vampire.

A dark man with gold eyes.

For some reason, a tear fell on my hand, the salty drop made me reach u and touch my eyes, they were wet. And I was crying.

I didn’t know why; I was just crying.