The tattoo is the last memory I have of her.
If I didn’t ask her to come pick me up from the art class late at night, if I didn’t throw a tantrum when she told me the news, maybe she’d be here now.
Maybe I won’t be stuck with Dad and his entitled last name.
If I got her out of the car in time, if I called for help in time…
I screw my eyes shut against the grief and what-ifs. My shrink said guilt-shaming will only consume me without offering a solution. Still, the wave of crushing guilt is as constant as every breath I take. It’s lodged in the dark corners of my heart and my soul.
It feels like yesterday. The smell of smoke, burnt flesh, and metallic blood.
So much fucking blood.
I continue swaying to the music with lesser energy. My arms wrap around my middle and I open my eyes, chasing the ‘guilt-shaming’ away.
I want to take off my clothes and take a dip in the pool.
Sounds like a brilliant idea, me.
How come I never thought about it earlier?
I jump and hop amidst the bushes and the dirt path leading to the main mansion.
Dan better show up or I’ll kill him. What’s the use of a best friend if he doesn’t go stupid pool dancing with me?
The bright lights of the house become clearer, and I stop, shielding my eyes with the back of my hand. Ugh. Why so strong?
“Come on, we don’t have time. Do it!”
“Shut it. Everything needs to be perfect.”
“Just do it already or we’ll be in trouble.”
My ears stand at the hushed whispers coming from between the bushes. They’re male voices, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard them before.
Or have I?
But again, RES is too big for me to know everyone. Especially since I nailed the invisible role.
Besides, this is the farewell party before summer so more than likely, all students are here.
My instinct tells me this isn’t a conversation or a situation I should be privy on.
And my instinct is always right.
I sneak to the opposite direction towards the blinding light.
A twig crunches under my shoes like in some cliché horror film.
I freeze in place, muting my chaotic breathing as best as I can.
“Who’s there?” The first hardened voice asks.
“I’m going to check.”
“Don’t let them escape!”
Oh, for the love of Vikings!
I sprint through the bushes and between the tall trees. Voices and loud footsteps echo behind me.
My heart hammers against my ribcage as if about to spill on the ground. The more footsteps close in on me, the harder I push forward.
I’m not an athletic person. The mere act of running wooshes all energy out of me like I’m a deflating balloon. Soon enough, I’m panting and sweating like a pig.
“It’s over here.” One of them calls.
“I’m bringing backup.”
Dad is so going to kill me if these guys don’t.
Too many gory films, Astrid. You watch too many gory films. There’s no way high school students, RES’s posh students no less would commit murder.
Then, I recall that their families’ power can get them out of anything — including murder.
God, I hate everything these rich kids stand for.
I try to run on silent mode, but the twigs continue crunching under my feet as if purposely giving a signal to my hunters.
Branches and the odd tree trunk scrape against my bare arms as I carry on my run.
My pulse pounds in my ears as I reach a small road. I bend over behind a tree to catch my erratic breathing.
Aside from the moonlight slipping from between clouds and the trees, it’s pitch black out here. The mansion’s lights and music have completely disappeared.
The footsteps have vanished, too, and so did the voices. Phew. Maybe even my horrible athletic skills have managed to get me out of this unscathed.
Still, my heart won’t stop beating fast and hard against my chest cavity.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
I take tentative steps towards the empty road, hoping to find someone for help.
Two steps forward. One step back.
The sound of a night bird — or beast — makes me freeze in place, almost peeing myself.
When I go back home, I won’t take gory or horror films for granted anymore. It’s terrifying as hell in real life.
“This way!” Someone shouts.
“No one sees and lives to tell about it.” A familiar voice, super familiar, deadpans as numerous, steady footsteps sprint in my direction.
I bolt down the road, my heart hammering in my chest so loud, I can’t hear my own footsteps.
Run.
Run.
Run!
They say you don’t feel it when your life ends.
I do.
It happens in a split second.
One moment, I’m running down the road, the next, blinding headlights freeze me in place.
I want to move. I want to get out of the way.
I can’t.
Something hard crushes against my side and I’m flying over the road. I fall with a thud, my hands lolling in an awkward position.
Something warm pools underneath me and sticks to my T-shirt.
Voices scatter all around me along with the loud squeal of someone slamming on brakes.
The metallic stench of blood fills my nostrils just like that day two years ago.
It’s rainy and dark. So fucking dark, I can smell death in the air.
It has a distinctive smell, death. All murky and metallic and smoky.
Mum’s head is lolled to the side with blood all over her neck, smudging the white blazer she was happy to receive last week.
I stretch out a hand, but nothing in my body moves.
I can’t reach my mum.
I can’t save her.
“P-please… Please… no… please…”
Dark shadows loom over me. They’re talking, but it’s hushed and I can’t make anything of it.
Warm fingers touch my side. I crack my eyes open and see a small star tattoo on the inside of his arm like mine.
“Leave her,” The voice says.
My world goes black.
5
Astrid
They didn’t think I’d come back alive.
* * *
Two months later,
Back to school.
Back to life, basically.
The past two months were pieces cut from hell. I half-expected Lucifer — the real one, not the TV show — to jump out and inflict some sort of torture.
While all the kids at school holidayed and posted pictures from all over exotic places, I spent my time split between the hospital and rehab.
All of it crashed down on me in such a short period of time, it’s like I’m re-living the tragedy from three years ago.
Unlike then, I didn’t come out unscathed.
I broke my leg, bruised my ribs and dislocated my shoulder. According to the doctor and the nursing staff, I was lucky.
Lucky.
Such a weird word.
I even heard my stepmother say that to her countless snobbish friends. I was lucky to have escaped death twice.
Obviously this luck thing isn’t hereditary because Mum died in her first car accident.
Why couldn’t I share that luck with her?
Dan flings an arm around my shoulder, bringing me to the present.