Autumn Storm (The Witchling #2)(70)
There was nothing there.
I began walking again. I’d walked this street many times, I knew it was safe.
Wasn’t it?
Just as I passed an empty lot, I heard some rustling and turned back. Something was definitely there, a dark shape unfurling from the weeds.
My heart beat fast, and my stomach cramped with nerves as I began to run. I wasn’t fast enough, and whatever was stalking me caught up. I fell forward, something heavy and warm pressing me down onto the cold pavement. I tried to scream, but the sound lodged in my throat. A hideous sound built low and filled my ears…
I bolted upright, heart pounding. It was just a dream. A stupid nightmare. Except it wasn’t stupid, and it wasn’t just a dream. I tossed the covers off and headed to the bathroom, feeling sticky and clammy with sweat. The water was cool and felt like silk running through my fingers. I scooped the water in my hands and splashed it on my cheeks. I froze, fingering the raised, puckered scars that distorted the left side of my face. No, it hadn’t been a stupid dream. It was an unnecessary reminder of reality.
The dreams had been haunting me so long I knew that it would be impossible to find sleep again tonight, so I didn’t bother to go back to bed. The soft sheets and fluffy pillows didn’t offer the same comfort they had Before. Bed was now the place I was haunted by unanswered questions. I shut off my alarm and turned, glancing at the window. A strange feeling of being watched crept over me, and I padded over to peek out from behind the curtain. I don’t know what I was looking for, only that I had a feeling that something was there. Chills raced along my skin and the hair on the back of my neck stood on end as I looked out into the dark. I resisted the urge to turn and look over my shoulder, but then something caught my eye – a movement within the shadows. I squinted and pressed closer to the cold glass of the window hoping for a glimpse of whatever was there. After long, tense minutes, I gave up. Of course, there wasn’t anything there. I was beyond exhausted from lying in bed at night worrying, paranoid about being watched, knowing that I wasn’t. Why couldn’t I shake this feeling that I wasn’t safe?
With one last look at the empty yard and a deep sigh, I went back into the bathroom, careful to avoid the mirror. I went through my usual routine of brushing my teeth and washing my face. I grasped my brush and looked up into the mirror above the sink. I began brushing the very long, very blond thickness of my hair, taking care to part it low on the right and smooth it over to conceal as much of my face as possible. I tried distracting myself with the features that weren’t so bad like my sky blue eyes and pimple free skin. There was a light smattering of freckles over my nose and cheeks and my lips were full and a natural peach color. How close I came to having the left side of my lips ruined. I shivered, and the action sent my hair momentarily away from my face, revealing what I hadn’t wanted to see.
A large, raised scar began at the corner of my eyebrow and ran jaggedly down, dangerously close to the corner of my eye and didn’t stop until well past my cheekbone. It was puckered and dark pink. If that wasn’t hideous enough, it wasn’t alone. A pair of wide scars, one on each side of the larger scar ravaged my skin, making me look like a freak. Adding to my freakish appearance, I had nerve damage, and the left side of my face was slack… the skin not as taut as it once was. When my hair concealed as much as it could, I left the bathroom to get dressed. It didn’t take me as long to get dressed as Before. I didn’t see the point of dressing nice when my face was ruined; whatever effort I made with my clothes wouldn’t matter. I selected a pair of jeans and slid them on, adding an oversized hooded sweatshirt. Getting ready so early, I had to wait for what seemed like forever before I went downstairs to make a show of grabbing a granola bar and carton of orange juice from the fridge.
“You look nice this morning.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I said, mustering a smile even though I didn’t feel like smiling. I know she was trying to be supportive, trying to make me feel good. I appreciated her efforts even if they never worked.
“Gotta go, I’m late.”
“Have a good day,” she called behind me.
I paused just before walking out the front door. Get it over with. Taking a deep breath I stepped back and prepared myself to look up. You’d think after months of this routine it would get a little easier. It didn’t.
I gazed into the mirror at my reflection, making certain my hair covered as much of my face as possible, knowing it was what everyone would be whispering about when I walked through the halls at school. They still whispered, even after all this time. You would think they would forget, I wanted to – like I ever really could. It was my face after all, and it was disfigured.
Kimber pulled into the driveway just as I shut the front door behind me. The bright red VW Bug was a happy announcement that she was here, an exclamation point that was her life. I used to love that car and all the attention that it drew. I’d hoped for something like it. But that car didn’t fit into my world anymore; I’m no longer the girl who would drive something so flashy. But I rode in it anyway, grateful not to ride the bus.
“Hey, girl,” Kimber chirped as I slid in the passenger seat.
“Hey.” I smiled and shoved the uneaten granola bar and juice into my bag. It would join the rest of this week’s uneaten breakfasts in the bottom of my locker. I was aware of Kimber watching, but she didn’t say anything. Her eyes were hidden behind a pair of sleek, dark purple sunglasses.