Pretty When She Dies (Pretty When She Dies #1)(8)

“Amal, it's your Daddy. Where the hell are you? We waited all day for you. Your Grandmama is not happy about you not showing up for church. I'm not happy about you not getting my truck back here. Our agreement was that you could borrow it until you got your student loan. You got your damn money so buy your own clunker and get mine back here, girl. Where the hell are you? If this is your attempt to get me to buy you one of those damn cellphones-”

The machine, thankfully, cut off the rest of his message.

Pushing herself up, Amaliya's hot tears returned. As far as her father was concerned, she was a f*ck up. She laughed bitterly as she realized she was now an undead f*ck up. He would just love that.

Getting to her feet, she managed to get herself into the bathroom. The bathtub was ringed with grit. Stripping naked, she got into the shower and turned on the water. It hit her icy cold, but she didn't care anymore. She just wanted the dark brown blood off her body.

Bracing her hands against the cold, scummy tiles, she wept as the water washed over her.

How had it come to this? How had her life spiraled so out of control?

Sliding her fingers through her caked hair, she felt the matted strands give way with a painful tug. All she had wanted, her whole life, was to find her own path, to walk to the beat of her own drum, to live a life of adventure. But that had been continuously sidetracked by death, family drama and the severe lack of money. Nothing she had done to get her life out of the hole it was in had ever worked. She seemed forever doomed to just barely make it by.

Her fingers traced down her sternum. She drew in a quivering breath she wasn't even sure she needed as she sought out the beating of a living heart. Tears flowed down her face as she felt nothing for a terrible, panicking moment, and then she felt a thump.

“Oh, God,” she gasped with relief, falling back against the cold tiles.

Both hands pressed tightly between her breasts, she both heard and felt the steady, slow beating of her heart. Swallowing hard, cold tears slid down her cheeks to mingle with the hot water. Looking down, she saw that her tears were turning the water a slight pinkish color.

Frightened, she rubbed her fingertips under one eye and drew them back from her face. They were tinged with what looked like blood before the hot water washed it away.

Crying out with the sheer terror, she fell to her knees and laid her forehead against the stained bottom of the tub. The hot water beat down on her as she gave in to the overwhelming despair inside of her.

***

The mirror was empty. Not a whisper of reflection was there.



Amaliya blinked slowly. She stared into the empty mirror, willing herself to see her image. But there was nothing; just the empty shower behind her. Reaching out, she pressed her hand firmly to the fogged surface.

Nothing. Not a flicker.

She pushed harder, as if she could literally shove her reflection into the silvered glass, but nothing happened. Her hand remained against the empty mirror without a doppelg?nger’s hand pressing against her own.

Closing her eyes, she lowered her hand and slowly took hold of the sink. Her whole body trembled as she tried to gather her wits about her. The horror of her new reality washed over her, fresh and terrible.

Opening her eyes, for a moment, she thought she saw her reflection. A brief, stark image of a woman with dyed, black hair laying heavy and wet against her neck and shoulders, staring with desperate need into nothingness. The image flashed out of existence. She reached out a desperate hand. The mirror shattered as her fingers slammed into the reflective surface. The shards tinkled into the sink. Sobbing, she sat sharply on the edge of the tub.

She ran a hand over her wet hair as she sat in silence, her lips quivering. She could just go to bed and go to sleep. This wasn't real.

None of it was real. She was sick. Maybe she had the flu. It was all a dream. A horrible, terrible dream. There were no such things as vampires. She didn't even have sharp teeth! She couldn't be a murdering, bloodsucking fiend! Vampires didn't exist.

Shoving her fingers into her mouth, she ran the tips over her teeth to fearfully search for sharp little teeth. Nothing. She felt nothing. Just the smooth edges she should feel.



“I just need to go to bed and wake up,” she decided.

Pulling a towel securely around her body, she walked into her messy room and sprawled across the narrow twin bed. The alarm clock lay right in her view. Its bright red numbers stated it was nine o'clock.

Red like blood, she thought idly, then shoved the terrible allegory away from her thoughts.

Rolling onto her back, she stared up at the poster over her bed. Trent Reznor of Nine Inch Nails glowered down at her in all his dark beauty.

Closing her eyes, she lay her hand over her face and willed herself to sleep. If she slept this would all go away. She would wake up and...

What?

She would suddenly not be living dead? Her battle to be out of the grave would suddenly not exist? Her blood soaked clothes wouldn't lie in a heap on the floor?

“Dammit!” She sat up and shook her head.

Drops of water splattered over the wall and clock as her wet hair fanned around her. Gripping her hair with both her hands, she pulled it over her shoulders and held onto it as she rocked back and forth.

She could not stay here. She knew it. Too many questions would be asked. They would find the bodies. For all she knew, they would be able to track her to the scene. The police had all sorts of fancy ways of tracking down killers nowadays.