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Alone in Paris: A Standalone Young Adult Romance

Page 8

by Ashley Earley


  He drops his hand the moment I turn around and lock eyes with him. He stares at me, his face and eyes completely emotionless. “What in the bloody hell happened to you?”

  His question throws me completely off balance. I stand there in shock. My heart pounds in my chest. I can’t form words. I can’t think of any words. Anger and panic begin to bubble up, slowly boiling over the edge. I can barely breathe. I can barely think.

  “Get out.”

  He blinks. “What?”

  “Get out! NOW!” I scream at him. Nathan stiffens but doesn’t make a move for the door. I spin around, throwing the pillows off the couch as I screech, “Get out, get out, get out!”

  He starts backing toward the door, keeping his eyes on me the whole time. I can’t control it anymore. The tears come. The tears flow uncontrollably down my cheeks. I choke back sobs, fighting to breathe through my tears and the hole in my chest.

  Nathan pauses, his hand on the knob with his gray-blue eyes seeming to melt as he watches me lose it. I want to rip my hair out. I want to scream until my lungs can’t take it anymore. I want to cry until I can’t shed another tear ever again.

  I want it all to go away.

  I want it all to stop.

  Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop!

  “Get out!” I scream again, covering my ears against my own screeching. I sob, falling to my knees as I try to hold myself together.

  When I open my eyes again, Nathan is gone.

  Two more days like this pass. I feel unstable—insane even. I can’t focus. I can’t make the memories or thoughts go away. My thoughts are loud, consuming.

  I’m slowly slipping into insanity.

  The days that pass are filled with screaming thoughts, images, boredom, and dullness. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to stand it. There isn’t a thought that can distract me from the horrid ones that weigh me down. I can’t think of anything that makes me happy. It’s hard to imagine that I was ever happy.

  There doesn’t seem to be anything in this world that can make me feel happy again. I can’t think of anything. Why am I even still here?

  I find myself rising from my seat at the window, walking dazedly toward my bedroom door. I feel the knob in my hand as I push the door open. I feel myself step into the kitchen to my left. The counter is cool under my palms.

  I take in a slow breath, pulling open one of the drawers. Lying inside are a dozen of forgotten knives. Somehow, one of them ends up in my hand. The knife in my hand is hovering above my left wrist.

  I blink, wondering how it got here. The knife drops from my hand, landing in the sink with a loud clang. With a gasp, I take a few steps back, until the edge of the counter behind me is digging into my hips.

  I stand there, too shocked to move for a long time. I finally completely lose it. I fall to my knees, sobbing uncontrollably. I choke on my own tears as they continue to flow. I gasp, sob, and moan in pain as everything seems to crash into me all at once.

  I can’t make it go away. I can’t make it stop, my mind panics as I begin to shake. My hands, my arms, my legs; my entire body shakes fiercely.

  I find myself jealous of Ryan. He was drastic enough to end it. He’d had the guts. He was able to end his life. He succeeded. I couldn’t even try. I couldn’t even attempt.

  “His poor family,” my mother had said when I told her about the boy in my biology class. His poor family. No one would miss me if I were gone, so why can’t I do it?

  Why can’t I make it all go away? Why can’t I make it all end? My mind screams at me as I try to figure out why.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Sinking Deeper

  I stare blankly at the ceiling as images play out in my mind, hoping to go numb against all feeling. I don’t want to think about any of this. I don’t want to relive any of this. But my mind isn’t giving me a choice.

  “See, honey? I can contain myself to one drink!” As my father’s drunken words pass through my mind, I shiver. Then I can’t stop shivering. Goosebumps rise on my arms, and I continue to shiver as the final moments of my “vacation” play out.

  ∞

  “I want to go home,” my mother informs my dad the next morning. We’re in the car, heading in the direction of the Eiffel Tower. Dad is sitting in the diver’s seat, beside my mother, while I sit in the back, waiting for them to explode.

  We’re staying on the opposite side of the river from the beautiful tower. We can see part of it from our hotel room, but Mom and I want to see it up close. The car ride shouldn’t be long, so I should be able to handle their little tantrum for a few minutes.

  “Why?” Dad questions, plenty knowing the answer to the stupid question he just asked. Damn. Mom is gong to explode.

  “Why? You were drunk as hell last night, and you’re asking me why I want to go home?” Her tone is even, but her words are demanding and coated with rage.

  “What do you want me to say, Cathy?”

  “I don’t want you to say anything! Since you can’t seem to keep promises, don’t make them. Go out! Drink! Do whatever you want because I don’t care anymore!”

  I sigh, turning my attention to the scenery out my window. Though I knew it was a long shot, I had hoped this would be an argue-free vacation. Their bickering words begin to fade as I stare out the window.

  We’re getting on a bridge. The name of the river below is La Seine. The Eiffel Tower is just on the other side. The river isn’t vast, or even really pretty. I’m just excited about seeing the tower that’s on the other side of it.

  I close my eyes to try to block out their conversation.

  There’s suddenly a shrill scream. My eyes snap open and instantly land on the windshield.

  Water. I gasp in surprise as the nose of the car is engulfed. I’m shoved forward by an invisible force. My seatbelt catches me just before I can smack into the seat in front of me. I wheeze, losing oxygen for a moment when the seatbelt catches around my torso.

  My heart is slamming against my chest in panic. I suck in a breath when I can finally breathe again. Mom is screaming; Dad is yelling, yet I’m silently panicking. The water is quickly rising around us.

  I twist to face out my window, straining against my seatbelt.

  Water. I’m surrounded by water. The water inside the car is up to my knees, soaking my jeans. I can hardly believe what’s happening right now. My heart is panicking in my chest, my body is shaking, and my hands are trembling. I’m shaking so hard it feels like I might completely lose control like I’ll crumble to nothing.

  The car is sinking. Sinking! I have to get out. I have to get out!

  The surface laps against the last inch of my window and the water inside the car has now risen to my waist.

  Dad is fighting to free his seatbelt. Mom is doing the same. I finally push back the panic to do something.

  My seatbelt effortlessly unclasps, releasing me. I’m only half relieved.

  I turn to fully face my window, banging against the glass. My efforts are futile. The glass doesn’t budge. The panic is gripping me now, holding on and making it even harder to focus on anything else except how petrified I am.

  The water has risen past my chest now.

  I start panting uncontrollably. My mother is saying my name, but I can hardly hear it over the sound of the rushing water. I have to get out. I have to break free!

  I push myself up to keep above the water. I feel a hand grip mine. It doesn’t comfort me. I’m about to drown. I’m minutes—maybe even seconds—away from death.

  I suck in a breath, going under to bang and shove against the window again. The hand has released mine. I can’t even see the surface of the water now. We’ve been completely swallowed by the lake.

  I’m being pulled under—farther away from the surface. My lungs are desperate for air. I have to get out. I have to break free!

  My lungs continue to scream for air. The panic building inside me is threatening to combust. I can’t even hit the window anymore. It’s no use. The water wo
n’t let me put any force behind it.

  I can’t break free! Help! I can’t escape!

  Another hand grips mine. It’s not the one from before; this one is rougher. Larger, too, swallowing my seemingly small hand. It holds mine firmly, and then it’s pulling me forward.

  My eyes are wide with terror when they finally land on Dad. He’s still trapped in the driver’s seat. He doesn’t look panicked. He looks sure, but there’s something else under the surface. Regret? Sadness? Before I know for sure, he’s pushing me forward.

  He squeezes my hand just before he lets it go. My body slips out his open window. How did he get it open? My lungs burn. I gag underwater, needing air but too shocked to move.

  I stare, eyes wide. My lungs are on fire, but I can’t move.

  I want to cry and kick and scream. But…I can’t. All I can do is watch, helplessly as the car slowly sinks. I try to swim forward to do something—to help somehow. I grab the door handle and try to pry it open, but I’m weak.

  Looking inside, I see my parents, trapped with no way out. They’re still strapped to their seats, but they’ve both stopped struggling. Mom’s eyes are closed. Dad’s are open and looking right at me as he shakes his head, causing my heart to sink to the bottom of La Seine.

  I struggle to keep my eyes open. I struggle to keep myself from falling unconscious. I blink, and I have to force my eyes back open. The car has sunk feet below me by the time they open again. My lungs are begging me to take a breath.

  I feel something snap—almost break—inside me as I give in. I force myself to swim to the surface. My arms are tired and weak as I make them carry me upward.

  I gasp, sucking in as much air as I can when I break the surface. My heart is still beating like it’s about to fly out of my chest, and I’m still shaky. I struggle to keep my head above the water as I raggedly breathe in and out.

  There is applause. I look up to see a crowd of people on the bridge, staring down at me in relief and surprise as they clap their hands. EMTs are on both sides of the river, all of them beckoning me to come to them.

  I don’t want to go to them.

  Tears start to uncontrollably run down my face. I sob and scream from the water. I kick and splash and call for my parents.

  Someone finally comes for me, pulls me to shore as I struggle and cry and try to tell them that my parents are down there—that they need help.

  A woman wraps a blanket around me, looking at me sadly. My sobs become quieter then because I know. I know there is no hope—that they can’t help my parents. No one can.

  They’re gone.

  And I’m alone.

  ∞

  I fight to keep control. I fight to hold myself together. But no matter how hard I try, I still crumble. I still break. I can’t take this.

  I can’t fight anymore.

  I don’t know how, but I end up standing in the bathroom across from the kitchen. As I blink, the girl that stares back at me in the mirror does the same.

  The girl is holding a slender knife. The girl is pale, and her knuckles are white because of the grip she has on the handle.

  I can’t fight anymore, my mind repeats as the girl lifts the knife to her other arm. She hesitates, her eyes darting from the girl standing inside the mirror to the wrist she is about to cut.

  The girl in the mirror and I take in what we had hoped would be a steady breath. Instead, it comes out shaky. We close our eyes for a moment. When they open again, we are somehow fearless. The girl grips the handle tighter, her knuckles as white as bone.

  Then, we make ourselves bleed.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Spilled Blood

  A voice calls out louder than the faint drip, drip, drip, that echoes off the bathroom walls. The sound is annoyingly constant. Deafening against the silence.

  My name is called again. “Taylor?” His voice is distant, echoing through the halls as he calls for me. I don’t answer back. I can’t move or speak. I’m frozen in time. “Taylor! Where are you?”

  My mouth is dry. I couldn’t call back to him even if I wanted to. Which, I don’t. I don’t want him to see me like this. I shouldn’t have dragged him into this. I shouldn't have let him walk into my life. Especially since I don’t want to live it anymore.

  I wasn’t sure about it before—when we met—but I am now.

  I should have made him stay away. I should have been more careful. I should have shoved back when he pushed. I should have thought about all this more, before.

  Drip, drip, drip.

  I don’t want to open my eyes. I don’t want to see the scene I have created.

  Please don’t find me, I silently pray to myself. I don’t want him to find me. I don’t want him to see me. Not like this.

  But, of course, he does.

  I can hear the door slowly being pushed open. His shocked gasp bounces off the tiles. I don’t move. I can’t. I can barely breathe. I can barely think.

  “Oh my God,” Nathan breaths before erupting in panic. “Taylor! Taylor!” His hands are on either side of my face, his touch firm but delicate. He continues to call my name, trying to get me to respond.

  My eyes finally flutter. I catch a glimpse of the bathroom floor. White tiles covered in crimson. Red. Liquid. Blood. The white tiles are covered in blood.

  “Taylor. Taylor, look at me!” His voice is barely above a panicked whisper. “Taylor, look at me!” My eyes move up to meet his and I hear him sigh in relief. “I’m going to lift you, okay? I have to get you to the hospital.”

  “No hospidle,” I slur in objection.

  “Taylor—”

  “No hospital,” I repeat more clearly, putting more force behind my words. He stares at me a long moment. I can see the wheels in his mind turning, debating. He doesn’t know what to do—whether to listen to me and go against his better judgment or drag me to the nearest hospital.

  I allow my eyes to close as he thinks about what to do. My heartbeat should be quick with anticipation, but instead, it’s faint—almost calm even.

  I finally feel his arms wrap around me before he lifts me up into his arms. My head sways and rests against his shoulder. He holds me for a moment, unmoving—making sure he has a good grip on me before finally carrying me from the bathroom.

  Please don’t take me to the hospital, my mind pleads, unable to open my eyes to check for myself. Anywhere but the hospital.

  Nathan adjusts me in his arms before setting me down on a surface that feels just as cool and hard as the bathroom floor. His arms continue to hold me upright.

  “Let’s get you cleaned up.” I hear a faucet turn on; water pouring down into a sink. “Can you hold yourself up?” All I manage is a nod. His arms disappear from around me.

  I sit there, eyes closed and feeling alone without Nathan’s hold on me. The longer I sit there with the water running, the antsier I become. The sound of running water makes my skin crawl. I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting there until the water finally shuts off, but my heart is racing in my chest by the time the water stops falling.

  Water. All I can think about is water.

  I jump when something soft caresses my cheek. A hand reaches out and touches my knee in reassurance. My eyes open to meet his and I’m not comforted. My heart jolts forward, crashing against my chest.

  Crash.

  Falling.

  Water.

  I slap Nathan’s hand away in an attempt to get him off me so I can make a run for it. Maybe make a dash for the knife that’s lying on the bathroom floor. He’s faster than I am, though. His arms are out and restraining me just as I’m shifting to jump off the counter. I cry out and struggle against him as he clenches his hands around my arms, pushing me back to rest against the cabinet doors behind me.

  I’m yelling at him to let me go, my voice coming out like a beg. My wrists hurt, and I can’t stop thinking, and I can’t make it stop. I’m crying and asking for this to be over. It was supposed to be over now.

  I should be dead. />
  I should have died.

  Why aren’t I dead? Why did I live while they died? Why can’t I make up for lost time and put a stop to the thoughts and feelings that threaten to crush me, and the memories that haunt me?

  A voice breaks through the overbearing thoughts. “Taylor? Taylor! Look at me! I’m here. You’re okay. Everything is okay, just look at me.”

  I’m gasping, fighting to breathe through the pain and tears. It feels like my heart weighs a thousand pounds. I must have looked at him because he’s stopped asking me to, though, I don’t see him.

  “It’s okay,” his voice says again. “I have to clean the cuts. You’re bleeding too much. Please.”

  I can hear him, but I can’t see him. I sense that he is close; his skin touching mine, but I can’t see anything other than the images inside my mind.

  Car.

  Water.

  Blood.

  Tears.

  Knife.

  Death.

  I’m shaking feverishly when a soft, damp fabric touches the skin of my cheek. The touch is light and careful—it feels nice. I can’t stop shaking or crying as he touches my cheek with the fabric again. I open my eyes, and I can see again, but only enough so I can watch him through my eyelashes.

  His face is close to mine. So close that our noses brush against each other ever so slightly.

  His expression is hard, set in stone. His eyes look displeased and worrisome as they watch me.

  The light touch of the cloth moves to my left wrist. His hand hovers above my exposed wrist as he takes in the sight. I hear his breath catch.

  My eyes snap open to take in his expression. He looks horrified. I follow his gaze down to my wrist. The skin is raw and covered in blood. The red is so thick that I can’t see the cuts underneath.

  “Why?” he breathes, his eyes moving up to meet mine. I tilt my head up to stare back.

 

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