savior

two

DAY ONE; THIRTY DAYS TO GO

I felt a strong case of déjà vu sweep over me when I woke up the next morning. It was almost like I was a character in a movie, and whoever was watching it enjoyed one scene so much that they had to rewind it to view it again. Everything was the same as it had been the previous month . . . October. The decorations I had set up—and I remembered taking them down?—were still placed exactly where I had put them in the first place. All of my clothes were scattered on the floor like they had been on October first; I remember because my mom had run in through the door screaming at me for them, claiming that because the months changed that I should change, too.

At first I had no idea what was going on. Maybe my whole life was a dream, or maybe it was a movie that someone couldn't get enough of. Unfortunately, those cool ideas got flushed down the toilet when I remembered what occured the day before . . . or should I call it one month and four days into the future? Either way, I was fully aware of the situation: Death had turned back time like he said he would.

That meant I had to do something I said I would. I have to save Ashton Irwin's life. How am I supposed to do that? Is it even possible? I hadn't thought Death being alive was possible, but obviously I was wrong about that. But saving a boy from killing himself? That took something I didn't have: luck.

Before I could even hop out of bed, my phone was ringing. The caller I.D. read: Anna. My best friend was calling me at seven in the morning on a Sunday morning. It wasn't unusual . . . she'd call anytime of the day as long as her phone was charged enough to stay alive as she rambled on to whoever.

"Hello?" I greeted, in my extremely unattractive morning voice. I threw the covers off of my body, and let my legs swing towards the right side of my bed.

"Oh my god, Re, did you see what Luke did?" Anna practically screamed into the phone, causing me to rip it away from my ear before it could start bleeding. "He got a lip ring! A lip ring! Do you know how fucking hot that is?"

Leave it to my best friend to call me up ready to talk about boys so early in the morning. Fortunately she couldn't see me rolling my eyes. She was known for crushing, flirting, or dating for boys for about a week straight and then dropping them like flies. Looks like Luke is her newest victim.

Anna was cruel, yet I continued to be her best friend. She wasn't too terrible to me—we had a few fights here and there—but nothing she could do to me would be as bad as what she does to boys. Especially those who actually fall in love with her. It's happened many times: her leading a boy on, him falling for her, and when she gets him where she wants him, she walks away, leaving him wondering what he did wrong. Poor Luke.

"Sounds pretty hot, Ann," I responded, sarcastically. There was a silence on both ends of the phone call; although, I did know what was coming next.

Finally I heard her release a huff on the other end, right on cue. Next would come the lecture about how I needed to start looking for a boyfriend of my own. She would even mention something about—

"You know, there are a lot my ex's numbers saved in my phone. I could give them to you, or even set up a date for you myself," she said. I mouthed the words as they came through the small speaker by my ear, making a face with each one.

I loved Anna, I really did. But sometimes she just got so out of hand with it all. She didn't stop to realize that not everything revolved around boys and love. There were more important things in life, like education and family.

"I really don't need a boyfriend, A," I muttered. I found myself sitting down in my desk chair, swirling around a few times as I waited for a response. She didn't give one, and for a second I figured maybe she fell back asleep, it being so early in the morning and all.

She wasn't asleep. In fact, it sounded like she was talking to someone else that happened to be with her. "Go back to sleep, Cal. I don't talk to those exes," she whispered to someone who wasn't me. Another hook up, probably. What she said next was still a part of their conversation, but it was directed towards me. "I keep them just in case Regan finally decides that she wants to live life right."

"I have to go, Anna," I spoke. "Mom is calling me out to the living room." She hung up.

I wasn't lying to her about my mom. She actually did yell for me. When I appeared in the living room, where she was hunched over the couch folding laundry, she smiled at me. "Good morning, sweetie. Sorry if I woke you. I've just got so much to do today, and I was wondering if maybe you would go down to the mailroom and check to see if we've gotten any since yesterday?"

"Oh, of course, Mom," I said, heading to the door. I grabbed our mailbox key and suddenly the inside of my apartment was blocked by a closed door.

I tried to do as much as I could for my mom without having too much of a "teenage attitude" towards her. After all, she was a single mother trying to raise my little sister and I all by herself. Correction: she was a pregnant single mother trying to raise my little sister and I all by herself. She and my dad had gotten a divorce a few weeks before my mom figured out that my future brother or sister was growing inside of her. When she finally did find out and contacted my dad, all he did was laugh, like it was a mischievous ploy to get him to come back.

As I ventured down a couple flights of stairs, I hummed a tune to myself and removed a few strands of hair that were tickling my nose. I reached the mail room in only a few minutes, but I wasn't the only one there.

If the stranger hadn't been in the room, I would've forgotten all about my deal with Death altogether. Standing across from me was the reason for it all—Ashton Irwin—flipping through a couple of envelopes. He didn't seem to notice that I was occupying the same small room as he was.

"Hey, Ashton," I said a little loudly.

Finally his attention was on me, and he looked a bit frightened. "Uh, hi," he squeaked out, holding the envelopes up to his chest. "What are you doing here?"

I took in his appearance. Michael was right with his description of him; he was the scrawniest person I had ever seen. His arms lacked muscle, his shirt looked like it was three sizes too big for him, and his sweats were hanging way too low on his waist—even though he had folded over the tops to make them fit better. I would've guessed that he starved himself, but I remembered being told that he ate all the time when he hung out with Michael, so that was impossible.

"What? Is it illegal for someone that isn't you to check their mail? I do live here, you know," I said playfully. It didn't seem like he caught on to my sarcasm, though. Maybe he thought I was going to beat him up.

I caught him adjusting one of the bracelets on his left arm, which made my heart drop. Ashton's face paled. "Uh, I've got to go. Bye."

Then I was alone.