Villainous Acts

Chapter 21

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"Life is the Art of Dying"
-ATTICUS
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Aric Brightly 

She was different. 

I was different and definitely not the same. The only thing I could completely grasp these last few months: Sid was different, I was different. 

I remember crashing into the rail that kept cars from going off the cliff and into the raging waters. I remember closing my eyes in fear, and holding my breath on the impact. I remember feeling scared once I was in the water. 

I couldn't unbuckle my seatbelt and I began to panic. My heart was beating what felt like 80 miles a minute.

 Water was filling up inside the car and soon from the windows. After struggling to open windows or doors in the water I was sure that this was it. There were no cars for miles and no one would have seen me otherwise. 

There is no way to explain the hopelessness I felt at that moment. I was going to die alone, and I couldn't stop it. 

Waiting for the inevitable, I rested my head against the car seat. I started to resurface memories that I've had with my loved ones and feeling as though I never lived my life yet. And maybe I was selfish for that, selfish for wishing that I had more time to live. If only I hadn't decided to take that shortcut or if only I slept in this morning, If only I didn't have to swerve away from that truck things would have been different. I didn't even know if the person or people in the truck were alright, I only remember seeing smoke from above and breathing it in from where I was. 

I didn't want to die. 

And somehow, I didn't. 

I remember drowning and feeling a never ending flow of water entering my lungs. It hurt. Then I was unconscious and that was it. 

Now here is where everything became unclear, where everything seemed to not make sense. 

I don't remember being taken from the car and held captive, prodded at and tested. Everything was just dark and cold, and I thought I was dead, especially because it was hard to breathe. And maybe in my heart of hearts I did die in some twisted way. 

Everything is so hard to grasp, nothing seems surreal, it felt as though I was trying to catch my shadow. 

I felt different when I woke up in that tank, it was the first thing I came to terms with before I saw Sid behind the glass. I could still breathe, but I was suspended in water, how? Being in the water only brought me back to the car. 

I saw bodies on the floor, sparks coming from ripped wires from the roof, a blaring alarm, flashing lights. I knew that the time to ask questions would be for later, at that moment I needed to get out of the tank or wherever I was. Sid was already on it. 

Being with Sid was a relief in itself. I could breathe easier if that made sense, I wasn't as panicked as I should've been. But how was she able to punch the glass, to shatter it? How were her knuckles not bleeding? 

I was in and out of consciousness when Sid was dragging me from wherever we were. I had no energy to stand or support myself, I was useless. 

 Sid found a place and we ended up staying at what looked like an abandoned motel. The floors would creek with every step you took. The windows were dusty and cracked, and the blinds were bent and broken. The beds were stiff and the pillows were not pillows, but pillowcases stuffed with newspaper. 

I looked into a mirror for the first time and not only did I feel different, I looked so as well. My skin was paler, a sickly pale. My eyes remained the same colour, but they looked tired. And under them there were lightly painted bags.

My hair was no longer sun gold, but washed out and almost gray like the clouds hovering in sky.

I tried to wash my face, to wash away what I looked like now. To open my eyes again and see my old self.

But strangest thing happened when I tried to touch the water, it repelled from my hands. I couldn't touch it.

This wasn't the only strange thing to happen.

I've been more thirsty lately, I craved to drink water and feel the cool rush going down my throat. I felt energized, refreshed afterward.

So, I tried to drink water this one time, but it froze onto my tongue! I wouldn't want to be in that bloody position again.

And all the while these strange occurances kept happening, Sid was writing things down. Observing me and trying to figure me out.

Just like how I've been trying to figure her out all over again. She was never an open book, but like I said before, she was different.

I wasn't me and she wasn't her.