cherry (h.s)

two

Charlotte Thompson

I didn't stop running until the moment I reached my front doorstep. I had adrenaline pumping throughout my body, and it was the only thing keeping me standing.

I couldn't believe what happened back there. I couldn't believe I made it out alive.

I was shaking, trying to keep my tears from falling because I was about to face my parents after everything that just happened. I had to collect myself. I stood outside my front door, taking deep breaths and adjusting my appearance so I didn't look so shaken up.

"You're fine. You're fine. You're fine." I mumble to myself.

I open the door, and step into my quiet house. I kick off my shoes and lock the door behind me. No one was downstairs. It seemed like everyone had already gone to bed. It was 11.

I had to get some water or something. My throat was so dry and my head was pounding.

I walk quietly into my kitchen, turning on the light and grabbing a glass from the cupboard. I was starting to relax after the events that happened tonight. It could've gone way worse.

Who knows what might've happened if 'Styles' didn't walk into the bathroom. I didn't want to think about it, but I couldn't stop myself. The outcomes were all bad.

Even though Styles was sort of terrifying, he potentially saved my life back there.

I hear the small pitter-patter of bare feet on the hardwood floor, making me turn around.

"Cherry?" my sisters voice speaks through the darkness.

'Cherry' was the nickname she assigned to me when she started talking. My actual name, Charlotte, was too hard for her to say as a baby, so she would pronounce it as cherry and she's been doing it ever since.

"What are you doing awake?" I question as she approaches me, her small body coming into the light of the kitchen wearing pink, polka dot pyjamas.

"I heard you come in." her small voice explains.

"Ah, I see." I reply while grabbing her a glass of water for herself. She hops up onto a chair at the table.

"Mommy was really worried about you when you left." she says.

I furrow my brows. "Why?"

If she was so worried, she would've stayed awake until I came home.

"Because of all the bad stuff happening." Rosie answers as she sips her water. "I was worried too. I was scared you wouldn't come home." she frowns.

I sigh and sit down in the chair next to her. "I'll always come home to you, kid." I tell her assuringly.

Rosie was the type of kid who always worried. She cares about everyone and everything. She's just too pure for this world and that's why I'm so protective of her. I never want her to lose her innocence.

"Cherry?" she says.

"Yes?"

"Do you think any bad stuff will happen to us?"

I look at her concerned eyes. "No. I promise. We're safe."

She simply nods and stretches her arms out with a yawn.

"You should go back to bed. I'm home and I'm okay, you can go to sleep now." I say, knowing she was only awake because I wasn't home.

I walk her to her room and say goodnight. It broke my heart that she had to witness all the bad stuff going on. There's new reports of robberies and murders, and they're growing in numbers. I know that we aren't necessarily affected, but it's causing Rosie to grow up way too fast.

The stuff she sees on the news and in the media really does have an effect on her and her small mind.

The next morning, I woke up to my mom calling me from downstairs. There was urgency in her voice.

"What is it?" I rush into the living room.

There stood my mother, in her bathrobe, standing in front of the television with her hand over her mouth.

Across the bottom of the screen, there was a report describing a murder that occurred last night.

At a certain nightclub...

I stood there frozen. I didn't know what to think. The words of the news reporter standing outside of the same club I was at last night were muffled as I was zoning in and out.

"...body...young man in his twenties...found...dumpster behind...early this morning."  That's all I heard.

The man who tried to assault me was murdered. Styles killed him.

Who else would it have been? He pulled out a knife and told me to get out. It had to be him.

Would he have killed me if I stayed?

My stomach twists at the thought of my own murder being reported.

I feel sick.

"This is getting out of hand." my mom shakes her head in disbelief.

I sit down on the couch because I don't know if I can keep standing without passing out.

"This is the second death in 2 days." my dad says, standing behind the couch.

My mom turns towards me. "That could have been you, Charlotte. You were out last night."

My chest starts rising faster and faster.

I think I'm having a panic attack.

Flashing images of that man holding me against the wall, Styles beating his head against a stall door, and the knife in his hand kept running through my brain like a horror film.

I could've died.

I open my mouth and hold my chest, trying to get my breathing under control but it was no use. I was hyperventilating.

My mom looks at me and immediately her face fills with deep concern. "Honey, are you okay?" she bends down in front of me.

"I-I can't b-breathe." I manage to choke out.

My mom looks to my dad behind me. "Get her some water!" she says frantically.

She cups my face in her hands. "Just calm down, baby. Just relax."

She starts breathing in and out and I follow her. I try my best to breathe with her simultaneously.

I don't get panic attacks a lot, but when I do, they're really bad. I usually only get them when I'm stressed or worked up about something. The news of the murder last night was the cherry on top of how I was already feeling.

It was a recipe for disaster from the moment I stepped foot in the club.

My dad returns with a glass of water and I down it within seconds. I suck in deep breaths after and run my hands through my hair, coming back down to earth.

"What happened? Why did you get so panicked?" My dad asks, coming around the couch to sit next to me.

I shake my head. "I-I just got scared." I lie. I wasn't going to tell my parents about what happened. I'd be in so much shit. They thought I was at Zoe's house.

I had to keep this to myself.

"I know this stuff is really scary, but it won't directly affect us at all." my mom reassures.

Little does she know.

I just nod and agree.

I had to live with the fact that I knew who committed that murder. I almost witnessed it.

I couldn't tell anyone.

I was trapped in my own head.

//

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