Fatal Flaws

Part 1

Loud gunshots echo down the alleyway as I lean against the cool brick of a nearby building, gasping for air. With each breath I take, it gets lodged in my throat, making it a struggle to breathe. I'm dizzy and my head's spinning, thanks to a lack of oxygen and the constant sound of my heart pounding in my ears. Gripping both sides of my head, I squeeze, wanting it to stop, but it doesn't.

What is happening? I think while struggling to recall the events leading to this. But everything is hazy and confusing. Nothing makes sense.

"This can't be real. It has to be a nightmare. Come on, Bex, snap out of it," I mumble, trying to wake myself, but realizing quickly it's reality.

Already miserable, the sweltering heat and harsh humidity are intensifying this horrible situation. My vision is blurry as beads of sweat collect along my forehead, dripping down over my brows, and into my eyes. Left with no other choice, I use my torn, dirty sleeve to wipe them, which barely helps.

Looking above, I squint, trying to make out the bright neon sign flashing, "Ollie's Billiards." But I'm forced to look away as a searing pain erupts throughout my skull from the blinding lights.

With each passing second, I'm growing weaker as tiredness sets in. I'm exhausted, physically and mentally.

"Come on, Bex. You got this," I urge, needing to convince myself, knowing I can't stay here. It's not safe.

After learning I'm on Elm Street, I mentally piece together a map. From here, there are only eight blocks between me and my front door, and I'll be home, safe and sound. But can I make it? I wonder as my legs get weaker, threatening to give out at any second.

Refusing to die, I lean forward, trying to get up, but fail, collapsing backward onto the hard brick. Pain shoots through my shoulder as I collide, piercing and tearing my flesh. The intense discomfort gives me the motivation I need.

Using the building as a brace, I thrust forward, slowly inching ahead. The pain on my right side intensifies with each step I take. Tightly clenching my teeth, I'm able to make it a few feet before it becomes unbearable, and I stop. Unable to move, I grab my side, applying pressure, but it does nothing to ease the discomfort.

Bright red blood flows from between my fingers. Trickling over my knuckles, instantly turning them red. I'm hit with the rusty scent of stale blood mixed with the metallic smell of fresh oozing liquid, and it's too much. Unable to ignore the giant lump forcing its way up my throat, I vomit. A sickening splashing sound fills the air as it hits the pavement, splattering.

Hunched over, dry heaving, I've expelled what little was in my system. Now covered in vomit, along with other bodily fluids, I've had enough. I'm ready to give up and succumb to my injuries. Anything would be better than this.

Glancing down, my white sweatshirt is stained red, drenched in blood from my breasts to my thighs. Once again, trying to ease the pain, I shift my weight. But nothing can soothe the fiery feeling raging inside me. It's like a fire, burning and consuming me from the inside out, with no way to extinguish the flames.

Judging from how excruciating the pain is, the wound is bad. The mere thought of lifting my shirt and inspecting it is terrifying. So I'm avoiding it, and hoping it hurts worse than it is, praying for the best.

A shrill clanking noise nearby startles me, causing me to jump. Trembling, I grip the side of my current hideout, peeking around the corner. But it's useless. Stray bullets continue ricocheting around, leaving behind a thick smokescreen. As I wait for it to settle, the sound of sirens wailing in the distance grows closer. Intensifying as they approach, coming from all directions.

Surrounded, I panic, desperately searching for an escape, but come up empty. Knowing they'll be here any minute, there's only one option. Run, and pray that I survive.

It sounds impossible. I can't stand up straight, using the building behind me as a crutch, drained and exhausted. As the pressure in my head continues building because of blood loss, I want to sleep. But this is it. It's now or never. I've run out of options, with nowhere to hide. I have to.

Closing my eyes, I grab hold of the silver cross necklace dangling from my neck. Muttering a quick prayer, I ignore the metal slashing through the skin between my fingers. Gripping tighter, I pray God hears me. It's time, taking one last deep breath before opening my eyes.

Using my remaining strength, I push up. Refusing to look back, I dart from behind my shelter, into the unknown.

Jolting awake, my eyes snap open, seeing complete darkness. It's silent, besides the steady sound of my heart pounding, as I wait for my eyes to adjust. Slowly, things come into focus. The familiar blue and white comforter lies at my feet, tangled in a twisted mess. And a half-drunk glass of water from the previous day sits on the wooden nightstand beside me. Relaxing, I take a deep breath. Inhaling the scent of fabric softener hanging in the air brings me a sense of security. It was just a dream. I'm safe and sound at home, lying in my bed.

On autopilot, my fingers find their way beneath my shirt, soaked in sweat. Feeling their way across my ribcage before brushing against the rough, raised skin. Which is a constant reminder of the nightmare I'm trapped in.

Catching my attention, the bright red glow of my alarm clock shines across the room, reading 3:54 a.m. in bold numbers. Despite the few hours of sleep I've had, I don't feel rested. Between my nightmares and nerves over today, I'm a mess. Today is the big day. The one I've waited for all summer, marking the days and counting down until I leave this dreadful place. Escaping to somewhere where no one knows my past, and I can start fresh.

Of course, college was never my dream, but it'll do. Hopefully, this experience will be better than high school, which I hated. I constantly skipped while doing drugs, just to get through the long days. My senior year was when I finally stepped it up, earning most of my credits. I'm still shocked I graduated, proving everyone wrong. They assumed I'd end up pregnant at fifteen and a dropout.

But all this stress is giving me a migraine. Reaching over, I open the drawer, slipping my hand in, blindly rummaging through it. Retrieving the small bottle of Tylenol, I pop the cap off before dumping its contents into my hand. Counting several out, I put the rest back. Rolling the remaining few between my fingers before tossing them into my mouth. Reaching next to me, I grab the warm water and take a drink, washing them down.

My eyes water as I let out an enormous yawn, signaling my body needs more sleep. The thought of riding in a cramped car for three hours with my mother and sister is exhausting on its own. It's going to be a nightmare. I can already imagine my mother's nonstop complaining, which somehow will be my fault. It always is. Knowing she loves me, I don't think she means to treat me this way, but she does.

Our relationship has always been strained, but after that night, it was beyond repair. No matter how she looks at me, I'll always be a disappointment. Nothing I do is right or ever good enough. And that's how I know she'll be happy when I'm gone. After all, this whole thing was her idea, perfectly planned, so she has no guilt.

April is just a pain in the ass who does no wrong. An entitled brat who throws temper tantrums and cries until she gets her way. She's been like this as far back as I can remember, which explains why we've never gotten along. And the reason we can't be together more than an hour before trying to tear each other apart, limb from limb.

Honestly, I don't see why my mom even invited her. I doubt she'll help, but she will be in the way. Maybe the thought of us being alone together, forced to talk, was too much for her. But whatever her reasoning is, I can't worry about it. My alarms are set to go off in a few hours, and I need all the rest I can get. Lying back down, I bury myself in the comforter, covering my head, and creating total darkness. Before long, only my soft snores can be heard.