Page 140 of Habits

I try to move my body, but it’s useless. Every limb I try to lift stays glued to the bed, not moving an inch.

Why can’t I move?

What happened to me?

I try to remember, but the only things that come to my mind are sudden brightness, a crash of metal and then blackness.

My head throbs. It feels like somebody is stabbing me repeatedly in the head.Make it stop!I want to cry out, but my throat is so dry the words won’t come out.

Open your eyes, beautiful.

There it is again, that voice.

Who are you?

It sounds familiar. From where do I know it? And why does it make my heart pitter-patter in my chest?

I try again, this time harder. It almost seems impossible, like somebody glued my eyelids shut and I’ll never open them again.

Open those beautiful eyes for me, Princess.

Princess? Only one person calls me Princess.

With one last effort, I finally feel my eyes flutter open. The bright light blinds me, and my eyes fall shut again. I want to scream in frustration, but then a shadow falls over me and this time, slower, I try again.

It feels like it takes forever, but when I open my eyes, I know all the effort has been worth it.

The most beautiful pair of greens looks down at me. Fear and tenderness mix together in those pools that suck me in and leave me breathless. And the breathlessness doesn’t have anything to do with the pain in my chest, and everything to do with the guy standing in front of me.

“D-drew …” My voice comes out shaky and weak. I want to reach my hand to cup his cheek but find that I can’t because my hand is glued to my chest.

“Shhh …” His finger touches my lips, shushing me effectively as I watch the proud, cold-hearted, nothing-can-affect-me boy give in to his emotions. His eyes fall closed and I can see his shaky inhale. His hand grips mine tighter, maybe a little too tight, but no amount of discomfort will make me pull away.

“How do you feel?” A big, warm hand brushes my hair, and I try to turn my head to the side to look at my brother, but realize I can’t. There’s something preventing me from moving my neck, so I turn my gaze to him.

He looks terrible. His skin is pale, and there are big circles underneath his eyes. Worry and fear are etched in every inch of his face as he studies me.

“L-like …” It hurts to speak, so I clear my throat before trying again. “L-like a … t-train ran me o-over.”

My joke is lame, but it gets me a little huff of laughter.

“Don’t joke like that,” Andrew scolds me lightly. “Or I’ll have to tie you to me so I can keep my eyes on you at all times.”

I want to roll my eyes at them, but movement from the corner of the room catches my eyes.

Dad is standing there, watching the three of us. His hair is messy and his clothes wrinkled. There is blood on his shirt.

My blood, I realize.

Flashes of what happened come to my mind.

A call. Going to the hospital. Seeing my dad with the nurse. Driving home. Waiting for him. The fight. Running away. Accident.

The freaking accident.

As the memories come back, my head starts to hurt more and more.

“Jeanette?”

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