Damn It All to Hell

Chapter 11

Trista is amazing. I don’t think she has any idea what’s going on here. How long have we been here? The sky is starting to turn pink and yellow with traces of gold and orange peeking over the horizon like a joyous light at the distant end of a dark tunnel. We should go somewhere to talk. ‘Trista?’

“Mm-hm?”

She sounds so tired. This poor girl has been through so much. I want to let her go home to sleep, but I need to talk to her now. My curiosity is already torturous. ‘Let’s go.’

“Okay.”

I love her. This is the girl I have been looking for my entire life. I need her. If I ever let her out of my sight, it’ll be the worst thing to ever happen to me.

I wonder why there aren’t any people around yet? The sun is becoming increasingly visible above the horizon, and we still haven’t seen anyone. We haven’t seen anyone since the man fell from the roof.

“Where are we going?”

‘We’ll see when we get there.’

“Okay.”

She’s so agreeable, it’s almost funny. I keep expecting her to say she has to leave, but she hasn’t so much as suggested it. Maybe she knows more than I thought. We’d better get the car out of the middle of the road. Someone’s likely to show up soon.

I love watching her climb into the car. She has the nicest legs. The way she moves is almost cat-like: cautious and delicate, graceful and proud. She looks so innocent, but I’m sure she’s seen a lot of surprising things in her short lifetime. She must be at least three or four years younger than me, probably around twenty-two or twenty-three.

Okay, I should start the car and get moving, but I don’t know where to go.

“Is something wrong?”

‘No, no. I’m just trying to decide where to go.’

“Take me to your place.”

If she smiles at me one more time, I’m gonna lose it. I want her in my bed right now. I want to peel off her clothing, piece by piece, and just stare at her amazing body. She’s perfect. Her skin is so smooth and white. Her eyes jump out at me like they’re talking to me in a language of wordless sincerity. They’re so deep and brown. Her eyes are gorgeous, but they have an undeniable cloudiness, too. I want to help that. I want to help her. I want to make her see more clearly. And I want her in my bed now. ‘Are you sure that’s okay?’

“Yes.”

‘Alright.’ Okay, I’m confused. What does she know? Most girls wouldn’t be as willing to come over to my place at the break of dawn after a long night of drinking, dancing, and watching someone die and then disappear. Well, of course, most girls wouldn’t have seen the guy die or disappear. Trista’s not like most girls. ‘Trista?’

“Yeah?”

‘Why are you coming home with me?’

“Is that something you ask all the girls?”

‘No. Usually, I don’t care.’

“What are you saying?”

‘I’m saying...’ What the hell am I saying? What the hell kind of a question was that to ask? What’s wrong with me? What was I hoping to gain from that? Why do I never know what to say?

“Edan?”

‘Yeah?’

“Have you ever seen someone die?”

What? Okay, my question seems a little less odd now. ‘Do you mean other than the guy that just fell from the roof?’

“I think you know what I mean.”

I think I do, but that can’t be possible. She doesn’t know, does she? How do I answer that question? Do I tell her everything? ‘Yes, I’ve seen someone die.’

“Who?”

‘My parents.’

“You saw your parents die?”

‘Yeah. I was thirteen.’

“How’d it happen?”

‘My dad was drinking. He took my mother and me out for a Sunday drive that turned out to be a suicide mission.’

“Do you know why he did it?”

‘No idea.’

“How well do you remember it?”

Like it was yesterday. I remember it like I’m seeing it now. I can still see the blood pouring out of my mother’s eyes as she screamed for help. I can still see the scowl on my father’s face as he looked at me and told me I was going to die. I can still hear my father’s neck cracking as it snapped in two. I can hear the shattering windshield. I can see the shards hurtling towards my face. I can remember how small I felt and how I knew instinctively to duck behind the driver’s seat. I can remember the ensuing silence, the not knowing what to expect when I woke up in the hospital. I remember the bloody dreams I had for the next three months while I was in a coma, and I remember the horrible, horrible realization that they weren’t just my dreams. I remember finding out that I was the only one who knew. ‘I remember it.’

“How often do you see people die?”

Should I tell her? ‘All the time.’ Oops. It just slipped out.

“Me too.”

I knew it. ‘I knew it.’

“There was no guy on the building, was there?”

Uh-oh. Here it comes. How do I explain this? Is this something that can be explained? Maybe she has to find out on her own. No, I refuse to allow that. I’ve spent all this time looking for someone who understands. I won’t lose her now. I need her. ‘Let’s talk inside.’