In reality, her father, Jason Lockhart, had bought our little coastal town. Rich Girl was rich rich, which meant she was either a celebrity, or a long lost princess. At least, that’s what the rumour was in class. Her parents made more money than the Queen. Rich Girl, who had been wandering around, stepped in. ![]() I shoved Batman Shirt, and he in turn pulled off my hat and made me cry. I snatched the candy bar up first, claiming finders keepers, only for Pigtails to grab it off of me, waving it in the air triumphantly, only for Four Eyes and Batman Shirt to form an allegiance, taking it for themselves. Pigtails, Four Eyes, Batman Shirt, Rich Girl, and Yellow Hat. Five seven year olds with our hands on the last candy bar. ![]() I liked to think the stars aligned when we were little kids, and fate found us. Still though, the alcohol was perfect to lower my barriers and force words out of my mouth I had been choking on for years. But it was better than drinking straight vodka, which made you a psychopath. If I’m honest, though, Esme was long passed obsession.ĭowning my beer, I revelled in the scratchy taste. I just didn't want to believe our best friend was this kind of obsessed with us. Wylan had told me about the weird notes in his locker, the low-key threats in his mailbox to not even think about leaving for college. ![]() The wind was trying to snatch the bottle from my hand, blowing my hair from my eyes.īehind me, the party was in full swing, and Esme was being weird again.Įven through sharp blasts of wind trying to knock me over, I could hear her attempting to guilt trip Wylan for talking to a girl. Sitting on the beach with my knees pulled to my chest, a cool beer skimming my lips, I watched the tide ripple under my toes. In my muddled mind, I would deal with the consequences later. I should have known not inviting Esme Lockhart to our party was a bad idea, but I was too tipsy to care. Other times it was faint, barely noticeable.īut it was definitely there, getting closer and closer. I was seventeen years old when Harry Sullivan proposed we killed Esme.Īnd it was on our joint wedding day, eight years later, my hands slick with my wife's blood, when his words finally hit me. Heaven is a place, a place where nothing, nothing ever happens. (I will have experienced a multitude of eternities by then, which means, in a sense, they will never find meīecause forever I shall be, walking between the iridescent mountains and the wine-dark sea, and… (Whatever will they think of us, they who find us?) (Even there, in the operating room, already I had pictured us, decomposing-flesh and bone: he, lying on the floor and I, skeletal, kneeling, with my skull forced into his ribcage.) The creatures, grazing gently in the glasslands. Then as the sedative took hold a gradual re-lightening and I was back. Then I stripped him and laid him bare on a plastic sheet, cut him open, took a sedative and pushed my head inside. We only, for a moment, met each other's conscious eyes: his terrified, mine longing for return. So I came back another day-at night-through a window-with my tools and anaesthetics. “You're fucking crazy!” he said, slamming the door shut. “And you want to pay me to let you cut me open and-and…” One day, I knocked on his door with a proposition. The only thing I truly cared about was the patient: his name, address, medical history. Then they gave me a lot of money to disappear and non-disclose. “The optics are wrong,” the directors told me. Needless to say, I couldn't be a doctor after that. “How long was I out for?”Ī few seconds? Impossible. ![]() I was in a wheelchair, being wheeled out of the operating room and down a hospital hallway. “You were there and suddenly you just dropped. “Doctor, are you OK?” the nurse asked, wiping blood off my face. Yet in my mind there lingered, like the scent of a fruit already consumed, the beauty of that place… “Doctor!” the nurse yelled, as I gasped for air, struggling to lift my face out of my patient’s gaping wound.Īnd so was I-but I wasn't the same-not after what I'd seen. I woke up screaming on the operating table.
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