I can't be more grateful for that. It's the result of all the hard work that I've been putting my entire life.
I just have to make a little more effort to nail my job here – enough to secure the company's trust – and finish my final year in Boston University before graduating with honours.
I've got my life planned. Some people might think that I already have everything in my hands. Excellent academic records. Promising career prospects. And glorious achievement in sports – I've never given up the thing I love the most, which is football.
But now, as I stare at the ceiling of my house, I can't help but feel empty. I'm close to achieving all my goals. So what now ?
Another sigh escapes from my mouth as I cover my eyes with my arm, closing my eyes to sleep.
At some nights, just like what happens now, the same horrible feeling stirs inside me again. That feeling of guilt. Regrets. Fear.
The funny thing is that it always happens when I feel lonely.
Fuck. This makes me not want to fall asleep. But I can't help it.
No matter how hard I try to resist, when the nightmare comes, it just happens.
It's something that I've been trying to escape, only to fail miserably. It's something about my ruined past. My horrible past.
It's something that happened years ago. Back when I was still in high school.
.
« Jake. » Her voice is shaking. It sounds so vulnerable.
A scream threatens to escape from my mouth. I don't want to hear it.
I don't want to go through this anymore.
« Please, » she begs, her cries echoing in my ears.
I snap my eyes open, but I can't see anything. Everything is dark.
I try to open them as wide as I can, to the point that I can feel that my eyes are bulging out of their sockets. But still, I see nothing.
I can only hear her voice.
« It hurts, » she whispers brokenly.
The lump in my throat is getting bigger, and I swallow hard. Her sobs break, and suddenly, I feel nauseated again.
I want to throw up. I'm so disgusted at myself. I want to scream, but again, nothing comes out from my throat.
I want to get out, but my arms and feet are attached to chains. They are controlling my body and my movement. I feel my hands roaming something, and I jerk in shock. This is not happening. I can't let this happen.
I won't let this happen. Again.
My fingers brush against something soft, and I know what it is. I can feel her skin. But I still can't see her. I can't smell her either. I can only hear and feel.
It's impossible that something I used to find comforting, something that made me feel at ease, now pains me to the point that it can actually kill me. Yes, now that I'm sane, it tortures me. Fucking tortures me.
This is fucking ridiculous.
Something warm engulfs my neck and shoulder. She's clinging unto me like I'm her life.
Yes, I'm the only one who can save her, but I chose not to. I beg to do it now. I beg to stop what I'm doing, but the chains are too powerful.
She can only cry in my arms now, her soft sobs so close to my ear, and I'm losing my mind because I can't even remember her voice. It always changes every time I have this nightmare. It's just a fraction.
« Stop it ! » I can feel the words in my throat as I shout at myself, but still, no sound leaves my throat.
Because I know that it happened. It already happened.
« Jake, » she says my name one last time, and I can feel her hot tears dampening my neck. I already know the next words that she'll whisper, because all of this has already played in my mind countless times, in every nightmare. « It hurts... »
Slowly, I open my eyes, and a tear slides down my cheek.
I'm staring at the ceiling of my bedroom. It's brighter than the last time I saw it before I went to bed, because the rays of the morning sun have come through the window.
I sit up on my bed, and my hand is shaking when I rake my fingers through my blonde hair. I'm panting, and my chest hurts like hell.
No matter how many times this happens, the pain won't lessen.
This is my curse, and I have to go through it as long as I live. This is my punishment.
It hurts. Just like she said.
I open the drawer of my nightstand and take out a small box. My throat tightens as I open it.
A small earring sits inside it. It's lost its pair, which might still be with its owner. It's silver-plated and comes in a form of a butterfly.
It's the only trace that was left of her.
Closing the box, I trudge toward my balcony. As the morning has come, I can already hear the sound of cars on the street as their passengers start their weekend.