Where We Go | Book Three

1. The Finish Line

The world was a swirling darkness.

I wished I was dead.

The light danced behind my darkened lids, shifting in colours and patterns I had no interest in discovering. Outside, heavy rain beat against the window like a symphony. The storm was louder now as it thrashed its fury at the house and the world seemed that little bit harsher than it was before, crueller than I ever knew it to be.

I should not have been alive. The world did not need me alive. I did not deserve to be alive.

I did not need any more chances at life. Once was enough, twice was too many, and three was unreasonable. If there was a greater power in the sky, I was starting to believe he had a sick sense of humour.

I could have lay there for a few moments longer, maybe even a few hours but the muffled sounds were clearing in my ears and the cloud in my head was drifting away faster than I could cling to it, willing it to stay.

Reluctantly, as the last wisps of fog disappeared, I opened my eyes.

The torchlight was bright, piercing even, and I squinted. There were no shapes to the room as I blinked hard, forcing myself back to the body I didn't want to be mine. The darkness had been soft and gentle to me like a caressing hand in the night. The bright white that burned my eyes now was as unwelcoming as a sharp dagger to the throat.

Around me there was a sting of toxic smoke that hung in my nostrils, sending my head spinning with each inhale. I clasped my hand to my face, dragging at my skin and pushing against my temples. That pounding sat like a drum at the centre of my forehead, the weight of it keeping my head firmly on the floor. For a moment, I wondered if I'd been out long enough for everything to be normal again, long enough that it could've all been a dream. The faces that stared down at me told me I was wishing for too much.

"Em?" one of them asked. The voice was unfamiliar. My vision was still blurred, and I blinked again, forcing stubborn tears from my eyes.

A soft touch to my cheek brushed away the wetness. I blinked again and their faces appeared in front of me. Those familiar faces. I looked at each of them, at their furrowed brows deeper than the last, their paled faces a mirror of each other.

"You look like this is the first time that you've seen me die," I rasped, swallowing against a dry throat.

"Jesus," Chris exhaled, lifting his hands to his head as he moved from my line of sight.

Ben held my arm, his grip against my skin tighter than it needed to be. At the sound of my voice, he loosened and moved for the bottle of water beside him. He watched intently as I lifted myself onto my elbows and held it up to my lips. Cool liquid brushed my throat, instantly satisfying my thirst.

I looked at Ben and decided to ask the question I didn't want the answer to. "What happened?"

His head gave a small shake. "We don't know," he said. His eyes were dark and heavy, glinting with thick pools of guilt. This was because of him.

His thumb lifted to my temple as I took small sips of the bottle, rubbing gentle circles into my skin. The feeling was hypnotic and I wanted to drift back to sleep again.

"Why am I not dead...?" I asked, meaning it as a question but, from their scowling expressions, maybe it sounded more like a plea.

Ben's brows pressed together, raising a fraction. His eyes wandered my face, tracing every inch of it like he was looking for wounds he would never find. The scars that hurt the most me were far beneath my skin and it was better for everyone if they stayed that way. I turned, shifting my stare to the others in the room, hoping someone else would answer.