Chapter 2
I stared into the mirror in shock. Blood was dripping from the bottom of the gown, dotting the ground beneath my feet, which were both covered in dirt. I couldn't stop staring at my reflection.
"Thema," whispered a shaky voice. I tore my eyes away from the mirror. Wes was standing next to my bedside, clutching a styrofoam cup and a bloody blanket . My bloody blanket. My bed was caked with dirt and blood, and my IV was hanging down the side, attached to nothing.
I had never seen Wes look so frightened and unsure. "Wes," I began, reaching towards him. I thought he was going to run, but after a moment's hesitation, he set down the cup he had been gripping and shuffled from the bedside to take my hand.
"You came out of the mirror," he stated, his voice shaking.
What? I quickly glanced down at him, but he was staring at the mirror. Before I could say anything, he said, "Correction. You were flung out of the mirror."
Part of me wanted to tell him he was crazy, that he was a liar, but neither of those accusations were true. Not only was my brother was far from crazy, but Wes never lied. I could remember countless times when he could've faked innocence after doing something to make me mad. But he never had.
There was no way he was lying, now.
Almost in a daze, I wondered up to the mirror. Dirt and blood smeared the edges, as if I had rubbed against them on my way out. Gingerly, I touched a finger to the surface. Solid. I turned and looked Wes straight in the eye.
"Tell me exactly what happened," I commanded.
Without hesitation, Westley launched into his description."I went down to the cafeteria to get some coffee. When I left, you were just beginning to nod off. I was gone only about 2 minutes, but when I came back, you had vanished. Your IV was still hanging there, but no you. I was about to press the call button on the wall, when suddenly, I heard a noise like the cracking of a window. I turned just in time to see you come flying, head-first, through the mirror.
When you hit the bed, you looked like you were dead. I mean, you were soaked in blood, so I naturally assumed you were hurt. When I touched you, though, you started thrashing. You punched me in the mouth," he declared suddenly, sounding accusatory.
I frowned, subsequently noticing his bloody lip.
He scowled up at me, then continued. "I yelled at you to wake up, whereupon you launched yourself into the corner, and began hollering about some guy named Scott." He articulated the name with a wrinkle of his nose.
I sighed heavily. "Wes," I began, "You're not going to believe me, but. . ." I preceded to recount the accident to him, trying to include everything I could remember. He remained passive throughout most of the account, only flinching slightly when I described Grace's death.
When I finally finished, I found myself hunched over on my crimson-spattered bed. My throat was dry from talking.
Wes silently picked up the styrofoam cup he had been clutching earlier, and handed it to me. It was coffee, no sugar or creamer added (ew), but it was warm, and the wetness soothed my arid throat.
I curled my bloodstained fingers around the drink, and stared into it's black depths. "You think I'm crazy, don't you?" I asked, my voice cracking. Of course he does, my mind insisted. Because you are crazy.
"No."
I looked up at him, my eyes suddenly tearing up.
He shrugged. "After what I just saw," he paused, gesturing to the mirror, "the last thing I think you are is crazy."
I lowered my head, again, and whispered, "But what if I am?"
~*~*~*~
© B. J. Robertson
I figured you guys were impatient for Chapter 2, so here's the beginning. Again, a reminder that THIS IS ALL PART OF THE FIRST DRAFT! I know there are a lot of typos, and some things will be changed in the second draft. But, until then, enjoy, and try to resist the urge to strangle me for my typos and long-winded descriptions. They will be gone, come draft No. two.
Toodle-loo,
Max
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