How To Save A Life

Chapter 5

I woke up to the numbing feeling on my forehead as it spread around my body and made my muscles tingle back to life. Cool leather pushed against my body from the couch and was a cold awakening to the bare skin of my arms. 

I reached my arms up and above my head, clicking them into place. Every one of my limbs ached and it felt as though I'd been sleeping for years. Fluttering my eyes open, I recognized my surroundings as the living room. I lifted my head from the leather sofa and pain pierced through my skull. With furrowed brows, I massaged my temples and breathed deeply to soothe the pain. 

Just the thought of what happened earlier sent a shudder through my body. What was that? It all felt so real and scary. The blood looked real, it smelt real, it felt real. I glanced down at my wrist and saw the words 'Reniella De Vega' scrawled across the skin, proving I was now awake. 

Fighting through the incessant throb in my head, I lifted myself into a seating position and waited as my blurred vision returned to normal. 

"Dad?" I croaked out silently to my empty living room. 

It was too bright for me to be able to properly concentrate on anything around me except for the fluffy blanket pooled at my legs and the water dripping down my face from the wet kitchen roll carelessly folded and placed on my forehead. I heard a noise though. 

The kitchen and living room were separated by a frosted glass door that was left slightly ajar. I could tell my grandmother was home from the smoke that swirled into the living room from the kitchen. I could also hear her voice. Though it sounded as though she was trying her best to be quiet, it wasn't something Gran was used to.

She was short but bulky. Caring but firm and strict in every sense of the word. Quiet was not in her vocabulary. 

"I'm worried about her, Robin," she told Dad in that deep voice of hers. 

"And you don't think I am too?" he replied and desperation oozed from the tone. 

I imagined the pair sat around the table in the dimly lit kitchen as the smoke of my grandmother's cigarette flurried around their bodies as if they were in some underground game of poker.

"She found a dead body, Mom." Dad hissed through clenched teeth. "And not the pretty ones with clean clothes and closed eyes, either. She found a boy her age with two knife wounds, bleeding out right in front of her eyes. You should have seen her the night the police called, the blood..." He trailed off quietly. 

"Jesus, did I really look like that?" A small voice asked from the carpeted floor below. I looked down to see Deshawn as he leaned back on his forearms. I didn't answer him, I'd forgotten he was following me for a moment. 

"The blood was all over her. We spent the whole night trying to get it off. It was on her clothes, on her face, under her fingernails. The whole time she just sat there with this blank expression. And her eyes. God, they looked like Avery."

I winced at the name. Avery De Vega was not a name uttered lightly under this roof. Though we certainly didn't show it, she was the wound in this house that still hadn't healed, even after three years without her. 

"She's not Avery, she's not her mother," Gran replied before letting out a chesty cough. 

Avery De Vega left three years ago in the dead of night without a warning for her family and that was the last time we'd ever talked about that woman. I hated my mom, that much was obvious. 

We looked similar though, that was the problem. When I was young, being called the 'mini-me' to Mum was the best feeling. She was a pretty woman, tall and graceful with these eyes that could get her anywhere. Being a smaller version of her back then was an honor, now it was a curse. It was all Dad saw, though he didn't say. I was her legacy.

My dad had said three years ago that some people weren't cut out for family life and that was the only reason I had over my mother's departure. No phone call, letter, or a sign that she was even still alive. I'd always assumed she'd gone back to France to live out the many dreams that she told me so much about as a kid. It didn't matter anyway. I had my dad and he was enough. 

If my mother was here right now, the first thing she would have done upon seeing my passed-out body was to call an ambulance. She would've made sure it was the brightest, loudest and flashiest ambulance. Then, when we would arrive at the hospital, she would've made sure everybody knew my room number for gifts and well wishes. But that was the typical Avery De Vega, always one for the dramatics. 

I understood my Dad a lot more, he was grounded. I was glad he'd opted on throwing a piece of damp kitchen roll on my forehead and calling it a day rather than the whole theatrics of the hospital. I didn't enjoy the hospital, anyway. 

I preferred the life he led in the shadows rather than the bright and flashy way my mother flaunted her personal stories. Regretfully, I'd admit that my mother and I were quite similar but her constant need for attention was one thing I'd never relate to, it was exhausting. So, though I preferred my dad, back then and now, she'd always painted me like mommy's little girl for the audience. She and I went everywhere together. She'd dress me in cute little dresses and big bows before dragging me to the rich parts of the city to spend our days in her wealthy friend's freshly mowed gardens; sipping on champagne and giggling over stupid stuff. 

"Dad," I called out once again. My voice was louder this time but still scratchy. A crash sounded from the kitchen before he was by my side. The leather sunk slightly when he sat next to me and I forced on a smile to prove that I was alright. 

"Morning, sleepy."

It was my dad. His voice was strained and he looked so worried. 

Hesitantly, he put a skinny arm around my shoulder and pulled me into his side. My Dad was all skin and bones and I'd gotten my height from him. If it weren't for our brown hair, height was all I got from his gene pool. I didn't even look white, my mother's Filipino roots had weaved their way through to me.

His cropped brown hair was lighter than my own, almost blonde. His nose was larger than mine and his lips were a thin line, unlike my blossoming red. 

"What happened, Rei?" he asked quietly. It felt as if we were sharing secrets, much like when I was little. When I'd stay up for hours in the dead of night with Dad clutching my small body against his side like a bundle. He'd whisper countless stories while we stared up at the glow-up stars on my bedroom ceiling and we were content.

He continued when I didn't answer him. " Look at your arms. It looks like you were attacked by a family of cats." 

I cracked a small smile before shaking my head. "I don't know, Dad," I admitted. 

My eyes were trained on Deshawn as he lifted himself from my floor and stretched his body out right in front of me. Dad couldn't see him. I figured nobody else would notice the dead boy but to see it splayed right in front of me was odd. Deshawn let out a loud yawn but even that went without a second glance. 

He took a stride towards my father before he began to throw his arms in front of his face to gain attention. His hands waved up and down frantically but nothing tore my dad's gaze away to the side of my head. 

"Maybe he actually can't see me," Deshawn hummed in thought. 

No shit.

I glared at his figure and decided that moment to escape my dad's comforting embrace. I wobbled to my feet and set a bright smile on my lips as I faced him. 

"I know I gave you a fright." I laughed awkwardly and tore the kitchen roll from my forehead and placed it on the coffee table. "But honestly, I'm fine. I don't want any fuss, I'm fine." 

He nodded wordlessly before I snapped around and made my way out of the living room. I flew to the carpeted stairs and ran up, taking two at a time, while I tried my best not to throw up. I creaked my bedroom door open and checked over the place before entering. The floor was clear of the blood I had seen and the pillow I'd thrown at Deshawn still lay unattended on the floor. 

Before I could change my mind, I crawled onto my bed and under the fluffy throw that lived at the bottom. I took my phone from the bedside table and clicked on Raven's number. 

"I've been thinking about your offer," I began quietly, my throat raw. I started straight to the point and I could hear as Raven squealed excitedly. 

"I've decided that I will be keeping you company. God knows what would happen to you otherwise and your mother would hunt me down if you came back with a tattoo or something. I'd rather not live my life in fear," I joked and Raven laughed.

"I knew it!" she gushed. "I took out those oracle cards, you know the ones you got me for my birthday? The pink ones by Reb- yeah, anyway, whatever. It told me not to worry. I'm not worried about you because you're too badass to let this bother you. So, do you want to drive or should we ask for a lift?" 

I hated driving, I wasn't very good at it. But, it was an excuse not to drink and the roads would be pretty empty so I reluctantly agreed with a hum. 

"Brilliant, I'll see you at nine. You can drive my brother's car. I'm so excited this is going to be so fun!" Her bright voice ranted and I hung up, our conversation was over. 

I let my phone slip through my fingers as it fell onto the bed before my eyes fell tiredly. 

"So, we're going to party then?" Deshawn's voice was enthusiastic. My eyes fluttered open to see him lying on the other side of my double bed with his arms outstretched behind his head. 

I threw myself off the bed with a racing heart. "What the hell? You can't just creep up on me like that! I'm not used to ghost boys sneaking up on me." 

"You sound crazy." He scoffed before reaching over to the side of the bed I was just at and snatched the pillow. He put it under his head and sighed. His black hair fanned around his face gently, looking normal.

"You can hold things?" I asked incredulously. "B-but the pillow e-earlier and it went straight through you, y-" 

"Yeah, I'm not sure why I freaked out earlier." He shrugged. "I was being a bit dramatic over a pillow, don't you think? I just don't think I was ready for it. I wasn't flexing enough, but I'll be ready next time."

He snapped forward and sat upright. "Hey? You want to try again?" Deshawn pushed the pillow over to me with a smile. "I'll catch it this time, promise." 

"No," I deadpanned, drawing my lips into a thin line. My anger was like liquid oozing from my pores.

With tense shoulders, I took a deep breath to swallow the fury. I couldn't believe my whole frenzy could have been avoided if he had just caught the damn pillow. 

"And you can't come with me to the party," I said. "You freak me out too much." 

"That's not usually what girls tell me." He grinned. 

"Yeah, and dead boys don't normally just show up in my room," I retorted. 

Deshawn closed his eyes and lay back down, effectively ignoring me. 

"I'm being serious," I warned. 

He simply smirked.