He was the kind of guy you don’t notice passing in the supermarket. So nondescript your brain doesn’t register him at all. The kind of guy that will pause when he sees you lost in your mindless oblivion, maybe a moment longer than necessary or even socially acceptable ; nostrils flaring slightly, desperate for a hint of your scent, something he can take home with him when he goes back to his dark, dirty apartment and begins to obsess about your very existence.

Something about this man bothered me, even though I didn’t directly notice him; maybe you could say a 6th sense rang out in alarm at his presence, or go a bit deeper and say I felt his presence on a primal level, but that was typical for me, especially when I was with my little sister, I have been a survivor my whole life. People like me sense things that normal people don’t. So, I guess, all things considered… that’s why I wasn’t shocked 3 weeks later, when he murdered me.

Chapter 1

A tinny alarm blared, shocking me out of a hazy dream that involved sunshine and coffee. I blindly groped for a pillow and jammed it over my face; defying the alarm to pull me out of my stupor. My head throbbed; the after effects of last night’s party pulsing a sickening rhythm in my brain.

“Ughhhh….” I groaned as the tiny little nuisance continued to bleat at me. WHY did I move it across the room? If I’d just left it by my bed I could have hit snooze. Or better yet, thrown the offensive thing across my room. Wait. WHY did I have it so far from my bed? Better yet….why did I go to that party last night? I vaguely remembered going to pick Jett up, but I hadn’t planned on staying because…why… I vaulted up out of my tangled sheets, getting one foot caught and plummeting down over the edge of my bed.

My chin slammed down on the floor, causing white hot sparks of pain to shoot up my jaw, making my eyes water. Not today, I thought. WHY today of all days did I have to mess up. I bit back tears as I pushed myself up off the floor and stumbled into the bathroom, groping for the light switch. Just as the dingy bulb popped on, it flickered and went back off. Crap. I knew I didn’t have any lightbulbs, there wasn’t even a point in making a futile attempt to look for one. Grabbing the pull cord on the cheap paper blinds above the toilet I gave it a yank, freeing the depths of my black hole apartment to a bit of sunshine, valiantly attempting to break its way through the thick ivy growing up the outside wall. Not great, I thought, but good enough to get the job done.

I glared at myself critically in the mirror hanging over the sink. Pale green eyes, flecked with gold glared back. They were the only light thing about me, other than my pale flesh, I realized for the millionth time. Lank black hair hung down hiding half my face, streaks of a lighter, happier color showing up in splotches that I’d missed with the drugstore dye; bangs that desperately needed a trim fighting with split ends on the bottom. A hair cut would have been a good idea, I realized a bit too late. Oh well… nothing I could do now. I turned to the bathroom door and pulled the last elastic off the knob. Running cold water from the tap, I splashed it over my face and through my hair, smoothing it back into a semi presentable low pony. It would have to do.

I wet a q-tip and ran it under my eyes, collecting most of the smudged black eyeliner from the night before. Quick fix. Now it resembled what my step monster would call “almost normal person makeup”. I smirked, and felt a pinch in my chin. Raising my head and leaning forward, I felt a rush of vomit. Blood ran down my neck, staining my throat what would be a violent crimson had I regular light in the room. Lighting being what it was, it was more of a burgundy, like that from a cheesy vampire movie. A large purple welt was already beginning to rise. Shit. One of the biggest drawbacks of being a goth wannabe with Irish heritage. I glow in the dark and bruise with the flick of a finger. This was going to be a whopper. There was nothing I could do about it now; I was totally out of time. Mari-Lyn was going to LOVE this. I hurriedly ran a toothbrush over my teeth, skipping the actual toothpaste to save time.

Today was the one year anniversary of my trial emancipation (parentally approved of course; why would they have fought THAT gift). I had been free of my overbearing yet detached father and his designer druggie wife for two wonderful years. Today was the day I petitioned to become fully emancipated. And I was going to be fucking late.

I bent over, skimming through the clothes on top of the growing mound of dirty things on my bathroom floor. Hmm… something near the top, I thought, close enough to the top to be less wrinkled and um… well… unfresh, yet far enough toward the bottom to mean I actually liked it.

Most of my clothing was black, which was good. Present a solid, professional almost adult. But, it was also mostly the home of the never fading scent of coffee that I picked up working at the Dark Queen (the local stab at a small town owner shooting for a funky fusion of Coffee shop and Ice Cream place in the “big” city’). I could wear nonblack clothing I thought, momentarily regretting my pseudo goth image. I had evening classes at the local college, and dressed semi normal for those. But no… I was me, and I was better than any other living situation Breezy could live in. Her Adderall addicted step mother was the modern day version of Cinderella’s stepmonster, and since our dad was never home she was better off with me. I think Mari-Lyn would want that as well, if she didn’t hate me so much.

I grabbed the least depressingly wrinkled outfit out of the pile and yanked it over my head, cringing as the tight neckline ripped across my chin. I felt the slowly clotting mess pop open again, followed by a hot gush of blood. I grabbed another shirt off the pile and jammed it against my face. I would dump it in the trash when I got to the courthouse, I reasoned. My bank account was never empty due to my father’s guilt. What was one crappy shirt when I could go buy 10 more later.

My cell phone began to vibrate accusingly. I stumbled over the pile and almost fell again, frantically searching for it amidst the chaos that inhabited every flat surface here.

I loved my apartment. It was in an old renovated hotel, right in the heart of down town, and while it was only about 25 minutes away from my dad’s minimansion on the lake, it was about as far away in vibe as possible. While Mari-Lyn had turned the home I’d grown up in from an airy, bright environment full of art and the smell of incense into a cold, modern art gallery. Full of treated cement, chrome and glass it should have appealed to my self imposed depressed nature. Instead it made me feel claustrophobic, and twitchy. I couldn’t spend more than an hour there without feeling dizzy and sick. Mari-Lyn (whose real name is Lilith, ironically named after Adam’s first, demonic wife, and way to close to my name, Lily) claimed it was just my dramatic nature, but there was something WRONG in that house. Dad tried to joke it off when he was there, said it was her job at the art gallery, and that she’d brought a curse home with her. I almost believed him, maybe I would have but was rarely ever there, how would he known..

The only bright spot in that house was my sister, Ivy. She was so yount, but I felt closer to her than anyone else. She turned 1 the month mom died, after my mom died, which was always an awkward subject for me. If Mom hadn’t been pregnant, she could have had treatment, and that could have saved her life. Mom being mom decided it was better to let her baby live… which in turn let the cancer live. She was an artist, that featured sculptures in Lilith’s gallery. Her art had made Lilith a very well-known person in the art world, having an exclusive agreement with her gallery. I always wondered why mom had done that. Why she’d picked Lilith. I heard Dad arguing with her once, right after her diagnosis. Heard her telling him that he needed to find someone else to help him live, to help her angel babies live after she was gone. I never thought he’d move so fast. Mari-Lyn had been there to …. Comfort dad in the last stages of mom’s life. I had become Mom’s care giver at age 8, directly after Mari-Lyn had become Dad’s. That year was spent rubbing her back as she threw up, helping her to the bathroom when she was going to puke. The rest of the time she spent shivering as she lay under mounds of blankets, almost like she was already buried. She died on Easter Sunday, the year I turned 9. By the time I was 10 I had a one year old sister and a new mom. I was never allowed to talk about my mom after she died. It was like she’d never existed. I put my pain, and loss into love of the tiny person that had come into my life. Breezy. Real name Ivy, but Mari-Lyn decided since she was raising her, she had permission to name her as well. Sometimes I’d hold her, talking to her like she was my mother reincarnated. Not any more though. My life was hell enough to prove there was no higher power up there, watching my back. It was just one more shitty coincidence that brought Breezy into my life, but I loved her nonetheless.