Project Angel Book 1: Awakenings

Chapter 1

4 years earlier...

December 11, 2008

Enjeru

“Mom I’m home.”

“Hi honey I’m in the library,” she replies back.

“I have someone for you to meet.”

“Is this the young man I’ve heard so much about?”

“Yes.”

Kiro and I walk around the corner and into the library. I jump as a crash echoes throughout the room. Mom drops her favorite vase and stands frozen with a look of horror plastered on her face.

“Mom, are you okay? You look really pale.”

“Get away from that boy,” she hisses between clenched teeth.

“Why? He didn’t do anything.”

“Just listen,” she whispers.

“No, I’m not leaving him.”

I grab his hand tightly, staring my mom down.

“It’s okay,” he whispers slipping his hand out of my grip and walks forward.

“Ma’am, she’s right; we’ve never met before,” he says, cocking his head to the side.

“Don’t lie boy. I know exactly who you are and what you want, but you can’t have it.”

I’m lost at this point. What does mom mean by it? What is it? None of this is making sense.

" Ma’am I’m confused,” he replies as he runs back behind me.

“Mom he’s right; you guys have never met before so drop it please.”

Suddenly, I lurch forward into the sharp shards in front of me.

“Ouch!!! Kiro why’d you push me!?”

I hear no answer so I slowly turn towards, him more glass biting into my flesh. The first thing my eyes see is a knife, then my dad standing over Kiro, and finally I see the knife enter Kiro’s chest. My father stands there calmly, looking at his motionless body.

“Kiro. Hey quit messing around and get up. This isn’t funny.”

He doesn’t move. I try to get up, but more glass bites into my hands and knees.

“Kiro. Please! Kiro wake up.”

Deep down I want to believe that none of this is real, that my dad didn’t just murder my only friend right before my eyes, but I can’t this is reality and there’s no changing it.

Dad pulls the knife out with a sickening crack. It’s coated in blood. All I can do is sit there paralyzed, as he moves closer to me. Maybe if I just talk to him, he’ll realize this is insane or maybe this is just some sick nightmare. Maybe I’ll wake up, go to school tomorrow, and Kiro will be right there, alive and well.

“Dad....”

He grabs my shoulder gently, almost soothingly, and I know this is a nightmare. I close my eyes, glad this whole thing isn’t real. Pain runs through my chest, my eyes reopen, and there’s the blade lodged in my chest now. I double over, blood pouring from my lips. The metallic scent fills the surrounding air. Each breath gets harder as more blood spills onto the floor.

My dad kneels down, the glass crunching under his knee. He leans in, his breath the only warmth my body has at this point.

“You’re not my daughter and you never will be. I could never have fathered such a beast.”

With that, I slowly close my eyes and let the scent of blood fill my consciousness.

present day

December 11, 2012

I sit up in bed reaching for the scar on my chest. My father’s parting gift to me. Four years ago I should have died. I should never have made it, but I woke up 3 months later out of a coma. The only home I knew was burned to the ground and any traces of the boy I called Kiro were gone. As if they never existed. The psychologist attributed Kiro to my trauma.

“A coping, mechanism” as he called it.

To them, Kiro never existed, but I know he was real. Only I don’t know what happened to his body. I shake off those bad memories, deciding it’s best not to dwell on them. Besides, this is nothing new now. I’ve gotten used to waking up in cold sweats and the scar over my heart burning. Reliving that day in my dreams every night. But never getting any answers. No matter how many times I have that nightmare I can’t figure out why things went south the way they did. I get out of bed, grab a towel and clothes, and take a hot shower. The steam clears all remnants of the nightmare away. I get dressed, ready to start a new day.

I walk down maybe three flights of stairs when I remember my phone is still in my room. I sprint back up the steps and into my bedroom. I snatch my phone off the table and begin checking my Facebook for something to do. I collided with someone, my phone falling in the process. Looking up, I find it’s my neighbor Antonio.

“Oh great, the apartment’s local drunk,” I sigh to myself.

“Sorry,” I mumble and try to walk around him to my phone, but he grabs my wrist tightly, slamming me into the nearest wall.

“Look I said I was sorry.”

“You need to learn a little more respect for your elders and apologize properly girlie. A kiss should do” he slurs.

I gag at his breath since it reeks of booze and cigars. His grip grows tighter on my wrist, bruising it without a doubt. I grit my teeth staring him down. He’s such an ass, but he’s still way stronger than me.

“Are you deaf bitch? I said give me a kiss.”

He leans in but I turn my face away so he kisses the wall. He pulls away obviously not happy.

“You need to show so respect and do what you’re asked girlie.”

He holds my face so I’m forced to face him and starts to lean forward again.

“No one respects a DRUNK!!!” I yell in panic.

Immediately, I regret my action as his hand slides down from my face to grip my neck. He picks me up off the ground and I claw at his hold.

“Since you’re being such a bad girl you need to be punished.” He slurs.

His grip only seems to tighten, cutting off all my air. I kick and twist in the air, but it does me no good. He’s not going to let go until I’m dead it looks like. I guess death is mad at me I dodge him once due to some miracle. Maybe now he’s trying to take what’s his, my life. Dark spots begin forming in my vision. I blink, trying to clear them away, but it only gets worse. The next time I blink I see him, the boy from my dream, Kiro. I can’t tell if this is my dying brain trying to comfort me or if this is real. He looks older than he did back then for sure, but those eyes, the glasses, the dimple I always used to poke on his left cheek. He stands there at the top of the steps watching me. I decide this is my last effort at trying to save myself so, using my last bit of breath I say,

" Help me.”

Then, for the second time in my life, I slip into death’s warm embrace.