pulling me under

Every day Jasmine withdraws from me a little more. No matter how much i try, her best friend, to knock down the wall she has erected around her heart, she pushes me away, breaking my heart a little more. I see the bruises she tries to hide and wonder how she got them. Jasmine says she's just clumsy. But i know better.

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2. avoid me not

 I repeat the same question numerous times, but I receive the same answer every time. Jasmine avoids meeting my eyes for the rest of the night. I lean in to hug her goodbye, then freeze as she flinches.

"See you tomorrow." she mumbles. Pulling her jacket tighter around her, she speed walks out of the backgarden. I watch her until I can no longer see her. What's happened to her? Who did that to her? My mind is bombarded with thoughts that make me restless. Lying in bed that night, my eyes refuse to close even though they're heavy with fatigue. When I'm eventually pulled under to sleep, I'm haunted by vivid nightmares.

Jasmine stares past me, her blue eyes dead.

"You can't save me, Demi" her voice is hoarse and resigned. A tear slides down her face, splashing into the long grass beneath her. She looks straight at me then "Nobody can." The long grass becomes thick vines and creep up around her, slithering over her like a snake. Jasmine is withdrawn as the vines cover her so completely that they swallow her whole. Running faster than I ever had before, I try to pry the vines from her her, although my efforts are futile. The land seems to become quicksand, and everything falls into itself, crumbling, fading, ending.

I wake up, hair clinging to my face with sweat. My heart thumps frantically in my chest. I need to do something! I think desperately. But what can I do? That thought unnerves me. Jasmine needs my help. If only she would tell me how I could.

I watch the colors change out of my window from black to the hazy pink of the beginning of a new day. Dragging my sleep deprived self out of bed, I stumble into the bathroom and have a shower. The soothing warm water hits my skin and calms me. I dry myself then get dressed, pulling on black skinny jeans, a red vest top and a black leather jacket. Looking in the mirror at the left hand side of my bed, I take in the girls tired brown eyes that have dark circles beneath them, her pale, almost translucent skin and the dark brown hair that had been tied back into a pony tail. It'll have to do I sigh.

Marios, the local restaurant, is where I spend my day as a waitress. The customers aren't the most polite, but on the plus side the tips are decent. I slip my unifrom shirt on over my vest and hurry to go to my first customer. He's sitting at the far end of the restaurant,  the furthest away from everyone else he can get.

His sea blue eyes are blood shot and glaring at nothing in particular. His skin has sunken into his face and his dirty clothes hang off him. When I walk hesitently over to Jasmines Dad, I am immediately engulfed by the overwhelming smell of alcohol. It's strong enough to make my eyes water. As I take in the pitiful sight, I notice bruises on his knuckles.

"Are you okay, Mr Blake?" I ask. His eyes narrow.

"I'm fine" is his snapped response. There's an awkward pause.

"How's Jasmine?" His hands tightens into fists

"Being a trouble maker, as usual." he grunts. I frown. Jasmine is hardly a trouble maker, aside from never being on time, at school she was a straight A student and she has the most breathtaking ability to draw anything. A couple of weeks ago, we had walked through Beaken forest and sat in a meadow. It looked like something out of a fairytale. The meadow was abundent in wild flowers that climbed up the old oak trees and the sun shone down upon it, making everything have the quality of a halo. The scenery was truly spectacular, and Jasmine captured every detail, from the bark on the trees to the beam of light shining through the thick branches.

"If you don't mind me asking, how did you bruise your knuckles?" Butterflies fluttered in my stomach. A sense of foreboading ran through me.

"I fell" he muttered. Although this was believable with the staggering amount of alcohol he drinks, it didn't sound true to me. It occured to me that this was exactly the same thing that Jamsine told me happened to her.  Red scratch marks ran from under his left eye to his nose.

Something in me clicked. It was him.

 

 

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