Abigail

She is everyone, and no one. She doesn't even have a name, because every day she is in a new life. She doesn't know who she is...or was. All she knows is the pain of these other girls, these living girls, the suffering girls.

She wants to know who she really is...but what will it take to find out?

WARNING: This Movella contains rape, bullying, suicide, abuse, self-harm, and other sensitive elements.

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5. Lillian

 It's a relief to have sight again as a new morning dawns. I've never been so happy to be blinded by sunlight as I open my eyes. This happiness is quickly smothered, though. A pounding headache suddenly beats my head back down onto the pillow, and a moan escapes my lips. "Ugh."

 Lillian Hailey Prescot is a 16-year-old alcoholic. I can hear her parents yelling downstairs as the headache momentarily fades. Lillian wishes that they would just get a divorce, but knows that they're both refusing to for the sake of Lillian's little brother, Andy. 

 I slowly sit up, pressing a hand to my head. This is the second time I've woken up in a hungover body, but there's a difference in this one. Lillian is used to this, used to the horrible pounding and-

 Bleeergh!

 I cough up a wave of vomit into the trashcan that is conveniently placed right next to the bed. Ugh. 

The arguing pauses downstairs. Then, footsteps.

Uh-oh.

"Lillian." Both of her parents are suddenly standing in the doorway, which I now notice has empty hinges. "Lillian, honey...where did you get it? How? I thought we were done with this!" her mom exclaims. "We were so close to giving you your door back, honey..."

 

The words pop out of my mouth in that way that they do sometimes: "I was so close to believing that you guys were gonna be okay. But then you start yelling again. So I start drinking again. Oops."

Her mom winces, and her dad's face turns red. I speak again. "I wish you guy would just suck it up and split. I'm so sick of hearing you yell all the time. You think it's helping Andy to stay together, but it's not! You know he came in here crying a couple of nights ago? He said he was scared of you two."

Silence. Horrible, aching, smothering silence.

A small voice breaks the glass. "Lill?"

Andy is crouched in the small door that connects our rooms, eyes wide. I turn, and open my arms. "C'mere, And. It's okay."

He rushes forward, burying his face in my chest and ignoring that fact that I stink of alcohol and vomit.

Our parents just watch. The drunk daughter and the son with Downs. What a pair.

"Andy...is that true? Are you...scared of us?" Lillian's mom finally says.

 I feel the small "yes" hit my heart, feel the words reverberate into my chest. Lillian's mom bursts into tears and runs out of the room. Her dad silently follows after a few seconds.

 

It takes a while for me to realize that it's 6:30 in the morning. I sigh, gently prying Andy from my chest. "C'mon, bud. Time to get ready for school."

 

 

  I feel a little bit better after and shower and small breakfast. Walking to the bus stop feels like trying to cross Alaska while hammers are dropping on my head, but Andy's hand in mine guides me through. He's only a year younger than me, but often seems much more like a child. Probably because of his disability. I can feel Lillian's love for him, a startling warmth that beats strong in her chest whenever she's with him. It's a startling side to this rough alcoholic girl with dyed purple hair and a secret tattoo on her waist.

 When we enter the school, Andy runs off to his Special Education classroom. I trudge to Lillian's locker, suddenly feeling empty without the comfort of the boy's presence. He's the only reason she's still alive, I realize. I rifle through the locker, Lillian's memory helping me to pick out the books I need. It isn't until I close the locker that I notice the candles farther down the row. My brow wrinkles. I walk up to what looks like a locker memorial. A framed picture of a pretty girl with short brown hair and happy brown eyes is surrounded with candles and flowers and notes.

 "That's Abigail's memorial." I jump as a voice pops over my shoulder. I turn to find a boy - whom Lillian's memory identifies as Luke Grane - standing behind me. He looks at the memorial with a shadow in his eyes. "You wouldn't have met her. She killed herself a year ago, long before you moved here. That's why the candles are lit today." He walks away. I gaze at the memorial. I have an odd feeling in my chest as I look at it. There's something oddly familiar about the girl.

 Abigail.

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