Besides, there was nothing he could’ve done. He didn’t see her. She was kneeling down. It wasn’t his fault.”
“No, it was my fault.”
I’m to blame. What kind of demi-angel will I make? I just let someone almost die.
She didn’t deny it. We both knew that if I hadn’t fought the vision, the accident wouldn’t have happened.
Muriel sat with me until my parents got home. Then she kissed my cheek, said she’d see me at school the next day, and left to go downstairs.
I heard her tell my parents what happened. Telling them it was me who caused it.
When I woke the next morning, the sun streamed through the window blinds and glittered through the stained glass suncatchers I had hanging from the ceiling, creating rainbows on the walls. The birds chirped happily in the treetops. I stretched all the way to my toes under my warm blankets. It was a beautiful morning. And then I remembered—
It was my fault.
Six weeks, five days until my birthday.
I padded down the stairs and into the kitchen to grab a granola bar for breakfast, finding my parents sitting at the kitchen table. My mom’s curly, blonde hair was smoothed into an elegant French twist, and she wore a navy suit that made her blue eyes look like laser beams. My dad wore his normal jeans and a polo, and his auburn hair was cut short, military style.
The sudden realization made me tense up and forget about breakfast. They’d both gotten ready for work earlier than usual so they could wait for me to come downstairs and then pounce.
Damn it. They set a trap, and I walked right into it.
“Sit down, Milayna,” my mom said.
I shook my head and crossed my arms over my chest. “I don’t want to talk.”
“Too bad. Sit down.” She pushed a chair out for me with her foot and pointed.
I walked slowly to the table, dragging my messenger bag behind me. Then, dropping into the chair, I crossed my arms around my waist and hunched over.
“We’ve been patient,” my mom said. “We’ve tried to give you time to work through your feelings. Well, it’s time to get over it and get on with life. This hiding in your room is going to stop.” My mom picked up her mug and took a sip of coffee. Her gaze never left my face.
“Sorry,” I mumbled. And then the tears came. I sobbed, laying my head on the table. I couldn’t get the image of the girl lying on the pavement, her blonde hair soaked in her own blood, because of me.
“You can’t fight them,” my dad said quietly. He leaned over and rubbed my shoulder.
“It’s my fault.”
“You have to give into your visions or things like that will keep happening.” My mom smoothed my hair over my ear. “Learn to look at the visions as a gift, Milayna, rather than a curse. You have the ability to help people in a way others can’t.”
It is kind of awesome. If I stop fighting it and learn to use it
My dad cleared his throat. “There’s more we need to tell you.”
“Oh,” I said between hiccupped sobs, “something tells me I don’t want to hear it.”
My mom slapped her hand flat against the tabletop, and I flinched. “You will listen, Milayna! It’s important. There are far worse things you could be than a demi-angel. People don’t get to choose their lot in life. This is the life you’ve been given. So stop whining and bitching and learn to deal. We’ll talk after school.”
My parents stood and walked out of the room, leaving me slouched in a chair at the kitchen table. I was supposed to leave for school, but instead, I sat at the table most of the morning, thinking.
Emotions tumbled through my brain like a dryer set on high. Some sliced through me, like my family’s betrayal and lies, leaving wounds still open and hurting. I opened my heart and pushed those emotions out. They were toxic and not something I had room for. Not something I wanted to keep. Other emotions were raw, but welcomed. Memories of family game nights, traditional Saturday morning breakfasts, trips to the mall
“No, it was my fault.”
I’m to blame. What kind of demi-angel will I make? I just let someone almost die.
She didn’t deny it. We both knew that if I hadn’t fought the vision, the accident wouldn’t have happened.
Muriel sat with me until my parents got home. Then she kissed my cheek, said she’d see me at school the next day, and left to go downstairs.
I heard her tell my parents what happened. Telling them it was me who caused it.
When I woke the next morning, the sun streamed through the window blinds and glittered through the stained glass suncatchers I had hanging from the ceiling, creating rainbows on the walls. The birds chirped happily in the treetops. I stretched all the way to my toes under my warm blankets. It was a beautiful morning. And then I remembered—
It was my fault.
Six weeks, five days until my birthday.
I padded down the stairs and into the kitchen to grab a granola bar for breakfast, finding my parents sitting at the kitchen table. My mom’s curly, blonde hair was smoothed into an elegant French twist, and she wore a navy suit that made her blue eyes look like laser beams. My dad wore his normal jeans and a polo, and his auburn hair was cut short, military style.
The sudden realization made me tense up and forget about breakfast. They’d both gotten ready for work earlier than usual so they could wait for me to come downstairs and then pounce.
Damn it. They set a trap, and I walked right into it.
“Sit down, Milayna,” my mom said.
I shook my head and crossed my arms over my chest. “I don’t want to talk.”
“Too bad. Sit down.” She pushed a chair out for me with her foot and pointed.
I walked slowly to the table, dragging my messenger bag behind me. Then, dropping into the chair, I crossed my arms around my waist and hunched over.
“We’ve been patient,” my mom said. “We’ve tried to give you time to work through your feelings. Well, it’s time to get over it and get on with life. This hiding in your room is going to stop.” My mom picked up her mug and took a sip of coffee. Her gaze never left my face.
“Sorry,” I mumbled. And then the tears came. I sobbed, laying my head on the table. I couldn’t get the image of the girl lying on the pavement, her blonde hair soaked in her own blood, because of me.
“You can’t fight them,” my dad said quietly. He leaned over and rubbed my shoulder.
“It’s my fault.”
“You have to give into your visions or things like that will keep happening.” My mom smoothed my hair over my ear. “Learn to look at the visions as a gift, Milayna, rather than a curse. You have the ability to help people in a way others can’t.”
It is kind of awesome. If I stop fighting it and learn to use it
My dad cleared his throat. “There’s more we need to tell you.”
“Oh,” I said between hiccupped sobs, “something tells me I don’t want to hear it.”
My mom slapped her hand flat against the tabletop, and I flinched. “You will listen, Milayna! It’s important. There are far worse things you could be than a demi-angel. People don’t get to choose their lot in life. This is the life you’ve been given. So stop whining and bitching and learn to deal. We’ll talk after school.”
My parents stood and walked out of the room, leaving me slouched in a chair at the kitchen table. I was supposed to leave for school, but instead, I sat at the table most of the morning, thinking.
Emotions tumbled through my brain like a dryer set on high. Some sliced through me, like my family’s betrayal and lies, leaving wounds still open and hurting. I opened my heart and pushed those emotions out. They were toxic and not something I had room for. Not something I wanted to keep. Other emotions were raw, but welcomed. Memories of family game nights, traditional Saturday morning breakfasts, trips to the mall
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