You Are Not Cursed

Prologue: The Beginning

PROLOGUE: THE BEGINNING

“Stop messing with your IV.”

“It itches,” I complain childishly just wanting it to be removed already. Lazarus swatted my hand away from where I fidgeted with the needle stuck inside my elbow.

“You’re making it worse.”

Ignoring his advising I continued to act like a petulant child; in my defense I was currently grieving.

“You said I could leave today; it’s nearly midnight.”

“Think Charlie,” he chastened. “We can’t get you out during day for the same reason you can’t stay here.”

He was right. Of course I didn’t tell him that, he already knew and I didn’t feel like satisfying him.

For a moment he didn’t say anything more leaving me to think he was waiting for me to say something but then as if a timer went off in his head he suddenly jumped into action. He had been waiting for something before he could detach me from the machines I was hooked up too – at least that’s what he said upon entering my hospital room – but I had no idea what it was or how he knew that it had come to past.

“Alright, let’s go,” he declares ten minutes later when I’m no longer attacked to anything and dressed in something other than an ugly, stiff hospital gown. I followed Lazarus down the halls, into the elevator, and down more hallways until we had escaped the dreadful hospital and climbing into his sleep, black sports car. There was hesitation in my movements when it came to getting into the car but truthfully I just wanted away from this place so badly I didn’t care.

The first thing I did upon arriving at the lavish townhouse Lazarus lived in was shower. Considering my monthly visits here I had my own room, which by extent had its own bathroom.

Hot water cascaded down my body as I scrubbed and scrubbed. I wanted to wash it all away: the smell of disinfectant, the lingering touch of the hospital— the memories. Unfortunately the images projected in my head couldn’t be washed down the drain no matter how hard I tried.

Lazarus didn’t disturb me for the rest of the night; I don’t know if it’s because he thought I was sleeping or because he was giving me some much needed space. My room at the hospital had been a single I was still managed to feel surrounded, confined and suffocated.

After getting even less sleep than usual I desperately needed coffee. Trudging out of my room and into the kitchen I immediately went for the coffee pot, pleasantly surprised when I already found it full.

“Morning,” Lazarus greeted from the breakfast table, steaming mug of coffee hovering in front of his mouth.

“Hi,” I mumble in return as I poured my own cup of coffee. Too much cream and some sugar later I was joining him at the table. He was sat with one leg crossed over the other, leaning back in his seat with a book in front of him that was being book marked and closed now that I had arrived. “So… what now?”

3 days ago my parents died. And I should have died with them… yet here I was at a lost as to what to do now.

“Well that’s up to you,” he replied calmly, “You’re 18; the decision is yours to make.”