Chapter Song- Beautiful Things- Benson Boone
-Evangeline-
.
.
.
A bright flashing light shines in my eyes like a ray of light shining a clear white color.
A gush of air fills my lungs, making me able to adjust my prying eyes to the blaring long rectangular lights in lines of large white squares quickly moving downwards.
My vision goes black.
A shock of electricity flows through my body, forcing my eyes to creek open to focus back on the white ceiling squares and those annoying lines of lights that are too bright.
A blurry face appears from my left view, covering some of my peripheral view of the squares and lights.
I reach out to the face, feeling the cold smoothness of texture that doesn't feel like a face. A light pressure squeezes my hand, sending warmth throughout my body before the muscles in my hand become light, dropping my hand on its own, and my vision goes black again.
"Sir, we have to take her!" Her high-pitched woman's worried scream fills my ears.
"No!" He yells angrily, "She was just awake a moment ago! I felt her! She's still alive!" A man's smokey-deep, familiar, warm voice fills my whole body before I'm trapped in my black mind again.
Is this what dying feels like? No pain. Just white squares, lights, and the face of my angel?
A fuzzy blue window starts to fade in -like an old-fashioned movie film style- playing as if I'm fading in on a moment.
"Evangeline!" My mother's voice calls for me.
I blink, turning my head from the green trees moving behind the glass in the window, looking past August and Violet -who's staring out the window, listening to music from her iPod- in the two seats in front of me and at my mom through the car's centre mirror from the very back seat where I sit alone.
"Evangeline, are you okay, cupcake?" I look at my mother's face. Her long platinum blonde hair curls over her shoulders, on her red blouse she made with my aunt. Her pink rosy lips curve to her eyes which shimmer a bright green color surrounded by dark green edges that seem to blend with the light green, creating this flow of emerald green.
She's a split image of me and August.
I cross my arms, mad -not remember at what, but if I had to guess it would be because of August- looking back out the window.
"Evangeline, don't take it to heart. You'll ride in the front seat with Violet next time," I roll my eyes without control.
A chuckle escapes my Dad's lips from the driver's seat, and my mom elbows him in the side.
"Johnny, don't laugh. You're not helping," My mom says with an irritated voice.
"What? She gets it from you," My mother's eyes stare at him with an intimidating look she gives that can make any person crack, "Sorry, sweet pea," My Dad looks through the centre mirror at me, "Your mother's right, pumpkin. You'll get-"
I remember this moment. This is a memory. This is a car ride of my family going on vacation to see Niagra Falls.
I remember because I got into a fight with August -like always- over who gets to sit in the 'big kids seat' across from Violet in the van. I was young and naive.
I remember it so well because... it was the last time I heard my mother's voice before that truck hit us.
And then... it happened.
A gasp of air leaves my breath as a high-pitched noise rings in my ears from the sudden hit of my head, banging against the window, making a sharp pain go through my frontal and temples.
My vision goes black, and then another film starts.
"Dad!" My voice-aged voice yells uncontrolled throughout our old house, and I walk into the doors.
The red fireplace's wood is almost burnt out, meaning Dad hasn't been attending it for a while.
"I'm back. I finished the interview, and guess what?" I say with a joyful voice, and a smile appears on my face as I set down my purse and Dad's keys on the small table next to the door.
My dad doesn't reply. He's probably in the kitchen focused on his newest dish creation.
"It's starting to rain, so Charlotte and I might take the car later to go to the movies," I lie, knowing we're going drinking.
His eerie silence causes a worry feeling to squeeze my stomach.
"Dad?" I say unsettling, with a wobbly voice.
I step into the kitchen's doorway, my feet stepping into a puddle of liquid, stopping me in my tracks.
I look down at the splashing noise, seeing a red liquid. Did Dad spill beet juice again?
"Dad?" I walk around the corner to the kitchen, turning on the lights, "Did you spill-" My breath catches as the line shines on my father lying with no life in his eyes on the floor. The kitchen reflects in a puddle of blood that surrounds him and all around the room, making my heart drop into the pit of my stomach at the sight.
"No. No. No. No. Dad!" My voice goes high-pitched, breaking when I say the last word.
My numb legs drop to my knees, blood absorbing into my ripped blue jeans and onto my bare knees. All the energy flows out of my face and into my shallow pit, squeezing my stomach, causing nausea to build up while staring at the sight of my unalived father.
His black suit is stained with fresh and old blood, some still pouring out of him. A cut-up, half hanging on oven mitt lays on his hand with a tray of caramel brownies lying on the stove.
He was making something for me when he died.
I rub my hand through my hair, feeling a cold wetness on my face, from my hands.
I look at my hands, seeing them stained red.
"How?" I breathe out.
I look at the light switch, seeing the switch covered with blood.
Blood.
So much blood.
It's everywhere.
Blood covers the walls. Blood covers the light switch. Blood covers my father's suit, where he's been stabbed and sliced several times. Blood covers pots and pans that hand from the ceiling. Blood covered the black handles of the knives from the knife block on the counter, where one knife is missing. Blood covers the small dining table we used to eat at. Fresh blood. Old blood. Blood is everywhere... like he was trying to fight back against whoever did this to him.
Tears break free from my eyelid at that thought. My vision goes black from the swelling of tears in my eyes.
"Garbage," Mr. Winters's voice spitting into my ear is the only thing I hear before my vision starts to fade into a clear image.
Mr. Winters sits in front of me. His upper body is covered in the shadows from the light, revealing only his black dress pants.
A glass of amber liquid sits on a small glass table in front of him. His hand reaches into the light, the muscles of his hand flex as he takes the glass of liquid back into the shadows with him without his upper half ever showing in the light.
The cup clicks against the glass table as he sets it down. He leads back in his reserved chair, his hand lifting to rub the light stubble on his chin.
It's strange how our memories work. They detail everything we see. The funny part about it is I don't remember watching him taking a sip of whiskey in front of me.
He waves his hand towards me for permission. A wave of anxiety flows through me as I automatically take a breath of clean air to calm myself before I walk close to him.
His black mask -that I was warned not to touch or mention about it earlier before- takes shape in the shadows. The smooth dark grey texture covers his whole face, letting me see only a glimpse of the stubble on his chin and the hollow eyes pieces with his left piece having a crack next to it.
His coal black hair above the mask was once slicked back in a neat manner but now has a piece of hair dangling on the forehead of his mask and loosened as if his fingers once ran through them.
My eyes drift over Mr. Winters's, judging his business suit that's tight on his arms, begging to be set free, yet loose on his abdomen, to not attract too much attention to himself if he was in a meeting. Judging by his pain-in-the-ass attitude and dangerous sculpture, he's going to be one hell of a person to please.
Without controlling my mouth, it starts to open, "What kind of dance you want, Mr. Winters?" I get close to his ear, barely raising my voice to a whisper, "A strip?"
The delicious smell of spearmint and his fragrance cologne works its way up my nose, making my body feel all kinds of things as I brush my lips against his ear.
"Well, you should know, Mr. Winty," I say as I back up.
Quickly, I lift my leg, leaning my knee on the backrest of his chair beside him. I lean my body into him, ignoring the feeling of his muscled pecs on my breasts as my face moves close to his mask while looking into his smokey-blue eyes. His eyes slowly trail up my leg, to my body, and lock on my eyes.
"I charge extra for a strip, but for you... I'll make it a special package," I say with a breath. I kiss his mask where his cheek would be, making sure it left a lipstick stain.
My vision starts fading to black as I move my leg, feeling the touch of his fingertip against my leg as I back my body up.
"I can have you pinned to the bed within five minutes, but it sounds to me like you're scared. If you're too scared, you don't have to do it. I'm not forcing you to," My vision fades in, staring Mr. Winters dead into his smokey-blue eyes, feeling his hand gripped around my thighs and the other around my back, holding me as he stands in the middle of the VIP room.
An uncontrolled chuckle erupts from my throat, "Try me."
Mr. Winters continues to walk, his movement bouncing me against his body. Butterflies soar through my stomach as I think about his body pinning me into a bed.
Damn these butterflies. I haven't had butterflies in years.
My eyes drift past his shoulders to Charlotte, whose jaw is dropped to the floor and mouthing the words 'bitchhh' not a second after making eye contact with me.
She's probably either mad because I left her to the whole VIP floor alone to serve drinks, or going off with Mr. Winters. Either one could get an earful of her words.
The sudden pressure of VIP members's eyes staring starts setting in, making my heart beat fast.
I turn my attention back to where Mr. Winters is walking. What were booths lined together yesterday, now emerge three doors lined next to each other appearing out shadows.
He opens the door on the left, and as he carries me in, my vision starts fading as he sets me on the soft red bed.
"You know they were all staring at you," My voice says uncontrolled.
A deep chuckle rises in the room, "I could say they were all staring at you," My vision turns black as Mr. Winters's voice rings in my ear.
"Do you want to talk about it?" My voice asks to a whimpering noise of Charlotte in the pitch of blackness.
Mr. Winters's gorgeous smile slowly fades into my only view as my and other voices surround my head in flashing moments.
"So, Mr. Knight and Shining Armor show up again to save the day?"
"Don't you have any normal cars?"
"You shouldn't trust me so easily."
"She doesn't know about the infamous Mr. Winters."
"Evangeline! You didn't use a condom!"
"Why don't you ask Mr. Winters for Charlotte and you to take another week off since it is your birthday next week."
"Try it on," I turn around and move my hair. The cold pearls wrap around my neck as my sister hooks it on.
"You try to touch me again, and I'll do more than fuck up your nose!"
"Are you trying to tease me? Because you're not the only one who can tease."
"You're pregnant. With Mr. Winters's child. I told you not to mess with him. Now look at you. Pregnant with his child. Do you know how valuable that baby you're carrying is?"
"Get rid of it. I don't care how you do it, but do it."
"Hello, there. Welcome to Mr. Winters's industry. I'm Hunter Winters."
"Shit, now I see why he got you pregnant. If I saw that gorgeous ass, I'd get pregnant any day by him."
"Well, Mrs. Stone, do you want to be my girlfriend?"
"Damn, Mr. Winters is good with kids, and he's shirtless? Who would have known this day would come?"
"You can relax and stop mean-mugging the nurses now."
"There you go. Now you have pictures of us."
"I'll treasure it forever."
"No! Stay with me, Mr. Winters! I need you! I love you!"
"You- you hurt Eric."
"I hurt him because he hurt you."
"The party can start anytime we want, hun. Or, we can go to my place where I can eat your dessert and skip the party."
"You said you were sexually harassed by, Mr. Whicherton?"
"What if something did, Evangeline? What if something were to happen and I wasn't there?!"
"Because you're my boyfriend, so I claim you."
"Cole Winters. I want to introduce you to my dad."
"Evangeline London Stone... Will you do the honors and be officially my Mrs. Evangeline London Winters?"
The memories start flashing faster, and voices start coming louder as they fade by.
"I can't wake him up. He's too adorable when he's sleeping. Plus, I'm not scared of what he'll do. I trust him."
"Then why weren't you?! Why weren't you there, August?"
"Fucking leave him, Evangeline. If he can't be fucking enough of a man to be here when you need him, then leave."
"I told you to fucking ignore him, and now look, you're about to start a fight with him!"
"Is everything okay, Mrs?"
"Cole..." I whimper out.
"Mr. Winters is in the guest living room. Please, allow me to lead you there."
Mr. Winters's smile fades away to only pitch blackness in my vision.
Why should he feel sorrow for? He only said his true feelings...
"I FUCKING LOVE YOU, Cole Winters."
"I would TAKE A BULLET to the HEART... just to see your smile."
"I pray TO GOD, you never use another woman... like you've used me."
"All she will ever be is a stripper."
His words repeat in my head.
Just a stripper.
***
Seven minutes.
They say it takes seven minutes before you die, and in those minutes, you see the best moments of your life flash before your eyes. This was my seven minutes.
Mine... why was most of my best moment with Cole Winters?
We met as I was a stripper. We fucked, had memories together, and I fell in love. That was it. Nothing more.
I don't even know if he trusted me. Hell, I don't even know if he loved me. I loved him.
But he betrayed me.
I hate him.
I hate it so much it burns inside to the core.
I hate him so much I want to torture him, make him pay for what he's done to me. I want to kill him.
I'm getting my revenge, and it's going sweet as a bitch.