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Can I dream for a few months more?

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It’s loud in the gym. Lizzie doesn’t like it like she used to. Music blaring, and generic high school dance in full swing.


Well, it’s just about as generic as a high school that houses witches werewolves and vampires can get. 


Truth or dare. With the “Honesty Orb” as MG called it one time. It rings blue, what's said is true. It rings red, honesty is dead, simple as that. 


MG, Hope, Alyssa, Josie, Landon, Jed and Kaleb all sit in a circle, laughing, drinking, smiling. 


Lizzie can’t help the sick feeling in her stomach when Josie and Hope hold hands, or look at each other like they can’t wait to spend eternity together.


Maybe Lizzie’s thinking about it.


Maybe Lizzie knows that she’s only got four more years to be a kid.


Maybe Lizzie takes a shot.


Maybe Lizzie hopes for the best.


Maybe Lizzie tries to be normal .


------  --------  ------


Somehow, the twins end up fighting.


Hands, holding tight onto wrists, dragging them out into the hallway until the beat of the party is faint, and barely alive is all Lizzie can feel.


“Why didn't you tell me, Jos-?”


“I don't have to tell you anything! It’s my life and you need to stay out of it for once!”


“I'm your sister I deserve to know if someone is making you happy, especially if it’s-“


“You’re just upset because you ruin everything! You’re just upset because someone finally, finally didn't choose you over me, and that you won’t live long enough to see anyone love you!”


The ball she took from the party shines blue in Lizzies hand, and her head turns down to the right to see the truth make itself known. After all this time.


They catch their breaths.


Lizzie’s face scrunches in a way like the words haven't registered in her brain yet. Her hands are shaking with the threat of dropping the magical glass sphere in her possession.


“Lizzie I-“


“I have to go to the bathroom.”


She sticks her hand out with such a suddenness, stiff, but still shaking with the ball in it for Josie to take. Lizzie follows the action of Josie's hand, the one that's not still in Hopes, as she takes the ball back. Her hand brushes against Lizzies when she pulls away. 


Lizzie turns around. The bathroom is just a few steps behind Josie, but she doesn't know if she can bear looking at her and Hope for any longer. She takes the long way to the bathroom in the east wing, where Josie and Hope won’t find her.


------  --------  ------


“I hate you.”


She's looking in the mirror when she says it. The light the janitors have not yet repaired, in all its fluorescent glory, is buzzing with the quiet request to be stuck back into the ceiling instead of hanging by a couple of blue, red, and black wires. 


She says it again. Louder this time.


“I hate you.”


She says it again, and her voice rings through the stalls. Something about saying it out loud sounds so very desperate, sounds so much like hoping for the unrealistic fantasy of someone swooping in to tell her that it's going to be okay.


“I hate you.” 


She really does think, that utterly and truly, if she were still holding that stupid ball of truth, it would shine as blue as the sky on a crisp Saturday morning.


“I hate you.”


She's raising her voice like it will change something. The memories of having an episode on that fateful spring break. The memories of sitting in the doctor's office filling out symptom forms. The tears that ran down her mother's face when the doctor finally gave her the diagnosis. The memories of all the times she kept Josie from flourishing into the person she was meant to be. The memories of making hopes life miserable when she thought she deserved it. 


In the end it really was all her fault.


“I hate you!” 


And she really did.


“I hate you!” 


She's screaming, filled with pent up rage and self loathing.


“I hate you!”


“I hate you!”


“I hate you!”


The sound was blood curdling, as she lifted up her fist.


“I hate you!”


And the mirror shattered as her fist came into contact with where her face used to be.


“I hate you!”


A million more of Lizzies face newly displayed in front of her with the second punch. It wasn't going according to plan, she wasn't supposed to see herself anymore, she didn’t want to see herself anymore.


“I hate you!”


She punched and she punched away at the mirror, hoping to beat the reflection out of it. Hoping to beat away her anger and her hopelessness. Her hand was bleeding at this point, shards of glass lodged into her knuckles. 


Punching, punching, punching.


Burning, burning, burning.


“I hate you!” 


She chokes out this one, tears are rolling down her face, her knuckles are screaming for relief, but she can't stop. She can't look at herself anymore, she can't look at what she's become.


“I hate you!”


The mirror has turned bloody with the pain of lizzies past, present, and future. It wasn't supposed to turn out like this. She was supposed to be normal, she was supposed to be okay. She was supposed to live to see the love of a family. 


“I hate you!”


But she won’t. Her sister will kill her on her 22nd birthday; she’ll be gone. Her sister will take her life away from her, and she’ll watch from wherever she goes as the flowers on her grave wilt. She’ll watch, and she’ll wait for someone to replace them. 


She’ll watch, and she’ll wait forever. 


She thinks that maybe it was always meant to be this way,


because in the end, after everything, she’ll always be alone .


“I hate you!”


She cant punch anymore. She broke her hand in at least a few places. She beat the mirror, battered, bruised, and bloody. The blood has splattered onto the sinks that sit at their lowest just below her hips. It’s settled near where her good hand rests, and a little on the wall to her right where the sink is settled into. 


“I hate you.”


She sighs. She only just realizes now how tired she is, the weight of not being able to sleep alone catching up rapidly with her exertion. 


“Why did you turn out like this? Why couldn’t you just be normal?”


It's pathetic, really. She sounds completely and utterly pathetic.


Broken, too. 


She hisses when the cold water runs over her hand. At this point, the glass shards are so tiny Lizzie doesn't know if touching her hand to get them off will help or do the opposite.


She leaves the bathroom, hand dripping blood and water, leaving a trail as she walks to the infirmary.

Deep breaths, Lizzie

It’s quiet in the halls, besides from the slow and steady clicks of her shoes, and the faint bass of the music in the gym from the ongoing dance. 


She makes it to the infirmary unseen, doesn't say a word when the nurse rushes over to help.


Fussing over her hand, the nurse uses magic to remove all of the tiny glass shards that she can't see. She continues by gently wiping away the blood and disinfecting the wound, apologizing when lizzies face holds a grimace. 


She wraps her knuckles in gauze and finishes it with a firmer, tighter wrap that goes from Lizzie’s knuckles all the way up her wrist. It’s bland and beige. Lizzie wonders if anyone will sign it and huffs. The nurse tells her not to move her hand, and to come in every day at lunch for a check up. 

Lizzie whispers without looking back before she leaves. 


“Please don't tell my dad.”


The nurse looks at her with sympathy before assuring her that it will be their little secret.


Tired out of her mind now, she knows that Josie won't be in their room, hasn't been in months, and makes her way there, using her left hand to open the door.


She sighs and attempts to undress out of her blouse and Jeans and into loose clothes to sleep in with one hand.


She flops down onto her bed and for the first time in a while, Lizzie falls asleep on her own.