Ian Cros

Maybe I could have done more, had been there by her side the entire time, had tried CPR when she lay in the streets limp. In my arms, peaceful while her heart didn't beat. Isabella's blood will haunt my dreams until my time had come.

The world was heavy on my shoulders, burying me in the cold ground of blame, about to break down while my mind chattered the memories of Isabella's face. My body's such a mess, shaking back the tears.

A clump swelled in my throat while holding back the cries. The unintentional shake of my hands while I tapped my sides.

My breath trembling with a sharp wheeze as I closed my eyes and cupped my palms on my ears. Nobody to talk to. Nobody to notice my distress.

I will be alone, frozen in the dark forever.

"Dude, out of the way," a deep voice shoved from behind me.

I glanced over my hooded eyes as a jock with an EWU football jersey glared my way before strolling down the hallway.

A girl with blonde hair shuffled around him, beaming at me. She smiled from ear to ear with a skip in her step. When I returned from New York City, the campus appeared vacant, but I soon realized that the emptiness was not the college but me seeing tunnels of darkness in the halls. I walked down the busy corridors alone. My footsteps boomed like drums while the rest scurried by in a hurry.

"Ian." The blonde girl grabbed my wrist. "I've been calling for you for a while, silly."

"Oh." A barely audible sound escaped my lips.

"When did you get back?" Her high-pitched volume screeched down my spine like a cat clawing at a scratching post.

I walked with her beside me, not responding to the conversation she hoped to have. To have any communication with me would be like breaking down a brick wall with a feather duster.

"I saw Timothy run into you," the girl said before popping her gum and looping her arm in mine. "He may be the hotshot on the field, but you are the hotshot on the entire campus."

I peeked at her with annoyance, realizing I'd been pacing this hallway for about two hours now, meaning I had missed one of my lectures. The girl noticed me looking and smiled while playing with her ponytail. Her thick, scrunchy had a cheetah print on it while the massive fluffy yellow coat covered down past her skinny ass.

She snapped her gum again while I flinched away from her. The yellow reminded me of Isabella and her lifeless body, bleeding pools of blood onto her sunshine coat.

Had I been there the entire time, knowing now that my father's hit would not run me over with her? Maybe I could have done more, maybe CPR could have made a difference as she lay limp on the streets. Serene in my embrace, her heart remained still. Isabella's blood will be a haunting presence in my dreams until the end.

Maybe I could have done more.

I could have done more.

More.

"Ian?" The girl's voice stung my ear.

"Yeah?" I replied, stopping to lean against the wall while she played with her fingers.

"So, is that a yes?"

CPR could have brought her back.

"Sure," I replied, trying to figure out what she may have asked.

"Yay!" Her pitch reached the cats in a back alley. "You are the best."

A group of girls with cameras around their necks popped out of a classroom, snapping a photo of the hallway. One glanced at us, waving toward the blonde girl beside me.

"Emily!" she yelled, removing her camera from around her neck. "Look at this picture I took."

Emily, okay, the blonde girl identified as Emily. I gripped my phone in my pocket, pulling it out. As I clicked into the text messages, the name Emily popped up with unread notifications, the same girl who had been blasting my phone for the entire winter break.

Check.

"Ian, I will see you later," Emily said, while getting on her toes and cupping my cheeks. Her lips quickly touched mine before she pulled away and ran after her friend.

"Okay?" I could feel my face twist in questions.

My phone vibrated in my hand, seeing my mother's name pop up on the screen when I flipped it open. Shaking hands had me timid to answer. She knew. She must have known. Right?

The vehicle jumping the curb and running over Isabella was not an accident. They never caught the person who drove off after killing her. But I didn't need Paul to tell me who had called the mystery murderer to take an amazing young girl from this earth.

My father.

Robert Cros.

It had to be him who was behind this. The man who had beaten me black and blue since I could speak. A man who treated me like a business transaction. The man who made me watch a bat smash a person into mush.

Robert killed people, innocent kids who lived blissfully.

I strolled to the wood doors, opening them slowly into the winter breeze. The cold air masked my face, numbing my skin like my soul. The crowd of students shuffled on the frost, zooming by with their heads down. A squirrel ran across my path and climbed the empty tree before circling to the top.

The library steps were closed for the season. I paused before the sign and shuffled my feet on the brick. With a huff, I spun and melted my way to the concrete seats. My palms rested on my cheeks as I leaned over, watching a tear drip to the frost beside my shoes. Another drop escaped, painting a pattern on the ground.

Sucking in a sniffle, I brushed my fingers through my hair, hearing the mumbles of students crowding the area before the library. Their voices, cheering for the weekend, and being able to party over the days.

A light nudge tapped my shoulder, and I glanced up with puffy eyes. The girl with dark hair and a baggy shirt held out a pamphlet. Her other hand held a cigarette while she sucked in a breath of smoke before I snagged the paper from her fingers.

"Its a cool band. One of a kind," she said as the breeze blew her hair over her face and a cheap body spray into my senses.

She let the smoke slowly out the side of her mouth, waiting for me to respond, but I raised a brow, looking at the white paper with information. The girl sat beside me, crossing her legs while slightly leaning back to look at the sky. Her dark makeup around her eyes was thick with deep red lipstick. She smoked her cigarette again, blowing the smoke away from me, and left the residue of her lipstick on the butt.

"It's not until next weekend," she said, tapping the limp paper in my hand.

I held up the flyer with a smirk of annoyance. "Yep," I replied, tucking it under my leg to not fly away and pulling out my red beanie from my back pocket. I shifted my hat tight around my ears, sniffling the chilly air.

"Okay, I hope to see you there, Ian," she said, standing up and walking away.

I watched her black ripped pants down to her fake leather combat boots. She knew my name and who I was, typical, but I didn't know her. Her gothic looks sparked my interest as I kept my eyes on her when she paused at a couple of girls, talking with the flyer facing them.

Shifting, I pulled the paper out of my pocket and looked at the silhouette of the band members with the date and location. The laughing of the girls had me glancing at the scene chick again. She pulled her dark hair into a ponytail before walking to a group of men playing with a basketball.

They took the flyer from her and ran off quickly to the gym. The students shuffled to their classrooms, leaving me alone in the center of campus. I exhaled in the brisk air with my breath floating before my face. The puff of cloud drifted slowly, swirling when a snowflake broke the chill. Another flake sailed with the light breeze and landed on my cheek. The quiet bathed me with regret.

Isabella died too young, murdered in the streets, cutting her life short when she had so much sunshine to teach. She walked into her death sentence for being friends with me. My family had decided I would live a lonely life, killing ones getting too close.

Her warmth still heated my memories as I held her in the street, blood coloring the concrete with maroon.

I regret not doing enough, not being there for her every step of the way, and not trying CPR when she was motionless on the street. Holding her in my arms, her heart was silent and peaceful. Isabella's blood will haunt me in my dreams until the end.

I should have done more, should have tried CPR, should have said bye before it meant forever.

It was time to become the arrogant prick everyone wanted me to be. Time to not let anyone close.

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