Selfish Travels.

March 19th, 2004.
7:14am.


I found myself once again holding her in my arms, a hand holding her hair and another on her shoulders, holding her shoulder so tight it just may break. Why would that matter? Blood drooling from her nose, and her eyes only half open. I pulled my hand back, and found a chunk of her hair in it. I failed again, the twenty sixth day. Maybe the twenty seventh will bring me better luck. Fuck you, Phoebe.


PRESENT DAY.
February 21st, 2004.


I woke up from my ‘dream’, drenched in sweat. Why does this keep happening? I’ve been given chances to reverse time, tosave her life.And yet I fuck it up. Every. Time.
“Benji! Get up!" Momma slammed the door open, wasting no time to grab me by the shoulder and drag me halfway off the bed. It'd already been twenty minutes past when I was supposed to be up; not that it was a school day, but the funeral day. She already had my suit laid out, and didn't seem too pleased that it wasn't put on somebody yet.
"I get it's a hard day, but dear lord we are gonna be late at this rate! Get up, before I fully drag you outta' this bed!"
Sitting up with a groan, she'd already walked out and slammed the door. It was 8:25 in the morning, and I was less than pleased to be up; especially for the sort of occasion. I could miss the funeral.. try to save her. I could try to save her one last time, before a closed casket.

"Benjamin!" I hear my mother call one last time. I look between my desk, the triangular pocket watch granting this time travel, or the suit. I can either choose to save her, or accept fate. Only problem is, I tend to struggle with grasping reality. Lunging for the pocket watch, I hold it. I hold it near to my heart, handling it so desperately that my knuckles are white. It feels pathetic. I feel pathetic. Instead of darkness when I shut my eyes, it’s a flash of white. Every time I think it holds a meaning to the possibility of life for her. Knowing so, I made sure to put my suit on before letting time take me away.


March 19th, 2004.
6:59am.


Fifteen minutes on the dot, fifteen minutes to find her alive. I throw on some quick clothes, and don’t bother with a backpack.
Thirteen minutes left. I can hear my mother calling my name when the door swings open, but looking back and stalling only makes things worse. I run past it what our old stop used to be, where we'd visit. Where we would sit and just talk. I run faster than I can, I push my limits. But if I don’t, I’ll never have someone to push these limits for again. ' Welcome! -The Kia's. ' a sign outside their estate read. I already knew the door was locked, and climbing the tree would take too long. Those were mistakes I made from my past attempts. The best bet was climbing through an unlocked first floor window, but only four minutes remained and all the windows looked the same, only one or two were unlocked due to Phoebe's parents being quite forgetful.

I ran around to every other window, knowing it would save me time only if I happened to stumble across the right one. And I was praying I did. I couldn't stand the thought of her just being gone, I mean.. I know she is, but she didn't have to be. I could change it. I can't accept it. She has a whole life, and she will live it. My eyes widened as I realized one of the window's actually lifted up, must to my shock. I wasted no time, diving through head first. Her parents weren't here, both at work but I knew that. And so did Phoebe. Bolting up to her room, I felt my legs burning in anticipation, I didn't even know the time count at this point, but how could I care? It was her life.

Seeing her door cracked, I swung it open. I saw her, head through a rope and standing on a chair. Without second thought I ran, grabbing her legs to pull her down; I hadn't realized the way it was tied around her neck, indicated any movement would break it. I only realized when I heard the snap.

"..Phoebe." I didn't move, I didn't breathe after that. I stood there, a solid minute till I slowly lowered her body down and pulled her against me, seeing bruising outline, her body limp and her pulse nonexistent. I watched as blood drooled down from her mouth to chin, and this time, it was me who did it. Not her.


PRESENT DAY.
February 21st, 2004.

I sit in a pew, second row right behind her family. The casket is closed, as nobody wanted to see the disgusting appearance of her paler skin and bruising neck. I don't think any of us could actually handle it.

I know to accept now what I should've accepted months ago. Realizing that all I've done is repeat her pain day by day, and night by night. Why should she of lived through that? She wanted to leave, for a reason nonetheless. Selfishness. Not by her, but by me. She requested to leave and I denied it, only making her live through it longer till eventually I did it for her. And I can't tell if it was a wakeup call, or just a reality check. A damn good one.