Page 13 of Fatally Yours

Not in the traditional sense with fire and brimstone, but hell, where it’s cold and lonely, and you’re left alone to ponder everything you never did in life.

Hell, where the love of your life came back from the dead only to murder you.

Hell, where your friends were falling apart and decided to bury your somehow still-conscious remains out of sheer desperation.

Unfeeling, relentless hell.

There were sloppy, heavy footsteps above me, making me want to cry out for them to help.

Once again, my voice betrayed me. Whoever it was, their shoes were scraping along the dirt right above my head.

Just another confirmation of where I was.

Help was just a breath away, and I could do nothing but lie here incapacitated and listen.

I could almost reach out and touch it had I not been fucking dead.

The feet were over the end of my grave now, and the dirt pressed into my body, confirming that there was indeed someone lurking about. They weren’t silent like an animal. No, their uneven steps were much too haphazard to be natural.

I wondered if it was one of my friends coming to dig me up and confess to their crime of concealing my corpse. I didn’t want them to go to prison, but this punishment was much too cruel for the benign life I lived. All would be forgiven if they just returned and pulled me out now.

There was a muttering voice above me. I couldn’t make out words, but I knew that tone. It had an intimate familiarity to it, and if I had veins that were working, rage would be coursing through them, and my chest would be pounding with anger.

It was August. There was no doubt in my mind that he returned for me. But why? Was this another way to cause me anguish because of the mediocre life I lived? Another way to smite me and strike me down for my sins? To laugh at my demise after I betrayed him?

This is hell.

His voice was cut off after a string of sentences, and I heard his jagged steps scuffing the top, kicking up dirt as he stumbled and laid himself atop my grave. The pressure increased above me, and I heard him sigh, singing a tune that he had written.

“ I’m gonna lie down drunk where she rests in the ground. She’ll return to me one day, but she won’t be the same. ” If my jaw could clench, it would. That explained the strange way he was walking. He was fucking drunk. He was dead, and he could get drunk. None of this made any sense.

No, he’s not dead. He’s back from the dead. Torturing me.

He returned, and he was powerful. Supernatural, haunting, frightening; no longer the person I once loved.

There was something different about him.

Death took him away from me. The ritual brought him back, but at what cost?

Just for me to suffer an eternity in the dirt. I wasn’t sure if it was worth it.

August patted the ground above me. “Wake up, baby. You can dig your way out now. Our friends and that dickhead buried you.”

I know. I fucking know they buried me.

I was starkly aware of the situation, but I had a feeling he knew that.

An uncomfortable prickling sensation crawled through my body, but I wasn’t sure if it was worms making me their lunch or if this was another case of ritualistic high strangeness.

My chest felt like it was unbound, and for whatever reason, I attempted to move my fingers—and it worked.

Something August did released me from the binds of stillness, and without another thought, I began to squirm in a pitiful attempt to unravel myself from this suffocating sheet.

Panic returned to me in a rush, and I felt my chest tighten, thinking about the dirt that I would smother myself with.

This was just another part of his retribution, wasn’t it?

Just as I regained the ability to move, I would choke on the soil surrounding me.

But there was no breath sucked into my lungs, nothing to indicate I was alive, except for the terror making my body quake.

Being buried—alive, dead, whatever state I was in—was single-handedly the most horrifying experience I ever had.

Somehow, through the sheer madness of the situation, I managed to slip my arm from the sheet and pull it down.

Dirt filled the space between it and my skin, and immediately, I began to claw my way through the material, hoping to see the glow of the moon for what would feel like the first time in my life.

I was on the cusp of freedom, and after exhausting myself, there it was: the moon hanging like an orb in the hazy darkness of the sky. Stars were twinkling, suspended beside its vast glory as I pressed my palms to the ground and pulled myself from the grave—my grave.

Once my legs were freed and I was finished taking in the magnificence of the night, I looked around and spotted August. The man who loved me.

The man who murdered me. He was grinning drunkenly, like he was innocent of any wrongdoing, and that I would be fine and dandy at our heartfelt second reunion.

I shot to my feet in an instant, not caring that only a few moments before, I was as frozen as a corpse.

Crumbs of dirt fell from my hair, and I could feel the grime coating my skin, but something much more apparent needed to be done.

August placed his palm against the stone and hoisted himself up shakily.

My fists curled as I thought about what I wanted to say to him, but the thoughts were racing through my head faster than I bled out beneath him.

Once he was on his feet, I felt a tear slip down my cheek. I was dead, but I was crying. It just didn’t make any sense. But he was dead, and he was drunk. None of this should be happening.

What the hell is going on here?

Before I could think about it, anger clouded my thoughts, and I lunged towards him, smacking him across his cold face and making him wince.

The crack of my palm against his cheek snapped through the air, ringing in my ears.

His hair swayed with my blows as I continued to pound my fists against his chest, feeling more tears stream down my face. It just wasn’t fair.

“You fucking killed me!” I screamed. “I can’t believe you fucking killed me, you bastard!” He raised his hands but refused to return my level of aggression. However, I was sure stabbing me until I twitched and oozed crimson all over our bed was much more cathartic than my petty attack.

“I—” More tears streamed down my face as I planted my palms against him again.

“I—” I wanted to say I hate you , but I couldn’t.

Not after some dark force returned him to me.

Not after I spent every fucking night after the moment he died mourning him.

Not after everything we had been through.

This was what I wanted, but not like this, never like this.

August grabbed my flailing hands, stopping my assault. My head fell between my shoulders, and I watched as tears fell to the dirt below, watering the place that had once been my grave.

“Stop it,” he slurred. “You’re fine, Tash.

You’re fine.” No, I was not fine . I was just forced to crawl out of the dirt by the man who caused me to be there.

The man I wanted to grow old and die with plunged a knife into my body until I ceased to breathe, and my blood was spilled over the bed we once shared in life. How could he insist I was fine?

His grasp on my wrists loosened as his head sank just for a moment, indicating his intoxicated state. I already knew it with how he carried himself, but I wanted to hear him say it—rub it in my face that he was having fun and I was in the midst of a crisis.

“Are you drunk?!” I snapped, tears still running down my face. “How are you fucking drunk? You’re dead.” His messy smile made me want to hit him again, but I stopped to swipe my hand across my face in an attempt to stop my endless sobs.

“How are you crying right now? You’re dead,” he countered. I sniffed and felt myself calm down ever so slightly. Even though I lacked a beating heart, I felt a strange sense of rationality wash over me.

“I… don’t know…”

“Right,” he said. “I don’t know, either. I don’t have all the answers, baby.”

He’s right. I am dead. And he did this to me.

That serene calm faded again as I took in the reality of the situation.

My bottom lip trembled as I buried my face in my hands, again erupting with emotion.

His shoulders slumped. For a moment, I hoped the guilt would eat him alive, just like all the skittering, crawling insects were going to do with me.

“There were so many things I wanted to do with my life, and you killed me…” I sobbed. August sighed sadly and gripped my wrists, stopping my hands from covering my face. Then he placed his palms on my cheeks and drew my tear-stained eyes to his.

“You’re not dead. You’re alive. More than alive.

” He leaned in and kissed me, making me tremble.

“I brought you back, and I will never leave you by yourself again.” His hands stroked my hair gently, all while I attempted rather poorly to pull myself together.

All I ever wanted was for him to be back with me again.

I got my wish, even if it was cruel and twisted, like a ghoulish version of a monkey’s paw.

This was what I wanted, so why did it hurt so much?

He pulled me to his chest as I blubbered.

Only then did I realize he was dressed like he would have been in life, without that tacky dress shirt his parents insisted he wear when he was in his coffin.

I sucked in a breath and brushed away another tear as he pressed his lips to the top of my head.

When my gaze caught my hand, I felt another wave of panic jolt through me.

It was pale white, almost like a ghost. Pulling away from him, I held it up to the moonlight, feeling terror flutter in my stomach. My veins were a bruise-like purple and looked like webbing under my tissue paper thin skin. Another round of hysterical tears slipped from my eyes.