People often say that, “Time will heal all things,” maybe, for a normal person. However, I was never normal. Time will never heal the scars that are etched plainly in everything I do. Every look, thought, action, word, my story is right there for all to see. But here it is once more, in writing this time. I don’t know why, maybe because I want to tell it myself, in my own words. In my own way.

I wake up unable to breath, gasping for air. Groaning with the effort, I peel back the thin sheets and lay my feet on cold, hardwood floor. I push off the bed to stand up, and walk a few steps over to my dresser and take the cool cloth placed in the basin.
The cool water inside the bowl is welcoming against my heated forehead. Afterwards, I start getting dressed. Some would be tired at this hour, but I’m used to it, and I doubt the circles under my eyes can get any darker. I slip on a blue skirt and shirt, put on a pair of white stockings underneath, and open my bedroom door.
It’s dead silent in the pitch-black hallway. Slowly, I stumble down the stairs on shaky legs and light the oil lamps in the kitchen. Mother is away in Wascana. So I stand at the outside door, debating whether to check on the horses or not. My mother and I live on a small farm, barely enough to sustain us. I never knew my father, so I did the farmwork. The town was aghast at the prospect of a woman working the land, but got used to it soon enough, I suppose. I step out into the snow with bare feet and though I’m only wearing a thin skirt, I don’t shiver. I close my eyes as the frigid Canadian wind drifts across my face and the sound of pine trees rustling in the forest trickles into my ears. I wish to stay outside but force myself the other way.
Walking back into the house, it’s only then when I hear hissing. What the hell is that? It started faint, in the back of my mind, nothing more than a slight annoyance. But didn’t take long to grow into a hissing that brings me to my knees. It drowns out the world, everything that exists, until the sound consumes me. Goes on forever, no longer just a hissing. I squeeze my eyes shut and dig my fingernails into my palm. The last thing I taste is blood before my vision turns black.

I wake up in darkness, The only thing to see by is a blood-red circle of light shining on the floor. It doesn’t look like it’s coming from anything either. I look around where I have landed. It appears to be a room, crumbling walls, and cracked floor, her specialty.
“Riley, where are you?” I ask into the shadows. There’s no reply, but she’s here. I know it. I feel her presence. The scar on my back is evidence.
“Riley! I’m scared.” I try to add desperation into my voice. She loves me scared and vulnerable.
“Hi Rebekah, you’re late.” A mocking voice laughs hysterically, echoing around the room. Fear creeps up into me.
“I’m sorry Riley, It won’t happen again.” I apologize, bowing my head.
“It better not” Riley’s voice was dangerously low.
I wince at the pathetic girl I become around her. “Tell me how to get home.” I demand softly. A moment later, a hand lashes out of the darkness and punches me in the jaw. I tumble to the ground and slowly get up again. Should have reworded that.
“That’s for being rude,” Riley scolded. I realized then, that red rimmed around her eyes. A shiver travels up my spine for the first time in 4 years. Since she gave me a scar running down the length of my back. She told me it “must happen to every host.” Being this close, the wound is ablaze. Like it always is when she is near.
“You see, this is why Bailey didn’t want you” I said my voice light. But threaded with pain. I’ve learned to deal with her over time, and even though she might be a psychopath, she appreciates humor.
“Turn around.” She demanded, her voice was harsh but guttural, saying the words like they were ripped from her throat. I’m surprised at how direct she is. She usually likes to play around first before getting to the point.
“Please Riley, whatever you’re doing, don’t hurt me.” I beg, mine is scratchy too. But most likely for a different reason. Suddenly, a hand touched my back, and the coldness from it leaked through my shirt. I gasped, my eyes flying open. It felt like fire was enveloping me in its flames. Then instantly turned to ice.
“I’m sorry. Rebekah.” I whirled around and stared at her. All that was left of the ugly disfigurement was a faint raised line. Even more shocking was her face. It was pale and her eyes looked empty. “Riley?”
She fell to the ground. “Riley!” I yell, Falling down next to her. Riley’s hand slowly shot towards mine and smiled. What is going on?! Is Riley, what, dying? She’s an evil and murderous demon. But sometimes, in those little breaks in her armor, she’s a big sister. Someone to guide me. I dreaded her. I loved her. She was my reason to live. She made me want to die. This can’t be it. Riley is hundreds of years old!
“Rebekah.” Riley murmured. One word. One single word that will follow me everywhere.
I was crying now, tears flowing down my cheeks. “What? What is it?” My voice is raspy. Silence. Her chest went still, and shattered sparkling glass dust, drifting away in the wind. I didn’t realize it at first, but when I did, I screamed. This time in terror. I was falling.
I’m sorry. She had said.