جميع فصول : الفصل -الفصل 20

PastAnnabelle's parents weren't hard to live with; she just had to follow the rules. It was a game of silent observation and precise execution, a fragile truce she’d brokered with a pair of people who seemed to exist in a world perpetually on fire.If Annabelle's father wanted a beer, she kept the Mini fridge stocked and cold. If he wanted cigarettes, she ensured there were at least two, and possibly three, packs in the cabinet. If not, he got cranky. And a cranky drunk was a live wire, dangerous and unpredictable. She had learned that the hard way; the memory of a sharp, stinging pain burned into her consciousness. She didn’t forget it. She never forgot it.Her mother was easier. Her routine was a slow, quiet descent. When she got high, Annabelle was placed a bottle of water, a bucket, and a few stale biscuits nearby. She would check her pulse, and let her ride it out. As long as Annabelle followed the rules, everything would be fine. She endured a rhythm, crafted for survival. She

Present The sharp scent of whiskey and old wood filled the dimly lit room, a scent that blended with the low hum of conversation. “What in the actual fuck?” I turned toward Jesse. He looked different: taller, stronger, glasses perched on his nose. A striking handsomeness radiated from him.“Well, she appeared magically. What do you think?” Sam drawled, casually perched on the edge of a desk.Jesse whipped around to face him, his shock turning visceral. “This is not a laughing matter. How the hell is she here?”Sam shrugged. “How would I know? I just saw her standing outside the bar.”“Then take her away.” The words hit me hard. I wanted to look at Patrick, but I couldn't move. My mind spun with a mix of hope and dread. What if he hated me? What if I'd already lost my chance?“I'm right here,” I muttered, exhaling into my hands.“We know,” they said in unison, their voices weaving together. The sound gave me the courage to say his name.“Patrick.” Silence stretched between us. The boy

Past ~ March 12, 2006Annabelle woke up the same way she always did, by checking to make sure her parents were still breathing. Her mother was curled up on the mattress, her skin pale, her eyes hollow with exhaustion. On the nightstand, a crinkled photograph showed her mother with bouncy brown hair and bright eyes. Annabelle's fingers hovered above the frame, then she gently wiped the dust from her mother's hand. A shadow of guilt pooled in Annabelle, but she swallowed it back. She wondered if her mother was dreaming of a life where Annabelle never existed.Her father was passed out on the couch, empty beer cans scattered around him. She didn’t bother waking him up.The trailer was falling apart. Still, Annabelle did her best to keep things together. The kitchen was small but tidy, and she left a note on the fridge for her mom. “Made lunch. Eat it. Don’t forget.”People said Annabelle looked like her mother, though there were differences. She had her mother's sharp cheekbones, but her

P​​resent“So, you have a son,” Sam said. His breath hung in the air between us, a pale cloud quickly swept away by the wind.“Yeah, I do,” I replied, glancing at Sam. My voice sounded strange to my own ears—proud, but guarded, as if saying the words out loud would make them more real than I could handle.We walked past the roller coaster by the lake, its colorful lights flashing in the early evening gloom. The amber bulbs blinked like restless heartbeats, echoing a flicker of hope mixed with old thrills and gathering uncertainty. The roller coaster had always seemed out of place here, a relic from a brief attempt to make the town a tourist destination, long abandoned by all but the bravest kids and the occasional drifter looking for a thrill.I nodded toward it. “When was that renovated?” I asked, genuinely curious. The structure looked both precarious and oddly beautiful, silhouetted against the fading sky.“They started it about a year ago,” Sam answered. Then he grinned, his mood

Past“What is it?” she whispered.He didn’t answer right away. His fingers flexed on the steering wheel before he let out a heavy breath. “Fuck,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. His gaze flickered to her lips, then back to her eyes, conflicted, tense.“I really want to kiss you,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “But—” For a second, she thought she’d imagined it. The words were so soft, so raw, they barely registered. Then he said them again, slower, as if forcing them out against his better judgment. “Anna… I really want to kiss you.”Her breath caught, sharp and painful. Her heart pounded so loudly she thought he must hear it.She turned fully toward him, the dim dashboard light casting shadows across his face. His eyes were dark and heavy-lidded, filled with longing, restraint, and something she couldn’t name.“But I can’t,” he murmured, voice breaking slightly. “Not when—” He stopped himself, shaking his head. “…Never mind.”She should have let it go, opene