Zero to Eighty

Three years later - Tuesday, June 3rd, 2014

"Kenzie! I'll see you later okay?!"

My body jolted forward from the sudden hard stop, waking me up from the same nightmare I was so used to having. I couldn't even call it a nightmare anymore. Nightmares are random, and invade one's peaceful sleep with anarchy. This was a routine now, that if it played out in front of me, I'd swore it were reality.

"Ugh shit," I grumbled to myself, slipping my sunglasses off of my eyes and on top of my head. I wiped the small trail of saliva on my chin with the back of my hand. I was sitting in the back seat of a fancy SUV with brown leather interior. The driver Miguel, turned around in his seat,

"I'm sorry about that Miss Suarez. But you're home now!"

"You cool Miguel," waving my hand in front of him. "And please stop with the Miss Suarez bull. I'm no one important. You can just call me Kenzie."

"Very well Miss---" I cut off Miguel with an arched brow. He smiled, and started to bow his head like I was royalty. "Kenzie."

"Thanks Miguel," I nodded assuringly.

I unbuckled my seatbelt, and opened the car door. My eyes squinted shut from the bright Californian sun. I placed my sunglasses back where they belong, before jumping onto the curb. I stood at the edge of the perfectly landscaped lawn, in front of the black SUV that picked me up from the airport.

When I loaded my own suitcase into the car earlier, Miguel looked almost offended that I did his job for him. Oops. It's been a while since I've had anything done for me, and it's not changing anytime soon. The lavish Italian-inspired house I once called home loomed before me, mocking my presence with its pristine, crisp look--- like it's telling me that I don't belong here anymore.

Fuck you, house.

It was right though. I bit my bottom lip, playing with the cool, metal ring I grew accustomed to. It's been three years since I've been in Marlow Point, and I've forgotten how snooty and materialistic this place could be. My grandparents home in the vineyard up North was peaceful, and for the past three years, was the best place to think. And to drink… And boy, did I need something strong in my system.

"Miss Kenzie, are you ready to go inside?" Miguel asked. I shrugged. I took a deep breath in, smelling the salty oceanic air, the Pacific only a few yards away. I exhaled,

"As ready as I'll ever be."

I followed Miguel up the front steps. He offered to carry my suitcase up the stairs, and instead of denying the gesture, I let him. He seemed happy when I said yes. Ah, the simple pleasures in life-- they can all go to hell. Miguel unlocked the front door, and pushed it open. Immediately a wave of cool air hit me square in the face, only then did I notice how warm it was outside. I stepped into the familiar foyer, and I gazed at how huge this place was. I had forgotten.

At the center of the foyer in between where the two staircases met, was a round table with a vase and an intricate bouquet of flowers in the clear glass casing. But in front of that gaudy piece of decoration, was a simple wood frame. And in that frame was the last family photo taken. It wasn't from some professional at a fancy studio, it was a candid "selfie" shot that Regan took of all of us at the beach one day. Several memories of that day flooded my mind. It was one of my favorite weekends, taken a few weeks prior to the accident.

"Ah fuck!" I cried out, as I stumbled around. A pair of arms pulled me into a sudden death grip, a head of hair in my face, and the scent of strong perfume choking me. I coughed, and the arms let go.

It was my mom.

"Kenzie, I've missed you so much!" mom professed. Kenzie? Since when did she decide to call me that?

"I'm thrilled that you're finally home with us! Let me look at you," mom stepped back to take a good look at me.

I couldn't wait for her response. What she'd comment on, was beyond me. Would it be my lip ring? My makeup? My tattoos? My sudden likeness for cleavage? Her innocent little girl no longer existed, and I waited in anticipation at what judgmental slur would come out of her mouth. But it never did.

"You look beautiful my angel," she admitted. The fuck? "A little edgy from what I'm used to, but beautiful nonetheless."

"Uhmm, thanks," I said, an eyebrow raised in suspicion. "Where's everyone else?"

"Your father is working, and Ella is in the kitchen. She's been waiting for you," mom mentioned. She pointed with her head towards the direction of the kitchen. But before walking out the foyer, she turned back towards me and added,

"Oh, and happy birthday sweetheart."

Ugh. She remembered. I followed my mom into the large kitchen where the sunlight illuminated the entire area. It smelled strongly of cinnamon and apples, and I instantly knew what it was. Apple crisp. And it was sitting on the kitchen island, waiting to be engulfed. I took notice of the new chandelier that hung above it. I let out a small smile. I used to always bump my forehead on the old one.

"Dude! The floor is lava! Watch out Kenzie!" Regan yelled out, as he jumped on top of the kitchen counter.

"To the center island!" I shouted like I was ready for battle, my fist in the air. I leaped from one of the stools and onto the kitchen island. Not paying any attention to my surroundings, but the lava on the floor, I head-butted the iron chandelier. I winced in pain, grabbing my forehead.

"Oh fuck!" Regan gasped, and ran to my aid. He saw the red liquid seep through my fingers, and grimaced. "Kenzie, are you okay? You're bleeding!"

"I'm fine," I declared proudly, as blood rolled down my forehead. "But you're dead!"

"Huh?"

"Dude! You're in the lava!"

"You're a punk!" Regan and I bursted into laughter. "Your freaking head is on its period, and you're worried about fake lava?"

"And you're 19. Still pretending the floor is lava,"

"Touche young Suarez,"

I placed my fingers on my forehead, rubbing the smooth scar-- my battle wound as I called it, that I received from that fun day. A few stitches, and heaps of scar cream later, and it was as if the incident never happened. But the small dark bump near my hairline, was enough to keep reminding me that it did.

"Kenzie, my baby sister! I'm glad that you decided to come home for my wedding," Ella smiled, taking notice of my presence. She was still beautiful as ever-- maybe more, if that was even humanly possible. Ella was sitting on one of the stools with her laptop in front of her, and some kind of fruity cocktail beside it. I gave her a hug,

"Hey Ella."

"Wow, look at you! You're not my baby sis anymore. You've certainly grown up," Ella eyed me up and down with a smile. She used to always try to dress me up in trendy clothes, but while her efforts meant well, she was creating a mini-Ella, and I never failed to revert back to my simplistic clothing choices.

"Honey are you hungry? Please, sit down, and I'll fix you some food. I made your favorite: apple crisp," mom pulled out one of the kitchen stools and patted it. I shook my head,

"No, I'm okay."

I stood there staring at the women before me. Their smiles seemed genuine, but I knew they were walking on eggshells. Firstly, they called me Kenzie instead of my actual first name. They always refused to call me Kenzie because it was the nickname Regan gave me, and they believed that only calling me Kenzie would help promote a delinquent lifestyle. Secondly, instead of scoffing at my appearance, they've oddly accepted it. They always dismissed Regan's tattoos, the holes in his ears, and the scantily clad females that would shamefully walk out of the house in the early mornings.

My mom and Ella were scared, and I knew exactly why.

"I'm actually really tired. I'd like to take a nap if that's cool with everyone?" I suggested, and the eggshell walking happened again. Ella and mom both nodded their heads in approval.

"Oh yes, of course sweetheart. Your room is ready for you with clean sheets. There are towels if you want to shower, and Miguel should've taken your bags to your room," mom happily disclosed.

"Kay, thanks," I didn't know what else to say. I just wanted to get out of their perky bubble, and spend time to myself.

"Get some rest, sis. When dad gets home we'll go out to dinner for your birthday, okay?" Ella smiled.

"Sounds good," I nodded my head, turned on my heel, and out of the kitchen.

I sped up one of the beige-carpeted staircases, and into the upstairs catwalk where the two staircases met. To the right was a large loft with couches, a flat screen, family portraits, and ample decor. And to the left, were a few rooms including mine. As I trotted through the catwalk, I peered over the black-iron and wooden railing where the living room was below. Ella was now sitting on one of the couches sipping her cocktail and reading a magazine. The floor-length windows gave me a breathtaking view of our backyard. There was a private access to the beach, and a personal dock where my dad's boat was parked on the Marlow Point Peninsula.

In the hallway to my room, I passed by an all-too familiar door. This white, textured door with an arched top was closed, denying access to the room behind it. Regan's room. I swallowed, lingering in front of it for a moment. I placed my hand on the knob, contemplating whether or not I should open it. And if I did, what would I find? Part of me knew that it would just be an empty space, but the other part, I longed for Regan to be sitting inside, yelling at me to "knock on the damn door."

I turned it.

No backing out now, and I pushed open the door. The blinds were closed, but the sunlight still managed to stream into the room. Particles of dust danced in the beams of light that casted onto Regan's bed and the floor. His room was left exactly the way it was--- as if he was just out running errands and would come back later. Bed unmade, clothes on the floor, band posters covering the cream-colored walls, and hanging above the desk was a calendar stuck in the year 2011. A big red circle was marked on today's date three years ago, and written in the same red ink were the words "Kenzie's B-Bday."

I slammed the door shut. That was a stupid mistake on my part, and I promised myself to never enter his room again. The thought of Regan never returning home still stung, and I didn't think I could ever get over it. He was my best friend, my hero, and if I had the balls to do it, I'd sell my soul to bring my brother back from the dead.

Further down the hall was my room. The door was wide open, the wooden slats of the venetian blinds were agape, and the pale yellow curtains were draped to the side. My room was in the same girly shape as it was when I left. Pale yellows, whites, and light grays were the main color components in my room, and the happiness just didn't resonate with me.

Sitting on the off-white night stand next to my queen-sized bed, was a framed polaroid of Regan and I. This was new because I had never seen it before, nor did I remember taking it. It was a candid photograph taken at my sixteenth birthday celebration at The Warehouse. Whoever took the photo probably sent it to my parents, and my mom most likely framed the polaroid to keep me happy. It did the opposite, though. I took the photo and shoved it inside the drawer of the night stand.

I shouldn't have came back.

Notes

Hey Guys!

Here's the first chapter of this story, and I hope you all enjoyed it! There's always room for improvement, so please do give me constructive criticism if you have any--- in a sense of story/character/writing style. If there are spelling / grammatical errors, oopsies! Sorry. I promise I won't take it personally, and I most definitely will not dislike you, if you have any criticism. If you're like this story so far, please vote up, subscribe, leave feedback, and tell your friends about it. Have a great week! :)

Thanks,

-Erica Jaine <3