What have I done?

Mia POV

The sound of sirens filled the air as the ambulance screeched to a halt. Paramedics rushed out, their faces grim as they assessed the scene. I could barely make sense of what was happening, my body trembling with shock and disbelief. I was still in a daze, unable to fully comprehend the situation. My mind kept replaying the moment of the crash, the spinning car, the sudden impact. And then, Emma.

The paramedics moved quickly, checking on me first, making sure I was alive, but all I could think about was Emma. She wasn't moving. She wasn’t breathing. I couldn’t grasp that she was gone.

When they finally pulled me from the wreckage, I looked around desperately, hoping, praying that somehow she’d be okay. But the truth was clear—the paramedics weren’t focused on Emma. They were focused on me.

My heart pounded as I was placed onto a stretcher, the flashing lights of the ambulance illuminating the dark night. I didn’t want to go to the hospital. I didn’t want to leave Emma behind.

And then, before I could protest, I saw her. My mom was there, rushing toward me, her face twisted in concern. But as soon as her eyes locked onto me, her expression shifted. She saw the wreckage. She saw the blood on my clothes. And she saw that Emma wasn’t with me.

She froze. For a moment, it felt like time stopped. The words she was about to speak were trapped in her throat.

“Where’s Emma?” she finally choked out, her voice cracking with anguish. “Where’s my daughter?!” She screamed, her voice a mix of terror and disbelief.

Before I could answer, before I could say a word, her face twisted in fury and sorrow, and in a swift, heart-wrenching moment, she slapped me hard across the face.

It was like being struck by lightning, a shock so sudden and painful that it left me reeling. My head snapped to the side, and I gasped, feeling the sting on my skin and the rawness in my chest. But it wasn’t the slap that hurt the most. It was the words that came next.

“It’s your fault!” My mom screamed, her voice full of anger and grief. “You killed her! You killed your sister! You took her away from me!”

Her words cut deep, and the guilt that had already been eating me alive flared up like a firestorm. I couldn’t defend myself, couldn’t explain. Because in that moment, part of me believed it too. I had driven us to that point. I had been reckless. I was the reason Emma was dead.

The pain was suffocating. And then, just as quickly as the anger had come, my mom collapsed into my arms, her body going limp.

“Mom!” I cried out, panic flooding my veins.

“Get help!” someone shouted as the paramedics rushed over.

But it was too late. My mom’s eyes fluttered, and before I could hold her, before I could make sense of anything, she fainted in my arms, and they quickly rushed her to the hospital.

As I was placed into the ambulance, my body was trembling from shock, guilt, and terror. But all I could think about was Emma. I had killed her. I had been the reason she was gone.

When I closed my eyes, all I could see was her face. And I didn’t know how I could live with myself after everything that had happened.

In a daze, I stumbled out of the ambulance, my feet moving on their own, dragging me through the quiet streets. My mind couldn’t process what had just happened, and yet, the reality of it was all too clear. I had lost Emma. I had killed her.

Three hours of walking through numbness, the cold night air cutting through me like a blade, I finally reached home. The house felt like a foreign place now, empty and suffocating. I walked in and immediately found myself in front of the mirror, not knowing what I was expecting to see. But when my eyes met my reflection, it was like I was looking at a stranger. I was covered in my sister’s blood—her blood that had once been warm and full of life, now dried and cold on my clothes, my hands, my face.

Pieces of the crash, the screaming, the desperation, came rushing back. I felt my stomach churn, and before I could stop it, I ran to the bathroom. I collapsed onto the floor, my body trembling violently. The bile rose in my throat, and I couldn’t stop myself from vomiting. The taste of guilt and fear flooded my mouth as I gagged, choking on the reality of what had just happened.

I scrambled to my feet, my heart racing, my vision spinning. I could still feel her blood on my hands. It was like it was everywhere, sinking into my skin. I couldn't breathe, couldn't think straight.

Frantically, I rushed to the sink, my hands shaking uncontrollably. I turned on the water, cold and harsh, and began scrubbing. Aggressively, desperately. But no matter how much I rubbed, no matter how hard I scrubbed, the blood wouldn’t come off. It was there. It was a part of me now, and it wouldn’t let go.

“Why?” I whispered to myself, but there was no answer. Just the sound of the water running and the echo of my sobs in the bathroom, the weight of the world crashing down on me.

I was lost. I didn’t know how to keep going. All I could think about was how I had failed—how I had failed her.

I stumbled my way up the stairs, each step feeling heavier than the last. My legs felt like lead, my mind numb with the weight of what I had just done. I reached the top, and without even thinking, I walked straight to Emma’s room.

The door creaked as I pushed it open, and I felt a sudden wave of emotion hit me. The room was exactly as it had been before—everything in its place, from the posters on the walls to the scattered clothes on the floor. It felt wrong to be here without her.

I shut the door behind me, not caring that the silence was deafening. The familiar scent of her perfume lingered in the air, and I couldn’t hold it together anymore. I collapsed onto her bed, the soft fabric of the sheets against my tear-streaked face.

I reached for her panda blanket, the one she always had draped over her bed, and pulled it tightly around me. The warmth of it seemed to envelop me, but it couldn’t erase the pain that was clawing at my chest. My sobs came in violent waves, my body shaking uncontrollably as I curled up into a tight ball, hiding from the world I had just destroyed.

I cried for what felt like hours, the guilt and despair flooding every inch of my being. I cried for Emma, for what I had lost, and for the sister I could never get back.

Somewhere in the midst of my tears, exhaustion overcame me, and I fell into an uneasy, restless sleep, still curled up under her blanket. I could still feel her presence in the room, but it wasn’t enough to bring me comfort. I didn’t know how to keep going. All I could do was cry and hope that somehow, somewhere, Emma would forgive me.

I woke up in the middle of the night feeling thirsty, but instead of finding myself on the bed, I was lying on the floor. I didn’t think much of it, went downstairs, grabbed a glass of water, and headed back to the bedroom. The moment I opened the door, I froze, startled by a figure standing in the shadows by the bed.

The figure was shrouded in darkness, its hair falling over its face, covering most of it, leaving only one eye exposed. The single eye gleamed with an unnatural glow, staring at me with an intensity that made my blood run cold. My breath caught in my throat as I noticed that in the center of the figure’s chest, A twisted, gnarled tree branch seemed to pierce through the figure’s body, the jagged wood protruding from its chest and back. The roots of the tree snaked out from the wound, as though the figure had been impaled by the very tree itself, becoming part of its dark, unnatural form. The sight was so disturbing, so grim, that I couldn’t bear to look at it for more than a second.

"Sister, why?" it whispered, its voice cold and unnerving, creeping toward me.

“E-Emma?” I stuttered, my voice barely a whisper as I dropped the glass, which shattered on the floor.

“Why did you leave me?” she asked, her voice growing more desperate as she moved closer, her presence filling the room with a suffocating weight.

“I’m so sorry, Emma. I... I really tried,” I murmured, feeling the fear tightening in my chest.

“Why didn’t you, Mia?” she screamed, the words becoming louder and more insistent, each one like a dagger stabbing into my heart.

“I’m so sorry... I truly am sorry, please forgive me!” I shouted, collapsing to my knees, my hands desperately covering my ears, the guilt and sorrow overwhelming me.

I jolted awake with a gasp, my chest heaving as I realized it was just a nightmare.

But the air around me was still thick, and the unsettling feeling didn’t fade. I glanced around, but the shadows in my room felt different, like they were watching me.

My heart raced as I tried to shake off the images of that figure, but the haunting image of the tree branch growing from its chest lingered, so vivid in my mind. I had to know what was happening, why Emma’s spirit still tormented me with her grief.