21. History

History tends to repeat itself. And often, it's not a beautiful story. Since changing the past doesn't guarantee a better future.

In the rainiest season of the year, spring, Tristan strode along the road. The cold droplets drenched his clothes, causing them to cling tightly to his skin. The sun set earlier than it should - nature had yet to make the day longer than night. 

The cold wind whipped his body, making him regret refusing the ride from Alec. Tristan hugged his torso, hands clinging tightly to the light fabric. His nearly transparent eyelashes quivered. Why was I so stubborn?

Tristan bit his lip as he approached the driveway to his house. The keys in his ice-cold hand clanked. He struggled to find the right key, but a wave of relief washed over him when the lock finally clicked. He nearly forgot about his father, who drowned his grief in cheap alcohol inside. 

He turned the door handle to find - nothing. The house was eerily silent, with no light to greet him. Why isn't-

Tristan reached for his phone, the harsh light from the screen making his eyes sting. As he opened it, notifications flooded the screen. However, one message in particular stood out, a message from Anne.

The message was simple - 'Come home.'

Tristan bit the inside of his cheek as he read the following message. 'It's bad.'

Tristan flicked on the lights and made his way inside. He passed a few empty bottles of liquor scattered on the floor. 

No one. Tristan couldn't find his sister anywhere. He could turn this building upside down and wouldn't find a single soul. The house seemed abandoned. A chill ran down his spine as he pushed aside thoughts of his father's whereabouts.

He ascended the stairs slowly. He should've come straight home as soon as he got the first message from his sister. A few drops dripped down from the strands of his short hair, running down his stiff face. 

Something isn't right.

He cautiously opened every door, moving from the left to the right side of the hallway. He hesitated as his palm rested on the door handle to his sister's room. What did he hope to find inside?

Shaking his head, Tristan turned the handle. As he entered the small room, he wished to stop any light from entering, to cut off any light from the street leaking through the lone window. He was late.

Anne sat on the floor, curled under the covers, body shivering uncontrollably, a few light bruises peeking from beneath the covers, visibly fresh. 

Tristan's lips parted, but he chose to stay silent. The sensation of the cold fabric against his skin quickly overcome by guilt.

Anne smiled weakly, "I guess I remind him of mother too much." An eerie expression flashed across Anne's face, hidden by the dimly lit room.

Tristan took a step closer. The tainted body of his sister was way too much to swallow. Only when he was closer did he notice that no clothes hid under the thick covers. 

It was supposed to be me, not Anne. She doesn't deserve this.

Tristan traced his ribcage, which shared a bruise similar to the ones polluting Anne's body. 

Anne tilted her head. She slowly stood up, holding the covers close to her skin, hiding the damage their father left on her. 

"It's ok," Anne whispered, trapping Tristan in a shaky embrace. Tristan's face soon stained a salty liquid, sliding down his cheeks. 

Unknown to Kristina, this was merely a repetition of the past. The past she unintentionally changed by her presence in Tristan's body. - The only past event she managed to change thus far. A past event that would be best left alone to play out as it should. 

Tristan failed to notice Anne's fierce gaze, a subtle shift in her voice, an unsaid rage bubbling to the surface. 

It was unavoidable.

What would change if Kristina knew this? If she knew that the price of a fleeting feeling of belonging, a short break from her charade, would result in-

Tristan's phone buzzed. A message from Alec reminded Kristina of another misstep in her path to hell.

Because Tristan, the true Tristan, managed to postpone this. He managed to break free from the shackles of his fate and move forward. - This was something at which Kristina failed miserably. 

Perhaps The Greater beings, who granted her a second chance at life, grew bored, tired of her struggle.