Free The Resurrection of Aubrey Miller by L. B. Simmons Page A

the dime between my fingers and rise, extending my arm to hand it to Quinn. My somber features are replaced with a subtle grin as I drop it into her palm. “This one’s mine. You don’t get the monopoly on breakdowns around here.” A sheepish smile appears before she turns and places the dime in its rightful place next to the jar.
    Twisting back in my direction, she reaches for my arm and gives it a slight squeeze. “Thank you, Raven. I feel like I can breathe for the first time in a long time.” After she releases me, she steps back and jerks her chin toward the bathroom. “I’m going to take a quick shower before our next class.”
    I nod and watch as she walks away, and then sit on the edge of my bed to take in a much needed breath, suddenly exhausted.
    It’s been a rather emotional day for me.
    Just before the bathroom door shuts, it whips back open and Quinn’s head pops out from behind it. “And you are going to tell me the full, unedited version of what exactly happened with Sabrina after I left as soon as I step out of this shower!” She smiles widely, and once again begins to close the door, but not before jutting her hand out of the small crack she left open. “Oh! Can you get my brush? It’s somewhere around my desk I think!”
    “Sure,” I respond, pressing myself off the bed. My eyes rake over the surface of the desk, no brush in sight. I open her top drawer with no success, but upon flinging open the second drawer an envelope slides across the slick bottom before hitting the side wall, the impact spilling out the contents.
    An inaudible gasp passes through my throat at what is strewn out right in front of me. Tears once again prick my eyes as I stare open mouthed at a picture of a girl—her haunting, desolate expression glaring back at me. Quinn. A much younger version, and about one-hundred pounds heavier, but it’s definitely her. I’m transfixed on the picture, her vacant eyes nothing like the cheerful ones I’ve come to know. My fingers tremble as I reach into the drawer and slowly fan out the pile of photos so I can see what’s underneath. What I find chills me to the core.
    Every single one of the underlying pictures has been annihilated. In some, gaping holes replace where the eyes are supposed to be, leaving nothing but jagged edges in their place. In others, the face has been scratched beyond recognition—dull, angry white marks embedded deeply into the glossy finish. Words like pig, repulsive, heifer, disgusting and ugly are carved into the paper, her revulsion permanently engraved across her body. Muffin top catches my eye, and a jolt courses through my veins, Sabrina’s words so painfully fresh in my mind. I sift through a few more, horrified at the inscriptions of hatred and loathing in front of me.
    As I finally reach the bottom of the pile, a single tear releases from the corner of my eye, flowing freely down my face while I read the etching displayed on the last picture.
    I want to die.
    “Raven! Brush?” The bathroom door creaks open and I quickly shove everything back into the envelope before softly pressing the drawer closed. Just as I turn and take a small step, the tip of my shoe sends the brush sliding across the floor until it dead ends against Quinn’s bare foot. Her eyes flit quickly over the desk before landing on the brush in front of her as she slowly and deliberately bends her terrycloth covered body to retrieve it, before rising and meeting my gaze.
    “Found it,” I offer meekly, worried that if I say anything more my guilt will proclaim itself. Quinn’s eyes tighten for a brief moment, watching me with caution. “I see that. Find anything else?”
    “Nope,” I reply as though the words can’t get off my tongue fast enough.
    The seconds tick by until finally Quinn’s face begins to soften and she offers me a smile. “Okay. Well, I’m gonna take a quick one and then we can head to class.”
    I manage a small nod before she spins around and heads to