First Person Section:
☞ One: Lock
Today is one of those days where the rain pounds mercilessly down upon me.
The roses she had always tended to in her front yard, behind the large oak tree, have long wilted; died so many years ago just as I have. Long before she grew to be the woman I barely know today, she brought sunshine in large doses and laughs in maximum volume. When she first bought me she assured me that I would be the most important thing in her life, which I truly was back then. We shared secrets, well...I mostly kept them safe; pictures, tiny trinkets, old letters and bracelets...To this day, I am still not sure if she’s just forgotten where she put me or the time has come where she no longer wants me. Both of the options hurt to be honest.
I still make sure no one is able to take what had been precious to her all those years ago, though. She trusted me to keep her secrets, and so I would until the components I am made of falter with the pace of mother nature’s rapture. I guard it with the same determination as I had the first day, when her fingers caressed me--gently going over my surface and always placing a kiss against my soul before she locked the chest and tucked it behind the rose bushes once again. I can already feel the rust clinging to me, trying to destroy my will, but I won’t falter and fall. I haven’t reached my limit yet, my task isn’t done until she tells me it is okay to leave this chest unguarded to the eyes that like to prey. But...did it really matter anymore?
There’s a rustle in the bushes, one that makes me think of excitement. Years I’ve lain untouched. When exactly was the last time she pulled out the key that unlocked me? Or shared the longing the things she hid held, and the happy smiles? But the hope of seeing her, hearing her thank me for keeping her things safe for so long, is nothing but that: hope. It’s a cat that rushes by the little chest hidden just the slightest bit by the dirt covering its surface.
Today is just one of the days where I treasure the moments when I was important.
☞ Two: Paper Cut
“I can’t believe you would sign this!” I shouted. The desperation that had clung to my heart for the last few months was still very strong, and to see him sit in our living room and casually get out a pen to sign the papers cut deeper than I had imagined. What was I thinking to begin with? I could not even explain that to myself right then, and probably would never be able to. “Why would you? I mean...how can you go about this like it is nothing?” I asked more out of hurt than curiosity. Because, to be honest, I actually didn’t want to hear the answer.
I dedicated my life to this man. I dropped out of school to follow him around the world because he asked me to stand by his side. I turned my back on my family because they said he was a good for nothing and that I should decide to be either with him or them. I left behind everything I knew and blindly followed the path he chose because he said he could do it.
It all resulted in a fortune that much was true. But how long ago had he withdrawn from me? When did he become so consumed with the idea of having to prove the world wrong? I couldn’t place a date on it, but it had been years--too many years for my heart to continue that path. Was my family right...? Could he really not give me what I wanted? What I deserved?
“Do I mean absolutely nothing to you? Do you know how much I sacrificed because you said to just follow you and it would be fine? We are not fine! This is not fine...do you even love me, still?” It was the very question that had been pounding in the back of my head during the nights he spent obsessively going over plans. I had never voiced it because I feared it would tear apart what little held us together. “Look at me...will you?” And he did. Those brown eyes I had always trusted stared into my own.
Had I really lost the man that could ignite the world with just one look?
His face was hard, a mask I had never seen him put up before. He had always been honest about the way he felt. Snatching the divorce papers off of the coffee table, I stared him down. “You would really sign this and throw away the years we’ve shared, without a single fight?” I believe that was what hurt the most, that he simply resigned to doing it as though it meant nothing. Teary eyed, I took a slow breath to calm the rage mixing with a pain I never wanted to feel again, and he just sat there looking at me. “Why?” The question stung as much as the tears.
“Because--” he got to his feet, brushing the non-existent dust from his pants and walked around the table, over to me-- “You asked me to.” I froze in the middle of protesting, a chill ran over my skin. “Anything, I would give you anything. I don’t care if it ends up hurting me, as long as you get what you want. I love you, yes, but if a divorce gives you...I--I am only working for you,” he whispered the words, leaning into my face, his hand on the papers within my grip.
“So you can prove to your family that you did the right thing because I know how badly you want to do so.” He tore the papers from my grasp, a cut slicing my palm open unintentionally. I did not feel the pain, though. My heart pounded so fiercely it actually hurt, and my breathing faltered as I stared down at the cut within my palm. It was like the blood had somehow reminded me of the pressure that had actually been put on him. “I’d sign it because I love you,” he said, placing my bloody palm to his heart.
☞ Three: Award
I had studied for weeks for this, and if you counted the actual amount of time I had spent trying to impress the Professor, then I had studied years for it. I put everything I had into my assignments, my arguments and my speeches, always giving him the sternest look I could manage to conjure up. The rumour had it that there was only one person who had ever impressed the man enough to win the Ghost Award.
It had been named so for it never actually being given to anyone else. The girl who received it long ago never showed it off, or even told anyone what it was. It was the biggest secret on the campus, and I worked my a** off to discover it. I did everything within my power to please the Professor. When he asked me for something, I went ahead and got it. When he told me to change something, even if I disliked it, I went ahead and changed it. I did everything the way he wanted it to be done, whether I liked it or not didn’t matter. I was determined to get the Ghost Award. I had my mind set on it.
So pleasing the Professor with hard, even labour like, work was my top priority.
Then came the day I stood in his empty classroom; other students scattered about outside and trying to listen because they knew as much as I did that I had accomplished my task. My heart pounded beneath my ribs, the excitement so fulfilling that I could not help but smirk at the man sitting before me. What now Professor? Didn’t think anyone else could reach your standards? Of course I never voiced all the cocky questions I had mulled over.
“I am very impressed with you,” he finally said in a calm, collected voice. His face was worn with age, but his eyes sparkled with some kind of unknown wisdom that I admired deeply. “Well then...” He sat back in his chair, a small smile settled on his features while he nodded. “There is a locker in the teacher’s lounge that does not get opened very often. Of course, it is due to the fact that everyone ends up straying from the path of living up to my expectations. The combination is here.” He pulled out a folded piece of paper and casually handed it over, licking his dry lips. “I would like you to burn it after.”
The excitement within my stomach was churning. “Yes, sir,” I said with a wide smile myself. I turned, hurried around the campus to find the teacher’s lounge I had never actually been to. I was sure the Professor had let them know I was permitted to stroll through it, and he did. Once I arrived, a woman I’d never come across pointed in the direction of said locker and I eagerly went ahead and put the combination in. My fingers shook. This was it, the moment I had awaited for so long!
I pulled the locker door open, and my breathing stopped. It was empty. The confusion swept through me so quickly, I staggered back a step and then made sure that no one saw, but who would when it was only the woman in here with me, who sat sipping her coffee and reading the papers. I scanned the inners of the locker, finding a letter in it that I had previously overlooked to the blast of emptiness and when my eyes swept across the sentence, letting the words seep in, the disappointment took over.
“If you change to please one person, to live up to their expectations, you have nothing in the end.”
☞ Four: Dawn
At dawn I would sit on the cold sidewalk in front of our tiny house, it was a ritual I could never rid myself of. The street would be empty, utterly quiet in fact and not a light could be seen besides the first appearance of the day that awaited everyone. In those calm and collected moments, I would consider all the possibilities in life that I had let go of. There was never an actual reason for me to do so, but I did because I was just that kind of person. If it was too hard, or I felt too uncomfortable, I would choose to look away and give excuses. I was rather useless, so to speak.
But during those hours, I would feel magnificent. There was a warmth inside of me, a voice that told me I was rather good at living and smiling and was that not enough? Must one achieve greatness to be happy? I would laugh to myself thinking. It was like my mind did not want me to give up on trying, whatever it was I was going to try; small things that helped me get through the day, nothing grand anyone would ever speak of, but I was content with them.
A lot of people always disagreed with my way of living, they told me I would regret it someday and would I, really? I never knew, and I never bothered to fester in the thought of regrets. Sure, once the day went by and night graced humanity I would reconsider the choices I had made in life, I would hang my head and feel absolutely useless, ashamed even most of the time. There were times that I would simply cry because I felt like s**t, because people made me feel like s**t about how I was.
But at dawn, when the silence was prominent in the world and no one judged, I was alive and smiling.
☞ Five: Key
The key is already halfway pushed into the lock, but my hand keeps trembling so I pause.
When I ran away, I didn’t think I would find myself on this doorstep again. I recall the hatred I felt for you that day, when you didn’t defend me, when you let me be beaten and spat at. The hatred I felt for you was so deep it actually hurt me more than the words I yelled your way because you were supposed to be my hero. You were supposed to be that tiny spark of light in the darkness of the world.
I push the key in, and stop again.
By now, I thought you would have changed the locks. Remember, when he told me to get the ******** out of his house and never come back? And you just looked at me, told me to go to my room and I listened to you only to get beaten when I didn’t vanish that day. So I ran at night when I didn’t have to look you in the eye, see you stand beside him and defend his justifications. Why all the fuss? You taught me to love whomever I felt like loving, and just because it was another man I fell in love with you left me?
I turn the key, the distinctive click in the air makes my heart halt.
Everything I am starts trembling, my thoughts, my heart, my fingers...I haven’t been in this city for so long I’d nearly forgotten the name. Then again, I did wish to destroy all the memories of this place. I wrote you postcards because even though I thought I hated you I couldn’t stop myself. You never wrote back, you never answered your phone when I called or texted me back. The loneliness festered throughout the years where I found myself curled up on the mattress of some friend I met online, in some lone town I’d never been to before. I cried myself to sleep so often that my eyes are still red and puffy every day, and your husbands words rang within my mind every single second.
But you’re sick now, old and alzheimer has taken over. Jessy called a week ago, saying that you were slowly fading. Guess what? The only person whom you every spoke of, who you ever recalled being your son, your family and the person you loved the most in the world...it was me. When she called to tell me that she thought I should really come home now because you keep asking for me, do you know how my heart stung? I refused. I told her off and to never call me again, but here I am...
“Mom?” I call out, pushing the door open.
☞ Six: Concert
It would be our last one; the last time we would be on stage together. The emotions were running high and in just a few minutes we would be out on stage. I could feel the crowds vibrations already, the screams and shouts and the pure love I usually felt. But today...today was different. I turned to stare at Jack who was sitting back on the sofa and playing with his bass, the very one I had given him as a gift thirty years ago. This here, backstage, was home to us for so long that I’d never imagined the day we would leave it behind, but without Christen we were nothing.
He was our lead singer and the soul of the group, and after his death there was this sort of emptiness that spread through our band. Just thinking about going on stage without him made my heart sting and a lump formed in my throat. “You okay, Lyle?” Jack’s voice broke through my thoughts.
I looked up at him, a sad smile on his face. He was much better at hiding his feelings than I was, but that did not mean that it hurt any less for him. “Just wondering how much he would have ******** up the lyrics if it was just our last concert in general,” I said with a smile of my own. Jack laughed, a loud sound that I joined in on. “I’ll just miss him, you know.” I gave a shrug, and Mike, our drummer, appeared behind me, throwing an arm around my shoulders. “Get off me, I don’t need your smooching.”
“Eh, can’t have our lead guitarist all fidgety,” Mike practically sang.
“Shut up, I got this.” I fought my way out of his embrace and flipped him off. “No need to baby me because I’m the youngest.” I stuck out my tongue, not helping my case. This couldn’t be a sad day, it would have to be grand because Christen was grand, and we would honour that with this concert.
☞ Seven: Chase
It was midnight, and every bit of light was swallowed by the darkness ahead. I ran faster than I thought possible. The pounding of my heart was my drug, and the rhythm of the footsteps following me my guide. They had been distinctively chasing me for the past few minutes, I just knew it and I hated the thought because I still hadn’t found a place to hide. The rest of the world was a slumber of silence, a lullaby of peace.
I ducked behind a hedge, lying flat on my back and trying to catch my breath, fearing that I was breathing way too loud within the silence the night carried. The footsteps were closer, but still far enough away; they seemed to be going slower now, as though one was paying more attention. I gritted my teeth, shut my eyes and just listened. I wouldn’t be caught, not again.
My body was jittery from all the running, the adrenaline making my fingers shake as though I was on some sort of drug. I was the only one being chased. What had I done wrong? Was my thinking too obvious? A whistling made me open my eyes. Did he actually know where I was? I could just hear the smile within the tune, that b*****d. The pounding of my heart had calmed, but the footsteps made sure it wouldn’t go back to normal just yet.
“Bira,” he sang my nickname. “Come out, come out wherever you are.”
The unfair part about the situation was that he had a flashlight the size of a button fastened to his jacket. He actually had some sort of light while I struggled within the darkness. I took a deep breath, straining to listen when--
“Gotcha!” he whispered, practically throwing himself on top of me. My heart struggled to beat, my nerves shutting down from the fright. “Bira seems like you’re it again. You suck.” Giggling, he got off of me and held out his hand to help me up. I frowned and glared. I swore they had an alliance, there was no way I was it again. “Ollie Ollie oxen free!” he yelled for everyone to hear.
“Cheaters!” I declared, brushing past him. “I’m getting too old for your cheats...” All of us were above the age of eighteen, the oldest being twenty-four. “Come on,” I yelled, running ahead of him and back to the base, which was my house, to get ready for the next round.
☞ Eight: Tattoo
I lean back into the chair at the studio, the needle stabbing into my skin goes down my pinky; a latin sentence in the darkest of blues. It hurts a lot more than I prepared myself today, but the pain is just a side of it all. I can’t look away from it, another symbol that will stay with me and help me grow in my own ways. My eyes travel up the back of my hand, an old ancient pocket watch at it’s centre, and then up to my wrist that seems like a day in spring.
It is a swirl of colours, a spiral down my arm and into my tissue. It is a reminder that pulls me out of the dark. Each part has its own meaning, but they all come down to one thing and it all represents who I am. It is when I look down at the tattoo sleeve that I smile and remember there are things much better than my mind can conjure up. Every piece has a story to tell, and they are all mine. People who judge me for it won’t ever get to know the tales behind them.
The snow white owl with the brilliant blue eyes represent the freedom that has been withheld from me for so long. How many times was it taken from me when I was dragged back home by my hair? When I was called a good for nothing and locked into my room to think of the mistakes I didn’t even know I made? The tiny owl is at the centre of my wrist, small but striking in a way that every time I see it, I am reminded that freedom is only such a small concept.
The old cherry blossom tree with the elongated trunk and thin branches, petals falling into the river with the water nymph sitting at the bank, represents the roots of my belief; it helps my mind stay steady, and the cherry blossoms remind me that beauty comes in different ways. It reminds me to be strong and withstand everything that is thrown my way because I can get through life, I can do it. But when others look at all of it, they just see a tree, an owl, a watch, flowers and colours; they do not see the meaning each holds, the power each gives and the memories they help mend.
☞ Nine: Hallucinations
The air in the room grew thicker, I could barely see anything with my vision blurring, yet alone him sitting across from me. I stared at him, wondering how he’d gotten here. I was sure I’d run alone, that I hid in this building by myself, but there he was. It was impossible, though...he’d moved away.
He leaned against the wall, hands behind his head and eyes shut. “Jay?” I murmured. It was like he didn’t even hear me because he didn’t move an inch, or even open his eyes to acknowledge me. I looked back to the door, they’d stopped trying to open it long ago but ever since then there’s been this heavy atmosphere that makes me nauseous, and dizzy. “Jay,” I whisper, looking at him again.
His eyes opened, a brilliant blue I’d thought I had forgotten. There was a spark in them, a warning that I was unable to fully grasp; it was like he was trying to tell me something important, but my brain didn’t catch the message. “You have to get out,” he then opted on saying; his voice low and smooth.
“I can’t, Jay. I think Boss knows I stole the money from him; they’ve been chasing me.”
“You have to get out,” he repeated, ignoring my explanation. “Use your head, kid.”
I quirked a brow, shifting to move away from the door and trying to reach him. My body felt heavy, each movement tearing away at some part of me I didn’t even realise I had. My lids shut for a moment, but I forced them open again to stare at Jay. “What?” I mumbled, his words barely reaching me. His long, lithe fingers pointed upwards and my gaze followed--the air vents. “Gas?” I questioned.
“Carbon Monoxide,” Jay answered. “You know what it means by this point, don’t you?”
☞ Ten: Gift/Present
I raise a brow while staring down into the small silver box, it is literally the smallest gift I have ever received. I look at Kyle who has presented me with it. “This is...?” I question. The look on his face tells me that he is a little disappointed by my reaction, but then again he has to realise that I’ve expected a ring. After all, I’ve been with him for more than ten years and inviting me to a fancy restaurant on our anniversary like he has never done before does lead to speculations.
“I really...I don’t think I am following you here...?” The words come out in a jumble of slurs and confusion. “You...you’re giving me a tiny piece of a...rock? Yeah...” I take out said rock, inspecting it.
“Ah! You are terrible! It’s not just a rock, it’s a Jade stone,” he exclaims. Leaning back in his seat, seemingly defeated, he sighs. I can’t help but smile at the sight. If he plans on making this a wonderful memory, he shouldn’t try looking like a child throwing a tantrum, but I don’t say that.
“That completely changes everything, I suppose?” I suggest. He runs a hand over his face and then gives me a glare that makes me laugh out loud. “Honestly...where’s the ring? You know, big shiny rock, get on your knee ‘do you want to marry me’ kind of thing?” I inspect the rock some more. “I put up with you for ten years and you give me a rock, literally a rock...that’s cute, Kyle,” I tease. He mumbles something, looking at the couple sitting at the table to our left. When I notice that he’s turning red, I grin. He glances at me, and slurs an answer. “What was that you said?”
“I heard...this is really embarrassing, you know?”
“Oh you tell me, I literally got a rock as an anniversary gift.”
He sighs loudly as though he is annoyed, but I know he is just exaggerating. “I heard..” He clears his throat, and folds his arms in front of his chest. “It...it kind of is able to hold a portion of ones souls...”
“Am I the devil? Are you selling your soul to me?” I laugh.
“Well...isn’t that what marriage is?”
☞ Eleven: Moon
The hours had gone by and I anticipated what lay ahead. We sat side by side on the mountain near the forest leading down into the tiny village on the outskirts of the empire. You told me you had something important to show me if we were to continue seeing one another, and I trusted you enough to just follow you up the hill that usually was forbidden to go to.
“So...?” I mumbled at least, while the day sped by. The hours had seemed agonisingly slow to begin with, but only because my curiosity found the better of me during most of the minutes ticking by. However, after some time I couldn’t help but just sit and enjoy the quiet serenity which seemed to stun even you. “What is it you wanted to show me?” The night was arriving quickly, gathering up the rest of the sunlight and drowning it within a star speckled sky.
When I turned to question you again, my heart pounded. You hadn’t even moved in a long while. The moon shone brightly within the sky, and your eyes were glued to it. My own body froze while I watched your feet start to turn to stone, and then you looked at me, a small smile etched onto your lips and I could only stare as you showed me the secrets only the moon could convey.
☞ Twelve: Roof
It was our old school that I went to visit every Sunday just to remember you by. Today, walking up to it, it seems larger than ever because I had stopped going months ago because somehow it weighed on my shoulders and broke my heart. But today is different because today is the day that I have last seen you, and it is on that very roof that I could not save you. I gulp, staring up at it.
How long had you stood there thinking? How many thought exactly travelled through your mind? Did you...did you think of me? I certainly think of you every day. I remember leaving you that day with a casual wave and a cocky quirk of my lips because I had outwitted you once again. It was the very day my heartbeat spiked when you leaned in closer with the tip of your cigarette, but only so you could light it with my own. The immediate warmth that spread through me while you lingered within that position longer than needed, staring into my eyes with something I couldn’t have placed back then.
Today I know you were begging me to stay there, to somehow stop you, but I was so intimidated by those deep blue eyes that it scared me. It made me so nervous because I loved you for so many years, and the sudden thought of you actually liking me back turned me into a coward. What hurt you so badly you decided to ruin our spot with your death? What was it inside of you that pushed you?
I sit on the ground in front of the school, and just stare up at the roof, imaging you falling while I spread out my arms to catch you. All the while, I can’t stop my screams, nor my tears.
☞ Thirteen: Bully
He strode through the school, shoulders broad and stiff; one of those wicked grins on his lips and a gleam of anger within his eyes. I watched him, as I did every day from a safe distance because to him I was a nerd. He punched one of his friends in the shoulder when he reached his gang, barking a loud sound of laughter that seemed to ring throughout the school.
Most avoided them, trying to usher by without even daring to breathe. It was Monday, the day he believed ******** people over anyway, which he always shouted out loud with half a hangover, and thus it came to him taking a day off of sticking people in lockers, stealing their stuff and beating the s**t out of them while they cried. Today was the day I could stare at him from a safe distance and imagine if he would always just laugh like that if every day happened to be Monday.
I admired him, it was pathetic really. How often had I went home with a black eye because he decided I looked at him the wrong way? He broke my wrist a few months ago because I threw the ball his way in P.E. And there I stood, starry-eyed, holding my breath and wishing to be just like him.
☞ Fourteen: Camera
The flash of the camera went off again, and I whip around to see Kyle smirking at me. We have been together for so long that one would think I could get tired of seeing the same face every day, but I don’t. Every time he looks my way it is like a new spark has been added to the fire that burns slowly, carefully yet blazing so brightly that it blinds me more than often.
I smile at him, waving his way before I turn around to address one of my friends again. We had gone out to a picnic for someone’s birthday. The laughter in the air clinging to every fibre within me and I can only count myself lucky. It is already dim, but the party is still so alive that no one really thought of leaving. The flash went off again, and this time I pout and turn his way only to bump into him. “Stop being such a stalker, Kyle,” I chide quietly.
It isn’t that pictures bother me, but it’s the fact that my friends snicker because he’s been at it the entire day and more than often it is me he was taking pictures of. “Honestly, if someone tells me, again, how cute you’re being about it, I will snap.” Instead of listening to my complaint, he raises his camera and takes another picture, only to lean in afterwards for a kiss.
“You’re too beautiful, love. I’d just like to capture every second I get to be with you.”
☞ Fifteen: Drive
You did not say anything while you drove through the city, and I didn’t bother to speak either. It was as though our tongues were tied to the previous argument, the one where you did not defend me from the attacks of your family and just assumed I could take it. I stared out of the window, grinding my teeth so hard it actually hurt, but I think it was the stinging of the tears that caused more pain than anything else.
Your fingers drummed against the steering wheel, and you hummed to the beat. It drove me mad, to be honest, but I did not dare open my mouth to chide you about it. I think you wanted me to, though, and that was why you did it because you knew I hated it. Squeezing my eyes shut, I finally did turn to look at you. You had always been handsome, there was no denying that, but I was not with you simply for beauty and money, which your family insisted on. I tried to gather my thoughts, opened my mouth more than once, but honestly, what was I to say? Who was I but another man within your life, another lover? I did not have the right to make you choose.
“I love you,” you said. My thinking stopped, and I simply stared at you in confusion. You had never said anything of the like, there were no sweet whispers and promises; we weren’t even really a couple, were we? I just came to the wedding because you had no one else. “I don’t know...I just...I didn’t plan on coming out this weekend, really...”
“Then why did you take me?!” I snapped. We had been driving for hours, and I was tired and hurt and just so downright exhausted that I couldn’t help but yell at you. To tell you the truth, it felt good to finally let out the anger I had been holding in since we left. “You don’t ******** want them to know you are gay, but then you take me with you? And then you let them...do you know what they said? Do you know how much it hurt just watching you stand by my side and--”
“I love you,” you repeated, and I was ready to snap at you again, but you glanced my way and the look within your eyes stopped me. I had never seen such sincerity cross your face. I never even thought you could be so honest about your feelings. “I was in shock, and I apologise. I swear it won’t ever happen again, but...while you stood there, defending us both and getting in their faces about how they would never know what it meant to love another person, I realised that I wanted to spent the rest of my life with you by my side. With you yelling, and jabbing your finger at people while you told them to ******** off. God, do you know how magnificent you are?”
You pulled over, leaned your head against the steering wheel and took a deep breath. Your voice had been shaking, the words came out in a slur, really. “I never felt this way for anyone, and it scared me into silence...” You stared at me, gave me a weak smile and reached out to brush your fingers through my hair. “I am sorry, I swear. I will defend you with my very heart if I have to, I was just terrified of how strong I really feel for you.” You pulled your hand back and took off again, down the darkened roads while silence took over, and I could only stare.
It was then that I decided, I could forgive you; during that drive home that I knew I could love you.
☞ Sixteen: Ghost
The house had gone cold two minutes after everyone left. I stared down the dark hallway, cursing myself for the horror movie night. Of course, to add to my misery the lightbulb just decided to give up on me; like it couldn’t have found a better time. Each step I took was a careful one, and I made sure not to blink too often because the shadows were playing tricks on me and I couldn’t miss a moment. Another step, the floorboards creaked and I shivered.
I already guessed it was a bad idea to invite everyone over to watch movies when my parents were out until the next morning, I just assumed that someone was going to stay the night, which didn’t happen because all of my friends happen to be assholes that enjoyed my misery. I frowned, and decide I was just being childish. Sixteen of age and afraid of what? A Ghost? I laughed, shaking my head and letting the tension vanish from my muscles.
But the moment I felt that touch on my shoulder, that chill that went down my spine and festered within my bones, I shrieked. There was no such thing as looking back while I ran down the hall and into my room. I practically jumped onto my bed and threw the covers over my head, deciding then that I would never watch any movies involving witchcraft at night and if I did want to watch anything about dead people when I was home alone it would be ******** Casper.
☞ Seventeen: Alcohol
I poured another shot of whiskey, and sighed. The burn that went down my throat, churning within my stomach, was nearly as bad as it was the day you told me you were leaving. It was hard to explain, really, because I had imagined our paths to never stray from one another; so, when you left I couldn’t even open my mouth to protest because I was too confused.
I stared at the glass, empty yet again and wondered how many more I would have to down before the memories would start to blur and I would finally be able to sleep without the image of your face carved into my memory too clearly for me to ignore. Just the thought made me laugh and I set the bottle to my lips and took a long swig; honestly, the glass was completely unnecessary. How many did you bed before you told me the truth? I clenched my teeth, stopping the anger and the pain that came with it. How many did you say I love you to?
My stomach turned. I squeezed my eyes shut. The pleas I had thrown your way were a bunch of clustered little truths and factors of my trust in you, but you had no problem ******** me over. I took another gulp from the bottle, swallowing so hard my throat hurt. Taking slow, deep breaths, I replayed our conversation; I memorised the way your lips moved, how you smiled and the exact moment you decided to finally tell me the truth. My fingers clenched around the bottle of whiskey, and I could no longer stop myself from crying.
☞ Eighteen: Band-Aid
I laughed while my son panicked about the tiny cut on his finger. There were just a few droplets of blood, and yet he freaked out, believing that it was time for him to die. The sheer shock within his gaze, the way his mouth stood open while he tried to utter his despair made me laugh even harder. He came running towards me, his finger lifted above his head to try and stop the blood from gathering; it looked as though he was holding something precious towards the sky.
“Mommy!” he shrieked so loudly that even though I expected it, I still jumped a little. “The leaves are attacking! We have to get away,” he went about explaining. The pitch in his voice forced another laugh out of me, but I covered it with a false cough. “Mommy, look!” He stuck his finger right before my eyes, as though he meant to show me the proof of said attack.
“We ought to go back inside then, don’t you think?” I said in mock horror, taking his hand to inspect it. “Maybe you’ll need surgery!” He gasped, and so did I. “But...I do think we have some more band-aids inside, and you know...even alien magic can’t do anything against those!”
He nodded eagerly as I pulled him up into my arms. “Hurry, Mommy!” he ordered, tugging at my shirt and holding up his hand again. Smiling, I walked back inside in search for our saviours.
☞ Ninteen: Rug
It was horrible, downright hideous even. I stared at it with a frown, the look of disgust clearly visible on my face. There was a reason I said I was going to decorate our new apartment, and it was part of that reason. I gave it one more questioning glare before turning to Kyle, trying to show him just how displeased I was. “You’re kidding, right?” I asked. “That crap is not staying in this apartment. I refuse to look at it every time I decide to sit down to watch TV.”
Kyle raised a brow, clearly amused. “I think it suits us rather well...”
“Are you trying to suggest we are a bad looking couple or something like that?” I question him, glaring. “Is this your way of telling me I don’t look all that good anymore?” I jabbed my finger into his shoulder, hissing his way, but all he did was laugh.
“It’s just a rug. It’s been in my family for ages, it’s really warm and fuzzy and--”
“Not staying in my damn apartment.” I pointed at the hideous rainbow coloured, dirt ridden thing that he insisted on keeping. “Who the hell keeps such a thing, anyway?” I pouted, seeing as glaring didn’t work. “Kyle...you can’t be serious...I’ll find a new fuzzy and warm one!” I suggested, smiling.
“We are keeping it. I am not throwing it away. I like it.”
I glared again, knowing he only insisted on keeping it because he knew very damn well how much I hated the thing. I did complain every time I went over to his place. “Fine,” I said. He smiled, giving me the thumbs up and turning to unpack more things. “But I am getting a dog, and I will train him to take a piss on it every time he sees it.”
☞ Twenty: Chair
