Mare Moody - [blank]

My head is spun in a loop of memories. The late night escapades that the three of us went one. The endless laughter on the deep summer nights. Dopamine rushing through our veins. We didn’t care about anything but us. Then life happened. At least for Tabitha, I thought about her over my 5 incognito years. When it came to Rachel, she immediately dropped off of the face of my Earth. Not one thought was spared for her.

“What about her?” My words bite harder than I intended.

“Still mad at her?” Tabitha inquires.

Am I? If I gave Tabitha the benefit of the doubt and forgave her, I should do the same for Rachel.

“She was one of our best friends for a while” She states.

“I know,” I say, guiltiness filling my voice, “she was just the first time Kane cheated on me… it’s hard to let go of some of the frustration I felt.”

She nods in understanding. I know she cares. Although before it annoyed me that she cared, now I know it comes from a place of love rather than ignorance.

“He cheated so many times.” My voice doesn’t even make it to the end of the sentence.

I let him walk all over me. I still do. He has manipulated my entire being and getting out of his grasp is the hardest part.

“I guess it’s good that you guys didn’t work out,” Tabitha says.

“Yes, I guess so.”

She stands up and looks back at me,

“You can stay as long as you want.”

I think she has realized my struggle. Her intuitive nature has probably put two and two together.

I am still trying to get away from the desire to walk back.

You should.

I know.

Then why not?

Something touches my arm and I am jolted awake. My eyes open sharply and I study the room. A white outline is slowly drifting towards me. I squint my eyes attempting to properly see the figure.

My stomach drops when my eyes settle. My mother stands before me. Her face is as pale as paper and her wrist are as red as roses. Blood drips off of her arms and drips slowly onto the floor.

She walks towards me. Her arm extends. She is reaching for me. I reach for her arm.

When my hand touches her wrist her blood flows onto my hand. Her wrists are covered in redness. My heart begins to beat harder and harder.

“Mom,” I ask, my voice weak, “why?”

She doesn’t respond. She simply nods her head. She brings her hand back down. When it hits her body, it creates a red hand mark on her once white shirt.

As I watch her, tears flow down my face. I am taken back to 5 years ago.

“You could have stopped me,” My mother finally speaks.

The words hit like daggers in my heart.

“I wanted to Mom,” I cry, the tears multiplying and falling over each, “I wish I had gone into the kitchen.”

“You could have,” she whispers again.

“I know.” The tears have overtaken my face, “I’m sorry that I was distracted.”

“He was more important than me.” Her voice gets more frail.

“No, he wasn’t.” I bite my lip to stop from sobbing, “I should have told Kane to leave.”

“It’s your fault.”

“I know.”

As those last words come out of my mouth, she drops to the floor. Her body shakes and convulses. I throw myself off of my bed. I can’t see this again.

“Are you ok, Mom!?”

“Mom!?”

“Please answer!”

“Mom!?”

She is still. I reach to touch her body. When I touch it, all that greets me is air. She is gone.

The tears flow down my face still. I pull my legs up to my body and sit in the fetal position. I fucked up. I am a fuck up. I did this. I caused this. Me.

The sun begins to go down outside and I am left in the dark. It feels inviting. None of my senses beg to be used when nothing stimulates them. It swirls around me like an incessant tornado of pure nothingness. I let it take me.

It picks me up off of the ground. I am pulled into the air. My feet no longer have the security of the earth. I close my eyes. It levitates me, the wind of nil enchants me and causes me to feel naught. I am it and it is me. Inseparable.

It flows over my eyelids. It calms me. My body goes numb. The numbness doesn’t scare me; I want it. It is the peace that passes all understanding. I feel it deep in my consciousness.

Perhaps now, only now, am I taken.

The breeze blows into my ears and whistles loudly. I shuffle. I am on the floor. The harsh carpet has left its mark on my face. I bring myself to my feet and look out of the window. The cool Boston breeze pours in without permission. I shut the window.

I walk to the bed and sit down. It is completely dark outside. Although the night beckons for quiet, the city does not respond to its request. Cars burst through the streets and people travel aimlessly through the winding maze.

I rest my head on my pillow. I want to sleep but I don’t want to dream. I want eternal sleep with no way of waking up. The most peaceful state I have seen a human in is one of unending, blank sleep.

I close my eyes. I play the lottery of my life and let sleep take me.

SMACK.

I am hit in the face by a notecard. I squint my eyes and look at the abuser. Tabitha stands over me with a wide grin on her face.

She has let me stay at her house for two weeks now. I don’t know why I have received her grace in this matter.

“Someone called for you.” The grin is plastered on, “they left this message.”

I take the notecard off of my face and sit up in my bed. Tabitha remains in the room, her grin lingers over me. I am afraid of what it may say that is making her gauke so much.

“Ana,

I’m sorry. Please come see me again. I can’t forget that night and I know it’s stupid to be infatuated after one hook up but I swear to you, nothing you do or have can stop me from wanting to spend my time with you. Please come back.

Tabitha giggles as I look up at her. A smile slowly spreads on my face. I am unsure. I don’t know if I should. I can’t trust anybody. I can’t even trust myself. I don’t want to trust myself.

“Are you going to go?” She asks in anticipation.

I sigh. The smile starts to evaporate. I don’t want my heart to get broken again. I can’t keep doing this to Kane, either.

“I don’t know,” I say.

“Why not?” she asks, “what do you have to lose?”

What do I have to lose? I’ve already lost my sanity, my self-control and my heart. What could he do to me? Kane doesn’t love me. I need to remember this. Why am I holding myself hostage for someone who doesn’t care about me.

You love Kane.

You want Kane.

No. I don’t.

“I guess I’ll go.” I say. I bite my tongue. The voices can’t control my life. They can’t.

She looks at me like she has won the battle. And perhaps she has.

She frolics out of the room and shuts the door behind her. I think she feels pity for me. I don’t have my life nearly as in order as she does. She went to college, got married and has a kid. I pushed everyone away, fell in a depressive hole and let my mind gnaw away at my heart.

I get out of bed and walk over to my backpack. I don’t have much clothes left. I leave my jeans on but swap out my shirt for a clean one. I could stop at a laundromat on my way back. I zip up my backpack and sling it over my shoulder.

I stand in front of the door for a moment, daring myself to open it. I hesitate. I love being with Noah. What is the problem?

Kane.

The voices are sly and rhythmic. They imbed themselves in the most sensitive part of my brain and corrode it bit by bit.