The light from my room is everlastingly fading away as the sun's gleam dissolves into the cool blue of the evening, not quite sure if it wants to savor the welcome of the darkness and all of its secrets, or let it rampage out in all of its fierce vigor. I sit on my chair beside the open window, leaning my head on the sill as the air chills my face and ruffles my hair. I am like this often; my aunt used to tell me that my daydreams would eventually chase out reality and nothing would be left.
Don't think about her.
As my eyes wander around the outside and all of its normality, I smile. It is lovely. In my neighbors' front yard, two elementary-aged kids and a toddler are racing each other with water guns in their hands, spraying each other to the maximum and laughing. Each kid's hair is dripping water, and their clothes are soaking wet. Even as the cold wind of the evening whisks through the world, they don't seem to mind. They are captured in the fun.
To the left of both of the buildings lies a river. As I focus my attention to the stream of water, I notice two ducks chasing each other around a rock. One seems almost belligerently benign. The other is clutching an object in its webbed claws; I squint as I try to make out what it is, but the distance is too far. The first duck seems to want the other duck's attention, probably because it wants what the other duck has. I laugh at the thought.
The door to my bedroom flies open, and my aunt storms in. Surprised by the sudden noise, I whip my head around.
"Aurora Rose Clarke, what have you been doing? I told you to clean the entire house and do the laundry before I got back! And what do I see? Your unfortunate face looking outside the window, with the house as dirty as I left it!"
Shoot. I bite my lip, grimacing. My eyes fall to my aunt's hand and I see that she is clutching a bottle. A beer bottle, I remind myself. Trying to look innocent, I force my facial expression into one of apology. But inside, I am sinking like a boat in the ocean, surrendering to the storm. She did it again. She's drunk.
And this time I know that my innocuous face won't fool her.
"So? What do you have to say for yourself, you useless niece of mine! Get up, get up, and do the work like I asked you to!"
"I'm sorry, Aunt Holly. It won't happen again, I promise!"
She continues to berate me as I scramble out of my position on the other side of the room and make my way to the door.
I stumble, and she pushes me out so forcefully that by the time I regain my balance, she has closed the door behind me. My heart beating furiously, I try to calm myself, but fail miserably. She's locked herself into my room. What do I do, what is she going to do, what is going to happen? Is she going to be mad when she comes out, if she comes out at all?
I begin to panic, and I make some sort of noise between a screech and a sob. I bolt towards the bathroom, and, letting myself in, close the door behind me. I lean against the wall, shaking.
It is then, only then, that I allow myself to cry.
---
When I was eight, both of my parents left. It was a day of rain and the kind of messy mud puddles that only an eight year old would enjoy.
I remember my mother leaning down so she could see me eye to eye, and cupping my face in her hands, she said, "My dearest, I am so, so, sorry. You are still a little girl, but you're safe. And that is what matters the most. You are so very special, always remember that." she let go of my face and brushed my light brown hair behind my ear. "I named you Aurora. The dawn. And that is what I hope you will become; the dawn of the world, a new beginning. Make me proud."
Wordlessly, she took a hairpin studded with intricate gold flowers out of her hair, and into mine. Then she stood up, turned around, and left. My father never even said goodbye. After that, my aunt took care of me as her own. The first week, I thought that my parents would come back. I waited. I waited for what felt like ages. But they never did, and as time twisted, I gave up.
That was nine years ago. I'm seventeen now. I lost the hairpin long ago, but I never forgot the words that my mother left with me. Which now brings me back to crying against the wall of the bathroom because everything has come crashing down at once.
About two months ago, my aunt started acting differently. She became quirky, snappish and judgmental, leaving the house for hours at a time. I took it in stride, telling myself that it'd get better and that this was just temporary. One day, I went into her room to give her the mail that had been collecting in the mailbox for a week. That was when I noticed the pile of beer bottles, some broken, in the corner of the bedroom. I was confused. I didn't understand why she had started to drink, but, once again, I consoled myself by thinking that it was just a passing phase. But the thoughts never helped. Day after day, my curiosity grew, never being appeased. My aunt grew worse, but I took every blow, every word and every proof of hatred that she threw against me, no matter how much it hurt. After all, everyone fights their own demons, don't they? She fought hers and I fought mine.
Quit it, Aurora, you're at it again! Snapping out of my thoughts but still sniffling, I wash my face in the sink and dry it with a towel. I walk into the hallway and stand there for a moment, taking in the sight of the bookshelves embedded into the walls. There is something about those words, pulling me forward and making me feel. With the silence spiraling around me, I tentatively step forward and slide a book off the shelf. It seems old, but I know better. The book has been worn, creased at the binding from being read and used time and time again.
Perfect, I think to myself, and with the book in one hand, I turn around and grab a scarf from the coat rack on my way out. Wrapping it around my neck, I unlock the door to the outside of my house. It is still crisp evening, and I take a breath of fresh air. Maybe everything isn't okay, but I am already feeling better. That has to count for something, doesn't it? Stepping out of the house and shoving the door shut, I begin to jog down through the grass and towards the river.
It is time to do something that I haven't done in weeks.
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