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When I remember my sister, it is impossible to detach the concept of silence from her image. Her silence and how her blue eyes only conveyed a peace that she couldn't find in any other recess than in the sinking between her eyelids. They reminded me of a lake in the middle of a mountain, -it's not as if I had ever seen a lake or a mountain at that point in my life, everything I knew about lakes or mountains, I had learned through the Internet- but that mental image stayed in my head. Her tired eyes were just that, the closest thing I was ever going to get to a lagoon in my broken reality. Deep and serene, always unchanging, even with the wind that lightly caressed its surface. Sometimes I wondered if I touched her open eyes, they would produce waves that would expand, overflowing the rest of her features with the clear water contained in her irises.
When I remember my sister's eyes I remember them calm.
But when my eyes locked with hers that time, they weren't calm, but shot with blood that externalizes her rage, her fury, and her mistrust. All that peace had vanished, as if it had never existed, as if she had never been calm before in her short life and I fell irreparably headlong into the realization that despite all my efforts, she had never been as calm as I projected. .
I saw the blood run from the tips of her delicate fingers, staining her nails bone white, to the floor, to impact the small pool of red discharge that spread below her feet.
It was totally clear to me, that I had done that. That was just the raw consequence of my actions, my way of dealing with her. I knew I should have gotten her out of that place much sooner, but I didn't, I just chickened out. I locked myself in my little reality, in my vices and in my obsession. I would have changed so many moments to twist that scene even for a second, but unfortunately, life runs forward until it runs backwards and we were far from being able to turn the hands of the clock in the opposite direction. All I could do to stop her was grab her arm, stop her with a little jolt which never came because even though I mentally rehearsed the movement, my hands stayed static where they were. Seeing the blood gushing non-stop, I knew that there was no possibility of regression, that both of us had been lost forever and that from that moment nothing was going to be the same again in my life.
The uninterrupted almost spasmodic movements of her body seemed to have no end and I was simply lost in shock, taking refuge from reality in a hidden place of my subconscious. I observed the situation as if I were facing a screen that built the fourth wall, separating me from the horrors that were been committed before my eyes.
Was I going to lose her forever?
The thought of never seeing her again froze my arms, I felt my hands go numb second by second as she simply soaked in blood. I had to move fast, start thinking, start doing something that could save her… I had to… there were so many things that I wanted and had and could do, but I just froze in fear.
Until that point in my life I had not faced many things that gave me fear, but the idea of separating from her had always been the cause of several nights in which I woke up, interrupting my nightmares in a violent movement that left me sitting on the mattress, panting and covered with a light veil of sweat on the skin. The possibility was, that this was going to be another one of our heartbreaking and unnatural separations. I was not stupid, I immediately saw all the repercussions of the last nights embodied in front of me.
Never seeing her again would tear my soul in two. I knew that if she died, I was going to do it at her side. Wasn't that what we had promised?
She felt far away, she felt especially cold -I hadn't touched her yet, I couldn't work up the courage to do so- but I knew that at the contact of my fingertips, as a premonition, she was going to be frozen. Remembering it well, she was always cold, so much so that she sometimes wondered if she was really made of porcelain.
She was totally naked, he could see the red glow in the fluorescent light and contrast against her pale skin. He had never seen her like this before, disheveled, stained and unhinged.
Could it be that she had always been that?
Her blood was not hers. It was then that I realized that although I wasn't afraid of many things, one of my terrors was separating from her, and at that moment I understood that there was something else that made me produce a heartbreaking shiver, and that was her eyes.
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