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Opening the door to my house in the middle of the afternoon, I found my mom sitting at the dining table surrounded in her all-too-common paperwork and an open laptop. In the dead silence, the sound of the door opening must have made her look up from her work, where she caught me standing right in front of the very entrance I passed through. She had anger in her eyes, but they also carried something besides that. Something more meaningful.
She bolted up from the chair and the next thing I knew, she was hugging me. My mom held me like she was attempting to wring the life from my body and the blood from my veins, but it still wasn't her anger doing it. It was the trembling breaths and the shakiness of her eyes that gave her away, that gave what she was really feeling away, yet I was too numb to notice it. All I felt was her holding me, all I saw was the mountain of paperwork that buried her on the table.
"I was worried sick, Lynn. Where the hell were you?"
"With a friend. I just wanted to get away for a couple days." I pulled myself free, looking right back at her. "I'm sorry for not telling you, mom. I'll make sure to next time."
My mom glared at me with what looked to be a pair of suspicious eyes as she studied me before she brought her fingertips to the flannel shirt I'd been wearing like a jacket over my clothes for the past few days. She knew immediately that it wasn't mine, probably because it was a few sizes too big and something I would never usually wear. It was written all over her face, what she was thinking and what she wanted to ask.
"No, I didn't do anything with him. I just stayed over." I walked passed her and into the kitchen. "He's not that kind of guy."
Before I had come inside, I sat with Nathan inside of his truck for several minutes as I contemplated if I actually wanted to go in and face the music. Nathan hadn't leaned one way or the other after he took back what he said in the park and just remained silent along with me, waiting in the driver seat with the engine off. I never was able to understand where that patience came from, especially when it came to me.
Carrying a bottle of flavored water to the table full of papers, I looked down to see that they belonged to another case and it was probably something I shouldn't have been looking at. She had been working her way up in her firm, slowly but surely, and that had naturally meant she was putting in a lot of time into her cases - in the office and at home. Every time I had seen in her in the past few months, she was either on her laptop or next to a stack of paper.
"Can I help?" I pressed my index finger into the papers below me.
"Not really. If you really want to help, you can go get cleaned up." she answered as she took her time back to the table. "We have guests coming for dinner tonight. Your dad invited them."
Honestly, I wasn't even close to being surprised. She could have been neck deep in work and would have rejected help from me or anyone else. I don't know if it was her pride or work ethic, but it was just kind of the way she was with everything. It wasn't that she thought others couldn't do her job, nor had it been disrespect towards those people. She just knew that it was her responsibility, and the only way she knew something would be done right was by doing it herself.
That, of course, came at the cost of her separating herself from her family, her own daughter and "husband". She was so buried in her own work half the time that she was almost in her own world even when she was home. If she was at home and not working, then she was usually too tired to give me any sort of time. Her work took precedence, priority over me, and I hadn't really blamed her for it. She was being the adult everyone is told and raised to be; busy and miserable.
I was used to being rejected by her when I offered and really only asked out of habit, but what caught my ears this time around was that people were coming over for dinner. Outside of Grace's family, we rarely had anyone come over for anything more than a delivery, so it had come as kind of a shock hearing that. If my "dad" invited them, it probably hadn't been someone I met before. He was probably priming a client. Yeah, right. If only I was that lucky.
"Who?" I watched her begin to clean up the paper.
"The Herrera family."
As though my entire body turned to stone, I stood completely stiff in front of my mom as I tried to keep myself in check. Of all people, why did it have to be him? Of all the people that lived in Ely, why did it have to be that piece of crap and his family? He took everything from me, and now he was allowed to come over and eat dinner like nothing had ever happened? It wasn't fair.
"Mom, call it off." I brought my thumbnail to my teeth. "Just, please, call it off."
"Why? Your dad invited them a few days ago, and you would've known that if you were home to hear it." she began organizing another stack of papers as she glanced at me. "This is important to your dad. If we're going to call this dinner off, then I'm going to need a good reason for it."
I crossed my arms as I tried my best to go full X-Men and burn holes into the floor beneath me. Of course, I had a reason for not wanting that dinner to happen. Wasn't the fact that I almost immediately told her to not have it been reason enough? All I had to say were three words to her, and all of the weight may have gotten slightly lighter, all of the darkness may have gotten slightly brighter. All I had to do was simply say them, speak them - those three words.
He raped me.
All I had to do to keep Devin away from me for good was say those three words. I just had to tell the truth and say those words to my mother, all while looking her in the eyes and experiencing the judgement firsthand. It was so simple, so easy to say. So elementary, yet my mouth refused to move for my brain. She was right there, the one person who would believe me without a doubt, but I couldn't get a single word out.
"Mom. . ."
She looked up. "Are you okay? You look like a ghost, Lynn."
"De- H- He. . ."
"Are you okay?" she set her papers down and came around the table. "Slow down."
Before I could even do anything about it, both of her hands were on my shoulders. It felt like an eternity had passed since she last touched me or showed non-sympathetic affection towards me, but the only thing that affection was serving to do now was keep my mouth opening. My mind and rationality had taken over me and myself, the same me that had never wanted a word of it to ever get out. All she was doing was enforcing my rationality and enforcing the truth.
"He- He ra- rap-"
"Jessica, how is dinner coming along?"
At that exact moment, I hadn't been quite sure if I was happy to see my "dad" come through the door or not. One side of mind was happy that he stopped me from telling her the truth, while the other wanted to scream at him until his ears rained blood. I had almost said all of it, but just as it was going to come out, I was interrupted in the most blunt of ways. What was I supposed to do next? Do it again? Could I put my body and mind through the wringer to try to tell her again, especially in front of him?
Raising her index finger, her eyes returned to my head. "What was it you were trying to say, sweetheart?"
I looked up, and then at him. ". . .It wasn't important. I'm not feeling good, so can I just skip dinner tonight?"
"That's fine." her palm met my neck and a short pause followed as her fingers very lightly squeezed. "But if you start feeling better, please come get something to eat, okay?"
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Opening my eyes to a destructively loud clap of thunder, I was met with the TV glowing at a low volume and several laughs coming from downstairs. It was dark outside and raining pretty heavily, which wasn't all that surprising given the cloudiness that day along with the time of year it was. The dark and rain hadn't been the problem, it was that incessant laughing coming from downstairs and the headache that was roaring through my skull.683Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡoDPQn1308c
"Lynn is a good girl." his voice shot through my ears like a poisoned bullet. "My girlfriend is always talking about her."
Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Just fucking shut up.
As the laughter and light talking continued to echo through the house, only his voice remained clear in my head. Why was the one voice I hadn't wanted to hear been the strongest? Why did the one voice I hadn't wanted to hear followed me home? Why had the world allowed the man who stole my body and dignity from me to take away the safety of my home? How could that be allowed? Why was I the one condemned to suffering while he could smile and laugh his life away?
A bright flash of lightning revealed the floor to me, and on that beige carpet my eyes happened to catch something that had fallen months ago when I used it for a school project. Getting out of my bed, I walked over to my dresser and picked it up. The bright yellow handle told me that it was the box cutter I used for an art project that Grace ended up helping me with, just like she seemed to do with everything else I was no good at.
Sounds good, doesn't it? Worthless trash like you deserves to bleed out all over the place and turn into the exact mess you've become. Just get it over with and die, you bitch. You've already realized that you aren't needed here or in anyone's life. Your presence alone drags everyone down and makes them feel just as worthless and scummy as you do, Lynn. Make the world a better place and stop breathing, especially if you truly love her.
"Shut up. Shut up. . ." I planted my hands over my ears.
Everything you love goes to shit, right? Just look at the girl you gave your heart to, she's a vegetable now all because of you and your selfishness. She fell in love with disaster itself and it finally broke her. How could you fall in love with someone knowing what you are? It's such a cruel thing to do. You knew loving her would never work, but you did anyways. Now, see what you did? You didn't ruin just your life, look around you. Your selfishness broke a family apart; yours and hers. Just remember, bitch, It's down the road, not across the street.
The voice in my head was right, about all of it. I fell in love with Grace fully knowing that I brought disaster to everything I touched. Everything I carried some level of feelings for would sooner or later fall apart. It started with Grace and then it spread to my dad, and now my mom was slowly starting to move away again. My need for something other than myself, my selfishness ruined the lives of the people around me one by one, but I was just too careless to see it.
Glancing up, I just happened to catch the end of the Suicide Prevention advertisement that had been running for the past few weeks. It had started airing after the suicide of a cheerleader at Eugene High and had gone on for what seemed like weeks now. The commercial itself portrayed teenagers smiling and pointing at their phones, making it seem as though it was cool and trendy to call some stranger because they were suicidal.
Yet, that commercial was the only stopping me from burying the blade of the box cutter into my arm.
"The Lifeline provides 24/7, free and confidential support for people in distress, prevention and crisis resources for you or your loved ones, and best practices for professionals." the woman spoke as more footage of teenagers was shown. "Please call us at 1-800-273-8255."
Pulling the sleeves of his flannel shirt up, I brought the blade to my wrist and found myself biting on my lip. All I had to do was slice down, right? Then it would all end after I bled out? As another roar of laughter came from the living room, the blade had found itself even deeper into my skin. Right then, right as the blade began to pierce my skin, I thought I was ready to die. I thought I was ready to let go of everything. Even Grace.
1-800-273-8255. Then that phone number had to interrupt it.
Within a deep exhale, I set the box cutter down on the floor and picked my phone up with trembling fingers. Breathless, a shaky index finger came down onto the dialer and dialed the number. Before long, my phone had been ringing and something picked up - not human and not a robot - but something right in the middle of the two. What answered at that moment was a recording.
"You have reached the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline, also servicing the Veterans service line. If you are in emotional distress or suicidal crisis or are concerned about someone who might be, we're here to help. Please remain on the line while we route your call to the nearest crisis center in our network." the recording of a female voice spoke.
Music began to play, looping over and over as though it had been a form of torture. Minutes passed, where I figured maybe they were busy, but those few minutes turned into ten. Then ten had turned into twenty. Laughing and more laughing, voices and more voices, music and more looping music. Slowly, my only option started to become clearer and clearer. It wasn't going to end until I ended it myself. It wasn't going to end until I, myself, saw the light.
The minutes ticked by at a monumentally sluggish pace as the same music repeated and repeated and repeated. All that existed in my room were the low volumes of the television and the music coming from inside my phone, but the only things I could hear clearly were the voice in my head and the talking downstairs, the rain and the laughter. My own shaky breaths soon joined them as I pulled the phone away from my ear.
See? Nobody gives a shit about you. So, just fucking die already.
". . .Sorry, Grace." I hung up the phone, dropping it and replacing it with the box cutter. "I'm so fucking sorry."
Drilling the blade into my skin, both the pain and a feeling of release hit at once as blood began to leak from the sides of the blade. A dark red that bordered on black dripped from the sides of my forearm as I dragged it downward, only causing more blood to fall onto the dark blue jeans below it. Even through the dripping blood and pain, my right hand took the cutter from my left and carried it to my left forearm. It only took seconds until the blade was once again buried into my arm and dragging itself towards my chest, spilling blood on its way.
Through the pain of cutting myself open, there was a sense of something. It hadn't been quite euphoric like heroin was, but it wasn't bad. If I had to put the feeling into words, the closest thing I could think of would've been a release. A release that was just going to let me bleed out. A release that was going to let me die there, right on my bedroom floor.
Then her voice came back to me, only for a single second. An unaccompanied, fleeting second. So clear, yet so distant.
You'd tell me if you were depressed or hurting, right, Lynn?
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