His weakness

I haven't felt safe in a very long time

Jena

Present

What am I doing here? I have been asking myself that question over and over again, for the past seven months and I still don't have the answer to it. I don’t know why I needed to be close to him, don’t know why I couldn’t stay away from him after a simple glimpse of him. For eight years I stayed away from him, never contacted him. For seven years, I didn’t even dare place my two feet near New York, yet here I am again, begging to have my heart f*****g ripped out and my secrets uncovered.

I look down at the little gravestone, the only one I could afford at the age of eighteen with nothing behind my name and hardly any money of my own. I haven’t been here since the day I buried her. I have been too ashamed to even stand here and look at her, but today I told myself it was time. I had to find some way to live with what I had done, and this is where I had to start. This is the reason I hadn’t faced John, why I stayed away from him all these years. I know he deserves the truth, I know that he deserves more than the shitty answers I have been giving him, but it is better than this, better than the truth. I know that people say it is always better to tell the truth rather than to make up a lie, but in this case, I can promise you, the truth is much, much worse.

My phone rings and I take it out of my pocket, sighing when I see my mother’s name light up my screen. “Hi, mom.” I answer, knowing that she will keep calling until I answer my phone. My mom calls every day, but for the past seven months, I have been keeping our calls short, avoiding the questions I didn’t want to answer.

“Hi, honey. When are you coming home?” Home, I haven’t had a home since the moment I left John eight years ago. I haven’t had a place that I could really call my own.

“I moved back to New York.” I tell her and the line goes quiet for a moment. I hadn’t told my mom that I moved back, I didn’t want her to hope for something that will never happen but standing here in front of the gravestone that holds every one of my secrets that I have been trying to run away from for the past seven years, I felt like it was time.

“Oh sweetie, how are you handling it?” She asks, knowing how hard this is on me.

“I don’t know. I am not falling apart, but I don’t think I am healing either. I feel like I am a ghost, like a shell of the girl I was when he took us away from here.” I say, tears building in my eyes. “I shouldn’t have come here.” I tell her, the first tear slipping.

“Baby girl, it was bound to happen. You need to face what happened and move on. You deserve to be happy and live life to the fullest. Stop holding onto the past so much.” She says and I wish it was that easy. Thing is, I didn’t come here to face what I had done, I didn’t come here in the hopes to heal. I came here because I couldn’t stay away after seeing him. I don’t know what I was hoping for, that he would welcome me back with open arms without asking any questions, that he would be that same boy who only wanted to love and protect me? Stupid to think he wouldn’t ask questions I couldn’t give him the answers to.

“I love you, mom.” I tell her and she knows this is the end of this conversation.

“I love you too, my beautiful girl.” She says and I want to cry harder at those words. That is what he used to call me, beautiful. Now all that is left in his eyes is hate and I deserve every bit of it and so much more.

After talking to my mom, I get in my car and for a moment, I just sit there, trying with everything in me to let go of the guilt I have held on to for so long, but it doesn’t work, the guilt will never leave me. I look over the graveyard one last time and then start my car. I drive off just as rain starts pouring, souring my mood even more. When I was younger, I used to love the rain, not so much anymore, not after that night.

By the time I make it to the apartment that I have been renting for the past seven months, I feel drained, finding it hard to even open my car door. My apartment isn’t much, probably just slightly bigger than the broom closet Harry Potter slept in most of his life, but it was big enough for me as all I used it for was to sleep every now and then and to clean myself up. Most nights I just wander around, moving through the night like a ghost. I have insomnia, making it impossible for me to have a good night’s rest. I know why I have it, I know that I haven’t been able to just fall asleep like a normal person since I can remember. The only time I could get myself to fall asleep was when I felt safe with John next to me, and I haven’t felt safe in a very long time.

I force myself up, opening the door with what little energy I can muster up and tumble out of my car. I nearly fall to my knees, but I grab hold of the door to keep myself from hitting the floor. I don’t even take the time to look around to see if anyone is standing outside, looking at me. I slowly lower myself to my knees and start dragging myself the last few meters to my apartment. Luckily, I am on the ground floor, or I would’ve had a problem on nights like these. When I get to my door, my knees are scraped open and bleeding, but I can’t get myself to care, all I am focused on is getting inside my apartment before darkness takes me. I can already feel it pushing at the edges of my vision.

My hands shake as I try and push the key into the door, but by some miracle I get it in and twist. I push open the door and then crawl inside, just far enough to close the door behind me. I kick it shut and then my body gives in, darkness swallowing me whole.