Worlds Apart From Me- Part Two

Memory%20Loss%2001This is part two and Chapter One in the actual book. Enjoy!

Chapter One…Trapped In An Overwhelming Inbetween

The sun streamed beneath the black-out curtains. I had no idea how long I had laid awake in my bed, staring up at the blue ceiling of my bedroom. My throat ached from my misuse of it. How long had it been? One night? One day? Two, three? I had unable to succumb to the gentle arms of Morpheus since her Laying to Rest. Sara had once again knocked on my locked door, trying to coax me into food. Just the thought made my already restless stomach turn. Whenever she tried, I would simply ignore her in favor of going into Haven’s attached room. I wandered in and out periodically of consciousness. It must have been longer than one night if I was already blacking out. The curtains remained drawn and even though I had opened them once, there was no color outside. The world was suddenly black and gray. Everything looked washed out and fake. Empty.

I had not touched a thing in Haven’s bedroom, aside from the bed that I had lain on for a span or two. I wanted everything to stay just the way she had left it. My dark, midnight colored hair was unkempt and I still wore the nightgown that I had haphazardly placed myself in before when I realized that I was still wearing the dress from the funeral. Hardly a thing registered any more. I didn’t want food or comfort. I didn’t want to talk. I wanted my Haven back. I couldn’t understand why such a beautiful person, why such a good person, was taken away. Why not me? Everyone had adored Haven and she loved everyone she met in turn with a passion that rivaled the voracity of the North Wind. The black streaks were still on my cheeks, four lines extending beneath each eye. I did not intend to wash them off. They would stay with me just like my longing. I turned over, perfectly aware of the agony my thoughts were causing me. My best friend was gone. I didn’t even get to say goodbye…There were shadows all around me, burrowing into my shredded heart, murmuring into my ears in the depth of the endless night.

I knew that soon my Father would try to issue me a new Elite. I was the bloody Heir, after all. Couldn’t have the crazy girl try to hurt herself. Try, being the operative word. I would not accept a new guardian. Haven had been the only protector for me. No one was going to take her place. The pink kitten clock that she had gotten me on a whim last summer ticked on my mahogany bedside table. At it’s side was a small orange bottle filled to the brim with tiny white pills. On the slip of paper around it was the neat and tidy handwriting of Gregorie, our Family physician. He lived downstairs in the section of the Main House that remained the busiest. He had said that he needed to be closer to the front so Haven and I wouldn’t have to hobble so far to get to him. He used to comment that we were like two mischievous little sparrows, always getting ourselves into trouble.

I wasn’t fooled by the innocent writing. I knew what was in the bottle. It was a prescription for sleeping medication. Would sleep be so bad an option right now? Being unconscious seemed like a good idea, actually. Almost anything was better than this unending, unwavering stretch of time that was slowly driving my vulnerable mind to the brink. I had reached for the offending thing when, almost unconsciously, I jerked back. Sleep would mean nightmares. It was an escape from reality but it opened the door for things much worse. They say that crazy people don’t know that they’re crazy. I think that’s horse fodder. I think that on some level, even if it is inside where they try not to look, they know. They can see that ugliness inside them and they shy away from it. I could see it inside myself. That smear of festering insanity. It was a spiderweb, thick and oily stretched along the expanse of my innermost being. I could see Haven too, smiling at me from the corner of the room. I knew that I had lost it, but at that moment, I couldn’t care less. I had a piece of her back, no matter how small or uncertain. She was there.

She never spoke, but her intentions were clear as bells in my mind. Clear as her voice had been. She beckoned me to take the pills. Her laughter shined in her eyes. It had always been present, no matter what the topic had been. She had been beautiful in all aspects. We had been in a choral group for a time as children with the kids from the providences surrounding the Main House and she had blown everyone away. Haven had been full of joy, of passion. She could make even the gloomiest day seem like it was full of sunshine. I did as she told me, and after a short time, sleep overcame me like a curtain over a stage. Even in my dreams she was there, standing in a field of flowers. It was the field that we had played in during the spring. It lay inconspicuously behind Dietrich Sumpter’s home, off in the woods. We would go there with picnics of cookies and apples from the orchard and a steaming thermos of our favorite White Mango tea. We would giggle and roar with laughter for hours at the smallest jokes or the silliest squirrel. Even after we got older, we still raced there every Sunday at noon, just after lessons were over. She sat in our spot, just to the side of the boulder that had affectionately been named Top-of-the-World Peak. I let myself believe, just for a time, that she was really back, that she hadn’t died and we were really sitting in our special place. I wanted to believe it was the truth so badly, that I began to accept that it was. After all, Haven could not be dead. Not really. It was the other place that wasn’t real. This was real. She had promised to be by me always. Best friends for always, til the end and beyond. Haven looked at me with a cherished smile.

“Best friends for always, til the end and beyond, Bel.” She laughed.

It was so strange, that gut wrenching feeling when the fantasy began to crumble around me. The phrase struck me in the face like a sack of potatoes. She had just repeated word for word what I had thought. Haven couldn’t know what I was thinking. She wasn’t real. The image my mind had given me was only some disturbing dream destined to torment me. None of it was real. I jolted awake with a shriek, my abused vocal cords straining from the previous bouts of hysteria.

That day I realized that, among all of the nightmares to come, that one was perchance the most distressing of all. It offered something I knew would never be true again. Hope. Hope was something that I simply could not let myself have any longer. Death wasn’t reversible. Nothing could bring her back. My eyes fell on that tiny orange bottle sitting on my nightstand. A burning began in my chest, deep down inside me and began rising to the surface. It was so unfamiliar to me that it took me a long moment of reflection before I was able to pinpoint exactly what the emotion I was experiencing was. Rage.

How dare they give me poisons to torture me?! How dare they try and force me to witness that night after night, to relive that pain over and over?! I ran over to my bedroom window swifter than I had moved in days and I wrenched it open with enough force to shatter one of the little panes of glass in it’s perfect pale blue frame. I took one last look at the tiny, offensive thing in my hand before I used all of that hate bottled up inside of me to launch it out into the distance with as much strength as I could muster. It sailed into the air, out over the grounds, past the garden and deep into the abyss. It fell not far from a revoltingly familiar, crumbled boat dock,. The space was like a vacuum, drawing my eye to the red tape marking it clearly ‘DANGER’. All of my fury drained out of me at the sight, like rice through a sieve. I couldn’t hold onto it, no matter how desperately I tried. I closed the broken window with silent, trebling fingers. Haven was still smiling happily in the corner, unaware that she was just a figment of my depraved imagination.


3 thoughts on “Worlds Apart From Me- Part Two

  1. Pingback: Worlds Apart From Me- Part Three | The Writer's Bay

  2. Pingback: Worlds Apart From Me- Part Four | The Writer's Bay

  3. Pingback: Worlds Apart From Me- Part Five | The Writer's Bay

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