Treading (Jordan Knight/NKOTB Fanfic)

Thirty-Nine

-SERAPHINA-

Whoever first said "sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me" obviously didn't grow up in a small town.

They couldn't have.

They couldn't know what it's like to live in a world where your word is your bond and your name is your legacy. How it feels to have your entire life as a collective public memory and every move you make scrutinized under a microscope with generations of context to boot. The anxiety of all-knowing stares that pressure you into always keeping face. They couldn't have any idea what life in a small town was like that because if they did, they'd know that words can be the source of a pain far worse than anything sticks and stones could ever inflict.

They'd know that words have a way of directly targeting your innermost hurts and leaving a sharp, piercing, breathtaking ache in their wake that makes you certain that you're drowning in oxygen and your lungs are going to collapse. They'd know it's a kind of pain that's all-consuming, soul-wrenching, and responsible for making you feel guilty even when you're innocent.

It was that kind of pain that lodged tears in the back of my throat and made me self-conscious as I hid in my fiance's truck and tried to pretend not to notice the relentless glances and gossiping lips of the Dinah's Diner patrons who openly stared at me through the restaurant's glass windows.

Half of me silently willed Jordan to step away from the counter and just forget about our meal—I wasn't hungry anymore anyway. But the other half told me that I was being too sensitive—it didn't matter what they thought.

But it did matter.

Almost all of the long, intense hours I'd spent on memory work over the last few weeks revolved around me looking at my life through the eyes of someone else. I listened to other people's recollections of me and stared at photos of myself that had been snapped by someone else in hopes of triggering my own memories. It was a process that worked—every day I woke up with new reflections and revelations from my past that made me a little more me, but it was also a process that made me gravely aware of just how much my self-image was deeply intertwined with the opinions of those around me.

As much as I was flattered by the sweet, generous reflections of myself as a person that my family and friends gave me, I also realized that those reflections were of a public persona that no person could ever really live up to. I couldn't truly be the perfect teacher and pastor's daughter, and sister of a heart surgeon, and doting lover that they all made me out to be. I sounded more like a role model of public goodness than a real person. According to them, I was kind. Sweet. Compassionate. Selfless. I followed the rules without question. I helped people no matter the personal sacrifice. I did the right thing. Always. I was above criticism and disdain. I lived up to the highest of expectations. I was good. Genuinely good.

Yet, every time I stepped outside the confines of the safe bubble they'd created for me at home, I was faced with accusations that I was actually the opposite of everything they claimed. At the hospital and around town, I overheard steady whispers that I was an awful person who'd left the man who loved me when he needed me the most. And sometimes they weren't even whispers, but rather direct accusations that stung like a dagger to my heart. Travis' parents bluntly told me to my face that I was responsible for their son's current convalescent state. I'd broken his heart and left him helpless and vulnerable for something bad to happen. His pain was on me. The people in the diner seemed to think the same thing—that I was a cold, heartless woman who ought to be ashamed of myself.

I liked to think in reality I was somewhere in the middle, but truthfully I didn't know who to believe.

Although I'd regained most of my memories, I still had no recollection of how or why things had ended with Travis. Every time I tried to think back on my time with him, I hit a mental block that I couldn't break no matter how much energy I put into trying to figure out what had happened.