One Step Forward

Chapter 1. My Past

Mya's POV

Somewhere in the corner of my mind, I knew it was a dream, but it felt as real as it did eight years ago. The accident was something I often dreamt of. However, the dream versus the memory was significantly different. Most of my memories from the accident were lost, but my sub conscience wouldn't allow me to forget. Instead, I relived it most nights, but not in the same way.

A memory is seeing it through your own eyes and not seeing the whole picture. The dream was like an out-of-body experience, such as watching a movie—a very freaky movie. Watching yourself die isn't rewarding.

I returned to Long Beach just a week ago, and my mom heard my cries from the nightmares every night. She begged me to seek therapy, but she knew I had already tried that, and it didn't work. I firmly believed that therapy only worsened my mental state after the accident. 

There are some things people just learned to live with. Talking about trauma doesn't always help. Somebody wanted us dead that night, and they never figured out who. It might have been that part that frightened me the most. 

My body shook with fear as I shot into a sitting position. Beads of sweat rolled down my forehead, one making it into my eye and forcing me to squeeze my eyes closed until the sting faded. 

My door swung open, and my mouthy but sweet five-year-old Lilly came in stomping. "Momma, you forgot to set your alarm again, didn't you? I'm never gonna start school!" she exclaimed, throwing her little arms into the air.

Shit. School. I grabbed my alarm in disbelief, and the alarm was still on. It would go off in two minutes. I breathed a sigh of relief. I turned the alarm off and glanced back to Lilly. "Don't worry, Lil. It was about to go off in two minutes. We're not late."

Friday, I had forgotten to turn the alarm on, so I called the school and said she would start fresh Monday.

"Oh, good. Do you start your new job today?" she asked.

"Yes, I do. Grammy or Pop-pop will pick you up from school."

I worked eight to five. My mom worked six to three, and my dad's hours differed. It helped me avoid daycare since it was so expensive, and I wasn't a fan of daycare. I worked only Monday through Friday. The summer months were my only concern, but mom planned on helping me find a suitable sitter we knew or could trust. 

It was Lilly's first day of Kindergarten. School started last week, but I was moving from New York City to Long Beach, California. I have always wanted to travel but haven't been anywhere apart from New York and California. Unless you count the places, I flew over, but my feet didn't hit the ground for the states in between.

Usually, I didn't dress to impress, but since it was my first day at a new hospital, I put on makeup, curled my chocolate brown hair, and put it into a partial up-do.  

For my daughter, I put her in shorts and a t-shirt; it would be eighty-two degrees Fahrenheit by one o'clock. School started in August in California, which was still a hot time of the year. She ate her pop-tarts as I braided her hair. 

"Okay, now we have to go, or we're going to be late," I said as I pulled her from the kitchen barstool she sat on. 

"Momma, why do you wear that outfit when you work?"

"Well, most people that work in a hospital wear them. They're called scrubs," I said.

"Oh," she said.

After we were buckled in, I started my red Chevy Equinox and put it into reverse. Admittedly, I wasn't paying attention as I backed out of the drive. Part of me was nervous starting at a hospital in my hometown, frightened I might run into someone I knew. What would I say? A horn pulled me out of my trance. Immediately, I slammed the brakes and jerked forward. I looked back to see a few motorcycles pass by. The cuts were all too familiar, even though I got only a glance.