Voodoo [H.S.]

Twenty One

August 22nd, 2022

Another night. Another nightmare.

It's somewhere around two in the morning. I still feel like I can't breathe. My heart is rapidly beating against my chest to the rhythm of the pounding in my ears.

The images of the nightmare are burned into my head playing on repeat over and over again. It felt so real. Everything was perfect down to the smallest details, to the way my childhood bedroom had a slight gray tint to the walls, to the way my living room had a pile of old cassette tapes stacked on the TV stand.

I was taking a look at my surroundings, feeling like the air felt off. I don't know how else to describe it. It was like... the way everything feels eerily calm and heavy before a tornado.

As I walked through the entryway from the kitchen to the living room, that's when it started.

When I found her.

My mom on the living room floor.

With Alex standing over her.

I don't remember what happens next, if anything. I woke up crying.

It's completely wrecking me that someone had access to that letter and was able to send it to me. I need to know what their intentions were.

I've contemplated moving. Just packing whatever I can fit into my van and disappearing.

I just can't bring myself to do it.

There's always a risk with making friends and getting too established in one place for me, but it's never been any question on if I would make sure I put my anonymity first. This situation is way too risky and I should be halfway to Kansas or some middle of nowhere town.

Now I have too many reasons to stay.

There is also a part of me that wants to just do my very best to live a normal life and put everything behind me. Let what happens, happens. One good thing came out of what Harry does part time for a living and that's knowing I have some sort of protection for now.

It's just killing me not knowing who sent that letter. Harry promised he would tell me the second he knew anything and not worry about if he doesn't say anything. I believe him, but it hasn't stopped me from asking him a few times a day.

My heart has slowed down, so I slowly sink back into the bed and just have a moment. Moments are necessary. Sometimes you just a few minutes to wallow in your own self pity and cry. Cry because everything sucks, because no one will ever understand you, because you've been dealt the shittiest hand in life, because you feel like if someone even looks at you wrong you'll scream.

I curl into myself and just feel what I need to feel. It feels good, in a way.

Once the tears stop and I feel calmed down enough after staring at the bed sheet for far longer than I should have, I turn over to my other side and tap my phone to see the time.