Before, After & In-between

Chapter seven- Now

I'm grounded.

And I haven't been able to stop thinking about Darrin for the last 24 hours, I am torturing myself by replaying our conversation over and over in my head, and the electricity I felt when our skin touched. I told myself when I left last night that I wouldn't go back but it's all I want to do right now and the only time I actually want to leave my house, I'm not allowed.

My dad's still at work and everything is quiet, I walk past Jake's room but he's not there, past the bathroom, past my parent's room too quickly, a room I've avoided. It's been too painful to see her belongings left where she last touched them. Since she's passed my dad hasn't disturbed a thing. I've spent time lingering outside this door on many occasions unable to bring myself to go in but for some reason today I finally get the courage to push it open. There is a tiny rush of normalcy and I half expect to see her lying in the bed, her journal sits on the nightstand, a glass of water half-drunk with the smudge from her lips still visible.

There is still so much of her here, my dad even left her pink silk pillowcase on her pillow. I walk across to her side of the bed and lay in the spot where her shape once fit, letting my head rest on her pillow where her cheek once lay. The coolness of her absence is overwhelming and I break into tears, small drops stain the shiny material as I bury my face into it searching for her scent. It is an essence so ingrained in my memory that it doesn't take long for the familiar huskiness of vanilla to wash over me. I roll onto my side curling my knees to my chin. I can't imagine how it must feel to sleep in this big bed alone, with only the memory of her. The emptiness is relentless, I reach for her brown leather journal off the nightstand and run my fingers over its worn leather. She was always writing in here and it makes me wonder if my dad has maybe read it. I flip it open, then quickly shut it. I can't, I shouldn't, it's wrong. I contemplate whether this would be a good decision or a bad one, seems I'm really good at making bad decisions these days so I flick the journal open to the first page. Even though it feels wrong to read her inner thoughts, at the same time I feel close to her, as I read her words it's like I can hear her voice comforting me. She is funny, funnier than I knew, but there is nothing secretive in here or...gross...I was worried I might stumble onto something that could scar me for life, but it's mostly just ramblings.

I flip through the pages towards the end to see when her last entry was, and I'm shocked to find it was only a few weeks before she passed, and when I read what it says my heart breaks.

June 1st

I'm tired and weak and I honestly don't know if I'll be here much longer. The thought terrifies me. The thought of leaving them is the worst pain I've ever felt. Please let them be okay, please. I know they're all acting brave, but I can see the fear. And I know Katy is scared...and I know she wants to quit. She may think she's fooling everyone, but I'm her mom I know her. I'm so scared that I'll be the reason she gives up. Please God I can't be the reason.

I can barely breathe between gasps for air, the entire time she was sick I tried to be brave for her. I never wanted her to worry about me, I only wanted her to focus on getting better. All she wanted was for me to be happy, she was my biggest fan...and now her biggest fear is coming true. It feels like I've been punched in the chest and my heart is being ripped out. It's too much, it's all too much. The pressure, the decisions, the guilt...it's all just festering, like a disease like cancer...

"Katy?" Jake calls

His voice startles me and I snap the journal shut, "Yeah?"

"Whose Darrin?"

Did he just say, Darrin? I place the journal back on the nightstand and brush myself off, smooth my hair and wipe my face, then race down the stairs blowing in the kitchen a ball of anxious energy. Jake is hovering over the sink eating one of the chocolate croissants I got yesterday from the café, its soft pastry crumbling with each bite.