The Pain of We (ON HOLD)

13

You were mumbling under your breath, breathing heavy. You were bringing your hands into fist and letting go, repeating the motion over and over. You squeezed your eyes shut and opened them.

Then you were rocking slightly, putting your hands to your arms, pulling yourself into a tight ball. You were crying, shaking your head, mumbling no over and over. It was horrific to watch, painful.

The teacher called you out for it, calling you're a disruption. "Get yourself under control," she said. "And I'll see you after class."

That didn't help, if anything it made you worse. She called you out again and this time you screamed at her, making her shrink.

"SHUT UP! ALL OF YOU! NONE OF YOU KNOW WHAT IT'S LIKE. YOU SHOULD ALL GO TO HELL!" You sat back down, panting.

The class was struck silent. The outburst was surprising to say the least, no one—especially not me—expected it. The teacher nearly sent you out to the hall, but you glared at her and she got scared.

You seemed possessed.

And then you were sitting there so quietly, with your knees at your chest and your eyes threatening to release the tears slowly forming in your eyes. I wanted to go and comfort you, but I couldn't. I didn't know how.

At the time, you were too broken for me to handle.

...
"What happened?" I asked. "How'd you do it?"

You took a deep breath. "I took a shit ton of pills. I started to doze off when my mom came into the bathroom and yelled for my dad. He ran in and stuck his fingers in my throat. I threw up a lot while my mom called 911. They pumped my stomach and when I woke up, I had to beg to go to school the next day. If I didn't go to school I knew what they'd all think. I knew what you might think..."

I bit my lip.

"Why?"

"Because I couldn't go on. I couldn't think. To me, there was no better way out. I know now how completely wrong I was."

I nodded once. "My dad tried just after the accident. I found him with a gun in his mouth. He saw me, fear in my eyes, and took the barrel out of his mouth and sighed. He emptied the bullets and put me back to bed. He only got worse after that."

You swallowed hard. "I'm sorry."

"There's nothing you could've done. I almost wish I walked in a minute later, after he pulled the trigger, and found him dead. At least then I wouldn't have to deal with his bull shit. Isn't that horrible? To wish death upon your family?"

You shrugged. "You have a decent reason."

"If I knew everything he'd put me through, I would've shot him myself."

You went silent, ending the conversation.

...
I sat in your room Saturday, a dozen questions running through my brain.

"What does it feel like? Being that depressed?" I asked.

You tossed a tennis ball above your head, hitting the ceiling, and catching it again. You stopped after I asked my question. You sat up, tilting your head slightly. "It feels like somethings always constricting you. There's no way to fight it."

"Why'd you first cut?"

You looked down at your fading scars. "I felt I deserved it, that the physical pain took away from the emotional. After awhile, I started to like the pain."

You started to toss the ball again. "Anything else you'd like to ask?"

I gulped. "Why do you like me?"

You looked away from the ball and at me. Gravity took effect and the ball hit your face. I laughed. You smiled. "I like you, because you're different. You understand me in a way others don't. You know what it's like to be harmed."

I took a deep breath, wrapping my arms around your neck and kissing you. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Saving me."

...
I was five when the accident happened, and I still remember everything, after twelve years.

It's not like it's something I've fought to remember, it's just always been there. Like a random childhood memory that means nothing to you, but you'll always remember. Except this means everything to me.

Most people can't pin-point the event that changed their lives, for good or bad. But I can. It's engraved in two stones, lumbering over two graves, keeping watch till the end of time.

I stood over the graves today, the thirteenth anniversary.

October 18th.

It was dreary out today, thick and dark clouds hanging over my head. The stones were starting to get moss, the smooth edge starting to crumble.

I sat down in the cold wet grass and read each stone.

Dakota Anne Litz: Daughter. September 23rd, 1995- October 18th, 2002.

Stephanie Joan Litz: Wife: April 7th, 1969- October 18th, 2002.

I looked at the two spaces beside the graves, one for me and one for my father. We were almost all here, nearly identical tombstones. Last name Litz, death thirteen years ago today.

Really puts things in perspective.

I didn't like the feeling washing over me.

I stood up and ran.

...
I tugged on your hair a little. "Your hair isn't naturally that black, is it?"

You smiled. "You should've seen the look on my mom's face when I first dyed it. It took a bit of getting used to."

I looked at my boring brown hair. "I wish my hair was black." I said, then looked back to you. "Like yours."

"Your dad would kill you."

"He already is." I smirked. "YOLO, right?"

You shook your head.

...
I stood in front of the mirror, looking at my damp black hair. I ran my fingers through it, over and over. My skin looked paler against the black, but in an appealing way. Almost like a china doll, but without the creepy stone cold eyes.

I braided it and turned out the light.

I slipped into bed, wondering how the hell I wasgoing to hide it from my father. 

Do you guys just have that one song that you can always rely on to make you smile? Whether its the lyrics or the beat or the pure bad assness of it?

Goddamn.

For me that song will always be Little Black Submarines by the Black Keys. Highly suggest to listen to with earbuds and the volume cranked.

ANYWAY

Vote, Comment, Follow, Share!