Say My Name [ Teacher-Student Romance -- Robert Downey Jr ]

Ch.79 - That Should Be Her

Song announcement: LAY ME DOWN by SAM SMITH is this chapters song.

Now, enjoy and interpret away what you make of this all.

***** 5 MORE CHAPTERS + EPILOGUE = BOOK DONE.
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Today she promised herself she would not cry. Not a single salty drop would drip, yet, with fists clenched into her hair, cradling her head as she leans elbows on bent knees does she tremble with tumultuous tears that tear at her insides. Welling and swelling as she quells on the subject of Molly's untimely, wrongful death. Still so fresh, dust still settling on that pure snowy skin.

But she shouldn't, Charlotte shouldn't be crying. Because those who commit the crime should not weep for their own chosen losses. That all this was started because Charlotte couldn't keep track of her own mental health, or, or defend herself, or Molly or do anything at all right. She can't cry, and yet she is. She sobs, her entire being vibrating in pain as she inaudibly screams for mercy--to have her Molly back. Shivering because she's so damn cold. Ice buried deep into every inch of her being. Three days without Molly, and Charlotte hasn't stopped shivering since. Pulling at her hair that resides in choppy incongruent lengths. Once a pristine shiny brunette, shoulder length when completely straight, which it rarely was, is now varying from three inches, to five.

CJ had found her brandishing scissors and a bottle of wine in their bathroom. Whimpering as she slouched against the tub with silky long strands in her lap and Molly's picture rested on the sink countertop. That blotted and jagged line zig-zagging across her temple and brow, red and bruising, leaking through the makeshift bandaging that had been applied an hour earlier.

With soft assurances and tentative understandings, CJ had gotten Charlotte out of sitting in her misery and given her a haircut. She did her best with what she had to work with, but it doesn't matter because Charlotte still looks like a grown Molly. Looks at herself in the mirror and shudders, withering away with grief, reminded by her own image that her little sister could have one day looked like this.

Grief that comes in the form of thrashing waves that suck her beneath it's shimmering top and conceal her from the world. Holds her hostage and drowns out her sensibility, her wit, her love, and her life. Just like that day. That tortuous day. Ripped away her Molly, accompanied weeks later to let them have hope that she would have the life she intended to live, then proceeding to murder her.

It's this deep seated thing that lives inside the holes in her chest. Between the carved cracks and missing chunks of meaty muscles. An aching throb that thrums a constant stifling pain through the centre of her being, into her everything, everything that used to live and now remains as the undead. Just a notch above being sunk six feet under softly packed soil.

She wishes she were, she wishes so badly everyday that it was her stuck in a box and wasting away.

But its not.

The festering wounds that have become infected and infested with grief stricken bruises and lipstick red swollen skin from endlessly gnawing at her too tight clothes. The guilt, the trepidation of saying goodbye to someone who wasn't even in her life for a full decade.

She's dead--Molly's dead.

The nausea that rolls inside her gut, it's insatiable. Makes her feel human when she knows in truth she is the monster that let her mini me die. Because it is her fault. This--all of it comes to rest on Charlottes traitorous shoulders.

She should not be welcomed here. This place of peace and serenity that hosts the death of a young innocent child, and here the murderer adorns the same space as the ones who truly took care of her. Who hadn't faltered in their sworn oath of eternal care and safety over those you love. Over Molly.