The Rift

Chapter 19 (Part 3)

Sunlight bounces through the windows of Dr. Rose’s office. We sit on the two couches, relaxed and happy. She’s laughing, leaning over, shaking and winded. I’m smiling too, my hand casually splayed over the armrest, leaning comfortably back into the soft couch cushion. She straitens up, sweeping some loose strands of hair back behind her ear, and smiles at me. I grin back, pleased.

“I’m glad, Brooke. That’s hilarious.” She says, happiness filling her voice. He eyes twinkle in the sunlight.

“I know,” I say “I couldn’t stop laughing for ages afterwards. Nick thought I was having some sort of fit. I was hysterical.” I smile at the memory. Leanne smiles with me.

“So the transition went well? Sometimes moving to a new school can be hard.” She says, concerned. She, like every other adult I know, is always worrying about me, no matter how many times I tell them not too.

“I love it here. It’s perfect. It wasn’t difficult at all. Nick came with me, so that made it easier.” I say honestly.

“So the school is good for you? You’re better there?” She asks.

“It’s amazing. It’s the best possible thing for me. It’s so much fun. I’ve never been happier.” My news school is truly wonderful. Its arts based, which is amazing. I’m writing almost every day now, and it’s for school. Leanne recommended it, when I told her what I want. She has been really helpful.

“Good. Brooke, I’m so glad. That’s wonderful.” She says, clearly pleased that it worked out so well. I’m happy too.

“I know.” I say, smiling kindly. We sit in silence for a moment, but it’s not uncomfortable. I finger the silver chain around my neck, with the small silver key. To most people, it just looks like a necklace. To me, it’s so much more. After a moment, Leanne says,

“That’s all the time we have today. I really don’t think you’ll need to come back Brooke, as long as everything continues the way it has been.” She stands, and I do as well. We shake hands. I smile at her, with genuine friendship. She wasn’t so bad after all. I leave the office happy, and wave at the receptionist on my way out. I walk out the doors, and into the parking lot, hopping on my bike and soaring through the busy streets.

We were expelled, of course. Me and Nick. They caught us on security cameras, and the two of us were quickly kicked out of school, with many warnings that it could have been a lot worse. I don’t see how it could have been better. I was an amazing coincidence that me and Nick both applied to get into the arts school, and we both got in. at least, our parents think it’s a coincidence that we both chose the same school. Nick and I know better. We had it all planned out the moment they called the two of us to the office. We were sticking together.

We love it here, at out new school.  It’s great. Perfect. Better than we ever expected. We have friends, we love our classes, and we see each other every day. We get good grades. We improve. Together. We love Life, together.

I pull up beside my house, springing off my bike and through the front doors. The house is full of wonderful smells, and both my parents are in the kitchen, working on dinner. Together.

“Hey, Brooke, Honey!” My mom calls as I walk in. “how’d it go?” she turns to me as I enter the kitchen, concern on her face. She still worries about me.

“Great mom, really great.” I say, and see the happiness in her eyes. “Leanne said I don’t need to come back.” I say proudly. My mom’s face breaks into a smile.

“Sweetie! That’s wonderful news.” She exclaims, coming to hug me. I see my father smiling over her shoulder. He gives me a thumbs up. I smile back. My mom finally releases me. “Dinner will be ready in a half an hour.” She says.

“Cool. I have homework to do.” I say, heading for the door. My parents smile at me, and I race upstairs to my room, the key swinging on its chain above my chest.

I throw myself onto my bed, tossing my backpack in the corner. Grabbing my journal, I open it up, and start writing. I’ve started a book, and I’m working on the first chapter. It’s harder than I thought, remembering all the little details. But I’m getting there.

                I lay on my stomach; my covers swirled around me, and write until I heard my father call me down for dinner. I carefully tucked my journal away before racing downstairs. I sat down at the table, my mother on one side, my father on the other, a big bouquet of flowers right in the middle. I make a point of collecting these every once in a while. My mother adores them, and to be honest, I like them too. My dad’s never been a big one for flowers, but he puts up with it. He can tell it makes my mom and me happy.

                We dig in, and for several minutes the only sounds are us chewing. Eventually, we talk about school, and work, and everything else, like normal families would. Nobody mentions the therapist. We all just want to put that behind us. At least, my parents do.

                I know it would be impossible for me to forget. To put it all behind me. My parents can. They’ll find it easy. And I’ll act like I have.  But the physical markings I have lacing my skin will never go away. And I can never forget what put them there. The three funny scars in my stomach, from The Rift. The long scar on my upper thigh, from The Rift.

The other, little markings, almost completely faded, on my wrists and ankles. On my waist, and legs. The Rift gave me those too, but in a different way.

The way I’m always hesitant. The way I’ll always have to hold back, because I’m afraid that I’ll get hurt. Not physically, but emotionally. The way I’m scared tot talk to people. To look them in the eye. The walls, which are now strong, but still, need to be there. The walls that hold me together.

I wonder if they’ll ever fade. If I’ll ever be able to function normally again. Nick tells me I will. Whenever I’m down, he’s there supporting me. And I’ll always love him for that. But sometimes, it feels like I’ll always be afraid.

I can never forget The Rift.

But I’m getting better. Happier. My smiles and laughs are genuine; I don’t need to force them anymore. I wear short sleeves. I feel pretty, even when I eat. And boy, do I eat. And it’s good for me, it feels good.

I run, I grin, I leap, I spin, I twirl, I jump, I yell, I dance, I sing, I write, I’m happy. I have something to do. Something that makes me feel good, and outlet for my fears and my anger. Something that I’m good at something I get praised for. So yes, I’m better. But I can never forget.

After dinner and dessert, I stumble, full to the brim, upstairs to bed. I strip down, slipping into my pyjamas. I roll into bed, exhausted, the key still around my neck. I never take it off. Even though I’m half-dead with exhaustion, I can’t sleep. I’ve been having trouble sleeping, body is having trouble understanding that there’s nothing to fear with dreams anymore. That my dreams no longer hurt me, they are simply figments of my amazing imagination.

But my mind has trouble grasping that, and always gives me a hard time when I stumble into bed. But I eventually slip into dreams, and they’re never anything bad. Oftentimes, I can’t even remember them. Tonight, after a couple minutes, I drift off.

I thought that I had already had my last dream in The Rift. That I would never go back.

I was wrong.

Welcome to Part Three!!!!

I’m sorry this chapter is so short, but the next one will be longer, I promise. If you people see any spelling/Grammatical errors in any of the chapters, please tell me. I really appreciate it when you do. Thanks so much!

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-purplecat