Lost

Chapter 24

A body

Fell into the room.

I blinked.

Wait what?!

Okay, things were weird before but now they just got weirder.

"Reed?!" Jewel gasped, bending down to tentatively poke at his soaking wet shoulder.

A second passed and then another as we stood silently with baited breath.

"I'm...alive..." Reed gurgled triumphantly, raising a finger.

Blood was already pooling around him, mixing with the salt water, the back of his shirt ripped to shreds.

"But you...died?" Kate said weakly.

"Did you...check my body?...survived...monsters..." Reed managed, wincing with every breath.

It suddenly made sense. The stooped figure on the beach who I had seen staggering towards me was Reed. He must have been following us these past few days, trying to catch up, to reach help, but always failing. Relief flooded me. Reed wasn't dead. He still had a chance.

"Quickly! Unlock the doors! He will live if you go back to your old lives!" Damien urged, gesturing to the door

Bree didn't need to be told twice. She approached the doors and began unlocking each lock, her hands shaking. At long last, the final deadbolt was unlocked. The gears sprung into motion, spinning in synchrony to open the huge double doors. A white light spilled through the crack, becoming more and more blinding by the second. By the time the doors were open, my entire world had become a blank canvas. Everything had disappeared, replaced by white, and I was standing in the center of it. The only thing marring the blank world was me. I hadn't disappeared. Then, all in a rush, the world recreated itself, but differently. In an instant, I was four year old me, thinking the same thoughts, feeling the same feelings.

***

I am in the hospital, the mint green walls staring back at me. My small body is enveloped in a big white bed. This is my very first memory. The machines beep steadily, just barely keeping me alive, and my hands and feet are going numb from lack of blood. Still, I pull the string of the metallic get well soon! balloon, until it reaches my face, before releasing it and watching float back to the ceiling. A thin tube is down my throat and in my stomach, feeding me. Another tube is leading to my nose, giving me the oxygen I would die without. I have toxic shock syndrome. The doctors aren't sure if I'll live to see daylight.

***

I am pushed up against the wall in our pale green hallway. Mom's vise like grip tightens on my upper arms as tears stream down my face. I hiccup, my small feet dangling nearly a foot off the ground. Mom is screaming at me, her face red and her brows pushed together, her mouth twisting in an angry snarl. I can't quite seem to recall what I've done, but it seems to have made mommy very angry. I'm such a bad girl. Mommy only gets this angry when I've done something very bad. Spit flies in my face and I sob harder.

"Stop crying! If you don't, I'll spank you some more!" Mommy screams, fury glittering in her eyes.

"B-but I can't!" I hiccup again, hot, salty tears flowing freely.

"Yes you can!" Mommy screams, shaking me, "stop it! Stop crying!"

I've been a very bad girl. Even though I can't remember what I've done, the guilt crushes me.

All mommies act like this...don't they?

***

I am eight years old. I'm sitting on the lap of my giant teddy bear that my aunt got for me when I was born. It's so big, she had to strap it in the front seat with her as she drove to the hospital to meet me for the first time. I'm holding back my tears, all alone in my room.

"I'm really weak," I whisper to myself, the first tear sliding down my small cheek, "I cry because of the smallest things. I'm such a crybaby. I cry when I skin my knee or climb too high on our apple tree and get stuck. Mom always gets mad when I cry. I should stop."

Still, the tears come even faster, rolling down my cheeks and landing on Mama Bear's stumpy legs.

"I promise..." I whisper, "I promise never to cry again."

***

Nine years old and sitting on our ancient couch, reading a fat chapter book. At least, trying to. Usually I would be engrossed in this faraway world, but not today. Mom and dad are storming through the house, yelling and shouting and even screaming at each other. I pretend not to notice. After all, I'm used to it. I wonder if they'll break up. My mind is indifferent, not really caring if one of them left.

***

Thirteen years old and sitting at our small kitchen table. Big sis, dad and mom are all fighting, their food forgotten. They're fighting and I can't do anything. They're screaming at each other, mom and dad accusing sis of things she's never done. I want to stand up, slam my hands on the table and scream stop it! But I can't. Why? Because I'm a coward. All the words being screamed between my family are drowned out in the quickening throb of my pulse. My hands are shaking under the table. I still them and reach up to finish my meal. As soon as my plate is cleared, I interrupt mom's rant.

"Please may I be excused?" I say quietly, the thing which mom has drilled into my head.

She nods and continues shouting, her face red and tears brimming in the corners of her eyes. I'm not crying. I'm not even holding tears back. They just...aren't there. I feel shell shocked. My family fights all the time but it's never been this serious. I race out of the house, my feet pounding to the rhythm of my pulse. I find myself behind my favorite tree, tears finding their way down my cheeks. I collapsed, my head in my hands, sobbing. And I realized, just then, how immensely terrible our family was. We walk around, acting like everything is fine, when really, all we ever do is fight. And I've been lying to myself all along. Lies like, I'm strong. My family is happy. I'm happy. I'm so lucky. The lies kept piling up. And when I asked my mom why she fought with dad so much, she said, "you'll understand when you're married." No. I'm sure I won't. The realizations kept piling up on me and I was pushed down, wishing I had stayed oblivious. Wishing that I had kept on thinking that all families were like this. And that's when I disappeared.