Divorced (LGBTQ Story)

Divorced ch.20

Have you ever had a feeling that a ghost is in your home?...

I have, too many times to count. It wasn't like the stupid obvious ghost signs; such as a freezing cold rooms, objects falling out of place, and/or a random person appearing in the mirror. No! This shit was freaky and always kept me up at night.

Ever since the funeral, I've been having bad dreams of Lila's death. Dreams that appear more than once as if Lila is communicating with me. Usually, the dream would start out with Lila getting in a navy blue or sometimes a white car with a guy that she just met. Like always, the dreams would end in the same way; her being strangled to death and then being pulled out from the backseat.

Most of the time, the guy's look changes. He would have a goat-tee, long hair, short hair, and few times- a bald head. He would be either black, white, Asian or Hispanic. Tall or short... So many characteristics, and so many bad dreams. Every night, like tonight; I sat up in my bed and take deep breaths to calm myself down.

My palms ached from my nails digging into my skin until evidence of blood slowly dripping down my wrist, however, I did not immediately provide myself with the right care. Instead, I sat there; watching the trial of blood go down my wrist, arm, and soon my silk covers. While imagining the pain Lila might of felt that night. Emotionally and physically..

As you may tell, I am not good with handling death. The first two weeks of Lila's death, I was completely fine; mainly because I had her funeral to organized that occupied my mind. Now, I had nothing on my mind to keep me from tripping like this. Of course no one would favor it, and some would question the sudden disappearance of souls. I, on the other hand, go all out by damaging myself until I get my shit together.

The first time I experienced someone close to me leaving this earth permanently, is when my grandmother passed away from a sudden heart attack. At the time, I was twelve and would spend every given moment with my granny; as if she was my only friend.

Granny was always there for me when no one else was. My parents was too busy being them and Danielle did not have the same mindset as me; such as liking boys, getting into makeup, basically doing typical girly shit. When Granny passed away, I was so devastated; at first, I was in denial, then I slowly realize she was never coming back; which made me cry for days on out. Finally, I turned into a mess; so much of a mess I was obsessed with death for the past six months until my pet kitten died; and I had to start the process all over again. Basically damaging myself; socially, mentally, and some what physically.

As I matured, the stages of grief died down into having bad dreams and just crying. However, it feels like I'm damaging myself; mostly mentally and physically.

So now, that I am sitting here; looking upon the thick warm blood that cascade down my palm- I think of pain. I had a very low tolerance for pain, and gory things that would make a person vomit. Of course, the two never came across one another until now; however, even that could not make me rethink of my state of mind- at least until I heard the soft angelic voice and felt a light shift of the covers next to me.

"Skyler, are you alright?" Mike asked, making me jump out of bed before he noticed my bloody hands.

"I'm fine," the words came out as a whimper before I cleared my throat. "Go back to sleep."

Mike did not take long to doze off once again, as he slept; I went into my bathroom to wash the blood off my hands and arms. As my dark brown eyes looked up, I saw nothing but grief, guilt, sorrow, and even anger on my face; I wanted to snatch the mirror in pieces until I could not feel my hands anymore.