Reviving December

Guinivere

December

The pile of blush colored material was taunting me as it hung limply from the hanger. Ruffles and chiffon, lace, taffeta, whatever it was, dangling there. The damn thing knew where I should be, I knew where I should be, but I wasn't there. I couldn't be, not in that. Not in anything close.

Why?

Because October had chosen a strapless dress. A stupid dress with no sleeves, no straps, nothing to hide what was there; what everyone would see. And why wouldn't she? It was August, the height of the heat in Texas. I should've been able to wear the damn thing. But I couldn't. My chest tightened at the simple thought, body tense. I had to keep it covered. No one knew. And why would they? I'd never said a word. Never would. But it had consequences, like missing my sister's wedding. Like hiding from my family, lying to them about everything. About four years of my life. Hell, I kept so much quiet that the didn't even know his name.

But what did that get me? More secrets. More nightmares I could never speak of.

I looked again at the dress, suddenly angry. And defeated. Was this the life I was destined to live? Hidden away from everyone because I couldn't admit the truth? Would I forever miss my sisters' weddings? Summer get togethers and barbecues? My chest now felt as if I'd been struck. Would I never have the chance to blossom with my family?

*
I stared at the girl in the mirror, scrutinizing her under the harsh glare of the artificial lights overhead. She had limp, lifeless platinum hair, the different strands she used to be proud of now laying against her shoulders in a heap of matted tangles. Her once tanned skin was pale, ashen to her own eyes and blotchy. Her pert bow shaped lips were likewise pale and cracked, showing that they hadn't been properly moisturized in only the Lord knew how long. And her eyes, her eyes were a mass of swirling blues, greens and grays, battling furiously for domination and filled to the brim with a stark pain that rang through soul deep. The woman staring back at me in the mirror wasn't me, but she was all in the same. I didn't bother to look below the neck, didn't bother let my eyes wander further. I knew what was hidden underneath the soft fabric of the plush towel.

My chest ached furiously as I continued to soak in the image of myself reflected in the mirror. When had I become this? So ashamed of my own self that I would rather not look at my body. When had the vibrant woman, so full of life and confidence, disappeared? And more importantly, would she ever return?

Even as I asked myself this, I knew I couldn't answer that entirely. Sure, I knew the roundabout time i had become a shell of myself , but I couldn't pinpoint the exact moment. And I wasn't entirely sure that woman could ever return.

Tears burned in the back of my throat - a sensation akin to having french kissed a blow torch - and instead of allowing the salty tears to fall, I fought them. I didn't want to cry, didn't want to show just how much I was hurting, how much I simply hated the sight of myself .  Deep inside I knew that the only way to alleviate the pain that sat on my chest was to let it out, but I couldn't find the strength within. I flinched visibly at how weak that sounded. There was a time when I had been considered the strongest of the Dixon six, the one who would never let anything get me down, but now? I couldn't even face myself, let alone someone else. And that was the worst weakness of all.

"December, are you gonna hog the bathroom the whole time you're here?" I tensed at the sound of my cousin's voice calling through the thin wooden door. Instead of responding with a quick remark like I would have before, I dropped the towel hastily, averting my eyes as I began to tug the top quickly over my head and down my torso. Dressing was normally a long journey, one that I tried to drag out in order to avoid any contact with my body, but I couldn't take her time now. My anxiety sky rocketed as my fingertips accidentally came into contact with the edges of the puckered skin, stomach rolling as I fought back the memories.

"Dece, baby, help me."

My throat tightened, making me gasp for breath. My hands shook,pulse quickening. I could barely make out the sound of Tennessee talking through the door and I tried to grasp on to that as sweat began to bead on my skin, making the flush that kissed my flesh more apparent. I attempted to swallow, fought to breathe as I began to remember the scent of torched wood, of fire, of burning flesh.

"Dece? Save me!"

I tried to push back, fight against the overwhelming sensations. The edges of my vision began to blacken as the sound of crackling rose to my ears, popping-- of the screams. His screams. How his cries had changed as I had crawled toward safety, how his calls for help had turned to wishes of death. My death.

"December, you stupid whore! I hope you burn! Don't you f*cking leave me!"

I fought to anchor myself to the room. I tried to look back at the porcelain faucet, tried to study the silvery mouth of it. I couldn't breathe. My chest ached under the intense need to expand. Stars danced. The room span. My body shook.

Darkness loomed, devouring me at a rapid pace. I struggled to remain conscious, chocking as I tried to take in air.

Even as I fought, I knew that it was a futile attempt. Instead of continuing to struggle, I allowed the darkness to collect me in its arms, embracing the emptiness it promised.