Held [Completed]

Thirty Three.

Thirty Three.

Four months later.

Time. It is said that time heals all wounds. That those wounds turn to scars, and those scars fade away eventually. Well, it's been four months and these marks are still here. The carving on my right thigh is plain as day, and so are the cuts on my wrists. They have a light pink hue now; slowly changing to brown.

Absence. It is said that absence makes the heart grow fonder. That the longer your special someone is gone, the more you grow to love and appreciate them. Well, that is true. It's true because I miss Jake. I honestly miss him and hate him, and I don't know what to do about it.

As I sit on my twin sized bed, staring at my wrists I can't help but close my eyes. A range of images flash through my head like a movie. Each vivid detail being depicted word for word, play by play. I can see everything unfold before my eyes. I can see my parents; my mom's loving, vibrant smile, and my dad's stern eyes; cautious yet friendly. The days before our family grew distant. Those were the days my brother was alive.

Then, in an instant I see eyes. Smoldering green eyes, submerging me in a canopy of ebullience. Staring into Jake's eyes made me feel vitality, hope, and courage even. He's the reason I'm out of Rich's grasp. But with the way I'm feeling now I'd rather be back there with Jake. At least I wouldn't be out of his life completely.

Thinking back on Rich, it's been a while since I've heard anything about him. The detective, Miss Lovelace told me that he will be going away for a very long time. That was back in February though, and I still feel like they aren't telling me everything.

So when she visited me in April I demanded she tell me the truth. I did manage to get some information out of her which made me feel more at ease. He is in a state prison in Florida, serving a fifteen year sentence for kidnapping and assault. After she told me that I flipped. I just lost it because he is alive while my baby and parents are dead. It's not fair. She reassured me that he had a heavier burden to carry because he  had to live with himself.

I guess she was right, but I still feel like he deserves worse though. He deserves to suffer how he made me suffer. Every time I think about Rich I get angry. And my therapist says anger isn't good.

Opening my dull, teary eyes, I release a tense breath while unclenching my fists. I've been stressed and distant because of all this aggression I'm holding in. I'm just so fucking angry and there isn't a damn thing anyone can do about it. Not even my therapist can help me. I'm cold, distant, and disturbed now. I feel like I'm drowning in my own insanity. I'm slowly drifting away to emptiness.  It's like I'm not myself anymore. Happy, caring, fun loving Olivia is gone, only to be replaced with angry, vengeful, depressed Olivia.

I've lost my true self and I don't know how to bring it back. All I know is that I'm so tired of feeling pain. I'm sick of feeling afraid, ashamed, unloved, and depressed. Without a second thought, I fall back on the full sized bed with cotton blankets. Inhaling deeply, I take in my surroundings. The same surroundings I've had to adjust to these past few months. 

My room is nice. Spacious and refreshing. I'm not closed in; I can breathe here.

Sitting up, I notice the pastel hues add more color to this once drab room. My walls are a darker shade of pearl while the wood floors are light. My bed, nightstand, and dresser are an off white with a mauve stripe on each. 

When we first moved in the room was bare and boring; just a bed, nightstand and dresser. I didn't have a problem with it because I was just happy for a bed. A bed I could sleep in alone. I spent my days and nights in my room laying on the floor, staring at the ceiling. I cherished that time because I could think.