The Things We Couldn't Forget

Chapter 21.

I refuse.

I refuse.

I refuse.

My bones ache and my head pounds and my fingers twitch and shake at the ends of my hands but I refuse.

My mouth is dry, my mind is one hundred different train tracks all en route to crash into each other but still...though my body fights me, I refuse.

I grab the pills off of the floor and I force my body up the stairs.

"Don't be stupid." They say. "Don't do something you'll regret."

I sling the bathroom door open.

"You need us." They call, frantic now. "You won't be able to get more. You need this peace. You need to go away."

I lift the lid off of the toilet seat and twist open the cap.

"We're okay." Their whispers fill my ears. "You're okay with us, only with us. Come to safety. Come to comfort."

"No more." I say as I tip the bottle over and watch the white pills stream from its mouth, crashing into the water below. "No more." I toss the empty bottle to the floor and with a steadying hand I flush.

I watch them twist and swirl as they scream, until their voices are gone.

I sniffle and wipe my nose, the tears drying on my cheeks and I turn.

I turn from the toilet and cross over to the sink and I force myself to look into that mirror.

My shoulders are shaking with my deep staggered breaths but I stare. I look into my dark eyes, I look into my own face and I stare hard at the girl who is looking back at me.

For a moment, she's young.

Her hair is up in braids and she's staring with hollow lost eyes back at me.

But slowly the image shifts.

She's taller.

She's lifting her chin.

"We're okay." I say to my reflection, feeling power in the resolve my eyes shine with. "We're okay."

I won't let that girl down.

The one I've been letting down for years.

She didn't want this.

She didn't do this to herself.

She couldn't control the circumstances of her young life, but I can. I can do better. I can fight harder, for her.

I cross the hall and walk into my childhood bedroom and I sit on the edge of my bed. I just sit for a long while, but then I turn and look at the cork board leaned against the wall.

I stare at it for so long that my eyes go dry and fuzzy.

I lift myself from the bed and kneel beside the board. Slowly I remove the pictures. I remove the pink fabric.

I set them aside until the board is left with one thing. Right in the middle.

"YOU."

I stare at the word and I feel it move over my body. I feel it take root somewhere deep inside of me.

Even then, I was searching for myself.

I let my fingertips glide over the paper and I make a silent promise to myself to not stop trying to find it. To find who I am beneath this all. To do something to make the little girl who cut out that word and put it on this board with so much hope, proud of the person we will become.