Leaving Scars

Leaving Scars: 01

I fidgeted in my sleep, the events of the past two months flashing across my mind. I squeezed my eyes shut as tight as I could and prayed that I could forget about my father's death, if only for a moment. I hoped that, for one night, I would dream of something different, something peaceful and serene, and something that didn't remind me of my father. For the past few weeks, I mostly dreamt about the night my father was killed, if not, I would dream of what would happen if my father's attackers ever found me.

I turned on my side and closed my eyes, taking a deep breath to calm my nerves. I tried to think of things that usually calmed me during a hard night's sleep. I thought of pretty flowers and beautiful sunsets. I imagined walking along the beach, the smell of the salty ocean tickling my nose and feeling the sand between the crevasses of my toes with every step I took. I could see the moon sparkling in the night sky and the stars' glimmer reflecting off the dark ocean. The waves pushed and pulled in a smooth, rhythmic motion...

I was in a state where my body was resting, yet I was still aware of my surroundings. I could hear the air conditioning blare through the two air vents in my room, and I could feel my dog lying against my leg. I watched images flash across my mind, as if I were dreaming. I started to see the outline of a building. It had a single floor and very few parking spaces, but it had very bright lights; it was a gas station. I could hear a male's voice talking to me, followed by the sound of my laughter.

A hard knock outside my bedroom door disturbed my drifting state. I lay still, paralyzed from the sudden beating of my heart. I didn't say anything nor did I move. After a few moments of silence, I wondered if I had imagined the knock.

I sat up on my bed with my back pressed against the wall. I wiped the beads of sweat off of my forehead and decided to go downstairs for a drink of water. I silently padded my way through the carpeted hallways and down the stairs. I stepped into the kitchen and my feet were greeted by the cool tile floor. I opened the fridge and picked up the last cold bottle of water.

"Mia," I heard a voice from behind me called. I turned around and saw my mother standing in the doorway of the kitchen. "What are you doing up so late? You have school in the morning."

I frowned. "I couldn't sleep."

She crossed her arms together and walked over to the wooden stool on the opposite of the kitchen island. "Have you had any luck lately?"

"Only sometimes," I admitted.

My mother looked at me with tired eyes. I could tell that she was in the process of recovering too, although she hid it better than the rest of us. When my father died she took a week off of work to grieve but none of us ever saw her cry; she was a strong woman.

I took a seat across from my mother and watched her eyes drop towards the floor. "I got a call from your therapist yesterday morning," She started. "She told me that you haven't been going to your appointments."

I opened my mouth to defend myself but quickly decided against it. "It's hard going to those sessions," I responded. "Dr. Whittaker wants me to talk about what happened but I'm scared."

My mother reached across the island and placed a hand over my own. "She's only trying to help." She said comfortingly. "Do you not remember what happened anymore?"

I shook my head. "I remember every last detail, mom." I said honestly. "I think about it enough and I constantly dream about it. I'm just afraid that it'll get worse."

"You have to try," She consoled. "It will get better as long as you're making an effort.

"

I nodded. My mother stood up and kissed me on my forehead. She suggested that I get some rest and I told her that I would try. She went back to bed and left me alone in the kitchen. I sat there for a moment, paralyzed. I'd have to see Dr. Whittaker tomorrow after school and I wasn't looking forward to it. I walked up to my room and snuggled under my covers. If I hoped to be fully functional tomorrow I'd have to get some sleep.