Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83519 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83519 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
She doesn’t stop there. She’s not content with one arm. I scream when she does the same to other, noticing how she’s already growing weak from the injuries as the knife doesn’t cut as far the second time.
I’m locked in place, unable to go to her, unable to help her the way I did Dad earlier today.
The knife falls from her hand, not making a sound as it sinks to the bottom of the rapidly filling bathtub.
“Pitiful, isn’t it?”
I jerk my head toward the voice, but it doesn’t make sense. Liana is somehow in the tub but also standing beside me.
“What have you done?” I scream.
She doesn’t wince or tell me to keep my voice down.
She smiles, her eyes locked on her body in the tub. She’s started to turn that weird gray color that Dad turned after he stopped twitching.
Tears burn my eyes. I know what’s happening. I know this means I’ll be left all alone.
“Why did you do this?” I sob.
“I had to.” It’s the same answer she gave when I asked about Dad’s death. “You’ll be fine.”
Liana turns me to face her, but I can’t look. The girl close to me is the same putrid green color as the one in the tub.
“You’ll be fine. I promise.”
“I won’t.”
I expect her to argue, to attempt to assure me that everything will be okay, but instead, I get a sinister laugh.
It bubbles out of her, somehow sounding exactly like Dad did when he was dying.
The tears don’t stop. I don’t know if they ever will.
“You did this,” she says, her voice vile and filled with hatred. “You’re the reason I did this.”
I shake my head.
“You hid. You let him hurt me, let those other men hurt me. My death is your fault.”
I want to deny it, but I can’t. I was a coward, always staying hidden, always trying to be the best daughter I could be because I saw what misbehaving included.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, my head hung low.
Once again, warmth covers my cheek, and I’m almost tempted to lean into it, but she’s being so mean to me.
“You can end your pain, too,” she urges.
I shake my head. I could never do what she just did. It would hurt too much.
“I’m not brave enough,” I confess.
“You are,” she urges. “We can be together again. You’re older. You have access to ways that will be quicker, less painful.”
“Older?” I look up at her, once again confused.
But she’s gone. The bathroom is gone. Even the sound of running water has disappeared. I’m standing in blackness with nothing but silence. I scream into the pitch black, but only my voice echoes back at me.
I’m too scared to move, too scared to run.
It’s in this darkness that I realize that the pain is gone. My heart is no longer racing. My skin isn’t clammy. My mind is blank. I don’t know what I’m missing, but even that sense of isolation fades away until calmness takes over.
Did I do it? Did I manage to finally slay my own demon?
“Lauren?”
The voice is like a bomb going off. It bounces around me until I have to cover my ears.
“Lauren?”
My eyes flutter open, the warmth on my face from Angel’s hand on my skin.
I feel so out of place and disoriented. I know it was a dream. I’ve had it many times. I know I never witnessed my sister’s suicide, never had a conversation with her ghost. She never opened her mouth to blame me. That finger pointing was read in her diary, her only outlet for the pain she’d been suffering for years. Her diary was a mix of rants about my father and the abuse, about the way he brought other men into the house to hurt her the same way he was. The other half were hearts and flowers, and how much she loved him and hated that he claimed the world wouldn’t understand the way they loved each other. She was tired of the secrets.
I feel sick just thinking about it, my body hot and shaking from the dream that just gets more real every time I suffer through it.
Angel watches my face silently, but the sinister man is gone. All I’m looking at is pity. He feels sorry for me, and that is a cut I can’t survive.
“Let me go,” I whisper.
He shakes his head. “I can’t.”
I watch his face. He looks as exhausted as I feel, and I know what I have to do to help us both.
“El Salvador,” I whisper as I close my eyes.
***
This time I dream of cool breezes on my skin, but it feels off. The freedom in it feels short-lived, and when I open my eyes, I understand.
I’m no longer tied to the bed. My body is covered with a blanket, and I know without even having to leave the room that I’m alone in the house.