Flood

by Maria Quinn

  I spin around, blinded by a light I cover my eyes. It’s a car. A police cruiser.

  A man gets out of the car, his gait ablaze and aiming for me. “Dammit, April!”

  It’s James.

  “You can’t just run off, you need to go to the hospital.” He insists calmly, realizing he’s screaming.

  “I’m fine.” I twist around and start heading home. I hate hospitals, I’ll never go back.

  “Wait.” He catches up, “Wait, please.” He pleads cutting me off.

  He slides his hands around my arms in case I fall again.

  I relent.

  “I’m fine, really. I just have a headache, that's all. I promise.” I tell him, trying to rid myself of this unwelcome confrontation.

  He doesn’t appear pleased.

  “Look,” I say. “You know there’s no way you’re taking me to a hospital, so get out of my way.”

  He knows.

  “At least let me take you home.” He demands.

  Locking my knees, I try not to sway.

  “Please.” He says again.

  Contemplating my situation, it is a dark and lengthy walk, and I might pass out again.

  A sigh escapes me, I can’t believe I’m giving in.

  My feet hurt.

  “Fine.” I finally give in.

  He gently turns me around sliding his hand behind my back for support. He leads me to the passenger side to let me in.

  “I got it,” I say as I reach for the handle and pull.

  He stands there watching me climb in. He shuts my door and gets in on his side, turning on the ignition. The raw upstart jilts my nerves.

  I watch him. He pisses me off just being near me, I don’t know why. I don’t know if it’s because of our criminal past, or the fact that he knows me, better than anyone. Lucy can’t be right. I don’t need anyone; just a new life. I’ll prove she’s wrong.

  The trees pass in a blur; too fast to look for signs. I look up; the moon is almost full, telling me I just need one more thing in my life to be complete.

  I am scattered.

  I long to be whole.

  The sky lets me know I’m almost there.

  “Thanks, I guess,” I whisper to the air.

  James reaches over and squeezes my hand, filling the emptiness between us.

  His hands are so warm; warming the cold anxiety out of mine.

  Thank you, James.

  8

  Breaking, the tires squeal and the gravel beneath crackles as we cruise up to my drive. As soon as we come to a stop, I rip myself from the vehicle and run inside without a word.

  I hope he leaves. I don’t want him to make a scene, I don’t want my mom to know, and I don’t want to look in the mirror.

  I don’t want him here.

  I don’t want him.

  Running upstairs, I shut the heavy white door behind me fast and lock it. I pull on the knob to make sure it’s secure. I glide over to the window’s side and peek through the shades; he’s leaving. Thank God.

  I watch his break lights fade into the night.

  A sinking feeling engulfs me.

  I sink like the Titanic.

  A knock at the door. “April? Honey you okay? ”

  “I’m fine, just taking a shower.” I start running the water so she will stop talking.

  “Alright.” She says softly. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  “Yeah, you mentioned that the first time.”

  Hearing a sigh, I listen to her light footsteps disappear.

  I don’t know if she believes me. I don’t know if I care.

  My fingers taste the warmth of the water, my body aches for the sweet taste as well.

  I undress without looking and step into the shower. The water rains from the shower head washing the tension in my muscles down the drain. I look down to watch the pink water swirl between my feet, lining the drain with my toe.

  I wash. I dry. I cry. I dry off some more. Then slip into my favorite pink cotton towel while scrutinizing my face in the mirror. I trace the blue tint on my cheek, it hurts to touch. Pulling back my hair I find a deep red gash nestled in my hairline. I flip my hair forward; easily covered.

  Wiping the returning fog off the mirror, I stare into my own eyes. I hate what I see. I hate what I don’t see. Am I still in there? I dress and leave.

  Plunging into the sea of covers, I hide my face in the comforting waves. My hands drift deep in the water and hooks my journal. Reeling it in I lean up on my elbows and search for my last entry to write below it. I don’t want to write, I have too. If I don’t, I’ll implode.

  The pen feels firm in my hand; steady. I try to write about something good; good thoughts, good feelings to follow.

  Remembering when I was younger, Lea and I use to sit in my backyard under the shade of our favorite big oak tree. Out of breath from tickle wars, we laid there, sun soaking our bare feet. Browned leaves rained on our heads while birds chimed rhythmic tunes. The air smelled of pine and wet earth. I remember when I thought everything was right in the world. That tree is dead. Along with the memory, and any hope I carried of something greater. I grew and learned about the world and the people in it that were good and bad. But now there is evil, I don’t know where, but I can feel it closing in. James. He reminds me of the oak tree, tall, strong and unmovable. He was there. Leaning on him reminded me of that memory under the tree. But reality set it, I pushed him away, I drove the memory away. I don’t want it back; any of it. Not the false hopes, not any of it.

  I stop and reread my thoughts, wondering if I mean every word or if depression is controlling my hand. Either way, I need to get it out.

  I shouldn’t think of him; James. He shouldn’t be on this paper. I don’t know what is fueling these thoughts of him. I know he supposedly saved me and all, but come on, get over it. I think I might want something from him. I don’t know if I want him want him, or if I just want him to go away and die. I can’t distinguish these feelings. It has never been easy.

  I pause, one last thing:

  Men suck.

  My hand stops, my fuel is out; I’m empty. It feels positive, but it will hurt tomorrow; it always does. My journal disappears and my face hits the pillow.

  But I can’t sleep. The pain is back too soon; the emptiness throbs.

  My eyes well up, soaking my pillow. Something hurts, deep inside. I don’t know what it is, yet it comes so often. I don’t know why I’m doing this. I could have been because of tonight, but most likely not. This has been happening every night for months. Something aches. I want to erase it, but it won’t go away. Pills won’t make it go away, I don’t know what to do. I want someone to tell me what to do.

  I want someone to make this go away.

  9

  The morning rays pierce my consciousness, and I am unwilling to fight for more sleep, I’m too tired to fight, I battled all night with my mind. Exhausted, I sit up and look around, letting everything come into focus. I’m having trouble with the walls. Pictures of old friends and fun; a room full of ghosts. Trying not to think, I watch the dust glitter in the sun, following the pieces until they drift too far. Then my mind drifts far; back to my nightmare. I have it constantly.

  It’s dark, I don’t know where I am.

  I can’t move.

  Scared. Confused.

  I hear footsteps echo in the corridor. Closer and closer.

  A fluorescent light flickers above.

  The door flies open; it’s a man. Too dark to make out any features.

  He moves closer; something glints in his hand.

  I try to move, I want to run, I plead with him; I’ll do whatever he wants. Please, I beg him.

  He grins and feeds on my fear.

  His eyes scream in hunger.

  I scream for something else.

  He hurts me and hurts me and hurts me.

  He doesn’t stop.

  I cry, plead, and beg for my life as if I can stop it from spilling on the floor.
<
br />   He doesn’t stop.

  His fist comes at my face.

  My blood trickles across the cold cement floor.

  The pain, the fear, it doesn’t stop; not until I wake up.

  And then still, my body hurts from the dream, as if it were a memory; like it were real.

  Maybe I’ve watched too much television when I was young. I’ve never witnessed any violence—unless I was causing it—or have been severely traumatized enough to have these nightmares of such rage. Is it my anger manifesting itself onto me? Or did I do something in a past life that warrants these plaguing dreams? I’m so sick of it.

  Or maybe they’re right. Maybe I’m just sick.

  My door coasts open. “Mornin’ honey. Sleep good?” My mother strolls in.

  “Great,” I say wickedly.

  She sways over in a blur and sits on my bed, “Listen,” She clears her throat, “I know this whole mental disorder thing has got you down but I think you’re letting it drag on a little too long.”

  I stare in disbelief.

  She drags on, “I think you just need some fresh air, friends, and fun. Or I could always call Dr. Roslyn and see if she could raise your dos-”

  “Mom!” I cut her off. “I’m fine, go away!”

  She looks betrayed, like she actually thought she was helping.

  “I’m a nurse dear, I know how these things work.” She tries to explain.

  I can’t handle this anymore. “Just go,” I tell her calmly. “I’m going out now; to have fun.” I half-lie.

  “Well, alright then.” She chirps and patts my leg.

  She hit the blanket covering my knee, and I watch as an explosion of dust dance in the sun. I want to dance with them, but they waft out the door after my mom as she left.

  Jumping out of bed I rip my drawers out, throwing on whatever is on top and left the drawers on the floor. I put on deodorant. Frustration excreted through every pore. I look at the deodorant in hand and think about putting it all over. I have to get out of here. I fly down the stairs, “Mom I’m borrowing your car.” I shout grabbing the keys from the banister.

  “Have fun!” I hear her call through the window as I open the car door.

  She has no idea. She never has, never will.

  Opening the door, I rattle the key in the ignition. It growls on as I watch the dials oscillate until they find their proper positions. I strike the gas like I hit a home run and ramp onto the dirt roads; tires spitting out rocks from behind the whole way. This is it. This is my getaway. Why wait? I’m leaving now.

  Spinning out onto the main road minutes later, nearly missing a semi, I gun it for the mountains. I want to be there. Behind the mountains, where no one can find me; my past, family, friends, no one. It appears so serene from here. I can be at peace there.

  My foot is lead. I can’t pick it up. I don’t want too.

  It’s early, the road is wide and clear.

  I go faster. It feels extraordinary. A grin begins to form. I can see the wind, I can see it creating a map just for me. Just follow the map, it’s so simple! Nothing can ruin this, nothing. Not my know-it-all mom or my in-denial dad. No one.

  On its own, the car gradually starts slowing to an eventual pace of dripping honey. I flatten the gas pedal yet no movement. The car felt as if it were floating a few inches off the ground, but it has to be my vertigo. Coins from the center console began floating up as if gravity was being slowly reversed. I gently touch them and they move—big problem. I've never been able to touch or feel my hallucinations before. This is what I was afraid of, beginning to not know what was real or not, I know this can't be real but how do you escape a hallucination? It's in my head; I can't escape my head! As I panicky start hyperventilating about being in a giant hunk of metal and not knowing if I'm doing 90mph or floating in the road, but noticing a strange noise in the background, my reality came crashing back to view.

  I start to hear this faint whine, it grows.

  It manifests into lights, red and blue light that shatters my map into white smoke.

  “Shit!” I won’t let them ruin this for me, I’m almost there. I’m so close!

  The newly issued cruiser gains speed and closes the gap.

  Just a little further...

  It’s a loud and angry whine. I can’t take it. It’s infesting my brain.

  Dammit!

  Pulling the emergency brake I tailspin over the yellow lines to the other side for what feels like an hour before I stop just shy of the guardrail.

  The cruiser just plain stops in the middle of the road and backtracks fast. Lame.

  Someone steps out, I’m shaking with anger now. From my mom, my crushed happiness, and myself. Myself most of all, I have me to blame, that’s it. I want to tear this defective brain out of me! I want to tear it out and throw it over the edge! I grab fist-fulls of my hair and wrinkle my eyes closed, shutting out the world.

  I start to rock. I can’t breathe. It’s happening again.

  My eyes are shut so tight tears can’t squeeze through.

  Stop it April stop it! Control yourself!

  But I can’t! What can I do?

  Do something!

  I’m too engaged in my own conversation to even notice my door is open and a hand is on my shoulder.

  My grip starts to loosen from the steering wheel.

  “It’s okay, just breathe. Take a deep breath and breathe slowly.” A voice allays.

  Peeling my head back from the steering wheel long enough to catch a glimpse of James, I immediately became bitter.

  “You.” I spat annoyed.

  I kick my way out of the car and was shaking from fury.

  Stabbing my finger at him, “You’re following me!”

  “April, listen to me-” He sounds similar to my mother.

  “Who the hell would be out this early? And then you coincidently pulled me over!” I shove him hard. I want to slap his face off.

  He looks at me with furious eyes.

  “Why couldn’t you let me go? I was almost there.” I’m sobbing uncontrollably. “I was almost there!” I’m hysterical.

  Covering my face with my hands, I can’t see what isn’t there; this isn’t happening.

  This is not happening, I’m not acting like a baby, especially not in front of someone I hate, or like, or…

  Something firm grips my shoulders, “Look at me.” James orders. “Look at me, just look at me.”

  He peels my hands from my face, wiping away the tears as he held up my head.

  Peeking through my eyelids, I see James staring back at me with something I’ve never seen in him before. Fear? Worry?

  His gaze was sobering.

  “Just look at me and breathe. Breathe.” He says slowly.

  It’s hard, my lugs rattle with each breath. I just want to quit and suffocate.

  I grab at my chest. My heart hurts.

  My shaking slows.

  He doesn’t move until I’m almost still.

  His hands slid down to my shoulders, “Here, just sit down.” He guides me to my car seat like I forgot where I parked.

  My legs dangle on the pavement, my head sinks into my hands.

  He kneels down on one knee and pulls back the curtain of hair from my forehead. It’s sticky with sweat.

  “I’m sorry.” I apologize shakily, “I’m so sorry.”

  “There’s no reason to be.” He picks up my head and looks into my soul.

  I stare back as if we have a mutual understanding.

  “It’s just,” I start, “It’s…my mom, my…my parents. They just don’t know anything. They don’t get it. They…they just make it worse. It’s everything.” I say on the verge of crying again.

  “How can I make it better?”

  I stare at him confused. No one has ever asked that; I don’t know what to say. I don’t know the answer.

  Shaking my head looking down, I am unsure of myself.

  “Just...give me a ticket so I can go home,” I grumble, swinging my
legs into my car.

  His hand parts from my head.

  He looks as though he expected me to say that.

  He stands up and pulls out his pen and pad of paper. He scribbles something down and tears it off the spine, handing it to me.

  Oh my god, is he really giving me a ticket?

  I look, it’s just a bunch of numbers; a phone number. I glare at him questioningly angry.

  “I don’t want this. I don’t need your help.” I hand it back to him.

  But he pushes it back as he closes my door. “Just in case.” He says, “You might get pulled over again, and it might not coincidentally be me.”

  Feeling my face un-harden; I feel like a bitch.

  He leans in closer one last time, “Please be careful, April.” He beseeches with anxious eyes.

  I want to nod, but I’m frozen. Watching him slowly walk back to his car, I listen to the door slam as if it's miles away from where I am. I thumb the piece of paper, wondering its meaning. Hearing the faint start of his car, I look up and watch James turn around slowly depart the opposite way.

  Our gazes lock briefly.

  Watching him vanish in my rearview mirror, I read the white lettering in my side mirror while starting my car; “Objects in the mirror, are closer than they appear.”

  So much closer.

  James flashes in my mind.

  I never knew how close.

  Before pulling around to go home I side-eye my console, the coins weren't there anymore, but scattered on the floor.

  Just ignore the implications; you're crazy, remember?

  10

  Looking at his number one more time, I throw it crumpled onto the backseat. I don’t need him. I don’t need anyone. I can do this on my own; everyone slips up sometimes. This is mine, and I won’t have anymore; not this week at least.

  My mind muddled its way through what just happened while I shift into drive and head for home. Checking my phone, Lea had texted me: come over. That’s probably a better place to go instead of home to mom, who earlier just sent me on my last drive.

  Searching for signs to tell me this day will get better I look up to see a rift in the clouds, sun pouring through as if God is telling me it will get better. I wish I had wings to fly in the sun and into that rift, to the other side. God would probably be there, waiting for me. We would play go fish and become the best of friends. Then I would ask of him a favor; wipe the Earth of its men.