Life Interrupted

by Yessi Smith

  “We should probably go, Rob.” Amber apologetically looks at him.

  He nods his head, wary and unsure of me. “We’ll talk later?”

  “Yeah, sure,” Amber agrees.

  He looks between Amber and me, and I try to smile for his benefit.

  “It was good to see you, Holly.”

  I nod my head at him, and I’m grateful when I realize that the panic is slowly subsiding. I was able to stop this one from hitting me full force. I don’t know what I did differently, but I’ll write out all the details in my journal as soon as I get home, so I can dissect it and find the solution.

  “Well, that went well.” I laugh, but I cling on to Amber’s arm like the lifeline that it is.

  After buying groceries, I stop by a local florist shop. It isn’t like those big commercialized flower stores. It’s a small one that complements the quaint country surroundings. I greet the store owner with the familiarity that is granted after knowing one another for more than twenty years.

  She arranges Erica’s flowers with a steady hand and smiles at me when she hands them to me.

  “How’s your lucky girl doing?” she asks, convinced Erica is lucky to have me simply because I buy her flowers weekly.

  I’m the lucky one though. My luck changed when Erica saw me and believed I was worthy of her love.

  “She’s as beautiful today as she was the day I met her.”

  I pay for her flowers and head to my truck, anxious to get home before Erica wakes up. After turning the ignition, I round the corner and drive through the mall parking lot to bypass a few red lights when I see Holly. Her friend has her arm draped around Holly’s shoulder, and for a second, I think she sees me, but I know that’s not true when she laughs at her friend.

  My anger boils to the surface. Laughter is not something she should be gifted. Pain is what she deserves—a knife searing through her skin, forming perfectly aligned long cuts over her back, candles burning into her flesh, and a stun gun pressing into her stomach over and over again until she vomits.

  Holly has changed her hair color, and that infuriates me further. She thinks her life is hers, but it isn’t. She is mine

  Mine.

  Her skin is marred by me, making her mine.

  It would be so easy to take her now while she is preoccupied laughing, but there are too many witnesses. Instead, I watch her from a distance like I did before. I’ll study her new habits and get to know her all over again.

  Patience.

  Then, like before, I’ll take her. I just need to bide my time, let her believe that she’s safe and that the boogeyman no longer exists.

  I hope she’ll be just as wild as the girl I originally abducted. I hope she’ll fight me, kick me. I hope she’ll believe she can escape from me again so that I can take my time torturing her into submission once again.

  Two months have passed since I left the hospital, and I feel more like myself—wait, that’s not true. I’m still a shadow of who I used to be, but that shadow is stronger and happier. I’m not what happened to me, nor am I the missing fragments of my memory. I am who I choose to be.

  I am Holly Grace Fischer.

  I’m not the girl who woke up, confused, but I am the woman going through a volcanic storm. I have my moments of weakness that I’ve learned to take in stride because the weakness only strengthens my resolve to be more resilient. No, I’m not that same girl, but I still recognize her. She lurks behind all the bravado and self-confidence. Just like the stream I knew I’d find in Poppa’s backyard. It’s there, beautiful in its constant flow, but hidden from the public eye.

  The various moments caught behind a camera lens and proudly displayed all over Poppa’s house are gone to me, impossible to reproduce. But I’m here, making new memories and picking myself up as I go along.

  I draw almost as often as I breathe, and my room is filled with my doodles as well as snapshots and memories from a past that no longer belongs to me. But I’ve started a new life. It’s a fresh start, free from the pain I must have felt over losing my parents. And not to get too cocky, but in this new life, I kick ass—literally.

  I sparred for the first time four days ago. I remembered what Derrick had told me, and I used my small stature to my advantage. I was agile and knew how to rebound quickly. I also thought too much, making me a reactor rather than the attacker. But at least I protected my face that now proudly showcases a small cut and bruise over my right eye despite the protective headgear I wore. Finally, I have a bruise that I have a direct link to, and can be proud of.

  Poppa, on the other hand, wasn’t quite as proud even though I told him I’d won the fight. But he doesn’t understand. It wasn’t just about the fight—winning or losing. It was about me, about saving myself, because I can’t count on anyone to help me. I can only count on myself. Right now, I’m just a small contender in life. But I refuse to give up, and according to Derrick, that makes me a champion.

  To appease Poppa, I’m meeting up with my friends, ones I haven’t seen since I once again lost my shit in front of them. I can’t blame them—at least, I know I shouldn’t. Twice, I’ve acted like a crazed escapee from an insane asylum. Which, I guess, maybe, I kind of am. I giggle at the thought and shrug off my bad mood.

  I slip into a small gray tank top with the words Rap music made me do it inscribed on it and dark skinny jeans with purposeful tears placed along the legs. To complete my ensemble I put on a pair of black flat boots. Looking in the mirror, I’m pleased with what I see. I’ve gained weight, and while I’m still skinny, my cheekbones remain a flattering focal point, and my butt has made an awe-inspiring appearance. The layers in my hair are growing, and I love to leave it loose, so it can flow freely around my face, a face I’m finally comfortable with and can recognize.

  When I hear the doorbell ring, I square my shoulders, reminding myself that I’m meeting with friends. They don’t have to be here, and they don’t have to care about me, but they’re trying just as hard as I am. On a hopeful exhale, I head downstairs and soften my lips into a genuine smile when I see them.

  Amber’s the first to hug me, and this time, the embrace doesn’t catch me off guard. Still, my one-armed half hug is awkward, so we both separate with practiced emotionless smiles. Amber and Stephanie follow me into the living room where I sit, hugging a cushion to my chest, with one foot under me. Stephanie follows suit, and then we just stare at each other until Poppa comes in with Derrick beside him.

  Upon seeing me, Derrick greets my friends with his slow smile and sits on my lap as he greets my friends.

  “Derrick,” I protest, trying to shove him off of me. My lips spread into a small smile, secretly glad for his stupidity because the edge in the room has lessened.

  “How ya girls doin’?” he asks, ignoring what I’m sure he knows to be my empty efforts of getting him away.

  Amber giggles while I pinch Derrick’s side, but rather than move, he sets his full weight on me. On a laugh, I pinch his side harder and sink my teeth into his shoulder, which forces him to jump up and yelp.

  “I taughtcha better than to cheat,” Derrick scolds, rubbing the spot I sunk my teeth into.

  I stick my tongue out at him. “Don’t be a sore loser,” I chastise as he walks away from me, Poppa and him laughing at our banter.

  Now that the ambience in the room is more tolerable, I turn to my friends, who are staring at me with their eyes wide.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, looking behind me, only half-expecting to see a crazed man with a machete after me. At least only half of me has remained crazy. The other half is relatively sane with slight schizophrenic tendencies.

  “He’s hot.” Amber fans her face with her hand for emphasis.

  “Who? Derrick?” I ask, wrinkling my nose. I’m pretty sure she wasn’t talking about Poppa, but, you know, I just wanna make sure.

  “Well, yeah,” Amber says, grabbing a pillow and tossing it at me.

  I grab the pillow before it hits me, unease coiling down
my spine. Inhaling a calming breath, I take the pillow and sit on it to ensure it doesn’t get thrown at me again.

  “He’s Derrick.” I shrug, not able to emphasize further than that.

  “So, y’all aren’t dating?” Stephanie asks.

  “No,” I respond, my forehead furrowing.

  Me dating? I almost laugh. Not just Derrick but anyone? Dating requires physical contact, which I’m still not too keen on at the moment.

  “Do you think you could introduce us a bit better?” Stephanie asks.

  I shrug my shoulders.

  Stephanie and Derrick? They would look good together.

  “Sure.”

  “Maybe you two could go to a party with us tomorrow night,” Amber offers.

  The tension in the room comes back in full force. Pulling me in. Deeper. A lump settles in my throat, too thick for me to swallow.

  “Oh, come on. It’ll be fun, like old times,” Amber insists.

  “Yeah,” Stephanie chimes in, probably because I’m her only way to get to Derrick. “We told everyone you’d go.”

  “Everyone?”

  “Yeah, everyone,” Stephanie repeats, so oblivious that these everyone she’s speaking about don’t exist to me.

  “Don’t you remember what happened the last time someone I didn’t recognize tried to talk to me?”

  Arms crossed over my chest, my eyes dart to them, making their bodies go rigid. I don’t want their sympathy. I want their understanding. My life derailed months ago, and I’m slowly getting back on track. A party with people I don’t know doesn’t sound like an environment I’ll make progress in.

  Amber’s gaze skids to Stephanie and then back at me. She pats my hand and promises I’ll have fun, but my chest tightens, and my head throbs as they continue to talk, unaware of the emotions building up inside me. Instead of focusing my energy on the bad, I remember what Derrick has taught me in the ring. I look back at Amber and Stephanie—not as friends, but as potential opponents.

  How can I beat them? How can I outsmart them?

  But, really, it’s me who needs to be beaten. They’re simply trying to help me get back to normal. And well, parties are normal. Getting together with people is normal. Once my mind wraps around that idea, I choose those thoughts over the anxiety, over the darkness and turmoil that seeks freedom. Maybe I can do it. My heart throbs while my knees shake, but I keep a firm grip on reality. With Derrick by my side, maybe it won’t be so scary.

  “Maybe.” I glance at them and Amber hugs me.

  “It’s at my parents’ lake house. Don’t worry. I’ll give you directions.”

  Her gaze meets mine, and concern brimming behind hers is as much disconcerting as it is revealing. We were once best friends, and I can see myself confiding in her.

  “If it gets to be too much, we’ll take off and go somewhere quiet. We just want you back,” Amber says.

  With my emotions on overload, I take her outstretched hand and nod my understanding. “The thing is, I don’t know if any of us is gonna get me back. This is who I am now. Even if I remember who I once was and what we were to each other, this is me now. You either accept that or let me go.” I leave the choice to her.

  “We accept you,” Stephanie chimes in. “We love you. It’s hard for us to let go of who you were, but I swear, we’ll try. Just don’t leave us again.”

  There’s hurt and unshed tears behind both of their eyes, and I realize they’re hurting with me. Just like Poppa. I’m back in their lives, but I’m a different version of who they remember. They remember a vibrant, fearless, spontaneous girl.

  They’re left with me.

  Which in turn, leaves me alone. But I embrace the lonely and have learned my way around it, making it just another experience in my life. It doesn’t control me. It’s simply an emotion I breathe through.

  Before they leave, Stephanie hands me her phone number to give to Derrick, which he all too happily accepts.

  I then get into my car—Derrick has given me thorough lessons on how to drive—and I go to the boxing gym. I punch and kick the bags for hours, hoping to dispense the uncertainties of the day. Going to the gym is my greatest stress reliever. The physical exhaustion and pride I take in losing myself there is like a mini vacation from my brain.

  But even after I pass the point of normal exhaustion, I continue because the frustrations of the day have happily settled on my neck and shoulders. With every blow, I fight the demons lurking in the dark, and I don’t rest until I sense Derrick behind me. Spent, I look back at him and see that he is just as sweaty as I am.

  “Time to go, Rocky,” he tells me.

  He’s right, I note to myself. Night has fallen, the rays from the sun no longer skirting through the entrance of the gym.

  “How long have you been here?” I ask, following him to the lockers.

  “A little over an hour.”

  “Slacker,” I tease.

  He pushes my shoulder with his.

  I take my towel from my gym bag and wipe the sweat dripping off my face before I take a drink from my bottled water. Silently, Derrick walks me to my car but stops in front of the door before I can open it.

  “Who were you fightin’ in there?”

  “Fighting?” I laugh, already knowing what he is implying. “Derrick, I was hitting a bag. You know, training for my next sparring match.”

  “Bullshit,” he counters, his eyes zeroing in on me, not willing to let me talk my way out of his question.

  Sagging my shoulders, I sigh. “It was weird, meeting up with Stephanie and Amber. They want me to go to a party tomorrow night, and they already told everyone I was going,” I relent. “It’s just…well, they talked about people I’m supposed to know, as if I still knew them. They don’t get it—or I don’t get it.” I shrug my shoulders, not wanting to meet his eyes.

  “You don’t wanna go to the party?” he asks.

  “No.”

  “So, don’t go,” he states simply.

  Derrick always makes things out to be simpler than they are—or I make things harder than they need to be. One or the other, but I guess it doesn’t really matter.

  “But what about having a normal life?”

  “You seemed to be havin’ a good normal life till today,” he points out.

  “A normal life consists of a lot more than just you and Poppa,” Suddenly upset, I wave my arms in the air and pace frantically in front of Derrick. “I have a college degree but no job. I should go back to teaching, but I can’t leave my house unless it’s to come here,” I say, pointing at the gym. “I stay in my room and draw or paint. That’s it. That’s all I do.”

  “Holly,” he says, slowly reaching for my hand and I stop moving as his hand moves closer to mine. “You’ve been through a lot. Give yourself some time to adjust. If ya ask me, you’re doing just fine.”

  Tears begin to well, and I look up at Derrick, hoping he’ll understand. “I want more than just fine. I want to be normal.”

  I saw her again tonight. And I’ll continue to see her every night she leaves her house to go to the boxing gym.

  It was humorous to watch her learn how to defend herself, and I found myself yearning for the nights when she used to pound on my chest, begging me to stop. Her tears, screams, and blood were the purest form of revenge, and I miss it.

  But seeing her crying in the parking lot of the gym, still lost and scared, brings me a sense of peace I haven’t felt since she escaped. I thought she had forgotten me, but she hasn’t.

  She remembers the fear, and I remember the thrill.

  Taking her away was easy. She worked long hours at the school where she used to teach, and she often wouldn’t leave until nightfall.

  Just as she reached her car, I grabbed her from behind, putting my hand over her mouth so that she couldn’t scream. With my pickup truck next to her car, I threw her into the passenger side while she kicked and bit my hand. Once inside, I quickly closed the door, knowing she couldn’t open it with the child lo
ck on.

  When I opened my door, she was waiting for me and pounced. Excitement pulsed through my veins, only filling me with a greed for more. Having anticipated her to be a fighter, I was able to press my stun gun against her neck, temporarily paralyzing her in the process. Pleasure spiked through my blood as I sat her upright while she twitched on her seat, the electric shock of the gun passing through her body.

  Not wasting any time, I put my truck in gear and drove away. When the twitching subsided, I slapped her across her face, making her hit the passenger window in the process. Blood, red and dark, trickled down the side of her mouth, so I swiped it with my finger and looked at it while I continued to drive us to her new home.

  When we got to the house, I dragged her out of the car, and she stumbled to the ground, scraping her knee. In a rush, I helped her back to her feet where she limped beside me as I guided her to the shed that awaited her. But I’d misjudged her. Just when I opened the door to the shed, she kicked my shin and took off running toward my truck.

  I watched her, amused, as she tried to find the key to the ignition. A smile spread across my face as I drew closer to her, and her desperation grew. She threw the door open and ran toward the trees that would all too conveniently take her back to her house after a few miles.

  My steps became faster, but fate took over when she tripped over a rock, falling face-first into a bed of leaves. A single branch was living among them, and it scraped her cheek, just below her left eye.

  I used my stun gun on her again and dragged her limp body over rocks, sticks, and branches, hoping the scrapes she suffered would serve as a reminder of who was in charge. Once I had her safely in the shed, I tied her hands to the chains I had bolted into the wall.

  Shackles and dirt—those were my gifts to her, welcoming her home.

  “You can’t leave,” I told her, angry and out of breath. “There’s no use in trying.”