“She sprained her ankle being stupid, so my bastard grandfather told me to carry her home,” he says, his sharp tone unchanged. “Be grateful.”
“Eliana,” my mom turns to me.
I can already see where this is going.
“Um, ah…” I stutter, sliding off his back. I place a hand on the rail to support myself. “He’s—”
“Hayden,” he interrupts, holding out a hand.
Ignoring him, she grabs my hand and drags me with her. A sharp pain shoots up my ankle, but I do my best to endure it. I don’t even have time to thank him before the door slams in his face.
“Let go!” I shake my arm from her grasp. “Is that how you thank someone?”
“Eliana, listen to me,” she places her hands on my shoulders. This is the first time in a while I’ve seen her look so serious about anything. “He’s dangerous. He’s… your poison.”
“My poison?” I furrow my brows. “Okay mom, now you just sound crazy.”
“Do you understand what you’ve done?” she yells, making me flinch. “He’s the one who—”
“You two get along as usual.”
A quiet voice breaks through the night, but it’s enough for me to stop what I’m doing. Sitting at the table is my dad—the one who abandoned us when I was small. He has a small smile on his face as he watches us, his hands crossed on the table.
“Why did you come here?” I walk towards him, the adrenaline enough to make me forget about my sprain. “Are you out of money again?”
“Can’t I come visit my family?” he asks.
“That’s bullshit,” I grit my teeth. “If you wanted to visit your family, you never would have left us in the first place!”
“Eliana!” my mom says, scolding me. She moves me away from him. “Don’t mind her. She’s been a little stressed lately.”
“What?” She always works until late in the evening. Why is she putting on an act now?
“Sit,” she whispers in my ear before pushing my shoulders down. I have no choice but to do as she says, and I sit across from dad while my mom sits in the chair beside him.
“I made meatloaf,” she directs our gazes to the table. “Now, let’s eat.”
“Wait,” I interrupt her mid-way as she’s about to dig her fork into the meal. “You never cook. Why today?”
“What are you talking about, Eliana?” she glances to the side. “I always cook, and we always eat together every night. Isn’t that right?”
I understand everything now.
The home-cooked meal, the closeness between two daughters, and the reason he’s here.
“You’re trying to make-up, aren’t you?”
Clearing her throat, she places the fork on the side of her plate. “It will be good for us.”
“Who decided that?” I raise my eyes from the untouched meatloaf. “We went thirteen years without him. I don’t need this man in my life.”
My dad reaches out to me, but I slap his hand away. It falls to the table.
“Don’t touch me with your filthy hands.”
The hands he patted my head with, the hands I held when we went on walks, the hands he hurt us with—they’re all the same.
“Remove that tone from your voice,” I turn to my mom, my eyes wide. “He’s your father.”
Mother, father. These are labels humans use to have superiority over another. A grown woman can make the same mistakes as a high schooler, and a grown man can make the same mistakes as a child. No one’s perfect—I know that.
But this, I can’t take anymore.
The silverware jumps up when I slam my hands on the table. I stare at the man across from me. I can see that life has withered away at him. Crinkles lay beneath his bloodshot eyes, his beard is unkempt, and his hands won’t stop twitching.
He hasn’t changed at all.
“Father?” I stand. “I don’t have one.”
“I know we had our differences,” he looks to me, “but that’s why I’m here now. I want to regain the precious time I lost with you.”
“Since you want to know so much about me, I’ll tell you,” I take a deep breath. “I’m bullied at school because my ex-boyfriend spread my first around school. They call me caramel, write whore and slut on my locker, and make me trip so much I have scratches on my body. Every day is hell, and I can’t even tell my own mother about it.”
“Eliana,” she says. “That’s enough.”
“Why?” I yell, slamming my hands on the table, and y plate falls and breaks on the floor. “Why do you always do this? You never listen to me when I try and tell you how I’m feeling. Aren’t you just running away from your problems?”
Before I knew it, her palm smacked my cheek, leaving behind a stinging pain. Heat spreads across my face as I stagger backwards, clutching my cheek, and eyes watering. I don’t believe it.
“Did you just… slap me?” The sentence tumbles out my mouth and into the air. As if just realizing she had done this, she looks at her hand.
“Eliana—” she reaches out to me, but I stumble away. The only thing I can do is run.
It’s been four months since I’ve locked myself away in my bathroom and took out my silver knife. I could erase my problems from my mind with a small slit of my wrist. I close my eyes.
“Did you cut yourself?”
I wonder long it’s been since we first met.
“If it hurts too much, you don’t want to feel anything at all. But if you don’t feel anything, you won’t be you anymore.”
Little by little, I learned something new about him every day. No matter how miniscule the information, I was always thirsty for more.
“No matter how many times you come and speak to me, I won’t remember who you are. Because… I don’t care to remember things that are insignificant to me.”
When I found out about his condition, I was surprised. Even so, I wanted him to acknowledge me. I wanted him to remember me.
“My favorite candy is caramel, and the person I like is you. Isn’t that interesting?”
I was written in his notebook, but not his memories. A part of me was lonely while another was happy I was even able to make it there.
“But even if it fades away, I can tell. Because it’s still a part of you that I like.”
I was happy. But even while happy, there are still things that can darken my thoughts.
“This is why I don’t like you. You have no self-esteem.”
“I know,” I smile, a tear sliding down my cheek. The taste of salt is on my tongue. “I don’t even like myself.”
Deeper. I need to cut deeper—until I feel it in my veins. Until I can’t feel anything. Until I’m numb. Finally, my grip slackens. The knife clatters to the floor along with my body. Black spots fill my vision, painting my eyes dark. My blood runs cold.
“Am I… going to die?”
That’s the last thing I’m able to say.
“The worst thing is watching someone drown and not being able to convince them that they can save themselves by just standing up.”
— Anonymous
9
Recollection
September 24th, 20XX
1:02 PM
I hear a machine beeping.
My eyelids feel like they’re glued shut as I pry them open. It’s dark. I move my neck and see a giant glass window. Dead branches and leaves, multiple colors of brown and yellow, have piled up.
Wait. Isn’t it summer?
The machine accelerates before a door slams open. Two nurses run into the room, one clutching a clipboard to her chest. She places a hand on my forehead, her palm cool against my hot skin. Her eyes widen as she removes her hand.
“She’s in shock,” she looks back to the blonde nurse. “Brittany, get an IV!”
“Yes!” Brittany responds leaving the room. Shortly after, she returns, and a needle pricks my arm. My eyelids grow heavy and the beeps slow.
“The paramedics found you collapsed on the bathroom floor,” The first nurse s
ays, her brown hair tied up into a bun. “You cut too deep and slipped into a coma. It’s been a long time since you woke up, so it’s understandable that you’re scared. However,” she slides her glasses up with her index finger. “Consider what occurred. You’re in the hospital because of a self-inflected injury. There are people that would be sad if you weren’t here anymore. Remember that.”
She walks out and closes the door, leaving me alone. I turn my head and look up at the ceiling.
“Hayden walked me home, I was having dinner with my parents, and…” my head hurts just trying to remember what happened. I can’t recall anything past the argument I had with my mom.
A shadow in the corner of the room catches my eye. When I turn my head on the pillow, I’m surprised to see Hayden standing in the doorway. I realize we’re wearing the same hospital gown and sigh. So, this is DiMaggio Hospital.
“I never thought I’d be a patient here,” I say, trying to brighten the mood, but his expression doesn’t change. “Don’t look so sad. I’m not dead.”
“But you tried to die, right?” I turn my head away, unable to answer. His footsteps draw closer until he stops at the side of the bed. “Answer me.”
“I can’t.” I know the answer—I just don’t want to tell him, and he knows that, too.
“So, you’re a liar,” he whispers. “You said you were going to keep talking to me until all of me accepted you.”
“That wasn’t a lie!” I turn around so fast I almost get whiplash and place my hand over his.
“How are you supposed to do that if you’re dead?”
When his words hit me, everything else does too. If I’m dead, what will happen to everyone I left behind? My mother will have to plan her teenage daughter’s funeral. My deadbeat of a father will have full custody of the baby brother I never meet. And Hayden…
He’ll be locked in this hospital forever, just like his grandfather says he deserves—without freedom and nothing to write in his journal.
“Did my words finally reach you?” he says, his voice reclaiming its soft tone. He tilts my head until our gazes connect. “If you’re gone, I’ll have nothing but blank pages. No one has ever tried to get to know me past the other personalities, and I’ve never found anyone I liked enough to recall.”
“But,” a tear streaks down my cheek. “You said it yourself. You forget everything tomorrow.”
“Everything,” he wipes the tear from my cheek. “Means everything. But from the time you saw me crying, I’ve always held a special place in my mind for you. By looking at you long enough, I would remember. You were the first to do that.”
“…Really?” I say, my voice small.
“Really,” he leans his forehead against mine.
“One thing still bothers me,” I mumble. He hums, as if asking, “what is it?” in a quiet manner. “A part of you said you hated me.”
“Which one?” he asks, lifting his brows.
“Which one…?” How should I know? I think for a moment. “The one that’s always grouchy.”
“Ah, him,” he says, as if he understands everything. “Don’t worry about it.”
“How can I not?” I want all of you to like me. But that’s embarrassing to say aloud, so I’ll keep that to myself. He laughs.
“It’s okay,” his eyes narrow. “All I care about is you being safe.”
Warmth blossoms in my chest. It’s sweet, yet bitter. It’s an emotion fragile like glass—as complex as a maze. For the first time in three months, I smile. It’s not a smile from a movie. It’s a damaged smile life has chipped away at.
My heartbeat accelerates.
I think...
I may be in love.
“I think you have to pay for love with bitter tears.”
— Edith Piaf
10
Past’s Scars
Same Day
2:58 PM
“Did I make it into The Irregular Ward?”
After wiping my face with a couple of tissues and talking with Hayden, the nurses left us alone to catch up. He’s sitting in the visitor chair peeling me an orange. I said I could do it myself, but he told me patients should rest. He’s one too, but he doesn’t say because he’s been here so long—it’s like the hospital is his home. He peels the orange skillfully as if he’s used to it before looking at me.
“You remembered,” he throws the peel in the trash. “This is it. You have a nameplate, too.”
“Let me guess,” I say. “It’s decorated with small knives in black and white.”
“How’d you know?” he sounds impressed.
“Just a guess,” I lean back into my pillow. He places six slices of the oranges on a small paper plate. I reach for it, but he pulls it away from me.
“No,” he says. “I’m going to feed you.”
“I’m not dying! I can feed myself!”
“You haven’t eaten in three months,” he says, sounding oddly serious. “What if you choke?”
Thankfully, before he can place the slice in my mouth, someone knocks on the door. The brunette nurse along with my mother walk into the room. When our gazes meet, the air thickens. Placing the paper plate on the counter, Hayden turns to her. I realize his atmosphere changed.
“They allow abusive family members in now?” His tone has changed in just a matter of moments. He stands in front of my bed in a protective manner when she walks closer.
“Move,” she demands. When he doesn’t budge, she repeats herself. “Move.”
“You don’t have the right to touch her.”
“She’s my daughter. I have every right,” she glares. “I don’t need a crazy person near her.”
“You neglect her every day,” his glare is just as intense. “Look where she ended up because of it.”
“I want to talk…” I clear my throat before pulling on his gown. “To… my mom.”
“I’m not leaving.” I sigh, tired of his attitude.
“Then stand in the corner or something.”
He looks pleased before doing what I said. She sits in the chair and reaches her hand towards my cheek, but I flinch away. Looking remorseful, she retracts her hand and twists it in her lap.
“I’m a horrible mother,” she whispers. “I’m sorry. This is all my fault.”
“Mom…” I whisper. “No, it’s mine. I’m sorry.”
“No, if I had just listened, then—”
“I can’t watch this anymore. It’s pitiful,” Hayden sighs. “Listen. Why don’t you try being honest with each other for once?”
I’ve always ran away and suppressed my emotions, but the strong don’t live from ignoring—they live from enduring. I’ve relied on cutting to keep myself from the things I didn’t want to hear, but now it’s time to confront everything.
“Someone once told me,” I begin, staring at my hands. “If I blew the seeds off a dandelion, my thoughts would reach my loved one.”
“Really?” she asks, staring at me. I nod.
“Yes,” I smile. “I can’t recall his name or face, but this I can say for certain—I believed him.”
“This is about your father, isn’t it?”
“Hey, Mom,” I say. “Why did he leave?”
“I knew this day would come. I’ve prepared, but… I never thought it’d be today.”
“Mom?” I say, concerned. I don’t like seeing her look troubled. She reaches her hand towards me, but this time, I don’t avoid it. She smiles.
“I’ve had enough time,” she says. “It’s okay.”
Hayden watches over us from his corner, a sad look in his eyes. She pats my head before placing her hands back in her lap.
“I met your father when I was eighteen, him twenty-four. It was love at first sight,” she says. “After four months of dating, I became pregnant. My mom wasn’t one to play house, so she kicked me out. While still clinging on to hope, your father got a job at a restaurant as a waiter. He worked late hours, but he still found time to come home every night and speak to you w
hile you were still in my stomach. It doesn’t sound like much, but it was enough for us. But,” she closes her eyes. “It changed once we had you. I gave all my attention to you. He started to come home at odd hours of the night and lock himself in the bathroom. That’s when… his addiction began.”
A twisted sense of familiarity spreads through my chest like poison, twines around my neck, and suffocates me.
“He drank until he couldn’t think anymore, took all kinds of pills to drown out the pain. He was a broken human being clinging on to anything he could just to escape reality.”
“But you didn’t leave,” she nods. “Why?”
“He admitted himself into rehab, came out clean, and proposed. After five years and another baby on the way, he relapsed. That’s when I finally decided that living apart would be the best option.”
“Why didn’t you get a divorce? I would have kicked his ass to the curb,” Hayden asks.
“I didn’t want to give up on him,” she says before turning to me. “But as you grew up, you began to look more like him each day until I could stand looking at you. You would remind me of everything, so I buried myself in my work.”
I thought it would be something like that, but hearing her confirm it hurts more than I thought it would. I tighten my grip on my gown.
“If looking at him hurt so much, why did you let him eat dinner with us?”
“I thought you’d want to see him,” she says. “I remember how much you cried when he left.”
“Yeah, well after seeing him, I don’t want to ever again,” I cross my arms. “Especially after you told me the reason why you left him.”
“Eliana…” she whispers. Her eyes shining with unshed tears, she pulls me into her arms. Unsure of what to do, I’m stiff as she hugs me. It isn’t until I feel a push on my back that I snap out of it. I look up to see Hayden smiling at me.
Go ahead. He mouths the words to me, giving me the extra push I need to move on. I raise my shaking arms before circling my arms around her back.
“Oh? Am I interrupting?” I lift my head to see Mr. DiMaggio standing outside the door.
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