“You know it’s okay if you’re not ready,” my dad tells me and I know he’s just trying to make me feel better for having not gone these last few months. Because yeah, I wasn’t ready. But this morning, eating breakfast and watching football, I just felt this urge to go.
I might drive all the way down there and change my mind, but while the feeling is strong, I want to act on it.
I give an understanding smile to my dad before walking over and kissing him on the cheek. I let him know I’ll call him when I’m done and then I head out the door.
As I grip the steering wheel of the Beetle, I feel a pull. It’s almost like a magnet. I feel it every now and again, urging toward something that I just can’t put my finger on. But oftentimes, it brings me back to that night. Two months ago.
Sometimes I intentionally block out certain pieces while the others thread themselves into my skin. And then some days I forget about those parts when the other memories that have faded come seeping back through cracks. It’s like stepping through one door of awful memories, getting trapped in that room for alittle while and then escaping just to enter another room. The amnesia fades in and out, but after recovering my memories from that night four years ago and after everything revealed itself, I feel at ease knowing that I no longer have to suffer silently, knowing that I am free and clear of the guilt my brain tried to protect me from. Guilt I made myself believe I deserve all along.
But as I stare up at the gates of the cemetery—the old rusting wrought iron bars holding in the essence of loved ones that have been torn from the very life they lived on this Earth, only to rot under it—I start to feel that modicum of guilt again.
You all deserve to die the same way you killed Seren.
Those are the words that play on repeat. Pulling me back to the way it felt to finally remember everything.
That night has shaped me. Shaped me in ways that don’t even feel real anymore. Shaped me in a way I’ll never forget even when I want to.
I realized that part of my trauma is forged from the exact thing I’d been attempting to do all those years ago . . . forget. My brain hid painful memories from me and it left me feeling empty and broken and curious. And then I went looking for answers. And I found them. And then I wanted to forget all over again. It even created some pretty unique desires within myself, which I was told is a natural trauma response for someone who tends to guard themselves from pain. If I embrace it, it can’t hurt me. Which is why I’ve always craved pleasure from fear and pain.
I close my eyes as I rest my head into my seat, breathing slowly as I recall what my psychiatrist said to me in our last session regarding the night Jensen wreaked havoc on Thriller Nights Weekend.
Part of healing is learning how to manage that pain and the fear and whatever else you felt that night and embracing it in ways that will cultivate this new you. Because whether you like it or not, you are not the same person you were. You may talk the same and walk the same and look the same, but underneath the skin you wear are buried feelings and faded memories that make up who you really are. But you can’t tackle that part of you and you can’t confront those things if you keep trying to push them down, forgetting how you even felt at all that night. Trying to forget is not the answer. But don’t overwhelm yourself. This week, before our next session, you should pick one thing that comes to the front of your mind when you think about that weekend. Or even just that one night. Whichever memories are prevalent and stick out the most, what is the one feeling that you feel bigger than anything else, the one that you’ve been trying to avoid this whole time.
My breath hitches, my heart trembles with emotion as my mind soars into the memory that I haven’t been able to let go of.
I felt so much guilt for so long. From the argument with my brother, to the fight with Seren, for not seeing the fucking signs or for not being available enough to know them better. Those two moments from the night of their deaths have haunted me. And of course, I blamed myself for so long for Seren’s death, I just didn’t remember it. And I felt guilty for not feeling guilty. But more than anything the one thing that refuses to leave me, the one feeling I feel the most above all . . . is vindicated.
And the reason I feel that way is because of Trace.
I sigh, feeling my heart cave in my chest. That weekend with him, given everything he set out to do, no matter how he executed it, has never left me. He knewwhathe was doing andhowhe was doing it. He knew what would help me remember, he knew what would vindicate me. And he sacrificed his life all so it was possible for me to remember that I wasn’t responsible for any of it. All so that he could bring me back and show me that I don’t have to hide from myself anymore, even with the new desires I had and the changes that have been made to me, rewired because of that night.
He sought out to make me accept myself for who I am, and to show me that none of it was my fault.
Suddenly, I’m ripped from my thoughts when my phone rings.
I reach for it, digging through my bag in the front seat and when I look at it, that magnetic pull manifests again; the universe working in mysterious ways.
My heart lurches as I open the text, knowing that it’s been a while. But I’m greeted with an address and I don’t even hesitate. I turn the ignition, plug the address into the GPS, and then I drive.
I pull up to a driveway about an hour later, feeling the buzz of familiarity caress me as I take in my surroundings. The snow layers the ground beautifully, the sun glistening on top of it. But the driveway is ploweddown making it easier for my little bug to navigate as I turn in.
It doesn’t take more than a second for me to realize where I am. My cheeks heat at the reminder and my stomach churns with butterflies as I park the car.
He didn’t.
I stare out at the cabin, my eyes go wide with wonder and appreciation. The last time I saw it, it looked like it was ready to crumble, riddled with abandonment and decaying even as we made love in it. And now, now it’s restored; looks nearly brand new. Life breathing into the wood and the windows adorned with beautiful white curtains. The chimney breathes smoke and the porch is decorated with a cozy swing.
I get out of the car and immediately,Irisby the Goo Goo dolls flits through my ears, causing my heart to pinch. Accompanying the song is the sounds of tools whirring in the background. I walk up the rest of the drive to see that the garage is open and as I feel my heart pound in my throat, I brace myself for what it will feel like to seehimagain.
It’s been two months. Two months since the night he re-entered my life, wreaking havoc and evoking my true feelings from me; forcing me to surrender and to stop hiding. Tormenting me in the most blissful way. Creating a beautiful chaos to light inside me, reminding me of who I am and who I was always meant to be.
And who I belong to.
That night wrecked me. It wrecked me and pieced me back together just to incinerate me again. I didn’t know if I’d ever see him again. Didn’t know if he even survived.
That night, I can vaguely recall the red and blue emergency lights that illuminated the crimson colored stains in the snow, Banks yanking me further into the forest while Evrin held Alli and Sage. All I could do was scream for Trace until my voice gave out, and the next thing I remember was being put into an ambulance and dragged off to the hospital. We all were.
Alli and Sage both survived their gunshot wounds. Alli’s in her stomach, and Sage’s in his shoulder. But other than that, I didn’t know anything else. I didn’t know if Trace was alive.
