I don’t blame them. After all, they did everything they could, but it simply wasn’t enough. Life is unpredictable and cruel. I learned that the hard way.
My cat, Kaki, had been a gift from my mom when I was four. She was my companion throughout the years of my youth andcomforted me when I lost every precious being in my life. Sadly, she was also a reminder of my lovely mom.
A tarnished reminder.
Kaki had the softest black fur and big honey eyes. Visha kind of resembles her. The thought makes me giggle out loud. He’s still sleeping in the other room, giving me some free time to work on my latest novel.
I tried to convey my grief into words on paper for the past five years, but my labor bore no fruits. Back then, I had neither time nor the money for therapy and I knew my uncle would pay the bills if I asked him, but I’d never stoop that low. I already depend on him considerably.
He paid for the car I drive, he’s the one helping me out with the rent of this apartment and even helps fund my studies. I owe himeverything. He took care of me after the accident, and we lived together for two years until I decided to move out.
I was scared that I was plaguing him with my grief. Jason seemed to hold it together better than I did and that made me feel shameful.
He’d lost his brother, his sister-in-law and his niece yet he was strong and held his head high, pushing through despite the weight on his shoulders. Meanwhile, I pathetically spiraled out of control. I needed a fresh start away from the memories and the pain, away from him.
Don’t get me wrong. I love Jason, he’s my uncle, despite us not being blood related, he’s still and will always be my family. It’s just that I felt suffocated with him. Not only was he a constant reminder of what I lost but he proved that I was weak. Whenever I saw his face, it threw me back to the time when lifewas good, when breathing didn’t make me want to rip off my skin and gouge out my eyes just to endure the pain my loved ones must have felt.
In the face of strength and resilience, I ran away.
There were moments when I felt guilty for being alive when they had all perished. I’d think, “why them and not me?” then proceeded to drown my sorrows in booze. Eventually, I overcame the urge to forget by drinking after Jason pulled me out of that vicious cycle before it was too late.
Mostly, I was too scared to directly attempt suicide, so I often plumped for indirect harm that was likely to end my suffering one way or another. My go to was always holding my palm over the stove until the heat became unbearable. That’s when the relief hit but the guilt and shame were stronger.
Two years ago, I overdosed on sleeping pills. It was an accident. I never meant to go that far. I just couldn’t sleep, and it drove me over the edge, I simply couldn’t take it anymore. The voices in my head were deafening and I couldn’t shut them out no matter how hard I tried. I resorted to sleeping pills but as I wasn’t in my right mind, I over-consumed and ended up in the same ER my sister had been brought to three years prior.
The universe surely has a way of screwing me over at my lowest, but I can’t blame anyone but myself. I woke up in a hospital bed after they cleaned out my stomach. Jason was sitting next to me, and he cried as he held my hand. It was the first and last time I saw him cry.
He kept repeating without end that he was sorry and that everything was his fault. He was mumbling under his breath, his blonde hair disheveled, and his hazel eyes reddened from thetears. The state I was in wasn’t his fault by any means. Even now, I can’t tell why he blamed himself so unyieldingly. He didn’t seem aware that I was conscious at that moment and heard his plea.
He seemed to be trying to convince himself. Of what, I don’t know. I never brought it up and neither did he.
Ever since, I stopped every type of self-harm, direct or indirect. Well, let’s just say I don’tactivelyharm myself. I stopped drinking and completely banned sleeping pills from my life. Jason insisted that I consult a therapist, but I stubbornly refused.
I didn’t want a stranger meddling in my business and analyzing my faults. I was already perfectly aware of the crap I caused, and I repented myself. What was a therapist going to tell me that I don’t already know? I’m ruined and broken. I fucking know that so what’s the point of reminding me?
Jason and I are still in touch, but we rarely talk. Our relationship has been tumultuous and tied pretty tightly ever since I was a kid, but it isn’t…normal.
I sigh, closing my eyes and tilt my head back. As I open them, I see my life flash before me and almost get a goddamn heart attack. Visha stands behind me in complete silence as he observes me.
“Jesus Visha, you gave me a fright! What the hell are you doing there, standing quietly? That’s creepy.”
He chuckles and makes his way to the front of the couch, so he’s standing in front of me.
Hold on! Did he just chuckle? No fucking way, well that’s new.
“Did I scare you?” he asks coyly.
“I thought you were some ghost wanting to haunt me.” I pat the space next to me and he plops down.
“Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
I shake my head. “It’s alright but I have something to talk to you about. Tonight, I’m going out with my uncle, and I was thinking about bringing you along,” I explain. “You can choose to stay here and wait for me if you want but it’d put my mind at ease to know you were with me rather than alone in the apartment.”
He listens attentively then says, “I want to go with you. Let me stay with you, please.”
His tone is desperate as his small hand tugs on my jeans, staring at me dolefully. He clearly doesn’t just mean tonight, does he?
How can I possibly refuse those big brown eyes looking up at me like a puppy in the rain?
