The alcohol must form its own map because I find myself standing at the threshold of Ella’s room.
The light bulb buzzes and flickers before turning on. Dust particles float in the air and layer every surface in the room. And, in my mind’s eye, I can still see her there like the night I found her. On the bed. Dead. Surrounded by the crystals and spell bottles she swore helped. Dreaming about a life she never got to live. Thinking that her parents and her sister hated her.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, even though I know she can’t hear me.
She’ll never hear me again.
I just want to talk to her. Feel her. Tell her everything I should have told her before she died.
“I’m sorry,” I say, louder this time. The two words keep coming out, growing in volume. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault. I’m sorry.”
I can’t stop it. They flow from my mouth, tasting like bile on my tongue.
Everything hurts so much.
My knees crash onto the floor. The bottle flies out of my grip and shatters by my feet. A shard of glass pierces my skin, but I don’t feel the slice or the blood that oozes out.
“I’m so fucking sorry,” I cry.
I’m so sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.
“I couldn’t save you. I didn’t do enough. I should have tried harder. I should have done better. I should have told you earlier. I’mso sorry,” I wail, choking on my tears.
I’d do anything to talk to her one more time.
I never told her that I don’t care about the shit I put up with at my job, or the extra hours I used to work at the fast-food joint around the corner to pay off her medical bills. I would have broken my own back and carved the heart right out of my chest if it meant she got to spend an hour without pain.
I never told her how much I love her. How I’d do anything for her. How I’d walk the same path all over again as long as I was with her—my only real friend.
But Ella didn’t know any of that. On the night she died, I yelled at her instead. The only acceptable emotion is anger—it’s the only thing I’m capable of feeling besides the emptiness. Softness is a weakness, and I had to turn my skin to steel fast.
I was exhausted and angry that she wasn’t taking her medication, and pissed that she was trying to guilt-trip me into cutting my hours.
I’m the older sister, she told me.I should be looking after you.
But I didn’tcareabout any of that. I just cared about her—except those words never came from my mouth because I’m fucked in the head and there’s no fixing it.
It should have been me.Ideserve to die.
She was the best of us.
The one with straight A’s. The one who everyone loved and adored. The one our grandparents used to brag about. The one who smiled prettily for the cameras. Attended church without complaint. Never hated our parents regardless of what they did.
She was perfect. Soft in the sense that she was regal. Hard because she was impenetrable.
The only thing I’ve ever been is not good enough. She was the one who was meant to live and make something of herself.
The fucking Grim Reaper should have taken me instead. I’d do anything to swap places. I’d give my life just to tell her everything I was too much of a coward to say.
The glass crunches beneath me, digging into my skin as I crawl back from the threshold of her room.
I haven’t stepped inside since she died.
The dam opens, and tears spill onto the floor as sobs tear through my chest. I collapse and curl into myself, crying months’ worth of heartache that I’ve been bottling up. Grieving for my sister and the person I’ll never get to be. Because I’m stuck here. Forever. I’ll never get out of this hole life has put me in or make friends because I can’t communicate. I’ll never be able to get a better job because of my last name; never amount to anything because my parents fucked everything up, and my sister is dead because I couldn’t do more.
I wish I could be free of it all.
I wish I could see my sister. One last time.
