“Traumatic?” His eyes drill into mine, curious and... I don’t know what the emotion clouding his features is, but it spikes a fever in my blood. “Bad memories?”
“So far, mostly bad. My doctor says bad memories carry a higher emotional load, which might be why they come first.”
I asked Dad to talk to Dr. Phillips about this, hoping he’d give me some magic pill that’ll bring on the good stuff, but no. No magic pills.
“I get flashbacks, write them down, then read them every day... it’s not easy, especially when nothing makes sense. Not what I see and not my reaction. I barely recognize the girl in these memories.” I grip my cup with both hands, dragging my nails up and down the sides. “They don’t come back in order, so I can’t piece together a timeline, but at least the theme’s consistent.”
“Why don’t you recognize yourself?” he asks.
“I’m... weak. I let Alex yell and don’t stand up for myself.”
I’ve been thinking about what might have caused my sudden spinelessness every waking minute. Other than grief I can’t find anything that’d justify why I let Alex walk all over me.
Maybe it is grief. Maybe I was so depressed after Mom died, I craved human contact. While Alex was an asshole, he talked to me. He spent time with me, keeping me sane.
“I guess that’s the theme...? Alex and you acting different than you’d expect?”
“That and my mother dying at the hospital. I’m tired of reliving her death over and over again.”
I don’t know why I’m telling him this. He sets my nerves on edge but he also soothes me. Against all reason, the big bad wolf in him makes me feel safe... like I unconsciously know that wolf will protect, not hurt me.
Ugh, sleep deprivation makes me weird. I try and keep myself awake, dreading the nightmares and the sleep paralysis they trigger. I don’t last long enough.
My mind drags me under and I dream.
Then, I panic.
And I cry.
I shove my diary in the bag when students start rushing every which way, the urgency of their steps letting me know afternoon classes are starting soon.
“Come on,” I say. “Time for three hours with Rhys.”
20
Carter
Iwish I could peek inside Hailey’s mind. She’s usually a closed book, giving away little with her expressions, but she opened up about her memories in a way I didn’t expect, all the while hiding a lot, even from herself.
There’s nothing in her diary about her mother. No flashbacks, no questions, not a single sentence, yet she admitted that those memories are returning.
Why hasn’t she written about them? I checked her diary last night, taking pictures of the newly filled pages. I haven’t had time to read through them yet, but now I’m itching with impatience and it pisses me off.
There’s no running away from my own mind. Ignoring these contradictory feelings gets harder every day.
I shouldn’t give a damn about this girl.
I shouldn’t, but I do, and it gnaws at me like a woodworm. There are many words that could perfectly describe HaileyScarlett Vaughn as we walk toward the theater, butweakisn’t one of them.
She said it, though. She said she was weak and that puts everything I’ve already read in a different light.
Now that I think about it, Hailey’s reaction to Alex when he threatened her, when he put his hands around her throat, defied my expectations. When I watched her claw her neck on the boat platform, I thought she was fighting him, but that’s not what she wrote.
She wasn’t feisty, she was resigned.
I didn’t really pore over that memory in detail given it wasn’t useful and there was nothing there on the Aalyiah front that’d piss me off. If anything, I was quite pleased that Alex seemed truly dedicated to my sister.
Maybe he loved her...
