TO LIE WITH MIDNIGHT ROSES

||15||

RENESSA

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

It was July of two-thousand and ten as my memory brings me back to a day I had long forgotten, a memory from ten years ago.

I was thirteen when the light on my nightstand had broken. Shards of glass lay across the floor, small pieces scattered on top of my blue comforter along with a small drop of blood from my hand where a stray piece of glass had nicked me. I felt a surge of energy rush through me, and it was like my anger had multiplied. 

My hands were shaking and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. A hot tear slid down my cheek as I squeezed my eyes shut. I hadn't meant to do it. I didn't want to break things, I didn't want to be this angry person.

"Renessa." I hear my mother's soft voice coming from behind me.

I continued staring out the window, my hands balled into fists at my side. 

The trees swayed outside against the dark navy blue sky that was twisting with grey. The wind was howling through the branches as the leaves scattered across the ground. I could feel the anger in the clouds, dark and grey as they cried and the ground rumbled. I sucked in a deep breath and I could feel the air in the room shift. 

I turn and stare into my mother's dark blue eyes. Unlike my father who was utterly irritated, she looked calm.

How could she be so calm? After everything, how was she standing here with all the elegance and grace in the world? How was she always so beautiful, even when she was mad? 

Her long silky brown hair fell in ripples over her shoulders reaching just above her elbows. Her olive skin and golden summer tan contrasted her deep blue eyes. She had freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks just like I did and her lips were full and deep in colour like she had just eaten fresh berries.

She was everything I ever wanted to be. Beauty and grace. Calm and collected. I was not any of those things, though I was only thirteen I had already become quite curvy as well as clumsy. Not only that, I was neither calm nor collected but rather sarcastic and stubborn. I never felt like society's standard of beauty.

"My love, come here." My mother says, gesturing for me to walk forwards.

I release the tension in my fists and let my fingers go limp at my sides. My shoulders slouch forward slightly in defeat.

"You know, when I was your age I sometimes felt this way too." My mother says, she reaches out her delicate hand, ever so smoothly and softly placed it on my shoulder. "It was like I could sense the change in the air, I could feel the anger of the storm and sometimes I let it control my emotions too."

"What do you mean?" I ask, " I didn't mean to break anything, Mom. It was like I had a rush of energy and I couldn't control it, my fingers felt all... tingly."

The power in the house was out and the only light was the soft glow of the moon coming in through the window. The light reflected off of my mother's delicate skin, her eyes sparkling beneath the moonlight; a pool of navy blue stars.

"It took me a while to understand it." She breathes out softly, " Why I was so in tune with the weather. You have always been quite connected to the earth, letting its energy control your own. But you're more powerful than you think. You can learn to take that energy and channel it differently. Don't let the storms rumble through you, don't let the lightning become your thoughts, and don't let the rain control your emotions because if you let it, it will consume you."

"Mother," I whined, "I don't understand."

"I know. I know, my love. You will one day. One day I will tell you everything you need to know," She smiles. Then changes the subject, "Listen, It's the blue moon tomorrow, we should set up your telescope to get a good look at it. Grandma said she always felt the most magic in the world on the night of the blue moon."

"I want to feel that too." I sigh, " I don't want to feel angry anymore."

"You are so much more like your father than you think." She mumbles.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh...nothing," She looks at the glass scattered across the floor, "Let's clean this up then, love." She says as she leaves. 

Soon after she returns carrying a glowing lamp in one hand and a small broom and dustpan in the other as she walks over toward me. I'm standing beside my nightstand.

"Mom...Who is that?" I ask, staring out the window as I watch four black silhouettes wisping through the trees down below just as they come to a halt below, only a few feet away from our backyard. She freezes for a moment, her eyes widening as her face grows worried. Her body tenses and then she quickly reaches over to pull down the blinds.

"No one." She states firmly. "Now, let's fix this mess."

The memory fades to darkness and Roman's voice echoes through my ears, "Interesting, but I need to go further. There are deeper wounds you're blocking."

Then my mind feels like it is being pried open, almost as though his hands were splitting it apart down the middle, reaching down and pulling out memories. Memories I had buried long ago. Memories I had forgotten. 

I could feel the wooden floor beneath my fingertips as my head hung down now towards the floor, his fingers still pressed to my temples. But all I could see was darkness until he pulled at another, plucking it out like a feather.

No. Please, Don't let me relive this, I think. I don't want to see this again.

I hear myself let out a small groan, a sob-like sound as I try to grip the floor beneath me, my fingernails dig into the wooden floor with no luck.

 For a moment I think I feel a hand on my back, the slight pressure of cold fingertips against the back of my shirt but the feeling is quickly torn away as another memory comes hurtling forward like a blinding light.