Incendiary

15. The rooftop, darling

There's two songs that you need to play for this chapter. The most important one is the second one :)

This chapter is my longest one yet, so prepare yourself.

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T.W: Abuse, depictions of abuse (Physical and Verbal), alcohol abuse, mature topics, mentions of mental distress, depictions of mental distress. The triggering stuff ends when it says: "Present-day-" feel free to skip to there if you are affected by any of the triggers.

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Nova-

10 years ago-

When I was younger, we moved a lot- most of the time, it was for my parents' work.

The very last time we moved, however, was for a much bigger reason.

I sat on the floor of my new room, staring blankly at the barren wall in front of me.

The room was dark because I hadn't opened my blinds since we moved.

The room was empty aside from the mattress- which was pushed against a wall, my one pillow, and my blanket- which I had messily strewn across the mattress.

I had spent every day since we had arrived- cooped up in the room.

I'd been curled up on the floor or in a corner- trying to understand why I had to be involved in my parents' erratic decision to move.

My family and I moved into a new house. My mind wasn't in the right place to decorate, so I left everything untouched.

My boxes were still packed- as a silent protest to my parents who, in contrast to me, were decorating the house religiously- as if they believed new furniture would erase our dolorous past.

The very past that changed everything.

The very past that left me weak, isolated, and heartbroken.

Every passing day was supposed to get better- the therapists had promised.

I was supposed to get better, but in all honesty, it kept getting worse.

I was getting worse.

I was also 10.

I hadn't been able to sleep since the accident, but sometimes, my body would start to relax; I would slowly start to drift, and it would get very dark.

I would almost be able to taste the relief of sleep, but right before I could truly graze the surface of peace- I would start shaking, hyperventilating, and my mind would go to very dark places.

Then, my eyes would shoot open- letting me revel in my sweaty body, rapid heart, and sporadic mind.

These brief moments were panic attacks.

I knew that from the therapists my parents had let me see after the accident.

My mental health seemed to be disintegrating with every sunrise; I was holding on to the moon with my dear life.

I wasn't eating. I wasn't sleeping. I wasn't socializing.

I was, honestly, so scared for myself.

I was also scared of myself.

I taught myself how to turn off my brain, so I couldn't think because every time I thought- it brought me more pain than clarity.