Pursuit of the Whole

XXXII. Good Memories

Ten years ago, I was eight years old.

And like many other children, I like to play the hero.

Except unlike them, I had the power to be a hero.

The people I had saved...these victims...turned their backs on me.

Given the opportunity, anyone could turn their backs on you.

As long as they have something to gain...something that benefits them.

There is no trust.

And as I laid on that white bed with my inside torn, I could hear the cries of my parents from across the room.

At that moment, I saw the world in a heavy shade of grey.

There's no white.

There's no black.

There are no villains, and there are no victims.

Heroes?

They don't exist.

It's all in your head.

There's nothing except choices.

And right now, all I see is a dark future for me.

There was a moment when I was in the hospital. I was ready to give everything up. Then, they walked in. My three idiotic friends walk in with hospital gowns and broken limbs. They found out as many people as they could that's involved and gave justice—something the government couldn't do.

I remember it so well.

When Brian and Eric replayed the battle scenes for me in clutches while Brenda peeled the oranges.

These happy memories are what overshadows the bad ones.

Then, the paths became clearer.

I could either sit inside the alcohol-scented room and self-pity, or I could go back into the world. Make more happy memories to overshadow the bad ones.

When I was nine, on a rainy day, I saw the rapist on the news.

They said he's dead - murdered. His inside was pulled out. His face was barely recognizable.

It was almost ten in the morning, and my dad switched the channel to cartoons, saying I shouldn't watch that type of show.

I didn't particularly feel anything for that man.

But, what really stirs up my emotions was the sound I heard from the garage the night before.

Black clothing.

I looked at my dad and saw the cuts on his fingers.

Bloody knives.

He twisted his shoulder lightly.

Tears.

Then, he picks up the cup of coffee with his non-dominant hand.

I would say I'm an observable child. It didn't take me long to pull strings apart.

Dad looks down at me and smiles.

It was warm.

More good memories.

Maybe that's why I couldn't turn away from Kai.

He's the same as me.

Except, he doesn't have a warm home.

He has no one to lean on.

"Kailyn," I said. "Was almost raped by her uncle."

Dad pounds his hands against the table, "Where's that guy?!"