The Day(s) I Died {Book 1 - Completed}

24

thantophobia

(n.) the fear of losing someone you love

***

When your life consists of dying, coming back to life, and then packing up and heading out of town, you get used to lying.

Words like "See you tomorrow," and "No, that wasn't me in the accident—I'm fine," spill off the tongue easily, with little-to-no remorse.

When you live as I do, you grow so skilled at lying, in fact, that you can even lie to yourself. And, over time, if you tell yourself the same lie again and again and again, with nothing but conviction . . . Well, then you might start to believe the very lies you tell yourself.

For most people, this lie is a simple one: I'm fine.

Those two words—that simple lie—can quickly become dangerous, however. Eventually, I'm fine, will no longer sound believable. Instead, it will sound brittle and fake. But what can you do?

You told yourself time and time again that you were fine; what other way is there to exist, if you're not fine? How else can you operate?

Lies are tricky in the real world, but they are especially devastating when used to blind oneself of a truth that is inescapable.

For me, some such lies are perhaps a bit obvious: "I will eventually die. I will not outlive everyone I've ever known. And I'm okay."

Of course, the truths to these lies are hard to swallow.

I will likely never die.

I will outlive everyone I know, including both Selah and Abel.

I thought I was, but I realize now that I am not okay with that.

One day, I will have to come face-to-face with the lies I am telling myself, but—until then—I will pretend that they are the truth.

It is this method of purposeful ignorance that has shrouded our little family since we moved to Oklahoma. Abel and I are well aware of the truth that sits in the back of our mind every day, begging to be acknowledged: Beck will come for Selah eventually.

Maybe not today. Perhaps not tomorrow, next week, or even next year.

But . . . eventually.

(I believe Selah too knows this, but I am also sure that her ability to ignore reality and its truths is even better than my own. I know exactly how lies exist and form a perilous web when one is the victim of abuse; I have no doubt that Selah has been lying to herself for years.)

I don't want to discuss the issue with Selah, solely because her beautiful smiles would surely disappear, and who am I to ruin her first glimpse of freedom and happiness?

(I should have known that putting off such an important conversation would have devastating effects.)

Had I thought ahead, perhaps we could have made a plan for the moment that Beck returned; we could have determined who to call first, where to go if he showed up at one of our workplaces or the house, and things might have turned out alright.

But I lied to myself and, in refusing to acknowledge the very real possibility of Beck's return, was not prepared for when it occurred.

Because of the grand lie I have been telling myself—No, Beck will leave us alone from now on—I am not prepared for the moment in which my altered reality comes crumbling down.

In fact, when Selah's name lights up my cheap phone, I think nothing of the call, grabbing the device and slapping it to my ear with a quick, "Alright, Kid?" We didn't have plans for lunch today, so I can't imagine why she's calling unless she changed her mind—