This Was A Bad Idea

chapter 22 - cracks and fissues

The evening is swollen with old memories. Ones that aren't mine. Ones that burst in my brain like stars, so far away yet seemingly close enough to touch.

"You saw sam?" Xen exclaims, voice etched with hope.

"I saw her in a dark room made of concrete and stone. She was curled up on her side. She looked so brittle. as if she could snap in half at any given moment." My voice catches, remembering the palid tinge to her skin. The way she didn't even move. "I couldn't get close enough to see if she was even breathing. But.....it went away."

"Do you know where she is?" Xen says breathlessly.

"No. It was all dark. I just saw her. It just looked like she was in some sort of tunnel."

"But the police officers scoured that place from top to bottom. They would have found a kid in there."

"I saw something else too. The fire in the tunnel. I don't know how it started, but it seemed to last the rest of that night when it started. People came in the morning. Saw the smoke. Then they found-"

A cough rattles through my body and I have to stop and catch my breath. Xen puts a hand on my shoulder. My eyes drop to the ground.

"-they found 27 kids. Teenagers. They were having a party or something. And then, like a day after it happened, I saw a newspaper on the front step of a house." I strain to remember the date on it, the bold print that glared like a slap in the face.

"Oh shit," Xen murmurs.

"November 2d, 1992." I choke out. "Stoneridge faces Local tragedy as 27 teenagers die In mysterious fire."

I don't even try to explain the other things that I saw. Illegible symbols etched on stone walls. Figures shrouded in red hoods. An arc of blood spilled onto the ground. I don't even know what they mean.

"Orion," my dad's voice drifts from downstairs. His footsteps echo against the stairs and the rap of his knuckles against the door sends fear ebbing down my spine.

I grab my laptop, shoving it open.

"We were working on an essay," I hiss.

My dad walks in, raising an eyebrow at the water splashed on my carpet and clothes. Shit. I should put on a hoodie or something.

"What are you doing in here? I thought I heard someone yelling." He scowls. I push myself to my feet.

"Uh, I started laughing really hard and spilled some water. I'll clean it up." I stammer.

"Well, it's time for your friend to leave. Next time you have someone over, can you tell me in advance?" He leans his hand on the doorframe. He looks tired, I can see dark circles smudged under his eyes.

I nod. Xen looks at me one last time before heading back down the stairs.

"Kid, I'm worried about you." My dad says when the front door swings shut. "You've been acting distant. Is something wrong?"

"Sorry. It's just, a lot has been going on lately." My gaze shifts downward, avoiding the look on my dad's face.

The wail of a siren echoes from a nearby street. I grit my teeth, trying to hold myself together.

"Your mom told me you went back down to that creek a few days ago. And found a body. I wanted you to make a statement to the police. But the look in your eyes, you just looked so hurt."

Hurt. Damaged. Fragile. Brittle.

I can't bring myself to say anything.

"I know last year was rough," He continues. "But you shouldn't be involved in whatever is happening here. You shouldn't be trying to fix this. I read an article about how oftentimes people with trauma internalize what happened to them. And how they often feel it's their responsibility to solve everything. They just carry this burden around that isn't even theirs to begin with"

I think of everything that's happened in the past week. Sam. The boy curled around the entrance to the tunnel, body stained with the remnants of fire. The memories that snapped in my brain like lightning. The stairs on my arm, forming scar-like ridges against my skin.

My face begins to burn. And I can't stop the sob that chokes past my clenched teeth. My dad steps closer, encircling me with his arms. He murmurs words that ache with lies. False promises that seep into my skin like a bad cup of tea. I can't bring myself to accept them.

It's okay. You know it's all going to be okay, right? Just tell me what's going on. It's okay. I promise.

I let him hold me. I let myself be a child again, crying the way I did when my favorite toy snapped in half or when the other kids never wanted to play with me. Wishing I could hold onto that quiet innocence. I've never been brave. Never been able to fully say how I feel. Never been able to be open.

I feel so small.

I let myself slowly split apart instead of trying to constantly stitch myself together.