Jigsaw

2. Jamil

Singing.

The first thing I heard when I closed my eyes and embraced the darkness of slumber, was singing. It was soft and melodious, calming the storm of jumbled emotions in my chest. I recognized the feeling in that instant.

It was Jane's singing.

I wasn't sure if this was a dream or not. It was dark and I couldn't move or speak. All I heard was her soft voice echoing in the endless abyss. I couldn't make out any words but it's melody rattled in my ears. So, I didn't fight it. I let her voice seep through my skin like rain on soil, basking in it's gentle rays, hoping, praying, that the peace never ended.

But then, it did. I snapped awake, panting and frantically looking at my surroundings, hoping I was still in the dream scape.

I wasn't.

The room was dark but I caught the tiny rays of sunlight streaming in through the crack in the drapes.

I looked around, taking in the maroon colored walls, mahogany drawers and wardrobes and clothes sprawled everywhere. I looked at the open laptop on the table and the half empty plate of Mom's tryout cookies. There was an empty glass beside it, lying sideways with the contents spilled over the dark woodwork.

My room.

I wasn't in the darkness anymore. There was no singing, no sound at all really, except the soft wheezing of the air conditioning, and, most of all, no Jane. 

Another glaring reminder that I was alive. And she wasn't.

I looked down at my sweat soaked shirt and then at the bed, which was equally soaked and sighed. I slipped off the king sized bed, totally forgetting about the half open suitcase on the floor. It promptly reminded me of it's presence as the pain shot up my foot when it came in contact with the hard leather handle.

"Fuck..."

I stumbled backwards and landed on the oak colored floors with a thud. My toe hurt like a bitch. I leaned forward to examine it, only sighting a slight bruise which would fade in a matter of minutes. I pushed away from it and reclined at the base of my bed, half expecting my door to burst open and Mom emerge with urgency, thinking I'd made another attempt on my life. But nothing happened, the air conditioner remained the only sound I could hear in the massive mansion.

I kissed my teeth as my eyes ran across the room, realizing the suitcase wasn't the only thing lying out of place. The place was a mess, the way it had been for the past week, since an entitled piece of shit got me suspended.

Sister killer.

I tried not to think about the way the words casually rolled off his cursed tongue. Everyone pretended to understand, but they didn't know the first thing about me. He deserved every second of that desk coming in contact with his ugly face. But then there was my mother and father, who didn't appreciate my opinion. Knowing I was the cause of their distress was sickening.

Lifting myself off the floor, I slowly stood on my wobbly feet.

I caught a glimpse of the golden picture frame peeking out of one of the bags I'd failed to put away last week. I bent down to pick it up. Jane's bright smiled shone back at me, it was so bright I nearly shied away from it. She was wearing a purple dungaree and black boots, holding up a puppy Dad said we couldn't get. I stood beside her, with a matching shirt and a smile on my chubby eight year old face.

So innocent.

I thought. I shoved the picture back in the bag and headed towards the bathroom.

I wasn't that innocent eight year old boy anymore. Now, I was barely a person. Breathing just for the sake of it. Living because I had nothing else to offer.