After experiencing a life-altering tragedy, Emersyn feels as if her world has collapsed. Attempting to accept her new reality, Emersyn wonders how she can possibly keep going when it feels like her life ended months ago. Until she meets Haven, and s...
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Summer blows by quickly, and I don't know if I'm more grateful for this or annoyed. On the one hand, it means I'll soon have an excuse to get out of the house and away from my mother, as school will begin session. On the other hand, I dread having to start at a new school. I knew everybody back home since preschool years. Here, I know no one. I don't like change; don't like having to get used to an entirely new life.
Although, I suppose I've gotten a lot of practice when it comes to living a completely different life these last few months.
Mom seems to find anything to keep her busy these days. She's rearranged the new house at least a hundred times now, always changing something or other here and there. She even started gardening, which is strange. She never enjoyed any form of yard work before. I pretend not to hear her talking to Beau across the street whenever I'm alone in my room, trying to drown out the sound of her obnoxious giggles with headphones.
I don't do much besides sit around the house. I have my license, but it's not like I have a car to go anywhere with. I'm sure Mom would let me borrow hers, though I don't feel like asking. Besides, I don't know many places around this town yet, except for the mall. I've considered going back there a few times, though ultimately decided against doing so. I'd have to ask my mom for money, and I don't want any more handouts from her because she feels guilty.
Speaking of money, I find myself wondering what Mom is going to do in order to keep some. She's been spending more than we ever have before in such a short amount of time–a new house, new furniture, take out, clothes, the works. It's not like she's gone crazy or anything, though I'm pretty sure Dad's life insurance policy couldn't possibly have left us with enough to survive on. She hasn't mentioned going back to work and I haven't asked, though I would be lying if I said curiosity isn't killing me.
I try not to think about all of this, pushing it to the back of my mind. In fact, most of the time I try not to think about anything at all. I don't think about the foreignness of this home as I roam the halls at night, recalling my childhood in the photos lining the walls of moments that no longer exist. I don't think as I eye Dad's recliner, constantly vacant in his absence. I don't wonder why Mom even brought it, considering she has to pretend Dad never existed in order to deal with the pain his loss caused. I don't think about the visits to the hospital, I don't think about how thin Dad became before he died, I don't think about the sound of his voice or laugh, I don't think about how much I miss him, I don't think about how much I miss Mom–my mom, the woman who raised me, who I lost when I lost my father.
I don't think about anything at all, because thinking means feeling, and it's so much easier to keep going when I don't have to feel anything, because all I have left to feel is pain.
·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙ ✩ *̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙
"Are you ready for school?" Mom asks in between bites of alfredo–I hate alfredo–eyeing me inquisitively from across the table.
