wake up.

VI

I don't know what I saw. How can I describe it? It is not human. Maybe that is my pain.
I've shrunk into a corner in the kitchen which is opposite the fridge. I do not want to go anywhere near that thing. Never.
No.
No.
No.
My body lied to me. I do have tears left. I know because they're slowly but surely being let down. They fall gently over the swell of my cheeks.
Zachary is a monster. And there's a monster inside my fridge.
Am I the monster?
No.
Why is my mind like this? There is nothing inside the fridge.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.
I remember to breathe. In and out.
One. Two. Three.
Again.
One. Two. Three.
One more.
One. Two. Three.
I am calm. I am an ocean. I am the clouds far above. And I am raining down on everything in my path. I am in control.
Control.
I need to control myself.
I am not scared. I am not afraid. I am going to get through this.
I am.
I am.
I am.
And no one or thing can stop me.
I can do this. And I will.
I take a step towards the fridge.
I will not give up.
There is nothing there.
Breathe.
Breathe.
Breathe.
My hand is on the handle once more. I swallow what remains in the vast dry land inside my mouth. And I open the door.
It's still there.
It's staring at me, but it has no eyes.
It knows what I fear.
It knows I want to hurt myself.
It knows.
It knows.
It knows.
I slam the door and sink down against the fridge.
Am I breathing?
Somebody help me.
I won't eat or drink. I will sit here and not let it consume me. Or am I already being consumed?
I stare blankly at the cabinets in front of me. I let my eyes dry. I am frozen. I am unmoving. I cannot feel anything.
Somebody help me.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Dad lied again. He said he would get rid of that stupid clock. He did not listen. He never listens.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
I don't know how long I have been sitting here, but the sky outside has fallen and the front door is unlocking. I think I might cry.
He walks in, setting his keys on the hallway table. I can hear him sigh. He walks into the kitchen. I don't think he was expecting to find me here. I could not care less.
"Ananka? What are you still doing down here?" he asks me. I do not answer him. He walks over to me and crouches down. He thinks he cares. No. He thinks I care. I don't.
"Are you alright, sweetie?"
I stay frozen, unmoving. I continue to stare at the cabinets. I find the clock still on top of them, staring me down.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
"Would you like something to eat? I was just going to make you dinner. I've already had mine at work."
I stay silent. I think the clock is getting louder.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
He sighs and walks off, heading upstairs. He doesn't seem to have the time for his broken daughter. And I don't blame him. If I had a daughter who acted like me, I would spend every day, every minute, every second avoiding her. I am a walking disaster. I am a mental case. I do not need help. I need a release.
Somebody help me.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
It's getting faster now too. I cannot do anything. It gets faster, and faster, and faster and faster.
Somebody help me.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
I'm crying. He either doesn't hear me or can't be bothered to help me. I understand.
Please stop.
And it does. It stops completely. I shouldn't have closed my eyes. I shouldn't open them.
I won't.
I won't.
I won't.
But I do.
I open them, and all I see is white.
White.
White.
White.