Bubble Gum Kisses

Kapittel 16

Kapittel 16

Vanessa

I stared at the droplets of water cascading from my face down to the floor and eventually the drain, heaving a sigh. I raised my hands across my wet, slippery hair, lathering it further with the shampoo I had applied to it earlier.

I have been stuck in the shower enclosure for so long that I didn't know how much time has passed. My lukewarm tears were streaming endlessly, cascading down my face softly along the suds. The scent of lemon and peppermint spread elegantly, quite the opposite of the organic soil my butt slammed into.

I didn't know what I was doing. All I knew was I needed to shower to remove all the stuff that got to me when I slipped and fell in the garden. I needed to scrub every inch of me clean even though I already did it in a recluse bathroom nearby Ms. Caswell's office. Good thing we came across each other while I was on my way out and helped me get a change of clothes without getting other people's attention.

I bit my lower lip and curled my fingers, scratching my nails across my scalp, remembering how those stormy orbs scrutinized me deeply that it drowned me unknowingly. It still stuck in my mind to see how Friso looked at me when Ms. Caswell bid him goodbye after helping him get a change as well. His eyes were directed at me with a gaze so mellow and crestfallen as I was one fine, fragile piece of China that he broke or he valued all long lost.

Although I was angry at him, I felt partially guilty. He was panicking when I had an attack, and I pushed him away. My actions for getting back at him were inexcusable. I was driven by my anger, and I still was. But what would have stopped him from wetting my shoes and making me slip?

I was inconsolable too. My old wound was back open afresh, rubbed with salt. Remembering Dad, and realizing that I had forgotten something that happened in his death broke me. Not to mention those visions, those flashes of what happened that rainy night. In one thing I get to somehow forget about that unfortunate happening, something pulls me back to that nightmarish pit all over again. It was always like this when I get to step on foot out of the cruel, sorrowful cage, the chain on my neck pull me back. As though it was reminding me that I had no place to be happy.

Luckily, I got to hold back my tears when Mom picked me up. But as soon as I got in my room, closed the door, and dropped all my things, I found myself wailing like a baby. I was grieving my father's death all over again. I found myself grieving all over again. I sometimes thought that I hated feeling like this. I hated this, grieving.

My head suddenly felt light, and my gaze was lazily stuck on the drain collecting the raining water that my vision had become blurry. My chest thumped. What was grief exactly?

I once read someone named Herschel made an analogy about grief likened to a large ball inside a box with a pain button in it. The ball started big, constantly pressing that pain button, but as time passes, the ball would get smaller, and could no longer hit the button most of the time. But why did my grief not feel like it?

It had been quite a time since Dad died. But it seemed that my pain didn't minimize even the slightest bit. There were times when I had gotten tired of crying. I got sick of getting my post-breakdown migraines. I grew weary of the panic attacks. The sense of worthlessness when I forgot even the slightest bit about him, especially it was about the accident, his last moments. It was already tediou– God, what am I thinking?! I shouldn't think about this, dad doesn't deserve this!

Ah, I feel so worthless. I couldn't protect Dad in the accident, now I couldn't even remember him properly. What kind of daughter was I?

There were times I conceived the thought of moving on one day. But that idea always strikes my chest with irrevocable guilt. He could have been alive if I refused to take his helmet. He would have been alive. I was responsible for his death, I owe him my life. I shouldn't forget the sacrifice he did for me, paying his life as a price. What was more disheartening was that I dared to forget his last words to me.