Fear the Dark

15.

It was easy to get rid of Jess, bless her and her genuine concern for me, but my parents were another story. Though I managed to enter my new home without falling or becoming nauseous, Jess made sure to alert my parents of my ill-stricken episode. She refused to follow my simple request of leading me quietly to my bedroom, instead yelling for both my mom and dad by their shared last names.

"Mr. and Mrs. Greene, Kira is home and she needs help," she yells into the empty mansion. I attempt to tell her once more that I would rather not involve my parents into this, not wanting their knowing, sad faces to follow me, but I struggle against the swarming of my head.

"Jess," I say faintly, not wanting to strain my voice since my throat screamed in agony from the acidic vile I regurgitated earlier, "please, they probably aren't even home."

She ignores me, "Hello? I think Kira needs medical attention!"

Suddenly, my mother appears from the direction of our kitchen, jogging over to us with worry and concern washed over her features. I try to stand straight, to mask the overwhelming emotions that are precipitating my panic attack, but the efforts are futile. Once the irrepressible echo of my past rings, I'm unable to stop the consequences of remembering. 

"What happened? Kira? Kira, honey, what happened," my mom asks once she has her hands on me. Gently, I am transferred from Jess's arms to my mother's. I attempt to say goodbye to Jess and to apologize for my episode in the midst of her own grief and struggles but I am unable to with my mother in my ear, frantically asking me if I am fine or not.

Jess almost disappears before my eyes, her body slipping quickly and silently out the door and I wonder if she was desperate to leave to avoid my mother's nagging or if she had other plans. I didn't have the luxury to worry too long about my friend's exit, before being approached by my emotional father.

"K-pop, what's wrong," he nearly cries, taking the other free side of my shaken body and helping me down the hallway.

"I'm okay," I simply mutter, not able to say more, not wanting to say more. Both of my parents watch me as they guide me to my bedroom, tenderly asking what caused my sudden qualmish state and if I needed anything.

While I wanted to explain what was happening, why my body was reacting this way, the words never left my tongue. Explaining this and having to think even more about something I don't want to recall is, too much, too hard. Talking and releasing can be so painful, as if ripping off the healed scab of a wound only for the blood to never stop, for the pain to never cease again. The fear silenced me and any need to explain myself.

"I don't think this is okay," my mom says, her voice growing firm and annoyed with my lack of cooperation. Unable to argue with her, I simply allowed them to carry me to my bathroom where my mom lingered and offered to help me bathe.

She is the one to turn my bathroom's light on, whereas I had considered the light draping in through the singular window more than enough to utilize. Thankfully, the latrine is still organized and fresh from my recent clean, the white and grey tile mounting the floor and shower walls gleaming under the white glow of the light bulb. The remaining walls of my washroom remain bare and coated by a deep, navy blue and I found the color calming. I weakly walk towards my bathtub, desperate to shower or soak, still indecisive of which I rather enjoy, as I turn the knob to a higher temperature than usual. The hot water should help me relax. 

Turning to close the door, I meet my mother's patient eyes and suddenly remember that she's still here. In her arms, a black towel and a water bottle. My dad must've brought it.   

"I got it, mom," I say but I can't reach her eyes. I know that meeting her sage green orbs will weaken the hold I have on myself now. Nonetheless, I lifted my gaze to her own.  The struggle of being a mother unable to cease their child's pain, causes me to soften my approach and tone. "It's just... been a lot. Moving here. But, I'm fine and I'm still.."