The Things We Leave Behind

s e v e n

TW: mentions of suicide and sexual assault

You know those dreams you have where everything is perfect? You have every wish you could have ever wanted and the people you love are right by you through it all. I've never had a dream like that. Never had an idea of what I want my life to be so that I had something to work towards. Acting and writing always came naturally to me but somehow to some people, it wasn't enough. I wasn't enough.

I wake up every morning, praying to God that maybe, somehow my whole life was a bad dream, and my perfect life was waiting for me when I woke up. I'm beginning to give up on that dream, but they are just that. Dreams. Not reality and I hate that I have to separate the two of them to move on with my day. It doesn't seem fair.

All my dreams end in the same way, no matter what. It's always visuals of that night but always from different angles. Sometimes I'm watching. Other times I'm in my body and occasionally but rarely, I'm him and I see my own face as he violates me. Tonight was not an exception. This time I was in my own body; in the position I was in when it happened.

I keep expecting to wake up one day and completely hate my life. I keep thinking that I'll finally see my life as others see it and wonder if any of this is worth it. I don't want to ever see myself as victim again. I survived and that should be enough. I survived when other people haven't. It could have been a lot worse. There are people who raised their voice and fought against it, and they were deemed victims. Strong victims, but victims, nonetheless. I didn't speak. I didn't say anything. I went home and said I had a bad day and blamed it on anxiety. I was a victim, but I was only a victim to me. The only reason they aren't in jail right now is all my fault and I have to live with that.

All I wanted was to move here and move on with my life. I wanted a new me that no one knew. I was a fresh mould that I could shape into whomever I wanted. I wish to God that was how it worked. You can cut everyone off, change your name, move away but everything about who you once were, will still be with you. Whether it's in your memory or DNA, you can't escape. When you mature enough to realise this and come to the sense that running away creates more problems than it solves, you're truly fucked.

I sit up straight and pry my eyes open, wanting the images out of my mind. It's still dark outside. I shift around so I'm facing my alarm clock, and it reads 3:47 AM. Great. I'm awake in the middle of the night and I'm not tired. My head is pounding. I really shouldn't have drunk last night. Considering the last time, I drank I lost everything, it was a stupid idea in the first place. On the nightstand next to the clock, is a glass of water and two Panadols. I put them both in my mouth and take a huge gulp of water.

After swallowing, I rub my eyes and try and tame my hair that is all over my face. I grab my air pods and phone from the nightstand, and I queue up my sleeping playlist. I'm about to put the air pods in when I look up and see Logan. My eyes have fully adjusted to the darkness and in the corner of my room, on the black armchair that Jackie bought for me I see him fast asleep. His body is in a sitting position, like he was making sure I was okay when I was sleeping. Why does he make it so hard to hate him.

I put my stuff down and pull back the covers to stand up. I walk around the bed to get to him and kneel down in front of the stool. I put my hand on his thigh and started to shake him gently.

"Logan," I whispered. "Logan wake up." He inhaled sharply and then started breathing deeply. His eyes slowly opened, and they darted around the room before landing on me. His eyes widened and then he breathed a sigh of relief.

"Hey," he said as he rubbed his eyes. His morning voice was deep and groggy, and it was so fucking hot.

"What are you doing here?" I ask. He was going to be so sore from sleeping in an armchair.