𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐀𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝟐 (𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐄)
Rachel Wang, a girl who makes her own rules and lives her life the way she wants, would never let anyone tell her what to do, the sole reason for which she left her home to live an...
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Five years is a lot of time for a person to forget, heal, and move on. It is a lot of time for a person to forget something that has been a torment to them.
Five years.
All those years where I had grown as an individual and made myself a better person than who I was in Quebec, yet those screams of agony, pain, and desperation to live are still fresh as new in my head, making home in my mind deeper each and every day since I had witnessed them.
Five years and five dreadful Christmases.
When I woke up this morning, I was soaked in sweat, and my throat felt like I had been crying and screaming all night while sleeping. This was the scenario every year whenever Christmas came, though I never remembered the dreams.
My father once told me about my state while I was sleeping, which is why I soundproofed my room so they wouldn't have to remain up all night, causing their own anguish as I dealt with mine. My parents knew I still had nightmares, but they stopped talking about them when I rebuilt my room. Maybe they understood what I needed, and I appreciate them for that.
After all, I deserved this agony as well, for the things that I was responsible for that led to my sister leaving us forever.
Five years later, I still wasn't able to face her grave whenever me and my family visited her every Christmas since her demise.
How am I meant to pay her a visit, give her the purple tulips she adored, or simply tell her I love and miss her when I am responsible for her absence?
My fists tightened at my side as I stood at the doorway leading to where she was quietly sleeping, watching my parents kneel in front of the stone with her name inscribed on it and cry together.
They cry every year on a day that is supposed to bring happiness, all because of me.
"My brother... Je t'aime, Nick, I will always love you..."
A shudder of breath left my mouth when her last words rang in my ears. It was still vivid to me—the way she grasped for every breath to tell me that she loved me, the way she tried to smile and keep her eyes open to take a last, painful look at me and my parents—it was all inside of me, making a tormenting hole in my heart.
"Son?"
My breath hitches as my father grabs my shoulder, making me jerk my head toward him, where I find my mom standing with him as well.
His brows dip. "Are you okay?"
I gulped a heavy lump. "Yeah." My voice comes out scratchy. "Yes, dad, I am good."
The way my parents looked at me, I knew they weren't convinced even a bit.
Mom brings her hand forward and wipes my cheeks softly, and only then did I realize I had been crying as well, and maybe I looked more miserable than I thought.
