Once Upon A Journal

Chapter Four

My mom finally arrives with a worried expression on her face, her eyebrows knit together in concern.“Juliette! Are you alright?”

“Yeah, Mom, I just twisted my ankle. It’s not a big deal,” I say, trying to downplay the pain. I try to reassure her by giving her a small smile, even though the pain in my ankle suggests otherwise.

She doesn’t buy it for a second, her sharp eyes narrowing as she examines me closely.“Let’s get you home and put some ice on that ankle.”

Outside, the sun is beginning to set, casting long shadows of the buildings across the school ground.Except for the janitor cleaning the lawn, the school is eerily quiet.The school looks beautiful, its windows aglow with warm light, resembling small suns in the encroaching dark.

With my mom's steadying arm around my shoulder, I hobble to the car, each step sending a jolt of pain through my leg. I somehow manage to lower myself into the passenger's seat, the soft leather cool against my skin.

The drive home is punctuated by a tense quiet, broken only by the occasional hum of the engine and the rustle of leaves outside the window.

I can tell my mom is worried by the quietness of the drive and her frequent glances in my direction, her lips pressed into a thin line.

So,I try to reassure her by saying, “I’ll be fine, Mom. Just need a little rest."

"You know, Juliette, you don’t always have to be so strong," she says, glancing at me. She then takes my hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. "It’s okay to let others take care of you sometimes.”

I look at her, feeling a lump form in my throat as her words hit me like the wind against my window.I am not strong because I want to be. I am strong because I have to be. Otherwise who's going to take care of you? I can't forget about what I did, never. That how I ruined our family that day.

These are the words on the tip of my tongue but instead all I manage to say is, “I know, mom.”

When we reach home, my mom helps me to the couch and props my foot up on a stack of pillows. She then heads to the kitchen, the sound of her footsteps echoing through the quiet house. Moments later, she returns with an ice pack and a warm cup of tea.

"Here, this should help,” she says, handing me the ice pack and placing the tea on the table next to me.

“Thanks, mom,” I give her a small smile. I press the ice pack to my swollen ankle, feeling the coldness seep through my skin and numbing the pain.

She ruffles my hair, which makes me groan with annoyance, but she just laughs.

"You know, this is the second time you’ve sprained your ankle," she says, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

Furrowing my eyebrows, I ask, "When was the first time?"

"When you were just ten," she adds, smiling a little.

"Oh, I didn't remember," I reply, my face devoid of the earlier smile. The memory stirs something painful inside me, like an exit wound that never quite healed.

Ten.. I hate that word because it was the time when my entire world changed. It was as if one day everything was okay and the next it wasn't.

"Do you still remember him?" I blurt out, regretting it instantly after seeing my mother's smile drop. "Sorry... I just..." I trail off unaware of what to say or how to ease the pain that still lingers like a band on a nail.

"That's okay," she says, her voice firm but her eyes betraying how much my question wasn't okay.

There are days when letting the wind carry me is nearly impossible, when all I can think about are the what ifs. What if he hadn't left? What if we were still together? What if I wasn't weak? But these are all questions, something I'll never get the answer to and maybe that's okay. I need to be okay. For me. For us.