𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑮𝑰𝑹𝑳 | ᵍʳᵉʸˢ ᵃⁿᵃᵗᵒᵐʸ

⁰³⁴ 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡

Birthdays should feel like fireworks: bright, loud, and kind of magical.

My birthday?

It felt more like the end of a long night, when the fireworks have long since burned out, leaving only smoke in the air.

It was November 2nd.

The last two days had felt like a blurry nightmare, and the hangover had been a ruthless judge.

The hotel room where my mother and I had been living for the past few months had become my personal torture chamber, the curtains drawn tightly to keep out the merciless light of the world.

I lay on the bed surrounded by a strange kind of affection. My mother sat to my left and my father, who I still considered a stranger, to my right.

It was strange to have them both so close, as if the world had stopped for a moment to let us endure this painful day together.

"I feel so terrible," I mumbled, trying to hold back the nausea that had been torturing me for two days, even though I knew it was only a matter of time before I had to run to the bathroom again.

"Things will get better soon, Missy," my father said with that quiet certainty I never quite trusted, but today I wanted to believe him.

Time seemed to stretch and distort, and every flickering light or sound brought me closer to the edge of madness.

Sometimes I would close my eyes and see Katie. Hallucinations in the form of ghostly apparitions stared at me from the corners of the room.

She whispered things that made no sense, but echoed in the darkest corners of my consciousness. Memories of a game I always seemed to lose, a game I could never win.

"You're losing control, Missy," I heard her whisper. "You're so weak. So pathetic."

"Go away," I murmured, my voice barely audible.

"What did you say, darling?" my mother asked, her eyes on me worriedly.

"Nothing, just a dream," I lied and closed my eyes again.

"Missy, you need to drink more water. It will help with the hangover," Dad said, his face tense, but his eyes had that gentle, compassionate look I remembered from before.

"No, Dad... I feel nauseous," I protested, my voice weak. The last thing I wanted was to drink something that would immediately find its way back up.

"I know, sweetie, but the water is helping you get rid of the toxins. This is a side effect of what you've ingested," he explained, not without a hint of reproach, but more concerned about my health than the fact itself.

"Derek, she knows. Leave her alone for a moment," my mother said, her eyes flashing with anger before she turned back to me.

"Missy, I have some anti-nausea pills. Would you like to take one?"

"I don't know if I can keep it down," I whined, opening my eyes only to immediately regret the brightness.

Mom handed me some water.
"Drink slowly."

I swallowed a small gulp, grimaced, and turned away. "I have to puke."

Another bout of nausea forced me to get up and rush to the bathroom. The bitter taste of vomit burned in my throat, and I felt hot tears streaming down my cheeks.

And the world just kept moving, as if mocking my misery.

Dad followed me, holding my hair back as I bent over the toilet. It was a humiliating but necessary gesture that showed me that despite everything that had happened between us, he was still my father.

"I'm so sorry, Missy," he said softly as I leaned back into his arms, exhausted. "This is certainly not the birthday you thought it would be."

I laughed dryly, though it was more of a bitter cough. "The last one was even worse."

Dad looked like he'd been hit, but truth hurts.
A part of me wanted to hate him for it, but another, more dominant part was just tired.

"You should go back to bed. You need to rest." His tone was gentle but firm.

He held me up as I turned away from the sink after rinsing my mouth, my steps uncertain and hesitant.

Mom had made the bed and arranged a warm blanket. "Come here, lie down, honey," she said, stroking my forehead gently.

Back in bed, again with Mom on one side and Dad on the other, I felt like a child fleeing to the safety of its blanket after a nightmare.

Only this nightmare was far away from being over, and I didn't know if I would ever wake up.

Outside, the day passed by, oblivious and indifferent to the little drama going on in room 301.

"Why is she still here?" I whispered as I staggered back to bed after another round of throwing up, feeling Katie's staring gaze on my neck. "Why won't she let me go?"

"Who?" my mother asked quietly, her eyes looking for an answer in my eyes.

"Katie," I replied. "She's still here."

My parents shared a concerned look, and I was aware that they did not know how to help me.
In their eyes was the fear of losing me again, of not being able to protect me.

The afternoon melted into evening, and for some inexplicable reason, my mother brought a small cake with a single candle on it.

"Make a wish, darling," she said.

I looked at the flame, this tiny flickering beacon of hope, and for a moment it was all there was in the world.

What do you wish for when the whole last year has been one long, dark night?

Maybe awareness. Or peace. A break from the endless noise in your head. Or just being able to forget.

I blew out the candle.

And as we sat there eating the cake, which tasted too sweet for such a bitter day, I felt the weight lift a little.

It wasn't the birthday I was expecting, but it was the one I got. And somehow, in the end, I was still grateful for it.