Unraveled

7.

Onika's POV

The moon hangs low, casting a silver glow over the park, illuminating the empty swings and the stillness of the night. I take a long drag from my blunt, feeling the smoke swirl in my lungs before releasing it into the cool air. The familiar warmth washes over me, but tonight, it's not enough to silence the thoughts racing through my mind.

I lean back against the rough bark of an old oak tree, the night's quiet a stark contrast to the chaos swirling inside me. My sister Lauren is probably awake by now, pacing the floor or scrolling through her phone, worrying about where I am. She always does. The thought tugs at my heart; I know she just wants to make sure I'm okay.

Tomorrow is the anniversary of our dad's death, a day that feels heavier with each passing year. It's not just the loss that weighs me down; it's the pressure to be present, to grieve, to honor him in a way that feels right. Lauren definitely wants us to go to church—the one Beyoncé happens to be at. It's always the same routine: go to church, listen to the sermon, try to find solace in the familiar. But right now, I don't feel like participating in that ritual. I don't have the energy.

I take another hit from the blunt, contemplating the canvas that sits in the corner of my room, untouched for weeks. Painting used to be my escape, my passion. But lately, it feels like a chore, an obligation I can't bear to face. The colors, once vibrant and alive in my mind, have dulled into a haze of confusion and sadness. I can't find the motivation to create anything meaningful when my heart feels so heavy.

The thought of going to church tomorrow fills me with dread. I can picture the flickering candles, the hymns echoing in the air, but all I feel is a profound sense of disconnect. How can I celebrate someone I can barely remember? How can I honor him when I can't even honor myself?

A breeze rustles the leaves above, and I close my eyes, letting the cool air wash over me. I know Lauren means well; she always tries to hold us together. But sometimes, I wish she would understand that I need space to process things in my own way, in my own time.

I take one last drag and stub out the blunt on the rough ground, watching as the smoke dissipates into the night. There's a flicker of uncertainty in my chest. I don't want to let her down, but I also don't want to pretend everything is okay when it's not.

With a deep breath, I push myself up from the tree, feeling the weight of the night on my shoulders. I'll have to face Lauren soon, and I know she'll want to talk about tomorrow, about how we should honor Dad. Maybe I'll tell her I need a little more time, a little more space to find my way back to painting, to joy, to everything that feels lost right now.

As I make my way back home, I remind myself that it's okay to not have all the answers, to be in a place of uncertainty. And maybe, just maybe, tomorrow will bring a little clarity, or at least a chance to remember Dad in my own way.

Next Morning

The morning light seeps through the curtains, casting a soft glow around my room. I roll over, the weight of the day ahead already pressing down on me. It's the anniversary of Dad's death, and I know what that means: church, memories, and an overwhelming wave of emotions I'm not sure I'm ready to face.

I hear Lauren bustling around the house, probably trying to get everything just right. She's always been the organized one, the one who puts together all the pieces when things feel scattered. I pull myself out of bed and wander to the bathroom, glancing in the mirror at my reflection. My eyes are still heavy with sleep, and I can't help but feel a twinge of resentment toward the day ahead.

Lauren pops her head into my room, her face bright with anticipation. "You should wear something nicer," she suggests, her voice filled with that hopeful energy she always carries.