Collided Lives

2. From The Begining

A YEAR AGO

Sigmund Freud, the father of psychoanalysis, had a theory about why demons and ghosts are always painted dark and scary. He thought it's because they represent death. And death to human is scary and dangerous. To everybody, it's a thief. An inevitable thief. A thief that robs us off our own lives. It's a bad robbery. But what makes death a true bastard is when it robs our loved ones from us. But how can we punish death, when death itself is the worst penalty?

My eyes pop open. I inhale sharply. Sweat is embedded on my forehead. My head is pounding. My heart is breaking my ribcage. And I'm shaking. I look around. Where am I?

"Miss, are you alright?" I jump from the sudden realization that I'm not alone.

The plane, I'm on a plane. Panic surges through me as I recall why I'm on a plane. I try to calm my breathing. You've done this before Shahla. Breathe...Breathe.

"Miss, are you alright?" I look to my right. There's a woman with her toddler son cradled in her arms. "Miss?" And the boy starts crying. And she forgets all about me even being there, trying to calm her son.

Something heavy settles on my heart. The sight of the little boy with her mother reminds me of my own mom. My dead mom. Cancer. She was fighting it for several years. We'd thought we'd beaten it until it came back. And started spreading. Like it was taking revenge from her just because she was fighting back . And a month ago it finally won. And the worse part, I helped it. Yeah, I was the one who had to give the go. Give the go to unplug her. In my defense she was brain dead. I waited for twenty nine days, eleven hours, forty five minutes and thirty seconds. I spent those days by her bed asking her, begging her to wake up. But she didn't. No brain activity and then...nothing.

"Miss are you sure you're alright?" I blink, and wipe my head around to look at the woman.

She looks scared this time. And she's pushing her now calm son to her chest.

I try to fake a smile, hoping it'd calm her. "I'm fine, just afraid of flying,"

That seems to ease her nerves and she smiles back at. "We'll be landing soon dear, don't worry,"

Resting my head in my seat, I close my eyes. Little does she know, I don't want us to land. At all.

***

Do you see those three people standing there? They're my family. My new family. And I don't even know them.

The social worker said my dad is a banker. A successful one. And that Beatrice, his wife, is a therapist. The boy you see standing next to her mom, is my half-brother, Caleb. The social worker also mentioned his age, eleven. Do you see where I'm going with this? I have to live with a money-chaser, a shrink and an eleven year old.  Think I'm a bitch? Think again, do you think I actually care? Why should I? Caring sucks. Caring takes advantage, gets under you skin and peels off your skin and lives you bleeding.

"Shahla," my father steps forward and wraps his arms around me. "How good to see you, again!" And I freeze. Too much!

You must be confused what he means by again. That's my fault. I kind of forgot to mention that I've met Jack Miller before. It's just I don't remember him. You see, I was three when my mom left him. I don't know what happened exactly. But when I got thirteen I was so pissed at my mom for keeping me away from my father that she finally told me the truth. Jack Miller is an alcoholic. Was, actually, according to the the social worker. Do you see why I'm so  angry with him? Why didn't he call? Why didn't he send an email? He was no longer drinking, right? I tell you why! He started a new family. Forgot about us altogether. And now out of guilt he has decided to take his abomination of a daughter in? So I hope you understand why I can't wrap my arms around him.