The End Of You And Me | BOOK 1 (Completed) & 2 (Currently Writing)

TEOYAM | 23. Underneath the Same Sky

Death.

Most people fear it.

But I'm not like most people. Never was and never will be.

I don't fear dying. In fact, I embraced death with arms wide open.

But no, you're not reading something from a ghost.

Unless I really am dead by the time you read this, but I'm saving that discussion for another time. This isn't about time travelling or any of that tomfoolery.

This journal- or "diary" as my doctor would like to call it- is part of rehab. My rehab. They said writing my thoughts down and trying to remember the events prior to my near death experience would help me. I have yet to decide if I believe them or not.

See, just three months ago, I almost died. It wasn't 50/50 or even 60/40.

It was 80/20.

They were 80% sure I was going to die.

I didn't die though.

I guess that saying people have is true after all. You know that one about bad grass and how it's hard to kill them? It's an accurate representation of who I am.

I'm a crappy person. It's a fact. There's no point in denying that.

I'm also alive and seemingly well, but that couldn't possibly be further from the truth. If I was alive and seemingly well, I'd still be studying at Juilliard. I wouldn't be on a plane heading to Paris, where I would start a new life and stay for good, if I was really doing well. Leaving New York was never in my plans, and yet, there I was doing the thing I never thought I'd do. I guess a change of scene was necessary. New York just seemed suffocating and I didn't like being reminded of everything I wanted to forget every second of every day.

I woke up three days after my near death experience three months ago, exhausted. It was as if I went on a three-day long triathlon and even sleep makes me tired because of all the nightmares I get at night. Or maybe my exhaustion was a side effect from having the doctors pump out the toxic chemicals from my stomach, caused by my overdose. I couldn't really tell.

It didn't help much that the first person I saw when I woke up was my mother. She was holding onto my hand tightly and I could see tears from her eyes. She looked shocked when I opened my eyes, like she couldn't believe I was actually looking right at her. A part of me thought she was going to hug me, but instead, she said the words I never thought I'd hear from her.

"I'm sorry," she spoke calmly. "I know you think it's my fault why your life is like this. And, in a way, it is." She paused, "but you have to know, Veronica. I loved your father. I really did. And, I tried to make it work with him."

That's bull.

I didn't say a word as I turned my head away from her. I pulled my hand from her grip and just allowed her to do all the talking, mostly because speaking up was useless. I already gave up on myself and life. What was the point in trying to change things when I know fully well that trying leads to nowhere?

"But sometimes, love just isn't enough." She continued, making me turn to look at her.

I usually don't listen to my mother because there is not a single doubt in my head that I was mad at her for everything. From the time I caught her cheating on my dad to the time she tried explaining things to me at the hospital when it was too late for me. But that statement, stroke a cord in my heart.

"Sometimes, love really isn't enough to make people stay." She pursed her lips. "Your father is a good man and I have nothing but great things to say about him, Veronica. The problem is with me and I know you know that already. You saw it coming before anyone else did. You've always been a bright kid," she chuckled.