DAYSLEEPER |

04| reminiscent

"It's dark. 'Cause one of us is letting go."

SHALLOU & COLIN | COUNT ON

• • •

There was no place worse than the attic.

The Ivy attic was tall and fully boarded, piled with brown boxes that came in all sizes and labeled. Dust lined these said boxes like the winter's first snow, except instead of being white it was dark grey. Cobwebs hung from the rafters and billowed with the breeze the dust created. But Eden didn't hate the attic for those reasons.

What did bother her were the things packed in those boxes. The reminiscent things that if she pondered on for too long, she would land in the never ending world of nostalgia and pain. Every old moment, prize, or anything worthy of packing was up here. Old baby items, hand me downs and photo albums.

Her dad sent her up here to look for an old box of tools he wanted to work on his newest orders, but now she was wondering if this was just a mistake.

Eden spotted the tool box ahead, in a dark corner caked in dust and rust. She walked towards it before a pile of familiar boxes crossed her vision and drew her immediate attention.

The clack of her short brown boots echoed as she walked towards a pile of boxes in the left corner of the room. She searched past 'baby pictures' or 'old clothes' and anything of the sorts. However, at the top of the pile was the largest box labeled 'Alma' in thick angry writing. Eden once swore to herself that she'd never look into that box, but aged curiosity hung above her like a thunder cloud.

From the corner of her eye, she spotted a wooden chair and placed it at the foot of an old box. Climbing the chair, she reached out in front of her and settled it on the floor, coughing as clouds of dust entered her nose and eyes.

A wave of impatience flooded her senses and she was more than determined to ignore that signal in the back of her mind, nudging her to leave.

Eden kicked the chair away and maneuvered her body so that she was sitting on her knees. She knew what this was going to do. It was going to reopen the invisible scars, but like a cyst the 'wound' had to be opened to be removed. As much as she wanted to, Eden couldn't fight off the blanket of vulnerability that threatened to choke her.

With a deep shaky breath, she opened the cardboard box and her heart sped up as if a jump scare was coming her way.

The first item was an old picture frame, set in the 90's. Eden's mother was wearing a pair of light blue jeans and her dad had his arm wrapped around her waist. The happy couple posed with genuine smiles in front of an old chipped "Acacia Bay" moving sign.

But, the glass of the frame was broken—shattered completely—with only the sharp edges of glass in the corners of the frame to remain a faded memory.

The next picture skipped a few years ahead. Alma and Ethan had just taken month-old Birdie into their care after the death of her parents and Eden was just three years old. Eden's dark hair landed at her shoulders and her what-she-called Dora the Explorer bangs were clipped back with a red butterfly clip.

Those were the good ol' days.

That night Mom drank five bottles of beer till their last drop, if they could afford more it probably would've been whiskey. It was the ninth of November, Eden's birthday, but it was more than that. She had spent the evening bowling with her friends and by the time she had arrived home, her traditional celebratory dinner was prepared.

It was all perfect... until she went to sleep.

• • •

I don't remember how long I was awake, or why I was at all.

The light coming from the creak of my door woke me up, so did the gush of wind that entered through my window, but for most part of it there was a strange unspoken tension going around.

At three in the morning.

I sat up from my bed, drowsy yet not wanting to go back to sleep until every single light in my room was off. Noticing the hallway light shining in through the crack of the door, I stood up to turn it off. My first guess was that Bethany went down to the kitchen to get a midnight snack, but she never turned any lights on.

Hushed voices sounded through my door. Taking a few steps forward I began to realize that those voices were my parents.

"Fuck off! Fuck off, you motherfuckin' waste of space!" Mom seethed.

I gasped in disbelief, there was absolute no way those words could've come out of my mother's mouth. She was drunk—all the time—but a dull drunk. As if someone had removed an object from a scale, my heart went off balance and collapsed into the pit of my stomach.

Dad remained quiet, the only sound other than Dad's colorful words is the rustle of surroundings and the zip of a bag open.

"Get out of my house!" she bellowed, and I collapse, my heart shattering in an uneven two as I heard metal and glass shatter on the ground.

"Alma, stop!" he yelled. Kneeling on the floor, I convinced myself that this was a nightmare. I had to wake up.

It became impossible to breathe.

The profanities flew out of her mouth and cut through my father's fragile heart. I could hear it. All he'd ever done was help her with her addiction, but not even she especially couldn't help herself.

The more I listened, the more I crumbled at the hands of what seemed to be the end of the world. I found myself gripping at my chest, my attempts of crying silently weren't met and I cried as if my brain was being shred, the emotional pain seeping through every pore. I sunk down at the foot of the door, the hard lump in my throat was slowly suffocating me and suddenly, it was too painful to cry.

"Eden." I heard my father's voice at the other side of the door, pushing to enter and in an instant, I moved. He rushed in, closing the door gently and flicking the light on, hushing me.

"Shh, please don't cry." His voice was strained but he refused to break. "Get your stuff, we're leaving."

"I don't understand," I cried, shaking my head. "This is your house—our house. Why is she doing this?"

"If we don't leave, she will and in the state that she's in we won't know where she'll end up," he reasoned. "Just go, pack your things. I'll get Bethany."

I ran towards my closet and threw all of my clothes into a duffle bag. Throwing a random oversized sweater, I shoved my feet into some flip flops and couldn't bother with anything else.

"What's going on?" Our heads turn towards a familiar soft voice. Bethany stood at the doorway, her face streaked with pearl-shaped tears as she had her arms folded across her chest. "Why is all your stuff out in the hallway?"

"Come here," Dad urged, wrapping her in a hug as Bethany wept. 

"Get your stuff, we're leaving."

Birdie nodded with a sniffle, her lip twitched as she ran back to her room across from mine. 

"Where are we going?" I asked, shaking. My lungs deflated as soon as the words escape my mouth.

"I don't know," Dad said, helping me zip up the duffel bag. He couldn't look at me.

"Can we go to Grandma's?" I suggested in a rasp.

"No, we can't. She won't handle that well." He shook his head. "I don't know what to do—"

Eden slammed the box shut, and free flowing tears stained the cardboard she kicked it away. She buried her head in her hands. Her sobs stifled as she attempted to hide her anger and pain. 

It wasn't possible to feel so much hate in your entire life.

What's worse is that she didn't know whether she hate her mother because of what she did or because that's what she thought she had to do to protect herself.

Alma had turned every moment they had together into the mourning of what their family used to be.

I hate you. I fucking hate you for that.