INNOCENCE

Chapter 2 Freedom

I sigh, and glare at the reflection before me. My eyes look deadly and attractive when I glared, its greenness flaring with coldness. I tilt my head and make a crooked smile. My eyes change into a softer green when I smile. I shook my head and manage to giggle softly on how stupid I look right now.

I kept doing that as a habit this past week; glaring at my reflection and focusing on my eyes instead of my face – to see how smart and strong I can manage to be before I come back home. Sometimes it makes me proud that this whole ‘treatment’ thing actually came in handy; it made me stop holding on to the memory weakly, but told me to be strong-willed and determined as much as I can be. But sometimes, it also makes me feel that the ‘treatment’ wasn’t working…that I ended up actually becoming a lunatic.

Like I would let that happen anyway – not today, not tomorrow, and not ever – not when I’ve come this far, when I finally found myself again and finally told myself to be strong.

I gargle some water and rinse the remains of the toothpaste on my mouth. I dry my mouth with the towel near the sink and flushed the toilet for no apparent reason. I glance at the analog clock on my bed table; it was 7 minutes passed 7. I sigh, it took longer than I expected because of that reminiscing part. I head toward the closet which was just across the bathroom. It is an old piece of junk made of wood that seemed vintage. It seem to be rough and bulky, but its texture’s actually smooth.

I open it and reach for the stiff-looking duffel bag under; I shove all my shirts and sweaters, and two pairs of jeans in it, together with a pair of flip flops to wear on the plane. Since I was shipped here without a heads up, I wasn’t able to bring any clothes or belongings with me.

I drift away again as I remembered going up to my room to rest after an exhausting week at the hospital. I didn’t go down to eat, to mingle, or to do anything at all – I locked myself in for days, not sure what I was doing and why I was doing that. I just knew that I wanted to be alone, and think about things…things like not having anyone around to comfort me anymore, to tap my shoulder whenever someone gets tired of talking to me and leaves; things about my feelings like anger, and exhaustion of trying to please everyone. Or maybe it was actually because of the whispers and visions I was having for a few senconds once in a while then - flashbacks, very quick and unclear flashbacks of the accident. Sometimes, they were just whispers. I thought I was just being traumatized then. However, I didn’t have the chance to keep thinking on how to stop myself, because I ended up crying every night and not being able to stop. Then I had nightmares, and I cried from waking up. But what made me feel hysterical were the dreams - they were all the same for the whole week. They were always the same - it was the tragic accident, but it was a kind of twisted version that normal people who experienced accidents probably do not experience. I was the shot of light and I was heading towards the car. I made the car explode, and I hit myself. Myself! Then my eyes saw a puff of white smoke. It kept on repeating until the trauma got to me and left me anxious. My brothers were worried I wasn’t in control – so not in control that I almost came to the point to self-destruct. Yes, trying to cut myself and all. It was pretty childish and stupid of me, but to me then, everything was falling apart. There was no one real anymore. I was scared. The dream was so surreal, I almost started to believe it. I knew my brothers were there, but how could they understand then? They don’t get it, because they’re not me. They don’t feel being hated for being themselves. I most certainly couldn't tell Hayley of all people. I felt alone. I felt separated, like always.

I wipe the sweat falling down from my forehead due to remembering what I went through before the rehab. I go back to the bathroom to get my refreshments, place them on a Zip lock bag, and toss it on the open duffel bag. I headtowards the mini kitchen that contains one small fridge and a mini bar with snacks, a cheap cooking set, a kettle, two cabinets, a garbage can and a round table with two creaky chairs that is likely to break if a fat person lounges at it. My toes curl when it came in touch with the tiles – the kitchen was the only one that had tiles for the floor, all the rest were carpet. I findit ironic, since it should’ve been the bathroom; but of course, I never really bothered to ask why.