Little Lies Big Secrets. (Novella)

Chapter 8||Memories in the Wind

"No man is happy without a delusion of some kind. Delusions are as necessary to our happiness as realities."~Christian Nestell Bovee
***

"I'm tired!" I yelled at her and stopped walking. She turned around and placed her hands on her hips.

"It's an adventure, Ophelia! Come on, please." She pleaded and even brought out the puppy dog eyes. I could never say no to her, that's why I had agreed to go on this 'adventure' in the first place.

I sighed and pushed my little body off the tree. She smiled with glee and started hiking her way through the forest once again.

Seeing as she was two years older than me, I looked up to her. I wanted to do everything she did. She always had better ideas anyway. She thought of the most creative games to play, most of them including going somewhere though.

At the small age of eight, I didn't really want to walk anywhere. I just wanted to stay home, play with my dolls, maybe colour, and eat snacks. Isn't that what an eight-year-old was suppose to do?

I continue to walk around rocks and roots from trees, tripping every once in a while. I sighed and groaned my way through the forest. My little legs don't take me far. My long blonde hair was sticking to my neck from sweat.

I looked up and didn't see her walking in front of me. She may have been faster, but she was hard to miss.
    Just a few months ago she found some of moms dye and used it. Now her hair is a bright shade of purple.

I stopped in my tracks and turned my head around. She wasn't behind me either. I started to panic. She was the one who knew the way back. I didn't pay attention, and even if I had, I still wouldn't know to get back.

"BOO!" I screamed so loud the world probably heard me. I also jumped a few meters into the air. I had turned to find her laughing her head off.

"That wasn't funny!"

"But you didn't see your face." She was well known for her pranks and scares. She got kicked out of class a few weeks ago. Apparently, teachers don't appreciate her humour. I didn't either in that moment.

I didn't say anything after that, so we continued our hike.

***

It has always amazed me how our brains work. They tell each and every body part how to function, and when to function. And we don't even realize we do it, it just happens.

But I don't think I will ever appreciate memories. Especially the memory of her. I thought I had forgotten all of our memories. Apparently, my brain just stored them away, somewhere I couldn't see. I don't appreciate being bombarded with the reminder of how amazing she was, and how terrible I was. I don't need to remember how much of a coward I was.

Mom and dad boxed up every single picture of her. I knew it was because of me. Just seeing her face would make me cry, I would even talk to the pictures. Sometimes I wonder if they couldn't handle seeing me like that, or if they just didn't want to deal with me anymore. I know I wouldn't want to deal with me.
     I became this scared little girl. I didn't feel like a person anymore. I was just a shell. I jumped at any little noise, cried at almost everything. I was no longer a person, I was a shell full of fears.

I still feel that way some days. I'll hear mom drop something in the kitchen, I'll hear someone yell at school. Two very prominent things that I still jump at.
    I hate that I'm so afraid of everything. I hate a lot of things about myself. They're mostly because of what happened. But I never blame it on that. Because it's my fault, and it always will be.

I've been in so much therapy, but no one could make me see that it wasn't my fault. One therapist even tried to get me to go to church. They told me to 'release my sins'. I've never been a religious person, I'm not even sure if I believe in a god. So the idea was quite preposterous.
     Eventually, all the therapists said that I've worked through everything I can. They said that they can't force me to not blame myself. That will come with time. So I stopped going.

Mom tried to continue it herself, but I wouldn't talk to her. I didn't want her to have to know what I knew. We would sit in her office and have staring competitions. She just didn't understand that I was trying to protect her.
Dad was a much different story. He didn't want to be protected. He wanted everything, every little detail. Because he was on a hunt. He wanted revenge. He spent months searching, always coming up empty. He started to blame me. He would yell at me and I would cry. I would cry because my dad blamed me, I cried because I knew he was right. I cried because I didn't do anything, and still couldn't.

A lot of things changed when the Diaz's moved in next door. It was a few months after my tenth birthday. Two years after the 'incident'. The daughter was bright and funny, and she reminded me of her. They would have gotten along so well.
    Mom encouraged me to speak with them. But I was still in a phase, I didn't want to talk to people. Many things still scared me, even after two years. But it was hard for me, knowing that I was the same age she was.

Eventually, I ended up talking to my new neighbour, not on purpose though. I was taking out the garbage, and the girl was playing in the yard. She had seen me and introduced herself. She was so cheerful. I wanted to run and hide. But I knew that would make mom upset, so I introduced myself. And we became friends ever since. Still as different as ever.

I met her brother a few days after I met her. Being only ten I didn't start my infatuation right away. It started around the age of twelve, in middle school. We were in the same class, and he was nice to me. Not many people liked to hang out with me, but he did. He was the only person to talk to me normally.  He treated me as he would any other person, and I appreciated that. And after that day, something inside me lit up like a Christmas tree. It was a part of me that had been hidden for so long, found a spark once again.

For most people, they would say something like, 'things got better'. For me, things improved. I'm still very similar to how I was six years ago.
Change is not exactly in my vocabulary. I like things to be the same. I like constants. I don't like surprises because I'm no good with the unexpected.

I can still remember the day when I loved surprises. She had planned a birthday party for me. I had no idea a nine-year-old could be such a great party planner.
When I walked through our front door, she yelled 'surprise', and I don't remember smiling that big ever again.

I had no idea, at the time, that everything would change, in a little over a year. That everything would fall apart, piece by piece.