The Beginning of the End (Editing)

Eight : Rain

"Kyle," My mothers voice draws me from my sleep, my eyes peel open. She seems sad, actually no. Sad is feeling low. You're crying salty tears that taste bitter in the moment, but within the day you'll be found smiling about the sweeter things in life. But my mothers eyes right now aren't glazed by the depressing glare of sadness, but more the furrowed eyebrows of concern. She's worried. "How are you?" She smiles weakly. There's something wrong, very wrong.

"I'm fine, Ma. Why's that?" I question, shifting myself to the edge of the bed with my legs hanging off the side. "Is everything okay?"

She's slowly moving closer, her hands are fumbling together in a way that is fertilizing the growing nervousness in my stomach. She forces a smile once more. What on earth is wrong?

"It's Eleanor, darling. Her Aunt called," She pauses before sitting down next to me. What could be wrong? I saw her today and she was fine, all smiles and giggles. Not a single drop of sadness to be seen or felt. "She's left somewhere tonight. She didn't day a word to anyone before she left, but she left. Was missing for hours. She was found though," She pauses looking away momentarily. When her gaze returns to me, my gut drops to even lower depths than it already was when she mentioned her, Eleanor.

"I'm so sorry darling, she's-"

"What? She's what Mom?" I cut her off. I don't want to hear the rest of this sentence. But I feel as though the only way to get it through to me is to tell me loud and clear, no matter how much I know it's going to hurt.

My stomach vanishes, drops through the heel of my feet and into the ground. My heart crumbles and everything in me loses all of its senses as the words that I don't want to hear leave her lips. I drop to the ground, unable to think, feel, move. I can't believe it. She's gone.

**

"Kyle my man!" I'm pulled from the darkness and into the light as my Dad bangs a pot and a pan together as he enters my room. "Pizza is in the kitchen so wakey wakey!" He yells, approaching my physically numb body. I feel as I felt in the dream. I feel unable to process anything despite the fact that my bloody father is performing the loudest wake up call I've ever had. "Son?" He stops and his eyebrows come together in concern. I drag myself out of my subconscious, sitting up as I take a glance around my room. A chill runs up my back and I realize it's wet. Why am I so sweaty?

"Uh, yeah. I'll be out in a second okay?" I mumble, scratching the back of my head. I watch as he nods awkwardly, before turning around and slowly making his way out. But before he's fully gone, he turns his head slightly. I force a smile, just like Mom did, and then he walks away. He looked stressed, sort of flushed. Shrug it off, Kyle. He's fine.

These dreams, this is the second one. Both of them resulted in Eleanor dying. They both felt so real, so, grotesque. Each one ending in the same damned way, a way that I never would've even thought to think of. The death of a girl who wants to live, and only ever wanted to live. It's way too far fetched to ever happen, right? Eleanor is supposed to die old, curled up in bed with her loved ones by her side. She's supposed to smile as her life fades into elsewhere, shes supposed to be saying to herself as she slips from life to death, "I did it". Nothing so sudden, nothing so harsh.

Stop harassing yourself, Kyle. She will live a long life, she will die of old age. Nothing bad will come of her. She will be fine.

A weighty exhale leaves my lungs as I re-channel myself back into reality. I hear them yelling. Of course they're yelling. I wonder what it is this time? Money? No, we've got money to spare. Travel? They usually sort that out, most of the time. Perhaps it's his lengthy trip to New Zealand, I knew Mom would bring it up eventually. Not the same day he arrived, goddammit. That nap was good while it lasted, apart from the wake up call of course- and the dream. But still, it's a little too soon. Huh, maybe Dad wasn't fine after all.

Suddenly, I feel memories flooding my mind. Years of them, one by one. Countless times. Help. Guidance. It all comes flooding back in one hit. 'So, how have they been this week, Kyle?'. They'd all ask the same question, they all had the same reply. With that, they all gave me the same suggestions which avoided things that I attempted.

My gaze is drawn to my forearm, covered in cheap cotton material. I run my hand over it, shakily breathing out. 'It'll all turn out, okay Kyle?'.

Remember when I told you that Dad is kind of the missing piece of the puzzle? Well, he is. But he just can't figure out where to be placed, he's always missing. There are a few things missing from this puzzle, things that we don't like to bring up.

***

Why is it raining again? It never rains here in Los Angeles. Sure, its fall, but rain is usually so scarce here. It's strange that the rain hasn't been afraid to make an appearance, but I like it. It reminds me of all the things in life that are worth living for. As the saying goes, you must have a little rain to get a rainbow. Something along those lines.

I remember my rain- no, not rain, I remember my storm, like it was yesterday. I don't like to think about those times, ever. Showers seem to come and go as they please these days, and in those moments I don't know what to do. I'm scared that this passing rain will turn into something violent, and that it'll flood me out until there's no room to breathe.

Like tonight, I'm trying to blockade the rain from getting to me. I don't want to drown.

I look down to the path, the path that I can barely see under these seemingly lightless street lights. My foot nudges a stone to the side, clearing my way.

I feel my nose sniffle, accompanied by the salty tears making their way down my cheeks disguised as rain droplets.

This is bullshit. It's been so long since my last... Fit. I don't like the images dancing around in my head, to say the least. They're all taunting, teasing. Telling me sugar coated truths that I want to believe are lies. But how do you believe something that you know isn't true. My eyes are pulled together for a split second, and in that second those images force my eyes back open. Broken bottles, blood and a broken family.

"Fuck this!" I yell into the void, throwing myself onto the ground in defeat. My hands creep their ways to my head, pulling on my hair with my eyes screwed shut. Those silhouettes are dancing in my head with fire and a laugh that belongs to the devil. "Fuck," I mutter under my breath.

I thought that having Dad here would do us the world of good. But now that he's here..

I don't want to feel like I'm drowning again.

"Kyle?"