running from the past

01 forced beginnings

The airplane seats are cramped and the annoying little brat behind me keeps kicking the back of my worn-down seat. I shake side to side as we hit turbulence when a voice, possibly the brat's mother, tiredly tells the kid to put his feet down and attempt to sleep. He only stops momentarily, probably waiting until her attention focuses back to the conversation she was having with the man next to her.

I pull my sleeves down over my thumbs and glance down at my new driver's license, my face staring emptily back at me accompanied by an unfamiliar last name. I guess in a way I'm glad I went to the hospital. If I didn't, we never would have gotten out. Only, it might have been a little too late. I'm not the girl I used to be. I dyed my beautiful deep brunette hair a plain black. The joy that used to live in my eyes, twinkling and dancing gracefully right behind a sheer curtain of green, no longer exists. Now only a vacant apartment is left behind, as if it's haunted.

For the sixteenth time since boarding this flight, I yearn for the comfort of my old home. Mainly the warmth of my own bed. But, for the sixteenth time, I am reminded that I can never return. I feel a crushing pain as memories swarm into my vision in an angry swirl of black, slithering its way in front the image of the seat in front of me. I can no longer see the window to my left and it's blocking out the sharp jabs of the kid behind me kicks my seat. My chest tightens while my breath hitches in my throat. Sucking in as deep of a breath as I can manage, my eyes snap shut and I focus on counting beats. Inhale, one, two, three. Exhale, one, two, three,  four. Inhale, one, two, three. Exhale one, two... As I continue this pattern I can feel my quickened pulse gradually slow and tension release from my muscles. Inhaling one more deep, calming breath, I back sink into my seat.

I look over at my sleeping mother to see if my little episode woke her up. She's still asleep, looks as if she's at peace. Except, I know that she's not really peaceful. I'm just grateful that she wasn't there when my raging alcoholic father finally lost control. Maybe he lost control because she wasn't there.

She no longer carries the happiness that she used to. Her eyes have sunken in from not enough sleep, and her skin seems so paper thin and pale. The loss has taken over her, and the only thing I can hope for at this point is that the move will advert her back to who she was before we were tangled in this mess I had mostly created.

More memories flash quietly, mostly just the feeling of my pounding head and blood staining the beautiful white carpet, a reminder of the years of torment I suffered. There was too much blood.

Why didn't I call for help as soon as I knew what was going to happen? Simple, Scar. You deserved it, and you know that.

A pain shoots through my arms, like millions of tiny little needles prickling harshly up my skin; the initial shock was from my fingers, doing their job waking me up from the nightmare. I was grasping the armchair so hard that my knuckles were turning white, and a piece of the plastic pricked my finger. I try to remind myself that I can't do anything about the past. All I can do is move forward and try not to make this any harder for Mom.

In my best attempt to drive away the pain and memories, I grab the Benadryl bottle form my bag to knock me out in an empty sleep, and my iPod to play my favorite music. The only medicine that has proved to help me through this disaster.

⬪    ⬪    ⬪

At the end of the day, we are in our new home and have already unpacked the small amount of stuff that we kept and had arrived to the new house before us.

Mom sighs and takes a look around. "It looks pretty bare, doesn't it sweetie?"

Shaking my head, I admit I can't argue that one bit. The furniture that came with the house is small and doesn't do the living room any justice whatsoever. The walls look lonesome and empty along with the mostly empty shelves. The rest of the rooms feel the same, the theme of an open-house throughout.

"Maybe we should go shopping for something to fill the rooms? We can create some color themes throughout the house," I look over at her, trying hard to deliver a sincere smile.

"Good idea, but maybe we should save that for tomorrow. I'm wiped," her voice is as exhausted as her words, and she practically falls onto the couch groaning.

"Sounds like a plan. I'm going to finish organizing my room," I kiss her forehead lightly as she giggles. She tends to get a little loopy when she's tired.

Retreating to my new room, I distract myself by logging into my old iCloud account and starting the downloading process for all the pictures and music onto my shiny new MacBook. Yeah, I was interested a little in photography. I mainly just tried to capture scenes I found interesting and attention-capturing.

I reach for my new iPhone  as the computer continues to sync. Man, I freaking love how the metal feels cool in my hands. I guess that's one good thing about moving across the country with a new name: it comes with a bunch of money and tools. I think they just felt bad about our situation.

Tears prickle in the corners of my eyes as I look at the last picture that downloads on my phone. It was of Eva, my old best friend that looked more like a sister. Pain swirls in my chest as I remember my last couple of days with her. Dammit, why did I have to move?

A soft knock on the door draws me back from being lost in memories.

"Honey, it's almost time for dinner. What would you like?" She steps uncertainly into the room, sitting on my bed next to my feet. I don't remember lying down? Huh, I guess I must've fallen asleep.

We ended up ordering Chinese, but the mood was so eerie that it was hard for me to focus on starting a light-hearted conversation. Thankfully I was unsuccessful for the most part. Why can I never get mom to smile anymore?

My mood kept sinking lower and lower until I was yearning for old habits. Dammit, Scar, you can't go back! You worked hard to leave that behind when you were hospitalized.

I know, I know.

After turning on the "Acoustic Covers" radio on my Spotify, I throw on my most comfortable pair of fuzzy pants and into bed, lightly drifting into a blackened sleep.