reality of love

02

"I've told you multiple times before, do not dig your nails into your skin. It won't help." My therapist scolds me yesterday from seeing the fresh nail marks on my arms.

I just don't understand how I can't stop crying and hurting myself. It's been eleven years, goddammit, why can't I get over it? My aunt has, so why can't I?

Because you're a failure. A voice in my head replies. I close my eyes.

One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. Breathe in, and out.

I sooth myself. I can't afford to lose my job because of how stupid I can get over a thing that happened four years ago. God, why am I such a failure?

My breath starts to quicken and I ask my boss, a sweet old lady, if I can go home early today. She says yes and I quickly gather up all my stuff. I start to walk back home, but I get a call from my aunt, Angelina.

"Hey sweetie!" Her voice through the phone squeals out.

"Hi auntie," I greet her duly and continue to walk back to my house.

"Just to remind you, it's you mom's death anniversary tomorrow, so please don't skip it like last year." She begs.

"Okay," I agree and unlock the door. I take my shoes off while she stays silent, sounding like she's talking to someone else.

"Okay honey, bye-bye!" She says, her voice laced with excitement from something the other person told her. She hangs up and I put the phone back in my pocket. I walk to my room and get my laptop to read and answer the stuff they gave me.

After I was done, I hear my neighbor shouting at a girl. Flashbacks of my mom and dad's fight came to my mind and instantly I am on the floor hyperventilating, already feeling the tears in my eyes. I put my hands over my ears and tried to breathe properly.

Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale.

But as always, I fail. My knees start to feel weak, I slowly walk over to my bathtub and sat inside.

Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale.

"Listen to music, it'll hopefully drown the thoughts out." I remember what my therapist tell me.

I reach for the earphones besides the tub and get my phone out of my pocket. I unlock it quickly and played Ruby by Twenty One Pilots. I close my eyes, but that was a bad idea. The images of him punching me and hitting my mom came, I felt the need to release everything I have eaten the past three days, so I did. I got out of the tub and bent in front of the toilet seat, I threw up the slice of toast from today. I threw up the food I ate yesterday and they day before that. I call my therapist and tell her what happened, she told me that whenever this happened I should call her so that she come here. I dial her number and she picks up instantly.

"What's wrong?" I hear her grab stuff, sounding like she's packing.

"I-I threw up again, and t-the flashbacks." I stutter.

"I'll be there in five." And she hangs up.

I nod and stuff my phone back inside my pocket again. I brush my teeth, still crying, my neighbors still arguing loudly. A few minutes after, I hear the door open.

"Is it because of the shouting?" She ask, already knowing why it happened.

I nod and ran to her. I cried on her shoulder while she rubbed my back. Trying hard to make me stop crying. I try to dig my nails into my arm but she sees.

"Hey." Her voice was stern. She grabbed my hands and separated them from my arm.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry. This wouldn't have happened if I just had told someone." I say in between sobs. "It wouldn't have happened if I told someone." I cry even more. "Everything would've been fine if I wasn't stupid, I'm sorry." I whisper.

"No, it's not your fault, okay? It was your dad's fault, not yours. Don't blame yourself." She repeats the sentence she always tells me.

"But if I told someone what happened he would've stopped and she wouldn't have died, it was because me." I cry even more, trying to escape from her firm grasp on my hand.

"Shhh, it's not your fault honey. I promise. You were scared, you were young, you didn't know what to do. Your mom could've said something but she didn't. Your dad could've stopped but he didn't. Your dad started it, okay? It's not your fault." She explains, saying the same thing she said when I cried about this three days ago.

"Stop lying to me. You know it's my fault." I spit out, almost pissed at her for lying.

"I would never lie to someone I genuinely care about."

I give up and continued to cry harder. I know she's lying, because I've heard her say it before.

"Yeah, well, she could've stopped it but she didn't. That was stupid of her." She talked to someone on her phone while saying it. I was still outside and I heard her say it. I'm stupid, it's my fault. It's my fault that my mom died. It's my fault.

******

The screaming is back again. They're coming from the house at the left of mine. A couple, a married couple. Just like my mom and dad. I've tried to block it out with music while painting, but all it did was made me paint my mom dead, lying on the kitchen floor with an empty bottle of sleeping pills beside her and the note in her hands. I'm drained out of tears now, I'm empty. All I'm doing is staring at the painting I've made while Trees by Twenty One Pilots is blasting in my ears. I've already cried for about three hours while making it and after I was done making it, now I'm just thinking of how I could prevented it. Thinking of how much of a disappointment I am. Thinking of how things could be different if I wasn't born. I'm practically already dead, all that's left is my aunt. If she's gone then I don't know what I'd do honestly, I'd be gone. I'd have nothing to live for.