Gone

I kneel down in the cold graveyard, feeling the bitter numbness of the snow spread all over my body. I brush away the dirt, cobwebs and fallen snow that formed over the weeks and feel my foe, guilt, wrapping his vicious hands around my mind.

"I'm sorry I haven't visited in so long. Everything was just happening all at once and I-" choking on my sobs, I stop mid-sentence. My raven hair whips around me, emphasising my mood.

"I'm sorry," I whisper with my eyes cast down. Soon enough, I hear the faint beeps of a horn and sigh in resignation. It's no use coming here with Mum. It's only been half an hour and already she's pulling me away from my sister. Standing up, I walk away, stopping once to look back at the grave with soulful eyes.

When I reach the car, I stay silent, conveying to her that calling me back had tempered with my mood. Halfway back to her home, she finally decides to break the silence,

"You know I'm doing everything I can for you, but you're not exactly making it easy for me. Honey...I don't know how to make it better, I don't know how to make myself  feel better! She meant the world to me too and I understand how you feel," she said gently, but this only caused the anger inside of me to flare up.

"You don't understand! You will never understand! When you and Dad were getting a divorce, you didn't care about me! You didn't care about my feelings! All you did was rampage around with your anger issues, fighting with Dad and not even thinking about her death's toll on me...I HATE YOU!" I yell, the fight in me dying out as quick as it came.

She was gasping, taking breaths in through her nose and out of her mouth, while she calmed down. I stay tight-lipped throughout the whole ride.

"Honey..." she spoke, her voice guttural and broken. But as my silence continued, her calm exterior finally broke.

"That is it! You're going for therapy sessions!"

For the first time in a long time, I felt something other than grief.

Shock.

***

As I had expected, therapy's horrible. It's a woman taking the session and I hate how she asks, 'You're okay, yeah?', even though I am clearly not. I'm snapped out of my thoughts when the dark-skinned woman flicks back her hair, her equally dark eyes staring at me, as she asks,

"You really do hate me, huh?"

So I nod, because the pamphlet I'd received from the institute told me to be honest.

I hated all of this.

Stepping out of the claustrophobic centre, was like stepping out of hell. Trying to keep myself at bay, I scan the parking lot and spot the car; it's my Dad, so I calm down a bit. Dad's too caught up in his own grief to nag me like Mum does. But, as usual, when I get into the car, I start to panic. Surprisingly, the first thing that comes to mind is the strategy the therapist suggested to me. Recalling it, I imagine my anxiety as an all-consuming fire in my chest and then imagine that my hands are pouring water over it. Slowly, surely, the panic recedes and I feel harsh now for judging the woman so rashly.

Maybe she does know a thing or two.

During this whole process, Dad was looking fitful in his sleep. His eyebrows were furrowed and his body seemed to be shaking. Feeling concerned, I lean over to shake his shoulder, but he jumps at my slightest touch and I have to force myself to bite back my scream; reflexes developed from the accident, I guess. He wakes up and runs a hand across his weary face.

"Sorry, honey," he says, but for the first time, I really notice his scuffed, unkept beard and thin frame. But his eyes...

They're empty. I guess her leaving affected us too much.

Shaking my head slightly, I realise that my sudden reverie has occurred too late. Soon, the ignition is running and the beat-up chevy backs out. As we drive, I think about the nights my sister would protect me from the yells and shouts from our parent's bedroom, as their personalities clashed. Maybe what they hadn't realised was that my sister and I were also caught up in the crossfire. Without knowing it, a tear slips down my cheeks and past the carefully constructed walls around my emotions. Bending my head down I quickly wipe away my tears.

Maybe that's why I couldn't even warn him.

We were turning to the left and as I lift my head up I see out of my peripheral vision a black car zooming towards us. My eyes widen and I open my mouth to scream to Dad, when it hits. The car smashes into my side of the car, denting it so much, that I can feel the metal pushing against my ribs, the smashed glass raining down on me and piercing my skin- as if taunting me about the other black car that hit my sister and I. The airbags burst up and it's too much for me too handle- too familiar to when she died, that my disorders start up in full force.

"I'm going to die," I whisper, my voice hoarse and muffled, as the car stops sliding and grating against the gravel of the road. The other driver is untouched and now she stares at us, her eyes clouded with a drunken stupor, guilt that I know all too well splayed across her face.

"I'm going to die," this time I whisper to the drunk, stupid girl. I whisper it over and over until I'm not whispering; I'm screaming and coughing and gloved hands are trying to get me out and then...

Black dots start obscuring my vision but my only thought is that I'm going to be joining my sister soon, hopefully in heaven. It will be just she and I, in a world where nothing matters to us but each other.

My blue eyes swivel over to Dad- alive and well, albeit a little banged up- who's looking at me with horror. In the distance, I see Mum sprinting towards us both, still in her work clothes. I got to see them again, so for that I'm grateful.

Smiling through my pain, I close my eyes.

I'm gone.

___

fin.