The Perfect Sin (Camren)

Ch 6- Moments, Instances

Losing someone is always hard.  But somehow I can't seem to decide what is more difficult, to watch someone you love slowly fade away from you, or to have them be gone in an instant. 

Truthfully, they both cause a level of pain that no one deserves. I think there is something sickeningly torturous about both of them.

On the one hand, if you love someone who is dying, watching the person you love slowly drift into nothingness must be heart wrenching. For me, the worst part would be knowing there was nothing I could do to save them. 

Yet, on the other, getting someone ripped away from you means you never got to say goodbye, or tell them you love them one last time. Here one moment, gone the next, no chance or hope, just gone.

Personally, I experienced a bit of both when I lost my grandmother. We knew her old age would take her soon but we didn't know when. Then, one Tuesday afternoon, I got the phone call.

She was gone.

It is safe to say that I didn't react well to the news. It was true that I had harmed myself before but not in the way I did that night. Fortunately, those scars are hidden away underneath my always present jeans. I no longer wear shorts, I don't go swimming and I don't visit the beach. Because the scars on my left thigh cause questions and those questions are nothing but a constant reminder who I lost. 

I adored my grandmother and she adored me back, though, more importantly, she understood me in a way that no one else did. This is why whenever my father uses her as an excuse to get me to do whatever he wants, it enrages me. The level of anger and frustration that it causes me cannot be exuded from me in any other way.

"If she were here," he says, as I sit with my fists clenched on a stool in front of the island of the kitchen "She would want you to get better" he finishes, treating my sexuality like it's an illness yet again.

I know for a fact, that he couldn't be more wrong. She was the only person in the family who supported me as I am. I understand that this is my parent's version of giving me love and support but at the end of the day, it's doing nothing but pushing me away.

"Get better from what?" I hear uncle Angel say.

Immediately, the cereal sitting in front me looks less appealing than Donald Trumps tan and the bit of it that I managed to eat before his arrival immediately threatens to escape my stomach

It's been a week since his arrival and it is safe to say I'm not yet used to having him around, I don't think I'll ever be.

"Lauren still has that..." my dad trails off not knowing how to find the words "issue"

A scoff escapes my lips and my uncle's glare in my direction makes me horripilate but I try my best not to show it

"Show some respect" he orders "Your father is just trying to help you"

A million thoughts fly through my head but none of them manage to make their way out into the atmosphere.

It's safer that way.

They begin to talk about my supposed problem like I'm not even here. It still astonishes me that after everything that happened my father still acts as if the man in front of him didn't ruin my life. Like he didn't rob me of my innocence or take away any chance of me ever being able to trust someone fully.

Like he didn't scar me.

Because it was him who caused the first scars. The thought crosses my mind as I look down at the thin pale lines on my wrists. My right-hand moves to trace the scars almost subconsciously as I remember the night they were created. It wasn't my first time doing it, but it was the first time I did it deep enough for it to cause a permanent mark.