The Boy with the Green Eyes

Meet Scarlett

How do you fall in love, once you have already been in love? How can you be happy after the one who meant the most is not longer around? What can I really do to find my happiness again? To feel again? I can't answer not one of the questions I ask myself everyday. My life is like a roller coaster except it doesn't go up, it plummets rapidly in a downward spiral. 

Things should have changed by now. I should have already moved on; went to college maybe? I should be figuring out where I want to be in life; finding myself. Nonetheless, here I am, sitting on my bathroom floor, crying for what feels like the 100th time today. As I sit I'm contemplating going to work, wondering if leaving the house is really worth it. I should be running to get out of these doors, making some money and having some fun. Instead I keep to myself, in the house I've lived in since I was 4, and mourn, while everyone else around me is enjoying life; having fun. 

Its been almost 2 years since Tristan passed away. 2 years this weekend, and as the days approach I can feel myself falling into a deeper, and darker depression. He was undoubtedly the love of my life and yet I am the reason he's dead. I was the cause of the accident; the accident that took his life but somehow managed to spare mine. For the last 2 years everyday has been a replay of that night in my head. People tell me that it isn't my fault, that the man who hit us was drunk; but I believe otherwise. I remember how we fought that night, how our arguing was distracting his eyes from the road. The music was up, voices loud, our focus were is shouldn't have been. By the time I seen it coming it was too late. I should be blamed for this just as much as the other driver, I started the fight. I should feel guilty for the death of my one true purpose in life, the one who made me feel like I belonged. 

My parents put me into counselling after he died, and I struggled through to graduate high school. I haven't tried to further my education since, and I still attended my weekly meetings with Dr. Mackenzie. She's done the best she can to help me the last few years but I don't think she's seen much improvement. I heard her discussing it with my mother one afternoon, after one of my appointments. It's sad really; I'm 19 years old and the doctor still feels the need to run and tell mommy and daddy that I'm not getting better, that she doesn't have hope in me leaving home anytime soon. 

"Honey, are you okay?" I hear my mother holler up the stairs to me.

"Yeah, I'm fine!" I respond back, voice shaking from my recent sobs. 

"Aren't you going to head off to work? You're going to be late if you don't leave now, Scarlett", She explains.

"Uh..I - I think I'm just going to call in, I'm going to go see Peyton", I reply stuttering through my words.

It's quiet for a moment. I can tell my mother is at the bottom of the stairs, head probably resting against the railing, exhausted with my choices lately. But frankly, she knows there's nothing she can really do about it. I hear her sigh.

"I'll make you something to eat before you go then", and a second later I hear her in the kitchen just below me. 

I stand up from beside the sink, and look into the mirror in front of me. I turn on the tap, cupping some water into my hands, and splashing  my face. I grab the towel hanging on the wall beside me to dry the water, and place it back, letting out a long deep sigh. The process of cleaning my face didn't really get rid of the clear evidence of the blotchy red skin around my eyes, indicating the crying that took place prior, in fact it may have made it worst. At this point I already know my mom knows I have been crying though, so there isn't really a big need to try and hide it. 

I look back into the mirror one last time. I look down to my clothes, tugging on the ends of my shirt. My clothes fit more snug then they used to. I've probably gained 40 pounds in the last 2 years. I wonder how Tristan would feel about me now. 

A tear streams down my cheek, but I wipe it away quickly, collecting myself, before swinging open the bathroom door, and heading downstairs. 

"Hey mom", I say gently with a smile on my face. I try my best to keep my composure. 

She turns around, smiles, and brings me in for a hug, kissing the top of my head. 

"Hey sweetie. I made us some eggs and toast. I thought since you're not going to work we could have breakfast together before you leave?"

"Oh..yeah sure", I half smile, turning to walk to the kitchen table, but she stops me in my path.

"It's a beautiful day today, why don't we go sit out on the deck, yeah?" She smiles walking towards the back door, gesturing her hand as if to say 'follow me'. I do as implied and close the back door behind me.

I sit down across from her, looking down to my food, tossing it around my plate with my fork. 

"So what's the plan for you and Peyton today?", my mother questions as she carries a forkful of egg to her mouth.

"I don't really know. I haven't talked to her yet today", I reply.

"You know Scarlett", she starts, looking up at me with a slightly concerned expression upon her face, "You can't just pop by Peyton's house everyday unannounced, and you really shouldn't be skipping out on work to go to-", I cut her off.

"Mom, she said I can come over there anytime I want, and as far as the work thing goes, I'm thinking about quitting. I just haven't made up my mind yet."

"Scarlett, you can't have that kind of attitude about work. Me and your father have told you before that if you don't like your job we can simply help you ge-"

"I know 'help me get another job that I'll like better'. Has it maybe occurred to you that I'm not ready yet. That I'm not ready enough to hold a full time job?", I exclaim, raising my voice over hers.

"Now Scarlett, you need to calm down. Me and your father both know how hard it's been on you since Tristan passed, and well since the accident but-"

"I know, I know. 'But it was 2 years ago and you need to move on'. You two clearly don't understand, especially you since you're always on me about it. We have this conversation all the time, and I'm done hearing it."

I stand up from the table.

"Scarlett." My mother says quietly.

"Thanks for the breakfast", I say, before turning around, entering back into the house, before finding my keys and wallet, and running out the front door.